Monthly Archives: July 2013

The Courtesy of Justice

Not guilty. Those words, those two little words left my text message inbox full. From east to west coast. So many words, so many characters. Trayvon Martin was dead, had been dead for more than two years, but his killer, he was born again. His freedom was definite and people were crying, people were hurt and angry. If someone were to ask me how I was feeling, I wouldn’t have a response. I wasn’t surprised at the verdict. Wasn’t surprised that the life of that young man had not seen the courtesy of justice. This was the way of the world, the way of people. The humanity of this present is very limited. People have forgotten the hope of living, have forgotten the kindness of being able to decipher emotion, action and the power of consequence.

I dare not say if I think the verdict was right or wrong, if George Zimmerman was right to stalk, and ultimately take the life of a child. No matter his height, his weight, his skin color. Trayvon Martin was a child, a minor. His trip to the store for drink, a little candy had resulted in the last breath he would take, the last words he would speak, the last moments of his world. If we are spiritual beings we hope that his soul lives on, that he lives in grandeur, peace, and with the ultimate love of God.

I hope for his parents to forgive the actions of a man that paid no penalties of acts of malicious emotions, ideals and beliefs. I pray for the release of pain that will plaque them for years to come, that they see this as a moment lived for the understanding that while the years have multiplied since the movement for civil rights that we still must be aware of the hate that continues to move within the hearts and minds of people. That while we are aware that we are all human, we are people, that the differences and the ignorance of who we are can still be predatory, and may live docile within us.  However with the right recipe can be baked and cooked to the perfect degree for murder, for pain, and for acts of hatred and violence.

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Place a Bet ? (Rants)

This place I am from, breeds dreamers, believers in the making of fantasies. I wonder some days if it makes us crazy. Yet I look around at Hollywood, and I realize I have been born of dream makers. Not my parents but my surroundings. We equite life to art, and art to the imitation of emotion. This pen is my tool, my life, my therapy,  my vision. Yet I have lost my belief in dreams because the practicum says that doing what you want when you want is not prosperity. Yet if it is healthy and beautiful why can’t it be possible. I am running from nothing to believe in something. I t sounds like washed up words behind million dollar unknowns. The risk you place at the table of opportunity is not a heavy wager to success is it. Yet the wager on the actual possibility of the opportunity is great. A high roller style risk. The bet of everything placed on the actuality of nothing. If your talent is the bet what amount would you wager, how much would you risk. I am afraid of nothing dangerous, but so fearful of anything meaningful, always have been. Here in the height of building me… I find less belief in my dreams. My pockets heavy with the sorrows of the past those place chips outweigh the white chips that are full of promise, full of relief from the grief of mistakes made, of bad days turned into impossible mistakes. Can’t build on wrong, can wager on lessons learned, but no home can be built on that shaky ground. The risk is to high, the tide to rough, the waters to deep. Will I lose the bank roll, placing wagers on belief, will I drown in a sea of regret? Will I forget the lessons learned beneath the harsh sun of the presence. Is there  a story here to tell. In my jail I dream of redemption. Yet in that moment I realize redemption is not a game of stakes, but a game of will, a game of skill. There is no bet at the table, the cards won’t be drawn, this game is about what you know with what you got.

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