The world had descended into the most profound and insidious depths of darkness. For all of its diplomacy and technology, the world had fallen victim to genocide, rape and destitution giving way to tribalism. When the world seemed to implode everyone retreated behind national lines, when those disintegrated ethnic allegiances were formed and when those too failed to hold clans were formed along whatever lines leaders could form them. These bonds however formed and reformed. The clans fought endlessly, each blaming the other for the ravaging of the world and so they fought for control, for resources and some simply because in a world so unhinged it seemed like the only fitting thing to do. Yet, this too did nothing as no one clan could sustain its people or afford the resources necessary to sustain its wars. It is from this that we saw the rise of the Blacks. Not a soul truly remembers how the Blacks came to be. It is said that they began with the wretched of the clans who were forcibly conscripted into makeshift armies and sent on campaigns endlessly unlit they were killed or unwound by the pains of starvation. As time passed, however, they became the sole possessors of the arts war and thus it was they who were cast as the true destroyers of the world. As war became impossible to wage the clans chose one warrior who they outfitted entirely in Black, from which they get their name, and it was he who was sent out as the sole arbiter of his clan. In times of inter-clan conflict the Black of each warring clan fought to death or clear victory and it was the victor who determined the peace. These warriors lived ironically as out casts. While they were the sole protectors of their people they were made to forget their names and become the embodiment of the sins of humanity and thus they took fitting names and were expected to don the black for as long as they lived. Some wore black armor, others bore black weapons, and others still bore tattoos as markers of their role. For the smaller clans the death of their Black often meant that they were annexed or conquered by the victorious clan; however, larger, wealthier clans raised the successors to their Blacks drawing from orphans and abandoned children who, upon the death of the incumbent Black, took on the name, garb, and armaments of their predecessor. But times have been changing, and the age of the Black has been coming to a close. The clans were putting down blades, bullets and machines for a refurbished, reconciliatory attempt at peace.
Contempt sat in a cold dark room lined with the necessities of his profession: munitions, ordnance, and the black robes that have been the hallmark of Cussian Blacks from their inception. Life as a Black afforded little comfort. He had been a Black for two years, taking the mantel after the passing of the previous Black; it was the first time in Cussian history that a Black had died of old age and his predecessor had only ever been called upon twice, both times to quell the then unbridled greed of the Axerian clan. Contempt was pulled away from replacing the charging handle on a rifle by low rasping knocks at his door. It came unexpectedly, as the life of a Black rarely involved the simple pleasures of visitors. The pain came suddenly as the first bolt shot cleanly through the door and lodged itself in Contempt’s shoulder just below his left clavicle. The impact sent him sauntering backwards; he doubled over in agony as the pain shot through his arms and worked his way through his chest. The blood seeped into his robes creating an expanding stain of hot sticky black-red blood. As Contempt composed himself, dripping blood down his left arm, two more shots rang. The second shot hit him in the right shoulder, a near mirror image of the first shot, rocketing him further back. The third and final shot bored itself in his forehead pinning his now lifeless body to the wall that lay behind him. A loud crack rang out as that back of his skull was smattered with the force of the impact in a bloom of blood, brain, and bone. The shooter walked into the room and took in his surroundings. He walked slowly to the sagging and limp corpse that stood pinned to the wall. The shooter took in the contorted face that was now Contempt’s countenance. Blood dripped from the corpse’s gaping mouth, nose, and eyes which pitter-pattered rhythmically making the only audible noise in the room. The shooter stepped to the body pressing an open palm against the corpse’s chest and with the other hand drew a single edged blade. The weapon was simple and elegant, it was a hilt-less with a well fashioned kellick hitch leather handle and bore hand etched engravings. He took a moment to exhale and at that moments’ passing drew the blade swiftly across the lower abdomen of the body. Upon sheathing the blade he reached into the incision and drew out all of the viscera causing the body to shift and hang at sharp unnatural angles as what remained of Contempt’s insides spilled onto the floor. The shooter turned and left leaving behind the horrors of his desecration.
I’m back in Harlem so my writing will have to take a slight pause. I’m working on goodies stay tuned.
If you’re in the 212, 610, or the 717 hit me up (717-386-3545)
[Blue] and [Gold] Summer 2011
You Had Me At Hello by A Day To Remember: they are for sure one of my favorite bands, they made summer ‘09 epic. This song, however, is the epitome of high school catharsis and was perfect for when I got the song. It’s very much a boy meets girl kind of song with lines like “I know that I had sworn I’d never trust anyone again, but you had me at hello” and “would it be OK if I took your breath away”. Call me a sap or an emo kid, but I’m a sucker for songs like this!
All of You Tonight by Monty Are I: This song reminds me of Boston which is where I was when I got this album. It’s the kind of song that plays in the background of a romance movie right where the dude and the chick reach the iconic fictional apex of their relationship. Now that I think of it though it’s like the post-hardcore equivalent of baby making music, the kind you put in slow strokes to…hmmm
The Robot with Human Hair Pt. 3 by Dance Gavin Dance:This is from one of the most prolific bands out there right now anyone who disagrees can eat a dick up ‘till they hiccup. I got this album at the exact moment when I needed to, it’s a god send! With lines like “lets make believe we are better off alone” and “you remind me of someone, you remind me of someone else” set to experimental jazzy bass and guitar you are instantly hypnotized. The song is lyrically complex almost to the point of being abstract but it’s a sophisticated break up song.
I’ll Run by The Cab: The Cab is what would have happened if bands like N’SYNC had gone through puberty. I’ll Run is instantly catchy and upbeat, for sure another Boston song. The song is a feel good young-love song (I’m sensing a pattern here…). Give it a listen and tell me it doesn’t make you wanna make out with someone.
I’ve Been Dying to Reach You by Saosin: This is by far my favorite band on the planet and this song features their first lead singer Anthony Green. Musically the composition is very Saosin, the lyrics are very Anthony Green; listen to it you’ll know what I mean. The song is about connection distance and missed chances. While it’s Saosin you can definitely hear the tints of what would eventually become Circa Survive.
Wake Dead Man, Wake by As Cities Burn: One of the most underrated bands to have ever made music, its a shame they are no longer together. The song is coated with religious overtones with lines like “will you love me in famine as when love began at the harvest” and “what is love without trust at my word would you bring your Issac”. The song alludes to the story of Abraham bringing his prized son Issac to the altar to be sacrificed to god. Some people believe this to have been a test of faith, personally I believe that it was as test but one which Abraham failed. He failed to know gods heart and know that his lord would never call him to give up his son.
Ride by Ciara ft. Ludacris: Watch the Video. No really watch the video…actually I’ll make it easy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lp6W4aK1sbs there now watch it!
Rumble Young Man Rumble by Juelz Santana: This song get me through every wrestling match and every lacrosse game, its that hype. It’s entirely about persevering and fighting for what you want. I love the line “don’t feel sorry for me, have a party for me. Bitches, balloons, Bacardi and weed and let niggas know I died with the heart of a G”. I don’t tote guns or bang but I’m a Latino kid in an all white collegiate world this song for sure pulls me through a lot of the BS of Dickinson.
Can You Find Me? by The Summer Set: I love this damn song. Its very much a cute ass young-love song. The chorus goes “Can you find me in the midst of a crowd, do you dream of me when the light go down and do you breath me in from the smoke of your cigarettes, do you feel me with every breath?”, honestly it just doesn’t really get a whole lot cuter than that. This song got me feeling some type o’ way.
Wonderland by I See Stars: this song is almost your archetypal scenester love song with lines like “you ask why I’m so blue, I’ve been holding my breath for you” however, the electronic combinations and catchy rhythmic drumming pull the song into a different level making it very likable.
Happy birthday Mom, can’t wait to see you!
So reader, allow me to conduct a mental exercise…
Ask yourself how you know me, think of the when’s and the where’s. Pay attention to the names, the ones you learned when you met me and the ones you lovingly employ now.
some of you know me as Mauricio (for better or for worse, increasingly fewer of you are) others as Mauri or MO, fewer still know me as MoMo the HoHo. Others call me Reece, Hogie frequently employs Maudi or Maudi Taco. Regardless of which one you use it’s important to note that each name is a persona and each persona is incomplete, a character if you will.
My mother named me Mauricio, it’s a good name. I lost it the first day of high school orientation. I applied to a scholarship program (having no idea how competitive it was), hoping to get my self out of New York City and away from its public schools. The program served as a middle-man of sorts between Black and Latino NYC youth and put them in contact with prestigious day and boarding schools along the east coast. I was one of 75 students selected to undergo the rigorous preparation process August of my 6th grade year. By September of 2004 I was one of 33 Albert G. Oliver Scholars, having gained admittance into Westtown School a lovely Quaker Boarding school just outside of Philly. Hauling 4 duffel bags and taking 4 trains and a car ride my mother and I made it to Westtown together and by that afternoon a White girl who couldn’t pronounce my name meticulously pulled every letter until she was left with nothing but “M” and “O”. With that I became Mo.
I was not brought up in the neatness of privilege; thus, with Mo came a matching persona fitting of the person that I was supposed to be. I added G’s to all words ending in “ing” I learned where Steam Boat was, I learned to sail, and I stopped making little references to who I was and where I was from. Mo existed in a vacuum, devoid of any story or personal history, and like a jacket you unzip and take off in warmer weather I would get on trains to go home and let go of that person to become someone else, someone unnamed. You can’t more out of your home into another state with completely different people and expect to be the same upon return, but no one ever asked and so the person that came back to Harlem went unnamed.
Once I fell in love and over the course of the last leg of that relationship it became increasingly clear that having been Mo was doing more harm than good. Though she never called me Mo it was obvious that that was who Joanna had fallen for. After all how do you explain her blatant discomfort at traveling to Harlem (as if I was comfortable with extravagant outings to the Ritz-Carlton), or her justification for saying things like “getting out of the ghetto really isn’t that hard”. The injury isn’t cathartic in the way most teen break-ups are but rather rooted in the realization that after two years of love, she had fallen for a different person.
Right now I settle for Reece, an amalgamation of several people. More rooted, affirming and far less accommodating but very much a concerted presentation. Unless you have known me by Mauricio or I’ve given you expressed permission to use it, I no longer allow people to use it. After all, how can you address me as a person whom you have yet to meet?
I’m not who you think I am and I’m afraid of losing pieces of myself in the interstices.
I guess that’s a confession.
More encompassing of her voluminous golden mane
-_-: Its finals, well next week anyways, and I’m far too ready for the year to be over. I was ready for the semester to be over in march. I have three exams, one hand in, and three papers (mind you I only take 4 classes). My house is a sweet place but I’m ready to go back to NY to enjoy far more important things.
;): Summer’s coming which means the bros, the ladies, booze and bottles, the shore, and lots of trips in the CR-V. Marcus has had some rough patches over the last semester and I’m hoping to ensure that this summer makes up for some of the craziness. That’s not to say that my other criminal ass friends aren’t important, we will probably burn some unsuspecting county to the ground all in the name of a good time. It’s also a time where some major decision making is going to take place on my part on a multitude of levels both personal and career oriented. I’m graduating (with two degrees thank you very much) and so I have to decide what my best option will be. A wonderful person has walked into my life and this summer presents an opportunity to see where things go without the impediments of distance and school. The winky face is a tribute to loving all day and drinking all night; to crashing on couches and sleeping on the beach; and to not wasting a second on bullshit.
1- Sexy hair. The first thing I look for in a woman is her hair, it can be long or short, curly or straight, what ever color (ideally natural, though I’ve seen some gorgeous women who run the skittles rainbow through their hair), it doesn’t even have to be all naturally grown. What matters is that you rock it. Hair my sound like weird as a feature to focus on but for me its the make-it-or-break-it “X” factor…here are some examples of sexy hair:
IveBeastass= sexy hair
My BFF Ms. Fowler= Lovely Hair
My lovely ex-wife Shannon, another prime example
My thug ass gangsta bitch Crystal whose wild mane never seizes to hypnotize
2- A lot of people get caught-up in the present, the gift itself, and destroy the wrapping paper and the ribbons without taking time to take in the delicacy and time that goes into a well wrapped present. While it doesn’t change the fact that what you really want is underneath the wrapping taking the time to take in the presentation builds anticipation making the gift itself that much sweeter. Allow me to translate this into sexy. While I’m hoping to, in a sexually charged encounter, enjoy you, for me, nothing is more exciting than the delivery and the mounting sexual tension. Thus, nothing does me in like a sexy set of underwear.
PS: there were all pulled from tumblr, I don’t own the rights to them
3- Lastly, and maybe most importantly I’m really into enthusiasm and initiative. I’m cool with “spitting game” or talking a girl up often times its an easy way to get to know someone you are interested in (keep in mind being a jack ass and being an G are two different things!). However, I don’t like having to constantly be the initiator of sexual encounters, I think its awkward. I like women who are open and expressive about their desires. I’m not a mind reader and so unless you give me verbal and/or physical cues (those are my favorite) as to what you want and what you like there is legit no chance of us having great sex. Tell me what you want, when you want it and how you want it. Ultimately what is hotter than someone telling you what they want?! (Enthusiastic consent!)