Slight Breakdown

Sometimes I wonder, since I blog almsot everyday. If one day I'll run out of topics. If one day, I'll just up and finish with this blog, and move on to what's next. WHO KNOWS, we'll only have to see. ( Don't worry I'd announce I left.)

I finally included you, my reader, in this blog thing here. YAYY FOR YOU. I wonder sometimes about my readers, like how mundane they must be to find me interesting. (No offense.) Whatever.

The other day I wanted to take some pictures of my ghetto. Give everyone a glimpse. Maybe capture the oppresion, and then set it on fire, and laugh at it, as it does me. But while riding on the trolley, staring out the window, I begin to think. "Wow it really isn't that bad here." I got off the trolley and began to walk down my block that has the same amount of abandoned houses as occupied ones. "This isn't that bad, if I took a picture of this, no one would see any oppression." At that moment I realized that I had become desensitized to the ghetto. It was nothing to me. If I were a white family riding through, because I got lost probably, they would be scared. I became surprised in myself how I had, that quickly, allowed myself to be RECEPTIVE to the ghetto. How I tried to rationalize its gutter nature in some sense of way. How I accepted my place in the unseen caste system in life. I walked past a homeless man urinating on one of the abandoned buildings, and then after two more abandoned buildings a black cat ran out of the house. I saw it as an omen saying, "turn and go from this place". But my father says we don't believe in superstitions, they're of the devil.

I HAVE TO STAY UNACCEPTIVE OF MY LIVING CONDITIONS. IF I SETTLE, I WILL BECOME LIKE SO MUCH OF BLACK AMERICA, HELL AMERICA IN GENERAL. NOT ME.


I mean maybe the hood isn't that bad-there I go again- but it would be nice to not have to worry about getting shot because I'm dressed kind of preppy, or because I don't give off that tough aura.

I've also noticed that there has been an installation of about two pay phones at each four way intersection. I thought about AT&T corporate leaders sitting at a meeting looking over their profit reports. I wonder if they questioned their low profits for the first quarter, and if someone said, "Oh we forgot to supply payphones for the niggas to make their 'transactions' ". I bet the informant was a black man. HMMM. Instead of bashing Clarence, the black man who made the suggestion, we should applaud him.(APPLAUSE) He is getting somewhere in life. He is doing big THANGS for the community, probably will be in the next Black Business magazine. Should we fault him for supplying quality service for the NIGGAS to make their transactions. I don't think we should. I mean, they say don't forget where you're from, and he didn't. Made sure that the crew would be able to have good quality crystal clear service. I mean why not benefit from the faults of your own people. And I mean, we have such buffoonery in our race such as the VIBE awards, why not have someone being showcased in a positive light. It doesn't really matter how the race looks good, it just needs to look good. BECAUSE IT LOOKS A HOT MESS. Maybe I should make orthopedic pumps for the older hookers.



I always get a laugh how the men stand near the phone, looking like a hooker on the corner. ( If only I had 2 dollars for a blow job.)


AS YOU CAN SEE I'M FEELING A BIT CRAZY TODAY. I'm having a slight breakdown, wish I could go to theraphy. I have the insurance for it. But my mother has issues with theraphy. Her mother was a schizophrenic and gave her to her sister as a child,(my G-mom PAstor) so she has issues with theraphy. (Kind of ironic-I think irony is the right word-that she has an issue with something that gets rid of issues.) She says that, "we don't need theraphy, we have Jesus". It makes me wonder what I'll have to do, what crazy act would I have to do to get some medical attention. HMMMM. I think I'll just stay with this for right now, blogging I mean.



I have a feeling that this weekend is going to be BAD, emotionally. I've been writing my book on the weekends to deal with emotions. My book is coming along alowly. I have to do so much research. Because I want to be accurate with my stuff. But yesterday I read some of my stuff, and I think I'm going to delete this book when I'm done. I don't feel any connection. When reading it I got the same emotion I felt after reading my third one on the computer. I'll email it to someone before I delete it.(Becuase everyone was so hype about my last books.) I wish I could just stop writing it, but I have to stay sane. Give myself something productive to do, crying isn't. At least I don't think so. I wish the storyline would stop plaguing my brain, and I could just leave it alone.

I've been trying to stay positive, I've been trying to think about how I could be in Katrina. But somewhere down the thought lane. I thought, if my life is that unhappy that I have to think about someone who is worse off than me, there is a problem. It's basically how someone tries to make themselves feel better about themselves by pointing out they aren't as bad as someone else. Like how an alcoholic may say "I may have gotten so drunk I crashed my car into a house, and got my license revoked. But at least I didn't sell my house on a scam for a year's worht of Tequila like Mirandha. That heifer is a drunk for real." I feel like making myself feel better by taking a sort of twisted pleasure from someone's torment is HORRIBLE. I mean, I know that I might get out of the ghetto. I should, it's more likely that I do RIGHT? People are always saying I will. That I have that edge, I think I'm quite dull actually. (Which is why I wonder why people read me everyday. I mean I thank you for reading , YES YOU, but I sometimes think. " WOW, I'm really not that interesting for people to read me, comment on me, discuss me, link me, or even like me. But I guess I'm wrong.) I think.......I know what I think, but I shouldn't focus on that negativity. Let it accumulate with the other bunch I get everyday. Besides, it doesn't matter what I THINK, because God KNOWs what will happen. ( sometimes that's scary. you know. That you have no idea where the hell you're going, but you can only hope for the best.)



I'm ANGRY

I want to get a bazooka, and go on a rampage. Blow up some buildings, let it all out. But I can't. It's all repressed. I'm tired of repressing my anger. Having to apologize to my mother every two minutes for the disrespect, she says, I bestow upon her. I'm tired of of not being able to have any feelings without them being tied to a demon. I have so much anger, FIRE, built up from my years of living, ot not living, seeing as I don't have a life.

I've been thinking about running away. I haven't pondered that idea since 6 and 11. Maybe it's a half decade thought. So when I'm 21, I guess, if I'm in any relationship, I should warn that person in advance. But this thought always comes to the same conclusion. I have no friends who aren't synonomous to an associate, and I have no family. Because they all have been disowned, the same way I'll be soon. THANK GOD. Plus, I'd hate to be a burden on someone who didn't have to take care of me. I guess my parents deserve the HARD TASK ( sarcasm there) of raising me. I mean I do soooo many bad things, like look at this HORRIBLE BLASPHEMOUS BLOG.


This weekend is going to be GORGEOUS. I hate it when it's nice outside, not only because all the drug dealers remember that they left a corner cold in the snow; as they polluted themselves inside and slept with hoes. ( not saying all women are hoes that, but the women they sleep with are. ) ( Yes I do know they're hoes, don't question me logic.) Also, because I'm going to be TRAPPED inside.

Sometimes I wonder if I exaggerate my life. Put too many hyperboles in it, but then I remember, that I haven't put any hyperboles in it. Sometimes I wonder if I blame my parents' rules for my shortcomings in social departments. Also the fact that I'm not able to experience life, and I'm unhappy because I don't know what makes me happy. ( Probably something sinful.)

I'm sorry that I'm so politically uncorrect today. I personally hate it. But I'm going through a phase, and I can't be a star everyday. Sometimes I have to realize that although others may see me as a star, I'm just a ball of hot air and dust. Also, WAKE UP. Our politicians are the most UN PC people in he world. HAS ANYONE SEEN OUR PRESIDENT?

Who, by the way, I think is going to start a War with China, because they are a communist government, and they are about to beat us in the world economy. MARK MY WORDS, THE FOOL STILL HAS TWO YEARS. " The Chinese government is ruled by a most evil and cruel dictator. He makes those people only have on baby, and produce Nikes and Wal-mart clothes for ten cents an hour. As a president who is against abortion, sneakers, and low-priced clothing. I say we need to stop this injustice, because it is disgraceful in the eyesight of God, Just like Iraq AMEN".( Imagine him now doing his little laugh-neck-bob thing because he got his speech right.)


DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO LIVE YOUR LIFE IN A BOX, BUT SOMETIMES YOU THINK THAT IF THE BOX WASN'T THERE YOU'D STILL BE IN THE FETAL POSITION?

I think this ALL THE TIME. Because of course I don't have friends who aren't synonomous to associates, and have a fun life. I mean today I'll be getting in around 5:30, and shouldn't hope or expect to go ANYWHERE. But of course now I can say, "it's my parents strict rules". But sometimes I wonder when I am grown, and away from my parents rules. Will I still be inside on a weekend? Will I still not have any real friends? Will I still consider myself to be boring? Will I still be unhappy?


I don't want to grow up, because I think age affects the brain funny. But there are so many questions that can only be answered as time goes on. Also, although I long for the answers, I fear them too. But the only way to prevent and disable fear, is to face it. So I must continue to grow, mature, and leap into manhood. Because TOO MANY step into it, and decide to cross the line backwards into childhood. ( Hence the MILLIONS of boys in adult bodies. )

I'll get better, I'll get out the ghetto.

I hope for this, because I don't belong here, and don't know why I am here. I keep trying to figure out what lesson is to be learned, but everyone knows inner city schools are just pre-prisions. ( Like pre-school.) And even if my hopes do come true, it will still happen until 18. HOW OLD AM I? I still have over a year to live like this. But I have slave blood running through my veins and I can make it, and take it. (Maybe that's also why I want to runaway. Does that mean that daddy is MASSA?)




I'm off to Calculus class. (Which I LOVE.)

P.S. People please don't leave those comments telling me everything will be better. I KNOW. And it makes me feel like I'm being a burden to you, and making you have a knee jerk reaction to say, or write, rather, how, "the sun will come out tomorrow". Although I barely have a quarter to bet, forget a dollar.

I wish I was Patrick off of Sponebobm not only would I have Spongebob to constantly keep me happy. But I would live under a rock. (That'd be hot.) Someone could come and stomp on the rock a few million times. That would be hot because I wouldn't die, I have no spine and all.


-Marz

Not Much

Nothing today.




-Marz

Analyzations

I’m a bit depressed today, maybe more than a bit, a tad depressed. Yeah, that seems about right, a tad. But I don’t know why.


I wrote once that I believe everyone’s life is a story written by God. And seeing as our lives are stories, we fail to look at certain literary terms. I’m constantly learning literary terms in school, such as : theme, foreshadowing, onomatopoeia, hyperboles, idioms, etc. Yesterday, I took an objective look at my story, life, and started to recognize some literary terms in my life.


Yesterday, I served a detention. I received the detention from being late twice. Once in February, and the second came from when the trolley hit a bus, and then there was a hold-up in the tunnel- someone is always threatening to bomb down there. I arrived to school of course late, and the teachers ran me to the PSSA test, before I could scan my id card. They put me in the machine as late, I was not allowed to explain what happened. And truly they didn’t care. I sat in detention reading Othello, which I am LOVING , I really have a LOVE for Shakespearean literature. I don’t know why. The detention isn’t important, I’m just rambling now.


I got off the trolley, and looked up the street. I saw this man sitting on a wood gate at the end of the block. Then some kids ran past and said, "why that jawn looking at us?" I failed to realize that these are just the new generation of drug dealers yet to sprout their brawn.( The brain in their pants sprouted sometime in the uterus.) The man sitting on the gate was about to pull a gun. But again I’m rambling.


As I stood on the steps of my house, I begin to BANG, BANG, BANG on the door. No one answered. The question may enter your mind where my key is, was, has been. I don’t know. I lost it about December, and since my father won’t get me a new key because I need to buy a new lock; I have been keyless since. I begin to bang harder, harder, HARDER. I knew they were all home, both cars were parked just a few feet from me. I wondered what was taking them so long, then my paranoia began to kick in. What if someone had them in the house hostage? What if that someone had left them murdered and escaped out the backdoor? I do live in the hood. But I could smell porkchops through the door, which has grown too small for the door hole. I then banged HARDER, and turned against the brick of the house. And finally....


I began to think about how each life is a story. And seeing as that includes my story, life, must have some literary terms. I begin to think about what me not having a key means. I mean everyone else has a key. Could it really be that trivial as my father not wanting to supply me with someone’s entry into our house, until a new lock is purchased. But, seeing as buying a new lock won’t happen to soon. Due to my check being reduced, and the fact I have to pay for necessities such as transportation, and tithes to the church. But God doesn’t need money right? He did create gold, I wonder if it was on the third or fourth day. JESUS FORGIVE ME FOR BEING BLASPHEMOUS. I need to stay focused. But I mean, people who live in the house have a key. Does in some strange way me not having a key mean I don’t belong in this house? That, honestly, that is all this obstruction is, a house. Everyone knows that only HOMEowners have keys. PONDER. Finally the lock turned, CLICK, my sister is seen running upstairs as I enter this HOUSE.


I wonder about my parents, and they were sitting in the kitchen. LAZY OLD PEOPLE. I then look upstairs, and the bathroom door was shut. My sister could hear my banging through a closed door upstairs, but my mother would tell me an hour later, "I didn’t hear you." DEAF LAZY OLD PEOPLE.


My bladder pulsated like many things that pulse, hearts, mixers, and penises. Penises yummy. Concentrate! But I couldn’t use the bathroom, my sister was locked in there tight. I came downstairs to read Othello. I heard my parents talking.


Does anyone ever wonder what two minister parents talk about?


The topics are plentiful, and few. Funny how contradictions can be the same thing. (Laughing silently. LS)


Jesus, God, The bible, Church, who is going to hell, tv shows, how the morals in the tv shows can be applied to their walk in Christ/marriage. T.D. Jakes, Paula White, their marriage, and their different years of marriage. I think that about covers it.


As I sat and cultured myself, educated myself, pushed myself on more step in my search of my own HOME. My father began to talk about how the neighbor has a "lust demon". What T.D. Jakes said that morning. What happened at his job. How my mother used to act when they dated back in their senior year of high school. How the wife on ONE on ONE has a lesson that can be applied to their life and marriage. I just couldn’t take it. The same topics being spanned everyday, and my mother NEVER grows tired of them. They’ve killed me, and seeing as we are a "god-fearing" household-well for them homehold, just me a household alone.- God must’ve resurrected me a few times. I begin to bang my head into the wall, literally, I don’t know why. Maybe I do. My parents, my family, my homehold which I don’t belong to, is like a sickness, and the antibiotics aren’t being produced quickly enough.

My mother then begin to scream through the collapsed roof to my sister in the bathroom. I heard water kirplanking, and kirplunking into the breakfast room. I contemplated the other part of the roof collapsing. I’ll just have to pray that it doesn’t kills anyone, like I did last time. But this time, the bathtub and toilet and sink will fall through. Then the house will flood, but it’s still not a priority to my father. Supporting my grandmother’s manipulative ways are. I HATE LIVING IN THE GHETTO. I guess it’s sort of good that no one believes I’m from the ghetto though. These people are oracles, and I thank them for their placement in my life. HMMM, does that mean my life is a fantasy? Fantasies are supposed to be sexy, unrealistic, and not a bit depressed, well tad depressed, so I guess not.


I didn’t know I lost solace, but I found it in my room with the angriest gospel music I could find, Skillet. I began to then think about a dream I had two nights before, as I cleaned my room.


As I’ve written before, my dreams are very vivid, and seldom. I had one two weeks ago and I had an orgasm in the dream, and I could feel it happening. ( So much better than masturbation.) When I awoke, I thought I had my first wet dream, I hadn’t. But last night’s dream was simple. I was me, now, sitting on my bed on a Saturday afternoon Indian style. I was staring at the wall as I usually do, before sitting in my window, getting sad, and crying myself to sleep. But their was a difference. My room had color to it, that contrasted the pastel blue I currently have. My walls had THICK RICH colors, and the main wall behind me was painted in very urban graffiti-style art. "MARZ," it proclaimed, and I felt a sense of approval of my artwork. I had posters in my room. Of my male celebrity husbands, those I’ve divorced, Ludacris, Lil Zane, and those I’ve yet to marry. And my two true lovers, Jesus, and Lenny Kravitz. I had framed pictures of me in different places, I had traveled. I had a poster exclaiming Greenwich Village, and I could see it out of the corner of my eye. I remember feeling this sort knowledge that I was going there, soon. Maybe for college. There were posters of the Noah’s Arc cast, and it was signed missing one name- the dark skinned one. I then remember clearing my head as I usually do. But my insides had FEELING. I could feel three heartbreaks, one from a boy named Chris, one Greg, and another Bruce. I also just felt-that is unusual to me. My cell phone vibrated near my leg, and I looked at the name, it was my boyfriend. I remember feeling this explosion of emotions. Then I saw a picture on my floor, of me and another boy hugging. My mind’s eye recognized the other boy as a friend. I could feel the friendly attachments, and although my mind was supposed to be being cleared. I thought about my outfit, and the expectations of fun to come from that gay Harlem pier that night.

I kept thinking what that could mean on the trolley neglecting my schoolwork, which I beat myself up for later on. Trying to figure out what the hell this dream meant. I’m not that child, and he was me at this age and time, so it can’t be prophetic. He was artistic, I’m not. He was a gay teen with a life. I’m not. He had at least four boyfriends, I’ve had none. He was young and spry, enjoying life. I’m not. I remember feeling, just feeling. I don’t feel. I feel like all feelings have been beat down by school, work, my environment, my race, everyone and everything. I sometimes feel as though all I feel is a heightened and lowered stress level. I like the lower one, it feels better.

What is the dream saying? I remember the door was locked. I could hear the same rumble of the Potter’s House theme song. ( T.D. Jakes show.) And wondered what was probably different about my parents. But I remember while sitting on the bed, that I was thinking the same things I had been thinking as I jumped onto my bed, Othello in hand, Skillet blasting. I don’t know. Maybe if I did tap into any artistic side of me I MAY have, and stopped being so analytical I could examine this dream properly.

But right now I’m somewhat depressed, not it was a bit right. NO a tad, yeah that’s right, I’m a tad depressed, and still don’t know why.

I wish I had that Billie Holiday song that sings, "Good morning Heartache". But Billie Holiday is of the devil, according to my parents. Sighs and eye rolls.



-Marz

TESTING !,2

Every year this group comes out to my school and they give STD tests.

I remember freshman year I was all freaked out, because there was this big debate over the legality of giving children STD tests, and how the parents thought the children would be forced to test. I remember going into the lecture and the man made it very ghetto fabulous to get along with the kids. He was a good performer and very professional. But towards the end he said about how a boy's period might not come on. I laughed because he was making a joke, but some of the other boy's where like , "Man my period ain't come on". Then he pointed me out, "Heyy you, boy's don't get their period. I was just joking. " And then everyone screamed, "HE'S TALKING TO MARCUS, OH HE HAS A PERIOD". I then was flashed to eighth grade.

Where: Science Class
Subject: Sex Ed.

The teacher was talking about the vagina, and she asked, "How often does a woman get her menstrual cycle?" I knew the answer, but EVERYONE was always conversing about my orientation and true gender. I was going to let the girls answer, surely they would know. the first girl raised her hand, " Every year". Next girl raised her hand," Every three months". We continued for about two more minutes through, " Every other day", " Every Five years" ," Once in your life, " never". I couldn't take it and I screamed out," EVERY 28 DAYS, DAMN HALF OF YALL GOT IT ANYWAY." ( One of the girls got hers in fifth grade and everyone started laughin at her. AWW let's have a moment for her.) Then everyone started calling me, "period Boy", because I knew about periods. It was also assumed that I had a vagina, and that's how I knew. People bought me tampons, and I remember they made me sit in ketchup in my ONLY GOOD PAIR of tan khakis. I walked down the hallway, "Marcus, looks like you're having a heavy flow today. You have to use the four wall protection." And then they stuck a mazi pad to my ass that other time. ( GOOD TIMES GOODTIMES. LOL ) (And yes I know thee are irregular periods, but the whole damn class didn't have one. And if they did that wouldn't explain why'd they miss class on the dot, every month minues a few days.) ( Except February LOL)


So I didn'tlike the man, because he helped other people not only spread the gay rumors, but that I had a vagina. ( I don't have a vagina by the way. LOL)

10th grade


The same man was there, and he gave the SAME EXACT lecture, same words, EVERYTHING. I still didn't like him, and stayed out of his way. I remember going into that lecture and I sat behind this boy, and he got scared. He motioned to his friends in the row in front of him, "Fellas", then jerked his neck backwards to point me out. They moved over, "Oh yeah man, yeah come on. He was probably going to try and rape you and shit". ( WHY DO STRAIGHT PEOPLE THINK SOMEONE WANTS THEM? YOU ARE NO LL COOL J. And gurl you won't believe what I heard about him. JK) I remember I had felt a growth because in ninth grade I was all, "I'm still a virgin" ( in a depressed sense). And where I grow up and just in society, being a fifteen year old virgin is not cool. But I'm not ool anyway SO WHATEVER. (LOL)

I remember when everyone left to go get tested, one of my girlfriends asked me to hold her stuff. Then one of the boys who moved to accomadate his friend, whomI was going to " rape", says, "Yo ( motioning to my friend), why you comin' at his manhood like dat" As everyone giggled because I have a " womanhood" to them. "you tryin' to say that Marcus don't get it in". " I was notb saying that, and he knows that, only you think like that". (She should have told his ass to learn the language.)



11th grade


I thought we were going to take the test today, because the people come for two days. But first period yesterday, my teacher announced that we had to go take the test and hear the lecture. She thought we would be right back, I told her it was a full period thing. (LOL pun it if you want. LOL) We went down and there was a different person than the man from the last two years. I am usually good during these things, because I talk about sex constantly to people. But the women was talking about syphillis ( which is a HORRIBLE disease by the way) and she was like, " it (sores) can be in the cracks and folds of the vagina". And I started laughing lowly, and then my girlfriend started laughing. That sparked my laughter, and the whole room was silent. I felt so immature. Then when she started talking about a pap smear, and my girlfriend started describing how it hurts, and it's cold. And she made the gestures with her hand how wide they pry the vagina open.

Then the woman announced we got a pen if we took the test, or acted like we took the test. We had to go inside the bathroom and come out with the bag. I thought , "what the hell?" So I went into the bathroom and took the test. It was weird and when I washed my hands I got water ALL over the bag, so I had to blow dry it, so I didnt look dirty. (LOL) I was laughing to myself, because my first class is Honors English. There were only about two other boys in there out of about nine that probably have had sex. ( gay or straight. WINK WINK). I was like, "Why is he over there so hype trying to get it in the cup, when NO ONE did him or was did by him". But then again, people think I'm out there, so I guess we can't judge people by their looks. WHATEVER.

Also, let me tell you how FATQUEEN left the bathroom and started whispering about who took the test. I wish he would stop LYING, and let omeone pry them hips open. ( picturing a crow bar prying open a box. LOL) (NO NOT ME) But someone needs to, he's one of those types that just needs to get his back banged out and then he'll say, " OMG. I'm gay". Because he has been talking about this girlfriend and I want to know if she's blind, deaf, or dumb. ( AWW that's mean.) This is why I advise straight women to get a gay friend with good gaydar. But seeing as many high school relationships are so juvenile they can't exist in the real world, they should be breaking up soon.



So next Monday I get my results, pray for me everyone. You know after putting the "sample"(LOL) in the bag. I began to think how it would be ineresting if I have chlamydia. Medically speaking. Because then I would be this medical marvel unexplained. HOW COULD THIS BE CAUGHT UNSEXUALLY? Because I'm such a virgin it's not funny. There is such a FREEDOM in taking a STD test when you haven't had sex. ( DUH BOY that's the point not to take one.) ( But the pen is FIRE.) HMMM I guess I can see how sexually active people do feel. Because I'm making up thoughts of airborne herpes, trying to freak myself out. So I can see how one who drinks a gallon of cum, milked from different teets, would feel after being tested.



MONDAY PEOPLE, BE HERE TO FIND OUTMY RESULTS. ( Thinking negative thoughts will FINALLY come in handy. LOL)


AND OMG. Now I have to be careful about who I give my first kiss too. I can catch Hepatitis b kissing. I was like, DAMN. All the gay boy are out their whoring and I'm being wholesome, and soon there will be none left. I'm sort of mad about that. But I'll find another wholesome boy one day soon.

Until then I'm off.




-Marz

On the surface of Marz 3

Watch out, you’ve now landed on my planet, where the air we breath is wegretio. ( inside joke. LOL) This one may be long but I won’t be here tomorrow. So spread it out. (LOL) ( Because everyone always wants to note how much I write. LOL NO disrespect, but whose blog is it?)

Work


At my job, I am contracted to put on two educational programs for the children. The normal programs get around 3 children, some of the more popular programs got around 5 children. When the other girl, who shares the same position with me, did her program, no on showed. But the people at the library thought they would play a practical joke on me. They all acted like a bunch of people were coming, and that there were going to be around a hundred children at my program. One of the men got his friend to call and act like a parent, it was outrageous. I had planned to teach the children a lesson on photosynthesis, and color some flower pictures. Then, they could decorate their flower pots, that I would put soil, a seed, and water in, and send them about their way.

The program started and the children were a little too young to understand about how sunlight breaks down water into hydrogen and oxygen. Altogether, I had 19 people, and that is the record high for programs. My co-workers were pranking and trying to get me nervous. But seeing as I’ve been in about 20 plays, I can speak in front of a crowd with no problem. ( Yes I acted. NEVER AGAIN. Too many divas, and divos. And they never remember their lines, but can worry about others. I got all the way up to the Freedom theater in Philadelphia. It was like the black Broadway back in segregation if I’ve heard correctly.) When the kids left with their colorful pots and future marigold seedlings, all the other people were like, "I should’ve went in". I’m glad that my program was a success, and now I need to think of something for Mother’s day. (Knitting may be too hard for the younger ones. LOL)

DYSFUNCTION AIN’T THE WORD

Every so often when I can’t take the level of craziness my family exudes from their souls, my mother says something like, "wait til’ you get to college. All the other kids are going to share stories that are just like yours. " I shake my head, " NO THEY WON’T, NO ONE LIVES LIKE US, AND NO ONE IS AS CRAZY AS YOU PEOPLE!" "I’m talking about saved people boy, they know how it is". (Although once I asked my SAVED cousins if they knew how it is, they couldn’t concur with my mother.)

My sister thinks she owns the phone. She doesn’t pay the bill, doesn’t even have her own jack. But thinks it was bought solely for her. She gets home around 3:30 and stays on until 8 (or 9 depending on the day.) I have no problem with it, because I’m not a phone person. But, the other day I had to use it, and she wanted to have a read contest. I’m actually proud of her, she is getting very cunning and witty. There’s no fun reading someone, and once you’ve used your first set of ammunition they start crying. (Her in previous times.) But when you find one who can go a couple rounds before surrendering, it gets your blood rushing. (LOL Maybe that’s just me.) This is how It went. (my sister provokes me to get all prissy sometimes. LOL)
"When are you going to be off the phone?"
" I don’t know honey,. I’ll be off soon."
"WHAT TIME?"
" I said I don’t know. I don’t sit by a clock all day." She points to the clock next to me, "What does that mean, gurl. I’ll be done when I’m done you’ll just have to wait."
"WAIT. You BETTER be off the phone. I have two very IMPORTANT phone calls. ( I hate when she gets all buck, and starts demanding things like she’s my mother. Also how she tries to make GOSSIP more important than my JOBS.) Don’t think your cute either, getting smart with me on the phone." She enters the next room, as I turn the mouthpiece from my mouth. "I know I’m cute honey, only the ugly THINK they’re cute". She then starts rambling and I’m tuning her out, and then she kept talking and I couldn’t hear so I took what I heard last. "You’re the ugly one, I saw it when I looked at you." I got really cattish, "I’m not ugly BOO BOO, you must have saw your reflection in my glasses." She dispersed herself from my presence, thank god. I was only on for another 15 minutes, and got off because her friend called.

PMS & Empty Nest Syndrome

My mother is flipping out, because all these reminders keep coming that I’m going to be leaving soon. My school registered in this special program that allows me to take the May SAT for free. On Friday, I got the notice of where I’m going to be taking it, and what to bring and whatever else. (LAWD now I have to start studying for that one.) Then when I went into the kitchen she started telling me she received the notice about my senior portraits coming up in the end of April. (The picture that will represent my face and aura in the yearbook, and on the college wall.) She then started getting all mushy, "it’s like......soon you’ll be gone. " ( I can’t help but smile a little when she says this.) "We have to get you a nice suit for your picture, and... and..... oh you have to look so nice." I suggest to her that I want to get some makeup because my face has like five different colors, and I want to be one toned, or something. "boy you have GORGEOUS SKIN, people would KILL to have your skin. Guess who said so? GUESS WHO SAID THAT?" I didn’t really care. She then says that one of her friends that saw me a month ago was talking to my mother about how handsome I’ve gotten and how I’m becoming quite the dashing young man. ( ashing? LOL) "And she said that your skin is so pretty, and it glows, and she would kill to have it." I STILL WANT SOME MAKEUP, not nothing that I could wear to a ball or something, just some simple earth toned type thing. I mentioned it to KIKI and she says, "oh yeah, you should get some mascara". (Yeah let me get a shadow eye for my high school portrait.)

Then she started complaining how tired she was, I have no patience for this. Because I work sixteen hour days, including school, work, college, and then home some days. The other days it’s a simple twelve hour run. And when she works four hours, and wants to complain. I get close to yelling at her. "Please, you have nothing to be tired about. " Then she starts to pull a guilt trip, but she has the wrong one, "Well excuse me for being a woman that has a menstrual cycle". She always says that like I’m going to be respond, "Oh the world stops now, just for you. OH MIGHTY MENSTRUATING WOMAN.". Now I’m not putting her into slave labor, but PLEASE. I stay out your way, leave you alone, run you ibuprofen, and bring you tea, so don’t start your stuff, because you’ve the wrong one for guilt trips. I’ll kick your leg before tripping over them. (LOL)

GRANDMA CRAZY

As I said before, my grandmother with breast cancer had a lumpectomy. She then had to go through a week of radiation to kill anything that may have been left behind. She has been tested, and everything came back benign. GRANDMA BEAT BREAST CANCER YAYYYY. But then she is so shady I can’t even be happy for her. One of the girls earlier Friday gave a presentation on breast cancer and the treatments, I felt bad for not wanting to visit or call my grandmother. However, my mother informed me of the latest scandal with that woman. She has been telling all of the people in her building that she has cancer and can’t afford the treatment. At that point I said to my mother, "The treatment? Doesn’t her insurance pay for that?" "Oh not the treatment, the transportation that gets her there". So all of the older people in her building each gave her some money, being generous to my grandmother in her time of need. SHE DIDN’T EVEN NEED THE MONEY. The building has, I would say, about 200 people, and if each one gave her at least two dollars, that’s some money. My grandmother only had to go to radiation for six days, and I did the math for tokens and it would be about $16.00, or she could’ve bought a weekly transpass for $18.75. (The prices in Philadelphia are outrageous.) But, nonetheless, she had the money, and was just trying to get what she could. Work a sympathy emotion.

But that is not all. She has been calling my father and my aunt trying to get pity, because she doesn’t have the money for these things, when she really does. My father has been trying to talk my mother into giving a better part of the income tax to my lying grandmother, and my aunt has been trying to get some money together. EVERY YEAR THERE IS ALWAYS A DISCREPANCY OVER WHAT TO DO WITH THE INCOME TAX. (Well after tithes.) My mother is always reasonable and my father is always like, "I’m the man of the house, I’m getting older. I WANT A MOTORCYCLE." ( I’m not even going to get into that one today. It’ll will suck me dry.)

But I’m still not done, since my grandmother has finished radiation treatment but still has all this money, that she didn’t need, or use to get to radiation. She now wants to go on this Atlantic City trip sponsored by her building. DILEMMA Since my grandmother acted so poor, and "woe is me" to get the money for her transportation, the other people now think she’s poor. So if she just "happens" to be on this Atlantic City trip and they see her gambling and doing whatever, then she’ll be found out. And she doesn’t want that to happen. So she’s trying to invite my aunt to make it seem like my aunt paid for the trip and she’s still poor. Which means she’ll play my aunt into thinking that she likes her and wants forgiveness for yelling at her at her treatments earlier. And make the older people think that her daughter is trying to get closure over the horrible way she treated her mother in the midst of her cancer. (And I wonder where I learn to manipulate from? I didn’t learn it from her, it sor of grew in me, But if it was genetic then my LAWD. ) ( Although I don’t use that bad talent at all.)

DADDY’S HOME

My father then came into the house while my mother explained the intricate details of my grandmother’s plan, and cooked his dinner. Because I agreed to cook the rest of the dinner, but she wanted my father’s done to uphold her wifely duties. My father walks into the kitchen with this hollow baseball bat, and pats my mother affectionately on her buttocks with it. ( Like a mild spanking, ) and I was sitting right there. Now most children would be ready to vomit, but as I’ve said before, I’m open. My parents have sex, I got over it. Especially since the walls are thin, and I had to hear them at like 5. (LOL)

Sidebar: I remember when I was in middle school. I had the only married parents, and when the other kids found out, they flipped. I remember some thinking I was lying because straight heterosexual parents couldn’t create someone who was so girly, and others where so curious. I remember the boys were like, " I’m not trying to clown you, but like do your parents kiss each other?" " Yes". " Do they have sex?" " I don’t know". And they were so amazed, I remember one boy was like. " Wow I can’t imagine anyone’s parents still being together, and being in love, that’s crazy. " I guess it shows the times we’ve allowed ourselves to settle into.

The cat then begins to meow at the empty food dish. " I understand you boy, I don’t have any food either." He then looks to my mother from the cat. My mother then says very nonchalantly and conversationally, "guess what I heard on the news?" "What ?" "this woman killed her husband...... and he was a minister". My father says indifferently, "and what that got to do with me". "I suggest you drop that bat". YOU HAD TO HEAR THEIR TONES, THIS PROBABLY SOUNDS ALL CRAZY, BUT THEY WERE JOKING. "I’m just waiting to see why she killed him.... what did he do that made her up and kill him." "He probably requested a meal when he got home". "Could be?" my father then walks into the room. ( My parents are STUCK in the sixties, I swear.) I WONDER SOMETIMES WHAT HAS KEPT ME FROM THE ASYLUM.

PUBERTY

I’ve been going through bodily changes, I can feel it internally. I’ve been really hungry and I have sort of been binging. But my binging is really weird. I’ll taste something and just have to have more. So I’ve been trying to make sure I binge on something like salad. But I’ll be eating salad and drink some water to wash it down, then the taste, or non-taste rather, of water will become so WONDERFUL, and I’ll drink a gallon of that. I’ve been eating a LOT of food. I hope it all goes to the right places. I’ve been exercising, and I do walk two to three miles a day so I should be good. Kiki noticed I had a slight beard the other day. I don’t know, I didn’t really like the mustache, but I’m feeling this slight beard. I’ve joined the MILLIONS my age who are doing that thing where you pinch at the hairs on your chin. Although I do have a good amount, and I’m not like the ones who are hype over one hair. Although the barber cut a good amount of it off a while ago. I’m interested in seeing me with facial hair now. I’m not going to be all, "look at me I have facial hair", like a straight boy. But I’m going to see how I can incorporate it into my looks for the future. (Could be sexy. LOL)

I’ve been going in and out of fire burning heat, craving things I’ve never had done to me before, but knowing a little too well how I want them. It’s weird, because sometimes I think there is like this more experienced person in me. When I was taking the standardized tests, I saw this boy chewing gum, and something inside me was like, "look at that tongue, I’d love it in my ass". And I raised my brow at myself and was like, "Where did that come from? How do I know that, or even know that I want that. WHAT IN THE WORLD?" I don’t see how I can have precise sexual desires of specific things, but I’ve never had any of it. So it’s like knowing what how to drive a car and you’lain ve never driven one. (Maybe that’s a bad analogy.) It’s like craving a food that you’ve never tasted, but you know once you get it, you’ll be satisfied.

SATURDAY SCHOOL

Sometimes it is VEXING TO MY SOUL, to sit among my peers. They are like listening to poison, and I sometimes fear that the poison will enter my ears and get my brain, cause an aneurysm, and maybe a stroke. The children at this Saturday program are so GUTTER filled, it’s not funny. A lot of them have children, ( notice the pluralization) and they don’t have a bit of sense in their head at all. I feel bad for the generation of black people which they are going to have a hand in raising. Some of the people are 34, with grandchildren. It’s like first, why are you just getting your high school diploma? Second, MY LAWD 34. Before I went in the building this morning, two of the girls were outside smoking weed, "yeah gurl, I need this to get through the day". HEIFER IT’S ONLY 8:45, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO LEARN HIGH? For instance, in my algebra class one girl said: "Yeah I don’t date younger boys they don’t get it. But older men do. When you are that man’s girl. Then you represent him. Whatever you wear that reflects him. So if you look a mess, he looks a mess. That is why he has to pay you to keep you looking nice, so that he will reflect looking nice. And then when you have his children, they reflect the man. I hate when I see those mothers with Gucci on, and their children in rags." WHAT THE HELL?

I couldn’t even think after that, it was soooooo ghetto, and the thing is, that is the normal thought patterns of girls my age. IT’S SCARY. Then the whole class began to have a group discussion about the joys of drinking and getting high, and how they act when they get high. "Yo man, one time I was high, and food taste SOO much better to me. Like I was eating some cereal and I was like ’wow this cereal taste good’ I kept licking the spoon, and I made like six bowls." Then this other girl who obviously had self-esteem issues because of her weight said, "when I smoke, I eat so much garbage ( meaning junk foods), and I can feel the heartburn but I can’t stop eating, being high is fun."

I HATE MY GENERATION. THEY ARE FOOLS WHO I HATE TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH AS OFTEN AS I AM, AND INCLUDED IN THE SAME DEMOGRAPHICS WITH.


After my second class, which truly shows some non-bright children, I couldn’t take it. I caught up with PRIDE, and she was full of some mess too. "Marcus you gon start smoking today."(Notice that is a demanding statement.) I was like, " no, I’m not". " Yeah you are". I’m glad she didn’t push it on me, I’d hate to have to push her down the steps. (LOL) I know I may sound all goody two shoes, but I’ve watched drugs kill a WHOLE ENTIRE family that once thrived. ( I’m talking my father’s side.) My father, growing up in a family of addicts, was sort of addicted to alcohol. But he had such a resistance to getting drunk, that he drank whole bottles of grain alcohol without getting drunk. (I don’t know what that means, but my mother says, "grain alcohol could peel the paint off a car".) It sometimes scares me, because addiction has been shown to run in genetics, and if my dad couldn’t get high and I would be doing my mss searching for a high, IN WHAT WILL I FIND IT IF I EVER FEEL LOW? ( I hope I NEVER find out, or find a positive high. HELLO WRITING. LOL)

Growing up constantly at a funeral because this one had cirrhosis, or caught AIDS from a heroine addiction, or had throat cancer from smoking is not an appetizing thing. SAY NO TO DRUGS, GET HELP YOU ALCOHOLICS. The only type of drinking that should be social, is water, and maybe some strong non-alcoholic sparkling cider if the mood is right. You can laugh at me all you want, it’s your insides being poisoned. Mines are fresh, so I guess I get the last laugh. (Although that last statement was mean. SORRY)

After leaving class, I went to the Library to use the computer. I then went on my mission of buying KIKI her birthday present. I wanted to get her a Uniqua doll from the show the Backyardigans. ( " come with your friends, the backyardigans". DON’T FRONT ON NICK JR. ) I went to the horrible Philadelphia mall, " the gallery", is is so ghetto, especially the homeless walking around in and out of stores. The little girls looking like hookers trying to get a boy to pay for better representation. (Rolls eyes.) I walked through past the peddlers, making ghetto airbrush shirts of Spongebob smoking weed, and Tweety cursing. And on to the toy store, I dind’t see any Backyardiagns dolls. But the store clerk was cute and the dar got him. So I was like, " Hmm I can buy SOMETHING". (LOL) I found a cute Napolean Dynamite keychain, and she loces that movie, so whatever. I went to the cashier and rung up, and he was staring me down. I guess it’s unprofessional for people to flirt on the job, but then again I guess growing up in the hood where are the boys were closeted and wanted something in the shade of a bathroom, bedroom, or literal closet. So I guess I’m used to being hitting on, and the uncloseted boys aren’t about that, they’re into games, and I guess I am too. ( Which is weird. HMMM Ponder. Oh well I don’t need a bf, and he looked grown. But not too grown. WHATEVER.)

I then traveled deciding to get her a cd, but I don’t know what she had recently got and what she didn’t. And they had no Backyardigan’s tapes. I then decided to get her a Backyardigan’s tape, and a card. I left the gallery, and felt my life coming back to me. I walked underground, because it was drizzling slightly. When I came up from underground there was a Hallmark right there, and there was also RICKY and one of his friends. I saw him and waved, and he was yelling at someone else. He then screamed, " HEYY MARCUS, Where you goin? I pointed to Hallmark, and he walked on. Walking into Hallmark I realized that I would be there all day trying to pick out a card.

I left Hallmark, and tried to see if I could catch up to RICKY and friend. I turned the corner and saw them, but since I was wearing Timbs I couldn’t run, or get on my piperwalk. So he kept turning around like he had stolen something and the police where behind him, he saw me, and I thought he was stopping, but then he would turn around. I tried to signal them, but I’m not that loud really. (When I don’t want to be.) He then turned a corner and I lost them, but I didn’t want it to seem like I was following him and his friend. ( I sort of was and wasn’t.) I turned around not knowing where to go exactly for the tape. I was kind of mad, because I keep acting like such a klutz around them, or maybe I’m just thinking that I’m acting like a klutz. I mean, so far RICKY and HAGH seem cool, but I’m all quiet around them. I don’t know. I don’t have to be loud and all, " HEYY GURL". Whatever, I’ll try again next week, like I always say I will. I’ve been adding more effort each week, so one week the amount of effort will pay off. I then went to Tower, and found a Backyardigan’s DVD, after buying it.

I felt kind of sad because I had a chance to be out with RICKY and whoever, but I was being, seemingly, shady. I listened to Fiona Apple, and she made me feel better. I decided I’m not going to be sad, there’s no point in it. I felt better. While listening to Fiona, I saw another cd that Kiki had been talking about The Acrtic Monkeys, and it was cheaper than the DVD. SO I returned the DVD for the cd instead, and some money. But I had to get store credit, so then I went around the store finding something worth the credit. This nice man decided to just let me have my money back. (THANK YOU NICE MAN.) They also have a new cute boy at Tower, he looks like the old cuter boy but shorter. Or maybe he’s the same one and I got taller. (LOL)I left happy, wiping the ink of my hand from an exploded pen. It got on the last of my clear nail polish so it really showed on my nails. Since I had money, I decided to feed my addiction to green tea at COSI. ( I LOVE GREEN TEA, see now that’s a good addiction. A good antioxidant, and so natural. LOL)

LOOK IT’S LEE


So I’m in COSI reading, and I go to get some green tea, and the man in front of me I recognized as the other Philly blogger LEE. I saw him come in the door, and was like, "NAW". But then I was remembered that he had been to the same COSI a few times as stated on his blog. So I was like, "lee?", and he turned around, "......Marz?" It was so weird being called my writer name in a real arena, I don’t know. I wonder how Tina deals with it, does she desire to be called Anna Mae Bullock every so often. ( Probably not, seeing as she requested her stage name in the divorce.)( Speaking of that movie. Has anyone seen the advertisements for the "Akeelah and the bee" movie. With the two back together, that should be interesting. Akeelah, such a ghetto name. Sorry but it is.) So Lee and I became very British and had tea together ( I needed some carbs from a cookie.) Him a vanilla chai and me a green tea. We talked about Moses, and Mumia, reparations, blue colors. (LOL) Seriously we talked about religion, school, work, AIDS, and some other stuff. The people who come into COSI are always something to divert you from the best of conversations, like this homeless man that kept coming in. ( Maybe because I have my slight fear.) But the pauses were distant from the prefix un-, and comfortable was allowed to be by itself. FREE, INDEPENDENT, LIKE MOI.

My favorite worker wasn’t there, he has this funky hair and he dances around the room in these tights. (LOL YUMMY. LOL)

Lee is a really cool guy, and he’s TALL. He had to be like three inches taller then me ( maybe more) so I’d guess him to be around 6' 3-6'5. ( I’ve never been good with heights. LOL) And let me just say he could be the slogan person for, "black don’t crack" his skin looked really healthy. I was like, "HMMM. I should ask if he has a moisturizing system and if he does what it is." (LOL) ( I’m starting to step into being a shallow mo outwardly. I want to be able to be in a room of shallow mos and not have to hear their mouths, "he looks like a retarded monkey on crack," but I don’t want to be shallow internally. Although, I don’t think I could just detain depth. But, I’ve started doing things with my skin, and started a minor workout plan. LOL. And every skin plan can’t work for everyone. I can still be who I am internally, and look FLY on the outside.)


Quick question: If black did crack who should we sue? Because I want my money back, this pigment has kept me down in some social standards and it wants to crack OH HELL TO THE NAW. (joking, but serious.) I better not see any cracks.


Why do I feel like people are going to start emailing Lee about me? (DON’T BE SHADY PEOPLE, READ HIS BLOG. He puts a lot of effort in it, hence all the links. LOL)


I felt like, AWW, when he was like quoting my blog, or remembered certain posts. I was like, "OMG. I’m a male Toni Morrison". (LOL. Well not too that extent.) It was interesting because I do have readers, and sometimes I get emails, and I have e-groupies (as Doc Holiday calls them) who write me up and are interested in my blog. (Lee’s not an e-groupie, not saying that.) But it’s touching to know someone liked what you did enough to remember it, and that was wowing to me. Also, it’ s refreshing to find someone who has a memory. NO ONE IN MY LIFE CAN REMEMBER ANYTHING. "Marcus remember this for me," is the norm around my house. None of my friends remember things, it’s sad. Maybe that’s why someone remembering something was like, "WHOA".

After my second cup of green tea, we parted ways. Umm.. I think notes should be taken by the Chi-town people. (But I’m not going to hold my breath on that to happen. But it would help in swimming, and maybe sucking dick.) ( WHAT? LOL. it’s the whore moans, don’t mind them. They’ll go away soon.)


I felt rebellious because my parents would DIE if they knew, and lock me in the basement. But it was random so whatever. But I still talked to a stranger and for that I was wrong. I apologize to my parents here, because in real life, it won’t happen. (I LOVE YOU BOTH HOWEVER CRAZY YOU ARE.) I think Lee should be added to my blog fam, I have read his whole blog. ( Lee pick between uncle or cousin. Forget it, you’re an uncle. I just need a creative name. LOL)

Applause for Lee, and his healthy skin, coolness, good memory, and good timing. (LOL He is probably rolling on the floor reading this. ) So we have to find a way to be in the same place at the same time again, unplanned so I don’t feel undermining authority. (Although that is what some say I need in my life. NO)

I left Lee, and walked to the subway, and I saw my girlfriend POETIC GODDESS, I hugged her and came home.

DECISIONS

After the sermon today, the pastor begin praying for the congregation, according to who God said needed prayer. He would call up the people God said to get what God had for them, whether that be healing, a blessing, or a breakthrough. It was kind of shady how every time he would say he tongue, " Heyycommahdahshaytay," the person would fall out. I wonder why they always threw a comforter on top of the woman. I was writing my book, and then he turned to me, " Marcus come here". I put my book down and went to the pastor for whatever he wanted.

I walked to him in front of the pulpit, and he started talking to me. He was saying how I have these "DECISIONS," that would be coming up. I was wondering what "DECISIONS" he was talking about were. He started talking about school decisions, and I guess that is relevant, although I won’t be picking colleges until a little later. He then started talking to the audience trying to, "feel them in" on what my generation has to go through. "The children nowadays go through so much, much more than what I had to go through as a child." He then began talking about the DEMONS AND SPIRITS within the school that attack us. He began talking about how our schools are set up to make the children left wing and liberal, because we want to make the world "tolerant of the gays".Next he started talking about how the left-wingers are very laid back and how they are just waiting to spring upon our government to get what they want. "And they are willing to wait 30...40 years to get their way".How we need to stay " intolerant" of gay people, and all this other stuff.

I found it funny then how I was brought to the front of the church. If he was going to pray for me about making "the right decisions in my life to come," why would he give a spiel about gay people wanting rights, or not to be stabbed in the name of the, "LAWD". Now of course maybe I was the only one who noticed it, maybe I’m hype. But on the other hand, the girl, PEBBLE, who told the pastor I was gay was there. The pastor has been acting shady towards me, and I have been dressing very "liberal" one could say. Because straight boys don’t wear gloves with the fingers cut off. ( I have a few pairs I made. LOL)

He then started talking about how people call him, " intolerant," and God is one way and intolerant, because there is only "one way to heaven". He kept giving me a look, and then went back to me, and talking about these, "decisions". I kept picturing Jesus on the cross in my head, trying to keep my thoughts neutral and holy. I kept thinking about how I really don’t see any decisions I have to make. But he said I had some that were coming, and I had to decide whether to choose Jesus or not. So using logic and the spiel he just said, I deduced that maybe there will be a boy coming and he’ll want to be with me. And I have to choose Jesus, or a girl, instead of him. I DON’T KNOW. Also, he put his hand over my heart and said, "I can feel a lot of pain". ( He looked sp scared to touch me. It was slightly funny.) I didn’t know what he was talking about, I’ve never felt more free of pain and drama in my life than I do at this moment in my life. I begin thinking about what pain I could be holding, but I couldn’t think of any. But then again, since he thinks all gay people were raped. He probably thinks I have issues over being raped as a child. OH WAIT, THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN. Stereotypes are for Radioshack labels, NOT MARZ BOOPS.

He then prayed for me, that I would come to God when I reached these "crossroads in my life". He then did his tongue, pushing slightly hard on me, I think he was trying to make me fall. I’ve had it happen before, I’M NO SHOW ANIMAL. ALTHOUGH I GUESS I DID ALLOW YOU TO MAKE A SPECTACLE OF ME. He then told me to lift my hands, and thank God. I did, then opened my eyes, and went back to my seat. I sat and thought about how first the way he made it sound, I am or will be doing some VERY SHADY stuff in the future. SO I thought my mother would be asking my questions about what the pastor said. What wrong choices had I been making, NONE. I then thought about his side speech to the audience about homosexuality. Interesting, I thought.

The mother of PEBBLE, got a job as a crossing guard. Now she wants to be buddy-buddy with my mother, although before she wanted to fight her. You know, I don’t like that PEBBLE girl. I could see if I talked to her, but I never said ANYTHING. I don’t like that, and some bad habits are coming to my surface. I sat in church and stared at her, and I could see ALL of her insecurities and low self-esteem points. Now It’d be wrong of me to READ HER to tears, or worse show her I’m straight by holding out my leg with a puddle of love waiting underneath. THEN BREAK HER HEART. But I’mma be nice, but PEBBLE I DON’T LIKE YOU. I’m a nice person, although everyone says that, I truly am. If I don’t like you, or know I won’t be friends with you, I’ll be cordial with you. Everyone deserves Hello and a smile is one of my mottos. But if I’ve never had any conversations with you, and you put my name in your mouth FOR NO REASON. YOU WILL RECEIVE MY FULL WRATH.

I mean when my mother told me what she said, my mother laughed in denial. ("Ha Ha, you’re not gay.") And If the pastor knows, which he obviously does. He can continue to try to torment me EVERY WEEK until I leave. He has started to turn towards me as he spits the homophobic comments, as I read the bible indifferent to his sermon. He has not been shaking my hand, or acknowledging me. These little church people better watch out, because unlike the others, I’m not hiding behind a shroud of fake holiness. And I would READ PEBBLE, HER MOTHER, and THE PASTOR TOO. But In all actualness, am I there for Pebble, her mother, or the pastor. NO, I’M THERE FOR JESUS. I can’t let my priorities get configured, like the pastor in his sermons.
As I sat in the car, I thought about how much I really hate CHURCH. I sometimes asks my mother why we have to go. Why do we need to congregate in a tabernacle. If Jesus lives inside us, then why can’t we seek him alone. I sometimes suggest things like reading the bible in the house and writing what it means to us then sharing that, singing a couple of Karen Clark Sheard songs, and praying at home. But my mother always says about the importance of fellowship. HELLO THE FOUR OF US IS ENOUGH TO FELLOWSHIP. I always get angry when she gets in the car Wowing over how good the service was, and how she feels so good.

I then begin to think about the MILLIONS of gay people who become atheist, or denounce God. Because they feel as though he denounced them for being gay. NOT I. For I know who God is, but it’s hard seeing to heaven with the clouds of ignorance that block my way. And I’m not only talking about what he says about gay people. He bashes other preachers, he sort of promoted Bush, and there are SOO MANY OTHER THINGS. I love Jesus and I know he loves me back, but love cannot exist where hatred is present. (Can it?) I wish I was a TAD bit older, and I could say some words. But I’ll bite my tongue.

I’m also not saying that I’m so distraught over this happening. I rolled my eyes at his ignorance. I’ve withstood plenty of things in my life, and I’m just an emotionally strong person. However, I don’t like feeling like a blasphemer in church or when I write here sometimes. I don’t like bashng the pastor, because I was raised against that. And I also don’t like that on day soon, I’m going to have to bring hurtful words to some people.

In closing, I love the groth that I can see in myself. Before I would’ve been acting crazy, and withdrawing into the closet. But I know who I am, and I’m sinful. God would’ve killed me when I prayed for him to because I couldn’t get rid of my " sinful nature" at 12 and didn’t want to go tohell like everyone said. There is something to be said about self-ecceptance, love, worth, and esteem. GO GET IT.

Be back Tuesday.


How can one tell me heaven or hell, when they’re still alive.-Marz

Pull a Jesus, and maybe I'll listen. -Marz


-Marz

Am I Chris Rock?

While watching the new comedy, Everybody Hates Chris, I discovered that I may be becoming Chris Rock. There are so many things in his show that are my life. My parents tape it every week, -they are so old school, IT’S CALLED A TIVO.-and watch it on Sunday mornings before church. They laugh throughout the whole show, because they most times see themselves in the characters. The only difference I would say missing is I don’t have a younger brother who is cooler than me. But I guess people like my sister, because she’s fake, so she could fill in for both of those characters. My father is cheap like that, I remember like two weeks ago on Sunday afternoon when we came back home from church, we went into the kitchen and one piece of bacon was left in the pan from breakfast. “See this is what I’m talking about, WASTE. Yall didn’t have to cook all this bacon, look at this waste of money”. He continued to yell about the wasted bacon and went into the other room, I ate it to shut his noise down. Just like Chris, I live in a crazy neighborhood, but I attend a good school. Although his school has some segregation in it, and he’s treated weird because he’s black. ( I haven’t experienced that, yet.)( Thank God). There are so many examples I could give but here are some that go with the episodes.

EXAMPLES:

On the episode where Chris Rock talks about how his family never got name brand stuff, and they show him not getting OREO, but COOKIE. About a month ago as I was putting up the groceries I went to put something in the freezer, I looked at it, and it was chicken. But it wasn’t Perdue, or Tyson chicken, it was El Pollo Fresco. ( Fresh Chicken in Spanish) I was like, “ WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THIS? Why couldn’t yall buy Tyson or something”. My mother answered, “Chicken is chicken boy put that up and be quiet.” And about a week later, “you were complaining about that fresh chicken but we ate it, and it was fresh too”.

The episode where the mother, Rochelle, is addicted to Chocolate turtles and the father, Julius, makes her quit because she spends too much on them. IF THAT IS NOT MY FAMILY I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS. My mother used to be addicted to coffee, and now it’s her vitamins, and if she can’t have whatever she is addicted to she loses her mind. The part where Rochelle takes the candy and her kids are screaming, “ Mom”, and she yells back, “ UNN UNNN, UNN UNNN, Don’t mom me”. My mother has said that, and I just turned around and didn’t talk to her, because she was in her mood. It’s like she was saying, “ I am not your mother at this moment, come back when I am on shift.” Searching around for some Coral Calcium pills.


I’ve written about the show before, I don’t think it’s ALL THAT. But it definitely has more quality than A LOT of shows out, and especially on UPN. I really like it though, because it shows about Bedstuy in the 80's. ( Even though I’ve never been to New York let alone Brooklyn.)

The episode where Chris changes his grades on his report card is reminiscent to once in seventh grade when some white out fell on my report card covering my latenesses. (Shut up, they really did LOL.) My parents were like, “ So the white out just fell and covered only your latenesses.” I should have told them to be happy that they even saw my report card, because the kids used to try and steal it and write their names on it, or buy it, or beat me up for it.

on Last night's episode, when the gradnfather died, and Chris Rock said that the only thing left to fight over was who rode in the LIMOUSINE. It reminded me of my Pop Pop's fneral, and afterwards all my aunts ran bdown and jumped in the limo. And my Grandma pastoir was like, " UNNH UNNN UNN UNNN, get out the limo. Yall being greddy, I want all my grandchilrun with me. MAwcus you ever rode in a limo?" " No" " see the boy don't experience things, I WANT MY GRANDCHILDREN TO EXPERIENCE RIDING IN A LIMO." ( It wasn't that glamorous.)

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This week I've been testing everyday, and that is why all my post were all career oriented, because I wrote them all on the weekend.


Those tests were very easy, the math sometimes seemed too simple.


I'm sleepy today, and don't really feel like writing.


BUT OH WAIT.


The sophomore at my school, who I said came out to LALA, my old lesbian lover. He talked to me today, one day he waved at me when I was in class, and I waved back, not being rude. SO today I walked in and he says, " Heyy faggot". But he said it in the, "heyy gurl", tone. And he's like one the younger mos that try to impress the older mos ( EWW. I'm an older mo. YUCK) by saying something that is like, "wow he's cool". I don't know. I'll talk to him later, maybe Monday.


Also there is this boy, who I've neglected in telling you my blog, or the blogworld.


Maybe Monday.

I couldn't comment on everyone's comments, on Wednesday. But thank yall soo much, had me smiling. I already started my novel, and whatever. And I have written four novels actually and threw them all out. One on computer erased line by line, the others written in book, right in the trash can. (LOL)




-Marz

Life lessons in the classroom

Because I live in the ghetto, and have never known a life of even less than luxurious. I sometimes get caught up in how much money I can make when I’m grown. But my teachers teach me a valuable lesson every day that money isn’t everything.

Now I’m not talking about the fact that teachers don’t get the pay they deserve. Because I think that basketball players shouldn’t be paid nearly as high as they are, most of them don’t have a degree, and most of them are retarded. ( They think they can’t support their family with a few million.) But the teachers at my school should be seriously getting paid, but for some reason they are all teaching me. That not only teaches me the non-worth of money, but that doing something you love has a deeper meaning.

A lot of my teachers have dual degrees in something that could be making them more money than they currently make. Some of them have left MAJOR jobs to come and teach. For instance, my math teacher was a corporate lawyer. But every time my class asks him, " Why would you leave being a lawyer to be here?" He answers, " Law isn’t that interesting, and it’s nothing like what you go to school for". And in his eyes I can see a sense of happiness in teaching. Almost all of my teachers have their doctorate’s, the ones who don’t probably don’t feel like writing a thesis ( or is it dissertation?) Most of my teacher’s get paid to go to college over the summer and get added 40's to their master’s degrees, and as a freshman and sophomore I didn’t get it.

Why would one who has a degree in engineering be at my school, instead of making the over 100,000 he could be making a year? Why would a mathematician waste his time dealing with a bunch of black kids? Why all are these geniuses here instead of me having some retard teacher as in previous years?

In my middle school, you could tell some where there for the kids. But there were some there for the prerequisites. Because my middle school was HORRIBLE, the teachers healthcare package was TREMENDOUSLY endowed. I remember once in eighth grade one of our teacher said she would be out to go to the hospital. WE all asked was she alright. She told us how she was getting some stem cells taken from her body, because you never know what will happen. " Doesn’t that cost a lot of money? You’re a teacher you can’t afford that stuff." The whole class wondered the same thing, " Do you really think I work at this horrible school, with you bad kids and they don’t pay me well. I get free stem cell research done on me. I’m not really into it, but you never know when you need to grow a new liver or kidney". My old best friend father was offered a position at my old school, and I overheard him talking about the perks of working at that mini-jail asylum where books were weapons.

I asked Ms. Bonnet, my counselor, why are all these teachers here, and she said, " Why DO YOU THINK? PAID SUMMERS!". She then went on to explain how they all care about the kids, and stuff like that.

I think it’s great that while my teachers are teaching me English or about the Great Depression, or threatening to suspend, expel, detention, and staple our tongues to the chalkboard if we don’t stop talking, I am learning a life lesson that there is more to life than money. In addition, doing something you love has its own rewards. My teachers are excellent for not only teaching me what is required of the curriculum, but something I can take and apply to my life.



-Marz

AM I A WRITER?

I have had people saying my whole life, that I should be a writer. Of course the earliest person was my mother." Wow, Marcus you are SOOO good with words." But through the years a multitude have said,"You are so dramatic, you should write a book". or," you can really write, you should write a book". Or," Your life is so interesting, you should write a book about your life". This has been coming from a lot of people lately. (outside the blog.) I don't think I'm a writer. I mean I can write but:

Someone who can paint isn't a painter. Just like someone who can philosophize isn't a philosopher someone who knows the biblical past, isn't a pastor someone who knows the law isn't a lawyer


I would describe writing as quaint. It's a cute little hobby for me, but I don’t see it as a career to pursue. However, I did write a novel when I was fourteen. ( I mean none of you should be surprised.)

Of course now you want to know about it.

It was about this South American family, who moves to New York. The father gets into politics as a local representative. But after working his way through the ranks, he is running for Governor of New York. His daughter gets pregnant, at spring break, and doesn't know who the father is. It was showing how politicians are corrupt. For example, the parents are against abortion in their campaign, but the mother tells the daughter to get one. The father finds out and kicks his daughter out amongst the homeless. He then hires a hit man to hunt her down. It then became a thriller and she's on the run. She finally gets killed, with her baby almost being born. Then it truly shows the shadiness of politicians, because, the father uses his daughters death as a catalyst to show how the violence in New York is out of control, and a vote for him will change that.

WHAT HAPPENED TO IT?

I deleted it started sort of like Mr. Fred's book, it was a project in school, and everyone liked it. I was bored, and needed something to do after school, so I cultivated the book further. I didn't like the overall tone when I read the finished project, so I deleted the whole thing. It was like a look at what I did with myself at 14, but then at 15, I was done with the whole project. I also made an extensive outline for a twenty book series, sort of like the Kristina Applegate series. I also had a poetry book that I wrote, and threw that one away. My mother was all," if you write something, we can see about getting you a publishing company". BAH HUMBUG

WHAT I MUST SAY ABOUT WRITERS...

They have a hard job, Writing a damn book takes so much time. It now takes a lot for me to criticize a book badly. Because writing something takes a long time. They have to hustle their book, like a Muslims selling oils. It’s especially writing gay fiction, in my opinion, because every gay man in the world feels as though if HE isn’t represented in a novel then it’s not REAL. " The main character wore blue underwear, I as a gay black man wear red underwear". It’s just the truth, and some of the proof can be shown on what SOO many of the gay bloggers wrote about Noah’s Arc.

But, the price of books has rose too high though.... GREAT BOOKS used to be 90 cents. But now, a mediocre book is like $23.00 hardback. If you wonder what I'm talking about, find an old school version of one of James Baldwin's books, or Nikki Giovanni's poetry. They were extremely cheap, and were worth more than most of ANYTHING out today.
So am I a writer? MAYBE.

I have two stories that won't leave my head. They want to be told. I started writing one, because it’s a way to escape the sadness of my life on the weekends.
I'm not giving out titles yet, or plots or anything. ( Even though I have them.) Because if someone stole my idea, I would poke their eyes out, cut their balls out, and do some body part rearranging. ( i know, it's not that serious, but you'd be surprised how many uncreative people there are in the world. Just trying to find a free idea.)

But I don't think I want to be an author, or publish the novels. I have so many other things I want to do. ( Like shoot for Playgirl LOL.)

WHY I WOULD HATE BEING AN AUTHOR?

Mainly the book signings, and discussions.

I would hate to be around a bunch of folks who overanalyzed simple sayings and whatever else. Also, I HATE having the same conversation, hearing the same jokes, anything more than once. So that would get on my nerves if the conversations were repetitive at every signing, or any of the two. It would piss me off if while I'm sitting down someone walks up to me with this huge stack of papers, talking about,"Can you please read my book?" I mean there are exceptions, if it is professionally done. But if it's just a slew of papers in a beat-up composition book,"HELL NO". Then you have the whores, who saw your picture in the back of the book. "OOH, he's kind of cute, and he obviously has money. Let me go to one of his signing, and get me a new man". STEP BACK HOE.

But I don't know I might enjoy it. I don't want to write something and it be highly priced though either. Books cost way too much nowadays, and many have low-priced quality.( Not saying that my book would be low-quality but still.) I also have my moments when I just want to be alone, and if that happens when I'm talking to a bunch of folks. I'll just be like," I need to be alone right now". NOT GOOD FOR BUSINESS.

But I think my books will leave some of the set standards of books. (Especially gay fiction.) most of it is the protagonist, and they find this perfect wo/man. But they are too perfect, and then they find out that mr/s. Perfect has a HUGE FLAW. They try to ignore the flaw, but then the flaw seems to get in the way. " I don’t know why he would choose his wife over me". To accompany this drama they usually have a slew of crazy friends, who they have conversations with every so often to smack them back in line. Now one of my books is sort of on that line, but it has more to do with the kids in the book. ( I'm already saying too much, I don't know.)
I mean, even my fellow bloggers always say I should be a writer. Or I'm good at it. but I don't know.

I think I could definitely finish the one I just started way before my 17th birthday. I could have another idea done by mid 17, and the last one would take some time. But again, I don’t know if I want to write to publish them. I DON’T KNOW. (LOL)

I don't think I would want to publish anything that i didn't think was EXCELLENT. And in all honesty I think my writing is just maybe a tad above average. I'm in an honors english class and those kids BREATH verbiage, and literary terms. I don't think I have that PUNCH, that could make a quality book. And although I believe in supporting the arts, I don't believe in supporting bad art. And I think my book would be bad art. Maybe because I judge everything I produce VERY CRITICALLY. Maybe that's why I like math so much, it's always right or wrong. But writing is left up to the interpretation of others, and I don't think I could deal with that. Or with my personal interpretation of the book. WHO KNOWS.


So my question to my readers. AM I A WRITER?

(It's funny because as I typed this, I checked my online newspaper to see if they put up my latest article. THEY DIDN'T.)




-Marz

What do I want to be when I'm grown now?

When choosing a career, I have been given some very influential advice. The main point is to pick a job that is something that you love to do. Something you could do and not get paid for it and still be happy. (My twintuition is ringing. CHARLES don’t start lol.) So in picking out a job, you first should ask yourself what do you LOVE to do, what do you enjoy, what is just AWE STRIKING in your life, and will be FOREVER. Because if you love what you do, you’ll do it well. And who wants a bad employee?

My list isn’t too long, because I don’t know what I like really, I’m not allowed to explore anything, because almost everything is of the devil. But these few are some that I LOVE

Argue (On the lines of debating)
Be Loud
Talking
Spanish
Making people laugh
Fashion
SEX
a few more I can’t pin point right now.

But that leads me to what I think I could do as a career.

My affinity for debating and being are good qualities to have in a lawyer.

I’ve wanted to learn Spanish since I was three. The jobs with them look too vague to me. Like a translator, SPANISH IS NOT ONE OF THOSE LANGUAGES WERE THEY TRULY NEED A TRANSLATOR. Well not in my opinion, Spanish is spoken in America more than English. (I believe it’s around 54% that speaks Spanish.) I think that Spanish translators wouldn’t be as sought after, as someone who speaks an island dialect. But I’m still going to be fluent in Spanish, and maybe learn some other ones.(Portuguese, Italian, maybe French but I hate french.)( but being quinta-lingual would bring in the MONEY. Oh wait this is what makes me happy. RIGHT RIGHT, gotta remember that.) I could get into linguistics.

I still want to be a fashion designer, because I dress badly DAILY. It’s like how the top models are always like, "I was that ugly girl, who no one played with. And now I’m America’s Next Top Model. SCREW YOU BECKY!". I’d be like, "Growing up, I was always the one who looked a hot mess. But now,(sniff), I always am flyy. I was also ugly too, but that’s not as important right now SCREW YOU WAYNE FOR ALWAYS MAKING SURE EVERYONE KNEW WHAT NON-NAME BRAND CLOTHES I WAS WEARING." ( Good times Good times LOL)

I used to LOVE chemistry, I think my exact words were, "Chemistry is like were math and science come together to have sex, and the remnants are orgasmic". But after this year in AP Chemistry, I have grown a nice disdain for the elements. It’s weird because I still am interested in certain areas of chemistry, but I know how college courses are made. The people who aren’t hard core chemistry students who would die before their periodic table got wet, will be rooted out. Because they make the science programs hard so only the people who LOVE chemistry will enroll for the next semester.

I still want to become a psychologist or psychiatrist sometimes, because I was a MESSED UP CHILD. I’d love to help other crazy little ones, but again I don’t get along with kids that well. (Or they annoy me rather.) Also, if I was an adult psychologist; I would need to not be one of those types where my patients have my cell phone number. But...

Then there I sex. I’ve never had any type of it, but I have this DEEP interest in it. I could definitely see myself making a career as a sex therapist. I think because even though I’m growing up in a minister household, my parents, well mother, was very open about sex. At 3, my mother taught me about, "good touch," and, "bad touch", so if someone was molesting me I could tell her saying, "Such and such gave me a bad touch". Then at 5, she tried to read, " the miracle of life," to me. The one where they show how women get pregnant, and the stages she goes through until she has the baby. But I wasn’t interested. I picked the book up again at around 11. I remember because I didn’t want to ask my parents anything referring to my body and puberty- It was SOOOO painful when my father explained erections to me. LOL-I got the " What’s happening to my body" books. So I’ve always been really open about sex, and could talk about it all day. But there are so many venues I could take, because, as I stated, I could be a sex therapist. I could be an AIDS activist. ( I already am though. GET TESTED PEOPLE.) I know for sure that I will get into sex something as an adult.

In college I know I’m going to study Spanish, but I want to double major in something else. Because I feel that Spanish is kind of artsy, and I want another degree in something more rooted and stable. I think I could handle going for straight engineering, because I liked engineering class at my high school. ( We got to build stuff like shop class, it was fun playing with tools.) Also, being an engineer teaches logic skills. Because someone comes to you with a problem, and they need their problem solved. But they give you a long list of restrictions, and you have to solve the problems within the set of restrictions. If I were to get a degree in Spanish and Engineering, then I would look good to enter law school.

MARZ CORPORATIONS

I’ve had ideas about some businesses I could start. Because nothing is better than working for yourself. I have a good amount of ideas, and I keep a good majority to myself, because they’re original, and there are CONSTANT nay-sayers. I don’t believe in starting a company in something that other people are already doing, it’s good to find a market that isn’t being administered to, and that’s what I plan to do, if I start these companies.

I have a shoe company idea, that is just me being vindictive on the people in the world who have small feet. (These 13's I got. LOL)


My porn company, which if I do start, will be something NEVER seen before. I have a mission that hasn’t been attempted before, and I KNOW I can bring something new to the world of pornography. I even have my first cover model. (inside joke. LOL) But that would be kind of weird, wouldn’t it be. Me, a virgin, filming gay sex, or picking the models. I AM GOING TO LOOK INTO HOW TO START A PORN COMPANY. Write a book when I retire of how to start one. (OMG, could you imagine being on a date with someone and you asked them what they did and they were like, " I own a porn company". OMG. LOL )


Now I talk about Tyra Banks sometimes, putting her down for her horrible talk show, and loss of Janice Dickinson on Top Model. But I LOVE TYRA. I love her T-Zone camp idea, where she takes girls from around the country into the mountains to deal with their self-esteem issues. I WANT TO DO THAT WITH BOYS. Because I was the king, queen, prince, and princess of self esteem issues, and many fail to realize that boys are put under pressures to look and be a certain way. It’s easy to stop and look at a girl and say, "AWW, she’s anorexic trying to be skinny like the models". But no one looks to the boys who feel they aren’t adequate enough because they don’t look like a Boris, or a Tyrese, because they don’t own shiny jewelry, or have a huge dick (ass, tongue, hand, or whatever you’re into LOL). I really want to start a camp for boys where they can deal with their self esteem issues. Although I know it’d be hard, because I’d have to break down that layer of butch covering the insecurities. But I think it’d be great to have a group of boys who have high self esteem and love themselves. I applaud Tyra and the DOVE Campaign for beauty. (BUY DOVE PEOPLE) Because whether you admit it or not, you’ve been low in esteem at one point, and you’ve had insecurities infected by yourself, others, and DEFINITELY the media. I dealt with my stuff, and I’d love to relay it to other people. ( OHHH I just had some post ideas.)

MY NAME IS MARZ AND I DON’T LOOK LIKE THIS MODEL IN THIS MAGAZINE, AND I NEVER WILL,. MY PENIS IS ONLY 1 INCH WHEN FULLY ERECT, BUT I STILL LOVE MYSELF, DESPITE THE FACT I LOOK A HOT MESS.


OH WAIT, I just remembered all the crazy jobs I want. I'm GOING to be a stripper, even if it's for one night, and I just get a hag to take some photos to scarpbook it. I've always had that internal stipper inside me. I remember my dances on the poles at recess in elemtnary school. When I learned to give lap dances. And when my little cousins caught me doing some stripper style dances and they were all, " Ohh MArcus teach me, I want to be sexy". And I started teaching them a lil something something, and then their mothers came in. I thought I was going to get in trouble for corrupting their children, but their moms were like, " igf you're going to learnt he dance you have to pay attention". ( They thought I was doing some innocent dances. LOL) But if you mixed them the right way. (LOL) Stripping is just something I'm going to do, but can one be a stripper with high self respect and esteem. I mean I don't have to be all, " Private show hoe". Also since I have a one inched penis no one will see my face to request a private show, just shake my ass with the pole in my crack. ( It's been a long day people. LOL)



you get a degree, doesn’t mean you’ll get a job". "Just because you get a degree that doesn’t mean anything." Bashing my soul into not wanting a degree, or to leave the ghetto because its like it’s been pre ordained for me to exist in this hell as a stationary object.

MY BLOG I LOVE YOU, YOU ARE LIKE THE NICE SUBURBS WHERE I BELONG AND NOT THIS DE, RE, AND OPPRESSIVE PLACE I LIVE.
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I have dreams seldom, but when I do they are so vivid. If I touch something in a dream, I can really feel it. I sometimes wonder if I sleepwalk, because there is no way that my dreams can be as real as they are. I digress to say, last night I had this dream. And I was hugging and kissing this man, and like my heart was so open, and I felt this STRONG emotion. I FELT WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE IN LOVE IN MY DREAM. I must say it is quite a nice feeling, HMMM I’ll have to look into that somewhere down this path to my next life in heaven. Until then I’ll enjoy the love I have for MARZ, because he is such a hottie in my book. And I’m in NO RUSH to be a yucky adult.

Are any of my readers wandering, "Trick you write about two pages everyday, where is writing on your list?" That’s tomorrow, and I write maybe seven to thriteenpages a day THANK YOU VERY MUCH. (LOL) ( Sometimes more.)

Have a GREAT DAY.

-Marz

What do you wanna be when you grow up?

Everyone has been asked this a MILLION times, but for someone like myself. (Who people say shows a lot of potential.) I am constantly asked this question, but my answer changes like a gay man’s outfit when turning 27 at his birthday party. (Oohh look at me making gay references like I even qualify as a real homosexual yet. LOL) So I think I should start from where it began, kindergarten when I was 5.

5- Most little boys want to be a firefighter, or policeman at this age. But lil Marzy aspired to be a paleontologist or archaeologist. I could even say the words. I used to set up little play digs in the recess yard with popsicle sticks and strings, and use something to dig. The boys used to kick dirt in my face, and laugh at me. ( Good Times.) That's also how I caught ring worms. (Is that how it's said?)

6- I wanted to become a detective. I really got into the Hardy Boys, and the other detective books. (Yes. I had an advanced reading level. LOL)

7- A Spy. it came from watching Harriet the Spy, and it was an extension of being a detective to me, but more flashy. I remember telling my mother and she said, "If you were a spy, you couldn't have a family, or children. They might get kidnaped". I remember answering joyfully, "I don't want a wife or kids". (LOL)

8-BASEBALL PLAYER, I was excellent at baseball. It was one of the sports I excelled at. So much so, that the boys would pick me first for their team, which was a reversal of actions when it came to other sports, mainly basketball. I was so good the gym teacher tried to get me for this citywide little league. But we were too poor to afford the uniforms or something. (The story of why I couldn’t pursue SOO many things I wanted to.) I loved playing third base, and sometimes the outfield. The other jobs I wanted were a lawyer, and a video game programmer.

9- Lawyer and Video Game programmer.

10- A teacher because my fifth grade teacher was the kind that inspires you to be a teacher. But I can’t stand children too much, so who knows about that.

11-Judge and a psychiatrist.

12- Judge or lawyer, computer engineer, and a chef.

13- Plumber, Electrician, Interior Designer, Hairdresser, Contractor, Architect, Child Psychiatrist, Fashion Designer, Judge, Computer Engineer, Chef, Mechanic, Carpenter, and Model. ( That year was an influx of ideas, because I was starting my life anew in high school soon. One of the high schools I applied to was a trade school, so I had all of these ideas floating around. Notice the AND, and not OR. LOL)

14- Computer Engineer, Lawyer or Judge, Psychiatrist.

15- Chemical Engineer, Happy.

16- Find out tomorrow.


I’m so angry and sad today. I want to blow something up, and jump in a lake at the same time. I’ll get over it. I know I’ve missed some careers, because I’ve gone through SOO MANY.

-Marz

What version do you have?

Many times in church, when the preacher asks someone to read the bible for them. He will then ask, " What version will you have?" The reader will answer, and the preacher will either continue with the reading or find another reader. I find strange that there are versions of the bible. Because the bible is one of the most sacred books written, and for their to be different versions existing seem to detract from its value. Also, who deems themselves correct in making another version of the bible. (Because I have no life) I did some research on the bible and its many versions. Most of the information I got was taken from the preface or the cover of the bible, or on the back description part.

New International Version- Is today’s most read and trusted English Bible translation. Since its release in 1973, the NIV has sold over 150 million copies. The goal of the NIV translation team was to produce an accurate translation and one that would provide clarity and literary quality and so prove suitable for public, and private reading, teaching, preaching, memorizing and liturgical use. Today the NIV is accepted by more denominations than any other translation, and is supported by a library of reference resources that is unmatched by any other translation.

Just because a bible is "accepted by more denominations," does not make it correct, or does it?

LAV- The new International Verison is a completely new translation of the Holy Bible made by over a hundred scholars working directly from the best available Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek texts. Christian Reformed Church and the National Association of Evangelists Concurred in the need for a new translation of the bible in contemporary

What makes a certain Church and an Association valid in concurring for a need for a NEW TRANSLATION?

King James Version- beloved by the generations of bible readers, was first published in England in 1611. Commissioned by King James I it was the achievement of nearly fifty translations, who over four years revised the Bishop’s Bible in the light of available Greek and Hebrew documents as well as other contemporary European translations. The results was the first Authorized Version, known to Americans as the King James Version subsequent editions corrected early misprints, modernized some spellings, and standardized features such as punctuations and italization. The most famous revisions include the Cambridge edition of 1762, the Oxford edition of 1769 and the Dr. F. H. A. Scrivener’s Cambridge Paragraph Bible of 1873.

The King James Version is the one used in the churches I’ve attended, and the one" closest to the literal translation," as one of my friends said once. The reason why, most likely, is because it was the version that was printed closest to when the bible was finished being written, in 95 A.D.

But while looking around I found a book that had something about the missing texts of the bible. According to the book, there are 17 unknown non-canonical Gospels, 5 non-canonical Acts of the Apostles, 13 non-canonical Epistles and related writings, 7 non-canonical Apocalypses and revelatory treatises, and 5 canonical lists.

canon- noun. 1 a general rule or principle by which something is judged. 2. A Church degree or law. 3. A collection of authentic sacred books. 4. The authentic works of a particular artist.
Synonyms- basic, accepted, sanctioned, conforming, conformist

The book then reads in the preface, "The New Testament did not emerge as an established and complete set of books immediately after the death of Jesus. Many years passed before Christians agreed concerning which books should comprise their sacred scriptures, with debates over the contour of the canon, that were long, hard and sometimes harsh. Another quote taken a little down read, " These books were quite different from those later embodied in the canon". It talked about how since these OTHER books, didn’t have the same flow or message that the other books had, they weren’t added because the bible had to have a consistent view, and these other books weren’t consistent with the overall message.

I’ve highlighted the things that were interesting to me, and made me want to scream out loud. But maybe something else will hit you, my reader. But some things to ponder is the people who made these "revisions," certainly a revision made by a Republican Texan, would be different than a Indian belly dancer, or you and I. I, personally, would NEVER try to change the bible to my liking, or try to revamp the bible. They say, "What would Jesus do," sometimes I wonder, "What the hell did Jesus even say?"

I find it funny how ministers can rewrite the bible, but there are other books of less stature in the literature world that will never be touched. No one will take Their eyes were watching god and change the "ah’s" to I, and the I to my. When we attempt to change Shakespeare to modern language we are left with the debacles that can be seen in the Leonardo De Caprio version. ( I don’t care what anyone says, that movie was garbage. Using guns as swords, FOOLISHNESS.) I was raised in an atmosphere that if you didn’t break for a period, or missed an "and" in the bible you were quoting it wrong and being blasphemous. So in all effect I guess we all are blasphemous with every quotation every made of the bible. Next thing you know there will be bibles that use slang. And Jesus said, "Yo man, let me touch that chick there. I can take away that blood pumping out her finger". OOH look, the bug has bitten me already.
Another example of this is shown on bible.com. I put in a scripture that in the King James Version reads, " So he commanded the multitude to sit down on the ground". Now that is a VERY simple scripture, but look at what the website gave me.

I hate when I write things like this, it makes me feel all SINFUL. I don’t know.

Personal pieces

Grandma had her surgery, and it was a success. They said her cancer was benign, and she’s starting radiation to kill anything that may be stagnant. However, she’s been saying that they didn’t check the right thing, and they’re trying to kill another black woman, or something like that. ( I so can’t stand my family. I CANNOT WAIT TO DISOWN THEM WITH A QUICKNESS. THEY ARE LIKE A POISON I CANNOT DRINK ENOUGH ANTIDOTE FOR.)

This weekend was harder than the other ones to get through for some reason. I don’t know why. Yesterday when I awoke, I thought about how I was given another day to live, another breath to breathe. But, god let me live another day for a reason, because I surely know that I’m not living in vain. It made me curious of my purpose on Earth, made me want to accomplish that purpose so I could take my place across the street. I believe it’s because I’m not enjoying my life, or don’t think I ever have, but I’m still holding out for that day or DAYS to come when I’ll enjoy my life. And my life will be more than fulfilling my purpose.

Cuz’ I’m not who I was, when I took my first step. And I’m clinging to the promise you’re not through with me yet. So if all of these trials bring me closer to you, then I will walk through the valley if you want me to.-Ginny Owens

I know I’m going to hit my mountain peak one day, and somehow I know that there is SOMETHING, SOMETHING, SOMETHING that I’m supposed to learn during my sad weekends. I just hope I’m able to see it through the tears.

STATCOUNTER SUNDAY

CAME FROM

1. Mr. E (That is to weird, "myster-y".OH GOD I have no life lol.)
2. Mr. Virgina Slim
3. Mr. Jamal Franklin
4. Mr. Daniel
5. Mr. Fred Smith

CITY & STATE

1. New York, New York
2. Bellevue, Nebraska
3. Portsmouth, England
4. Biloxi, Mississippi
5. Chicago, Illinois

I’m starting a new one where I show my favorite post of the week by another blogger.

Favorite Post of the week: Captain Cabinet's The Stars..... it was very touching. ( You won't cry, but it still is touching, and cute. LOL)

KEYWORD ANALYSIS:

"Right to disown your children in New Jersey". ( OH HELL NO.)

"Masturbate with lotion"

Umm.. I don’t see the fascination with jerking. I mean if you’re into that way, good for you. But there are innumerous ways to masturbate and I find jerking off too be very juvenile and it hurts if its done wrong and too many times. (LOL) I mean it’s cute when your starting off at 11, but can we experiment. (Again, I SOOO don’t have a life, but I’m doing good with Lent. YAYY ME.)


This week is going to be like CAREER WEEK, because I have some INTENSE testing all this week.

My blog I love you, kissy kiss kiss. Stop grabbing my ass, it’s lent. (LOL) ( I so don’t have a life. LOL)

-Marz

Bathtime Oasis

Bathtime was my oasis, my break from the world. It still is, with my head submerged beneath the hot water, some jazz playing in the background, and me just thinking about life. But this is about me at 5. I used to fill the bathtub up with tons of water, and all my toys. We were too poor to afford bubble bath, so lemon Joy or shampoo sufficed.

I don’t remember the month, but it was sunny and the bathroom was filled with light, and warmth. That didn’t keep me from using the hottest water available. Lost between toys and soap the world went away, and I entered my oasis. It was interrupted shortly by my father screaming, from my parents room, to hurry up and get out of the tub. Blinking back to reality I then heard the argument my parents were having, they always argued, so, this was nothing new. But this one had more elevated volumes than normal. I moved faster, but saw no purpose to rush myself.

I sunk a few more battleship, filled my rubber duckie a few more times. Squirted the water on me, diminishing the soap. I was always a clean child. Maybe twenty minutes later my silent haven was interrupted again with the contrasting volume. " MARCUS Get out that tub now!" I then heard the belt buckle from my father’s belt. I had been beat wet once before, NEVER AGAIN. ( Although I did get two more up until today.) I heard his footsteps approaching and I hurried up and got out, and ran into my room. I still had bubbles all over me, and was wondering when I could get back in. I went to ask him, but he seemed too busy, too preoccupied.

My room is next door to the bathroom on the left, the smallest room, and the room at the end of the hall. On the right side of the bathroom is my sister’s room. Her room is sort of concaved to the rest of the structure of the hallway, to allow room for the banister which leads to my parent’s room. I remember putting my towel on the bed, waiting for my chance to get the bubbles off of me. IT WOULD NEVER COME.

I remember my parents yelling more, YELLING LOUDER, LOUDER, LOUDER. I sat patiently on my bed, maybe gathering a coloring book. My mother walked down the hallway heavily and my father followed behind her into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him. "BAM". They started YELLING, and SCREAMING. Then I heard, " BOOM". I heard the sound of something hard hitting one of my parents, "Don’t be hitting me", one exclaimed. I remember panic filled me and I jumped off the bed. I heard fighting and scrambling, I heard something hitting the hollow side of the bathtub, and then I heard my mother drowning in the bathtub water. I thought about how I should’ve let out the water, but I had to run because I was about to get beat. " CRASH" ," BANG" Yells and screams, moans and war cries erupted destroying my oasis into a hell bitten warzone. Maybe it didn’t hold the same thing for everyone else. I remember jumping off my bed, and smacking the bubbles off my arms. They hit the carpet in my room, disintegrating into nothingness. I hurried grabbing some clothes, anything I could find. Standing in my doorway paralyzed, screaming, "JESUS MAKE IT STOP, JESUS MAKE IT STOP , MAKE IT STOP JESUS". And it stopped.


I heard heavy heaving through the thin wall of my room. Then the door swung inward, and then my mother limped out. Shadows darkened against the floor from the bright warm sun in the bathroom. Her face was red, her hair was messed up, and she turned her face from me. Walking towards the top of the steps with her limp, limp, limp. My father exited maybe thirty seconds later limping also. I remember my mother turning towards him nearing the top of the steps, and him approaching her, slowly. Then he lunged out and pushed her. I heard her, " Thud, Thud , Thud". Hitting each of the fourteen steps.


I was already standing in my doorway unable to move, but I ran towards the top of the steps. "Mommy are you okay?". My father turned towards me lunging out to hit me. His eyes had....a shame to them. Like he didn’t want me to see what had just happened, and he couldn't beat the image from my body. I caught a glimpse of my mother at the bottom of the steps contorted near the table at the bottom. But I saw her struggling to get up, so I knew she’d be alright. During my brisk travel to my room. I peeked into the bathroom, there was water all over the floor. And all my toys were scattered everywhere. I remember most vividly this black strappy shoe with the heel broken. I wondered, who used it as a weapon?


I remember my father running downstairs, but I was in my own place. I rememer my mother calling a cab, Giovanni I think the driver’s name was. She seemed to know him personally. I remember going downstairs and getting into the cab, and my sister was there. My father had given me a look when I left, he obvisouly wanted me to stay or something. It was that look he’d given before, like he messed up with me and wanted forgiveness but couldn’t ask for it. I sat in the car, and I kept asking my mother was she alright. "Mommy’s gonna be okay." I hugged her the whole short ride to my Grandmother Pastor’s house. There we stayed for a few hours.

My Grandmother’s house was very big, she owned two rowhomes which she tore down the wall between the two at certain points, adding a door. Her house was always so dark to me, it was like light never entered. Maybe it was the hunter green colors, maybe it was the excessiveness of stuff. From chandeliers to huge oak cabinets, that held small crystal things. She had this big piano which always had a music book open to a Mahalia Jackson song. But she never played well, because at church she would hit the same assortment of keys, "BOOM BOOM BIM". I walked through the living room through the beads that was like a curtain in an Indian palace, into the family room. I remember going into the kitchen and my mother was crying on my grandmother’s breast. As my grandmother said, "we southern women, we make it work". But Pop Pop wasn’t there, I wondered where he was.

Grandma always played TBN on her television. She said that anything else would allow demons into her house when she wasn’t watching, and TBN was the only channel that would allow God to remain. She watched other channels, but she left all her televisions on ALL DAY LONG. So she didn’t trust what racy show would come on after the news, or whatever she had just watched. I wanted to change the channel, but I didn’t feel like asking. But preaching was so boring. "Boy you need Jesus, go in there and watch that" she said when I finally asked.

We stayed there for a good few hours, I became bored. Then Pop Pop came in the door. "I ran to him, " Pop Pop". I hugged his leg, and he said, " Hey thar Mawcus. Whers yya momma?" ( He’s from Mississippi.) "In the kitchen, crying on Grandma." He laughed and told me to be good, and I sat down and watched TBN, because that’s what good children did. THEY GOT JESUS. From what I overheard, my father may have been on a roof or not, and my grandfather talked to him about the whole ordeal. And said some "manly" things to him, that he wouldn’t declassify. ( I wonder what they were. Too bad he isn’t here to say them to me. ) But I turned back to the preacher screaming and hollering.

After being there a little while longer, it was time to leave. I gave Grandma Pastor a hug and kiss, and went and got in Pop Pop’s car. We drove up to the house, and Pop Pop whispered something into mommy’s ear. I was used to be being abused so the morning’s occurences had seemed to fade away, sort of. The door was opened to the house and I ran in. Through the arches in to the dining room, through the entrance to the breakfast room, and then through the porthole to the kitchen. I was looking for food. ( Just like a man. LOL) There I saw my father bent over with his head in the oven. I ran back into the living room screaming, "Mommy, daddy has his head in the oven." There was so much innocence in my voice, so much naivete. I had no idea that my father was trying to inhale enough gas to knock himself out, to eventually kill himself. "Your father’s head is in the oven?" she asked skeptically." "Come on," I took her into the kitchen, and again I was pushed away. I don’t really remember what happened after that, because I think I was told to go to my room. But the decision made was that my father had to go to counseling.


6 MONTHS APART

My father was to live with his mother, and attend marriage counseling for 6 months. So my parents were legally seperated. I didn’t know anything about seperation as I do now. Like how it’s that deciding period whether you want to stay married to that person or not. Or how it’s to show, when you go to apply for divorce papers, that you are sufficient enough to provide for yourself. All I knew was that daddy wasn’t there for six months.


One night, I awoke, and heard my mother crying. I ran to her room and asked if she was okay. She said she would be, I could tell she was lying. I got into the bed, filling my father’s right side of the bed hugging my mother, and that would be my bed spot for the next couple months. I remember feeling this sense of....maturity. Growing up in an instance to be that man for my mother, because daddy wasn’t there. I had begun to help her with small things all around the place that needed done. I remember my sister kept asking, "When is daddy coming home?" I would always try and hush her, it was taxing on mommy. But sometimes also I asked, but it was different because I'm ME. It was funny, because whenever we did visit my father he always made me mad, and I wished I was back home. I kept thinking, "Why do I want to see you, what is wrong with me?" Because he still got on my last nerves. But when I got home, after I got through the new thing he did to me, I would start wondering how long it would be until he came back. I deduced it down to I longed for that stability. The stability of your parents being together, of seeing them hug, kiss, argue, whatever. And without that, I was just any other child.
Of course he came back to the house, I don’t remember his reinstating into the house. I remember my sister and I had to go back to our own beds. But I truly can’t remember. Bathtime is stilll my oasis though, although sometimes it’s weird. Seeing as I’m in the same bathtub but I’m older.

SELF REFLECTION

Where do I begin?

As you can see, I grew up in a house where domestic violence could’ve taken a seat at the dining room table. Although that was the last fight my parents would have, physically, for a while ( a couple years something happened. Them fighting wasn’t a normal occurence.). I was receiving beatings like clockwork. I was physically abused by my father since about three, it stopped around 8. ( Due to some occurrences that will come later.)( Physical abuse means, asswhippings, punches, stuff like that. Nothing sexual. His mental abuse was so INSANE.) But then it came back in huge blow-ups. This is why domestic violence is one of the things so close to my heart. I grew up in it, and there are TOO many people in this day and age still living their life like that. And I’m sure that some of my readers may have some stories that are similar or outstretch this one. ( Because I have TONS. ) It’s rough having to tell your sister at like 10 if daddy hits mommy to call the police, tel them that, "Your black daddy is hitting your biracial mommy," ( We had to get the cops in the hood someway.) and come running with a crowbar. Because I had the baseball bat already.


A LOT of my childhood is blocked out, that is why I can’t remember certain things about this story. I’ll remember something really vividly, then it will move on and go blank. It’s sad becauseI’ve blocked out good and bad, so I can’t remember huge chunks of my childhood. I guess that’s good because it was more bad than good.

This made me afraid of falling down the steps. It’s a very stupid fear, I know. But I still have a fear of it. I mean of course I have to walk down steps, but my hand is always slightly hovering over the railing, so I can catch myself if I accidently stumble. Or when I’m going up really steep steps I’ll always say," these steps are really steep". I tried to get over it once, by fake throwing myself down some steps. But throwing yourself down one steps won’t do it. I remember once this boy in middle school pushed me while we were near the steps, and I freaked out. I started crying and almost threw a fit. This also brought about some other fears. I sometimes have a fear that I’l become an abuser, I mean of course I don’t have to, and probably never will. But it always looms in my mind.

Being there for my mother instilled one of the qualities that I ALWAYS have to have. I’m always the calm one, the rock, but the rock needs someone to rest upon at times too. But everyone wants to rest upon the rock. I always have to be the calm one, the one to bring down everyone else’s emotions. I mean, when the roof collapsed I wanted to scream. But I had to be the one to calm everyone down. When my mother got the butcher knife out the kitchen came upstairs locked herself in the room with my father and screamed, "You had better get yourself a weapon, cuz we gon fight. And only one of us is walking out of here alive". I had the be the one to beat down the door, and yell at her,"You need to pray, because you are full of the devil tonight." I feel like if I freak out, so will they. Whenever something happens although they may be yelling and crying, they always have their eye on me as some weird sense of comfort. I may say whatever about Christians, but JESUS has been my ONLY place to rest my soul from keeping others sane, and myself. (LAWd knows I should've had a nervous breakdown at like 6.)

I write these self revelations to help myself cope, deal, receive closure over my childhood. Because I believe that teenagehood is the time to deal with childhood baggage. Because when I become a man, I’m going to put away childish things, and childhood issues are childish things.

I know that my grandfather was very abusive to my Grandmother with breast cancer and my father, so that taught my father his "women handling skills". And there are people today who still tell people to hit their mates to keep them in line. I don’t wish to write what I would do if my man ever hit me. But, I surely wouldn't react like Mitch in the first B-Boy Blues. It would be somewhere on the lines of Darryl in Passion Marks. (Yall need to get up on your gay fiction LOL.)

But through it all I thank GOD.

Mommy could’ve drowned, Mommy could’ve died falling down the steps. I could’ve been older and called the police. Daddy could’ve killed himself. There are so many other scenarios that could’ve taken place that didn’t, and for those not taking place I thank God. Now of course I didn’t want this one to happen. But it did. I can’t change the past, I can only move forward with my life.

With moving forward I had to forgive my parents, now it may seem like daddy was all whatever. But I KNOW my mother, so she may have had a hand in it. But from knowing how my father was with me, I accused him of being the culprit. I DON'T KNOW. I can't remember, but I had to forgive them for acting in that manner around me at that age. I don't even know what I was forgiving them of, but I did.

One thing I don't like, is how my parents sometimes act like it didn't happen. But they like look down on people who are in situations like they were in. NOw I know it wouldn't be smart to rehash the past, but they sometimes act as if they have this perfect marriage, when THAT IS NOT THE CASE. But then again they're the ones with the 20 year relationship, and I haven't had one for a day. ( Yet. LOL)

Doesn't my story sound a lil' reminiscent of Mr. Perry, and a little like Mr. Harris. ( I have to finish reading his autobiography, but I was loving what I read.)


I urge anyone in anything close to an abusive relationship to LEAVE. Sometimes I sit around and see the kids in my school. How the boys playfully smack the girls in the face, and they go to hit him back and he smacks her harder. "He he he, Stop." I think people fail to see signs from the get go. If one calls themselves hitting you and they’re "playing," which means they are receiving "joy," from hitting you. Imagine that person angry. I hope myself to never enter into an abusive relationship with a man, because he would have to die. I will not allow it. Play tap me, and I’ll get really serious, "I don’t play like that". You have to breed good habits in relationships, and I don’t see that happening with today’s girls or boys. Because many don’t want to realize that boys get beat up too. Also i think people should SLOW DOWN in relationships, everyone is so quick to move, to get somewhere TO have that person declare their love for them, to put their leg out for them to fall in love with them. And if my mother wasn't tied down by marriage and children I know she would've left. IF she would've taken more time out, she could've rid herself of bad habits, and searched my father a lil more thoroughly. I believe that if LOVE is LOVE it will last a waiting period. SLOW DOWN trying to move in with someone you just met. TURN ON John Legend's, "Ordinary People." (LOL)




I wrote sometimes ago about one of the programs that I am in, and our social issue is domestic violence. I don’t know how much I can say about it. But there is no love worth dying over, although many say there is, I don’t believe there is, especially that way. I don’t know.

Please with your comments don’t go bashing my parents, for bashing each other. (LOL) I'm over it, this is just a release of what I'm over. To no longer hold the scab covering a pain that's healed.

Here are some facts for those who want more information.



But, I’m SOOOOO on edge about posting this, but someone should, could, will get help from this. MAYBE WHO KNOWS?

I plan to have one of these self-revelations/closure obtainings/ scab releases every third Friday. While thinking over topics, I have SOOO many to just fill this year. It's funny how we think we've gotten over something, until those emotions are stirred back up. But like with other self-revelations the Publish Post Button always seems to help release. I WILL RECEIVE CLOSURE, SO I CAN OPEN THE PAGE TO MY ADULTHOOD WITH NO HASSLES.



HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND.

( I feel like I have to end this one all happy. LOL)



-Marz

ANNOUNCEMENT

All yall New Yorkers, and people around the area need to go to Clay's play tomorrow night. Don't be all up in the club trying to find some man to feel your hole, or someone to bump against. Go to the play, get some culture in your life. Bring the man the 6 dollars, don't be dirty and cheap. You'd want someone to support you, and you never know when you need to reap from your sowing period. BE THERE LGBT Center on 208 West 13th Street in New York City, New York.

Another self revelation tomorrow.



-Marz

Name Games

This post is to address me and my MANY names. Alright so were do I begin? I guess with my real name. My name is Marcus xfdhfjhgfhj. ( Yall don’t need my full governmental, yall ain’t CIA and if you are you can look it up yourself. )


Marz- This comes from my real name Marcus. The Roman surname of John Mark who was missionary companion to Peter and Paul and writer of one of the four Gospel accounts of the life of Jesus. Ancient Roman god of war and protector of Rome, second only to Jupiter in importance. Of Mars; the god of war. Also, back when I was a hip-hopper, my group- was going to have this dance something. I was saying to my leader how I didn't want Marcus on my headband, because my name is so attrocious. She jokingly says, " what you want mark, Mars or something". And Mars just stuck, but the s is SOOOO WEAK. So I put a z in it. So it's not only because I consider myself a warrior, or the god of war. ( either or) But because I'm unique, original and unlike anyone on Earth. I'M A MARTIAN. I live in my own world too, that no one can ever enter, unless they find a way to get inside my head. There are so many reasons for that name, but overall it's my artist name.

But I want to change Marcus to something STRONG, AND AFRICAN. I wanted to change it to SAHARI. But my mother is all, " look up what that means, name have meanings and I think that name means valley of death. What is that saying about you, that you're a valley of death? NAH UNHH You aren't changing your name." WHATEVER. My name will be Sahari laronz Shemar Kareem abdul. (That muslim ass name.) (No offense to muslims, but that is somewhat extremely muslim.)


Some of yall may have received an email from me and it says Michael Garvey. Only E got it, because he is just excellent with his skills. When I started my e-mail address, at 12, my friend told me if you use your real name the government will track you down and make you pay. Since my parents didn’t know I was signing up for an email address, I ha to pick a name. Michael comes from my gay uncle that died of AIDS, that sometimes I wished I’d met. And Garvery comes from Marcus Garvey.

Marcus Garvey-
In 1914 he founded the Universal Negro Improvement Assn.; after moving to the U.S. in 1916, he established branches in New York's Harlem and other ghettos in the North. By 1919 the rising "Black Moses" claimed a following of about 2 million, to whom he spoke of a "new Negro," proud of being black. His newspaper, Negro World (1919-33), advocated an independent black economy within the framework of white capitalism, and he established black-run businesses, including the Black Star shipping line. In 1920 he convened an international convention to unify blacks and encourage trade between Africa and the U.S. His influence declined rapidly when he was indicted in 1922 for mail fraud. After he had served two years in prison, his sentence was commuted and he was deported (1927). His movement, the first important black-nationalist movement in the U.S., soon died out.

************************************************************************************




Yesterday's questions.


They were random it's because I dind't feel like writing, and I had to finish my Princeton stuff, which is out in the mail. YAYYY ME.

My answers



1. I think tongue rings have a meaning depending on how you are with it. For instance, if you just have a tongue ring then whatever. But those people who are all, " I have a tongue ring", and they constantly have a lollipop in their mouth, and a fellatio shirt on. THEN IT MEANS SOMETHING THERE.

2. UMM.. this came from the fact that I gave up masturbation for lent. So I'm kind of tripping out. ( Can you switch your Lent thing in the middle of lent.) Anyways, beccause there is this scripture talking about picking lustful pleasures over God or something. WHO KNOWS. Personally, God gave us a body, and we have some serious body parts like the heart and lungs and all. You know don't drink tubs of butter, don't smoke and all, because your heart and lungs are serious. But then we have our fun body parts, that can bring so much JOY. ( LOVELY HAPPY JOY.) The longest I ever went was like four months.

3. And Barack is sexy. Yall all into the body with them Tyrese type things. UMMM what school did he graduate from????? I mean it's nice to have a nice body and all. But can I have someone to have a good conversation with. BARACK IS A SEXY MAN, and more than because he has a brain.


Today I'm just kind of sleepy and my whore moans are running wild. But they are on the sensual side today. I want to hold hands with someone whose hands aren't ashy. And then rub some Blistex on his lips, and then have this long kiss. With our tongues rubbing over each other, and hard nipples protruding through shirts stabbing the other like knives. And then just itting at a table and staring into his eyes. But I can't just go around kissing boys. That's how you catch mono. Plus, because I've waited so long to kiss someone, my first kiss has to be special and whatever. ( BLAH BLAH BLAH).


I swear that I could touch the sluttiest person alive and they'd become a virgin. But whatever. I wish I was mature enough to be in a relationship and whatever, but I'm not.


VIRGINITIES GIVEN HERE.

Alright I touched the HERE, and if you do You're officially a virgin again. YAYYYYYY. (All yall gonna comment, " Why would I want to do that?" Whatever LOL.)



I'm SOOOOO sleepy, and sensual. Whatever.




-Marz

Quick Questions

Do tongue rings mean anything? If so, What do they mean?


Is masturbation, and pre-marital saem sex a sin?






Is it just me or is Barack Obama extra sexy?








Did anyone know that the company rebuilding the exploded buildings in iraq belong to Dick Cheney? ( Oh yeah.) Can anyone imagine how much money hell be making off of that? Let's imagine if we had a president or vide president that cared enough to put that effort to New Orleans, of the new tornado struck cities.............HMMMMM.


I'm dying to hear from you.



-Marz

RENT owes me a cry.

525,600 minutes.

I remember the first time I saw the commercial for RENT. I was angry and just had been arguing for a good hour with my mother. It came on after we had finished, and I heard the main song, and it's like everything stopped. I saw all the dancing, and said ,"What movie is this?", after the title came up, I thought,"I have to see that". (Also that I was like extra gay somehow sensing all the homosexuality spewing from that movie. LOL) I didn't see it in theatres, but my sister got addicted to the main song, so she badgered my mother into getting it. I don't know why my mother did, I guess she doesn't know what the movie was about. Truthfully, I didn't either. But everyone said that they cried watching it, and somone told me to get the Kleenex box because I was going to cry. I had it in my lap along with my dinner, and I didn't cry. It opened with the 525,600 minutes song, and I was all braced to cry. Had my face in the position and whatever, thinking, " OMg this movie is going to make me cry so hard, I need a good cry". But then it started, and at first it was really hype, then it scared me to go to New York.


I think the movie was alright, maybe it bordered on that line of too many songs. I liked the Light the candle song, and Glory the most. But I didn't find it to be sad. I mean ( don't read past here if you didn't see it..) the deaths were supposed to be sad. But death isn't sad to me, EVERYONE IS GOING TO DIE. I'm going to die, you reading are going to die, my parents, everyone in the world is going to die. Whether the world ends, or spins into eternity, we're all going to die. Besides, if we use logic while watching, a movie where all but one character has AIDS, I mean I guess I expected someone to die. So it was just something I saw coming. Plus I sort of experienced what happened in the movie.


My grandfather died from diabties. I watched him rot, and have one leg cut off to the knee. Then the other leg cut off to the knee. I remember watching him get an insulin shot, and my father calling us (my family) fat and saying " you see your grandfather, you want to be like that, taking needles. Don't they look like they hurt?" I wanted to answer," I'm sure he can take an insulin needle rather easily, seeing as he was a heroine addict". After his autopsy, it was concluded that the AIDS he may have had may have sped up the diabeties. WHERE DID HE CATCH THE AIDS? From his needles. SO I guess living through something, and then watching it on tv is,"real life becoming more like fiction each day". ( I know that's not a direct quote.)


But I liked the overall themes, to live life to the fullest. And, with God's help, I WILL NEVER do drugs, and have safe sex. ( how many people just rolled their eyes? LOL) I liked that song they sung that talks about the ideals of the Village. They made it sound really interesting, almost booked myself a trip. But I don't like how they were living in poverty trying to make it as an artist. I don't think I have that drive to be an artist. Everyone says I have this,"artisitic flair," I don't see it. But whatever.

BUt the movie is not going to go over well by my mother. It is only going to further push down some seeds about homosexuality. For instance, my parents ( and everyone) claims that homosexuals are confused because in each same-sex relationship there is a man and woman. ( dominant and submissive figure.) ( I actually have an angry post coming about this, but I have to be in the right state of lividness. ) I don't know.

FAMILY ISSUES.


WEll my family has been acting crazy because of the surgery. My grandmother is playing mind games with her children, by treating my mother better than them. Therefore, they are getting jealous of my mother, and trying to treat her bad, and get their mother's attention/approval. HOW OLD ARE YOU TRYING TO GET THE APPROVAL OF YOUR MOTHER? I'm so glad I gave up on that so long ago. Only God and I need to approve of me.


My Aunt has been saying all this stuff to my mother that sounds so 60's. When she heard that my father didn't eat breakfast she asked my mother, "Why didn't he eat?" I would've said, " because he didn't make his damn food, heifer". But my mother is all nice. And the other day she called and wanted to speak to my father, "I don't know where he is right now, but I'll tell him you called," was my mother's answer. My father came home screaming,"When you say that in my family, it means that I'm out there with another woman."


" If you have the audacity to cheat on me with another woman, then you need to tell me so I can move on". I LOVE MY MOTHER SO MUCH, AND I HOPE TO HAVE HER SPIRIT TRIPLED WHEN DEALING WITH MEN.

My grandmother has been saying random things about my aunt and my youngest cousin. " Did you hear the boy, he says he isn't black." my mother replies," he's five, he thinks black like the color of a crayon. His skin isn't the color of a crayon."

I can't wait to disown my family, they are so annoying.




TEARDROPS TO Fabulous Cousin. BYE GURL.


P.S. I actually finished my Princeton thing. YAYYYY!



-Marz

Few Words&Statcounter Sunday

I had something to write about, but I’ll save it for next week. There are some issues happening on the home front that I think I’ll go into tomorrow. But today I’m trying to finish these Princeton essays. I’m not feeling too good about them, and my mother is all," THEY ARE EXCELLENT". But of course I don’t believe her because she isn’t a literature critic, and she’s my mother.
Nothing really happened today in church. OH WAIT. So the woman who doesn’t like my family, and her daughter called the pastor and told him that I was gay, she was there last week. Nothing happened. But the pastor had been acting shady towards me. He wasn’t shaking my hand, and whatever. And I think he found my blog, he had been saying some stuff that made me think he knew. But today he shook my hand, so I guess he doesn’t. I wonder if he does read, and he tipped my parents off. And instead of them being themselves for once in their lives they are reading and not saying anything to me. That way they can find out about me. But I doubt that. WHO KNOWS?
OH yeah and the mother of the church, who is SO FLY, walked up to me after church. " Baby when you came in the church, you were walking like you had the authority of the Holy Ghost". I didn’t know how that walked looked like, but she said that I had it. I thanked her, and walked on. SHE IS JUST SO FLY.
OMG. Why did I go on this HUMONGOUS blog binge last night. It was so crazy.

STATCOUNTER SUNDAY


Came from:

1. D-Place (YES YOU!)
2. Don't Oppress Me (Thanks for the add. I loved that Tina impersonation. That movie is tooo funny. Especially when she runs across the highway in heels. LOL)
3. Heiress Diaries ( She's leaving tomorrw. Teardrops.)
4. Charles X
5. Bobby Brown






City&State
1.Kingston, Jamaica
2. Sydeney, Australia ( I want to go there SO BAD.)
3. Los Angeles, California
4. West New York, New Jersey (WHAT THE HELL? lol)
5. New Delhi, India




-Marz

Whatever

Today doesn't feel too good. I don't know, maybe I'm getting ready mentally for another weekend of being Rapunzel. Hopefully I can finish my stuff. I don't think I will though.

Surgery Day

So today is the surgery for my grandmoher. She is going to be having the cancer removed from her breast. Then she will be going to her home. My parents are undecided about staying with her or whatever. My father wants to stay, but he wouldn't want to redo the bandages on her breast. My mother doesn't have the willpower to stay with my grandmother too long.

Sidebar: Speaking of being left home. Yesterday my parents go shopping and I'm typing up two essays. I smell fire from upstairs, I run upstairs and start yelling to my sister,"What are you burning?" "I'm not burning anything, I just opened the window." HEIFER THIS IS NOT THE SUMMERTIME WHERE THEY BURN STUFF AND THE HOUSE WOULD START SMELLING LIKE A BLACK AND MILD OVERDONE. She then started moving around her room, and knocking stuff down. I wanted to smack her upside the head. If you're going to lie, do it right. Second of all, I AM NOT THE ONE to lie to. I know how to lie SO MUCH BETTER, and I raised your ass. I know she was doing stuff. "I opened the window," almost burned down the house lighting low candles. IF YOURE GOING TO DO THAT MESS MAKE SURE YOU KILL YOU AND BURN DOWN YOUR ROOM, BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE ON THE STREET BECAUSE OF YOUR FOOLISHNESS. I definitely would've been blamed, and you want to lock the damn door along with burning stuff. End Sidebar.

I've been thinking about what if she dies. How would I react? I don't know. I think I'll go into it all with indifference, and not really ( I don't want to say care) but put to much feeling to it. I deal with death really well, but even with death I usually have some sort of.... I don't know. But like when my grandfather died, I really didn't care. I sat at his funeral and laughed at certain points in it. ( It was a mess, my father preached his eulogy to get closure. The references he made to me in his speech, about how we love each other so much. STOP BEING FAKE.) ( Although that was back then, and I'm over my father issues ( for the best part.)) I don't know, I guess over the years I have drawn away from her.


Growing up she wanted to be the perfect grandmother, and do all the things she wished her grandmother would've done with her. I remember her making sock puppets, baking cakes, and having me over every weekend as a child. But her color complex didn't allow her to enjoy having a granddaughter. My mother wouldn't allow her sort of segregational treatment of us, so she sort of took us away. ( After one occurnce she told my father, " Either you choose her or me, and I got something your mother can't give you". GOOD TIMES GOOD TIMES.) I remember G-mom calling mommy a, "yellow bitch", and how I cried because grandma talked about my mother in that manner. I remember I wanted to tell mommy, but I couldn't curse. And when I finally did say it, after my father told me not to, how he kicked my ass that week as payback.

I also remember the time when my grandmother threw us out her house and started screaming, "I hate you all. I hate you all. Except you Marcus baby, Grandmaw loves you. I hope your daughter gets raped." I remember getting in the car wondering what getting, "raked" was. I assumed it was somebody taking a rake and scratching someone. ( I was 6 at the time , and this was the event that displaced her from my family for a good five years.)

I mean I love my grandmother, but I don't really have any feelings towards whether she dies or not.(Is that wrong?) Because love isn't like, and I guess that people reflect over the like for people at funerals. I would try to think of the good times, but I don't know. I think they are outweighed too much.But the thing is, none of the bad times were towards me. But I feel the brunt of what her actions had on my sister, mother, and father.

I sometimes blame her for the way she raised my father, along with her crazy ass husband. Had she not raised him so insane, I wouldn't have received an inadequate person as a father. (He's better now.) But then I think about she was raised and how I can't really blame her. Many people blame their parents for their screwed up upraising, but they are just raising us according to or unaccording to how they were raised. ( For the rebellious kids. ) But then in thinking about how my grandparents raised my parents. It was not only a mixture of their horrible parenting skills, but other factors like the times, and social acceptance of certain things.

I mean, I don't want my grandmother to die, but it is a possibility that she could. I guess I just think of things in full effect, instead of the optimistic,"she'll be fine and get healthy". (The woman still smokes even after her diagnosis with breast cancer.) I don't know. This post was supposed to not have comments, but this computer is messed up, so please don't comment. I'll find out later what happens with Grandma later, along with TOP MODEL.




-Marz

Junior Prom 2

The other day I remembered that I payed the deposit for the junior prom, so that means I have to go to it. I need to get on buying my stuff because my parentrs want to mess around. Now junior prom isn’t important to me AT ALL. I am just going to take pictures of the girls (and boys) that look a HOT mess. Those who thought their outfit would fit, and tried to lose some weight to look great in it, and they pop out. To see the boys playing young pimp wearing purple and burgundy suits. I am going to have my digital camera in one hand, and my normal camera in the other. My counselor keeps saying to me, "I am going to love the prom this year, because you’re going to be there, and will keep me laughing." Referring to how I’ll make fun of the other people. I AM NOT THAT BAD. But I KNOW for a fact that the people in my graduating class are going to look a hot mess.




For my shoes I want a pair of Kenneth Coles. ( AWW. Look at me becoming a real gay man, buying my first pair of KC’s. LOL) I LOVE shoes where the toes are boxed in the front so I’ll have to look out for those. The suit I think I’ll go plain and get a navy blue double-breasted suit, with a maybe royal blue pocket square. ( I don’t know what interior color I want though.) But I can’t look bad. Whatever suit I get I’m wearing it to Easter, because junior prom isn’t that important. But I’ll get it tailored before I go to the prom so it’s just right.

DATES

My parents are so hype about me not having a date, and how I should get one, and BLAH BLAH BLAH. My dad is so old with his eighties lingo, "my son is not going stag. If you go by yourself, I’m not letting you go at all". AM I A DEER? My mother is constantly overhearing people’s thoughts of how they missed their prom. In church the other day the lady who is my sister’s fake mentor said she missed hers. " Marcus would you like to go with her?" HELL NO. Junior prom can be attended alone. I think my parents are so hype about me having a date because their prom was their first date. ( it’s so weird because the pictures on the mantel have them on the prom together, than their first marraige pictures a few years later, than the renewal of their vowels ten years later. )

Now senior prom, I’ll have to find someone, and I’ll maybe take my hag. (But Kiki is too short and it’ll look funny. I HATE seeing those pictures of those 7 feet tall boys with those 5 feet boys, and vice versa. Also, she doesn’t seem like the type to WORK a pair of shoes, or a hot dress. DAMNIT LOL) IT"LL BE SO MUCH FUN. Because my date will explain a color and I’ll remember, and we can get manicures and pedicures together. And I’ll be there when she gets her makeup done at Lord&Taylor. (LOL Where all the girls go. LOL) Straight girls who read my blog, if you want your prom to be hot, get a gay date and have your boyfriend positioned at the prom to take you to the hotel afterwards.. But then I think about her dad/brother/ crazy jailhouse boyfriend threatening to kill me if I try to get inside the cookie jar. I LIKE BISCUITS BABY, NOT COOKIES, BISCUITS. (LOL)

But I mean what am I going to do at the prom? I think first I’ll stand in the corner with some people and throw shade and say, " look at that heifer, I hope her titties don’t pop out. What the hell was she thinking? Does anyone have and scotch tape?" Then one of the girls who are infatuated with me ( I don’t know why) and I can dance. But everyone does that sex with clothes on dancing now. UMMM Unless you are a boy trying to dance like that back down. ( because back up sends the wrong message. LOL) Slow dancing is going to be fun, if the girl knows how to do it right. There is nothing worse than a slow dance when the girl just allows you to spin her around in a circle. CAN WE MOVE AROUND THE FLOOR. And especially since I won’t be trying to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, or grab her behind, I’ll get so BORED. ( "sweet nothings, sweet nothings" LOL) No one eats at the prom, and I dare someone to try and spill some punch on me. Really I don’t know, because I don’t hang with the boys, so I’ll be with most of the girls all night. ( I wish some of the boys in my school would come out, and stop being so shady.) And some of my coool straight friends are transferring out. (AWW)


My parents are also on that, "let’s have a send-off". NO! NO! NO! I want it to be low key, and discreet. (Like an HIV test, PEOPLE GET TESTED, DON’T BE OUT THERE INFECTED THE WORLD AS YOU TRY TO WIN WORLD’S BIGGEST WHORE IN THE NEXT GUINESS.) I told my mother I want to take a cab, and she said, " no I’m driving you". ( I’d so rather take a cab with the way her car looks. LOL) But it should be fun, and I’ll have pictures up in May on them. But as we know from my last photo shoot, I’ll have to tie it in to some world affair. I’m going to look so ( dare I say it) SEXY in a suit. And no one has seen me in one at my school. They’ve seen me in shoes, or maybe some "eat me ass" pants, but a suit, GORGEOUS. ( I need to start working on my poses for the night. I also think I want to get a TAD bit of concealer. I mean there is nothing wrong with me wearing a LIL’ makeup. I won’t be using the whole jar like the girls will. HMM I’ll have to look into that. Get my face to be one color. LOL)

I’ve really been thinking about a male date for senior prom. It would take SOOOO much planning to get it done with. Because he couldn’t be at the send off, so somewhere in between leaving my house with the girl, and the prom I’d have to get him. But then what about my girl date? I told Kiki and she was extra hype,"Gyea you couldn’t do it, because the news would be there,"like I’m the first person EVER to take a boy to the prom. ( I so have to clue her in to the community. LOL) It’d be fun to go to the gay prom they have in Philly, but please with my parents. (OMG THEY ARE SO GOING TO GIVE ME A SEX TALK THE NIGHT OF. LOLOLOLOLOL.) But who has sex on prom night anymore, that is sooooo eighties movie. "Oh Billy it’s prom night, let’s have SEX." "You mean it Mary Sue, you really mean it?" "Why do you think I wanted to go to the prom with you, so you could take my virginity, soft and gentle like you did Caitlin’s". (LOL MESS.) I could see the pople who are already a couple, but those other people who are like, " it’s prom thatr means I HAVE to have sex". ( That’s how some of the senior class got knocked up last year, also because they forgot the Trojan man while messing around with BOYS.)( who got that wordplay?)



But again as I’ve said, he would have to be my height, and not cuter than me, but cuter than the other boys there. ( HMM, but I’m cute, so if he’s sexy than I guess we could work it out.) It won’t happen though, but it’s nice to dream. I would totally be the talk of the prom. "No Marcus did not bring a boy". I feel bad for some of the lesbians at my school who don’t go because they don’t want to get a wrap, wear heels, and gussy up. The rest of them don't care and already have wraps, and dresses picked out.

I’m off.


P.S. Grandma’s surgery is tomorrow. The heart surgery wasn’t needed because she was just dehydrated. She’ll make it through, like she did the last 199. ( I wonder how many of the last 199 she truly needed. With her fake disease escapades every so often. LOL)


P.S.P.S. My lesbian lover LALA, and I have sort of split. She has this new girl that she brought to the realization of her sexuality so she could be her new girlfriend. I’m happy for her, and I’ve moved on. ( Wait. Can one move on, if they are where they were, before they moved on the first time? ) It just isn’t for a gay male and female to be in a relationship. IT WAS SO WRONG IT WAS RIGHT. But I guess we had no future, for I like Popeyes, while you like Betty Crocker. ( Biscuits, and cookies. LOL)


Enjoy the pictures. I have more but blogger wouldn't let me put them all.


-Marz

Barely Functioning

I'm barely functioning of of the two hours of sleep I received last night/ this morning.


I need a vice to deal with all the stress I'm under. Three essays, and two major tests before the hump of the week. ( Wednesday) I need to pick SOMETHING, you know, drugs, sex, planning the murder of George Bush.


Until then I have to go on to my next class.

(LAWD I STILL HAVE TO WORK .)



-Marz

WEEKEND HATER

The weekends are always a hard time for me mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and socially.


I have some stuff to say about church today, but I'm too tired to. I have some other schoolwork to finish so let's just get to Statcounter Sunday, so I can get done with this especially horrendous weekend. (To start another week of toil.)


Well of least I have arms.


STATCOUNTER SUNDAY

City&State
1. Brooklyn, New York
2.London, England
3. Cleveland, Ohio
4. Huntsville, Alabama
5. Canby, Oregon






Keyword Analysis : Teenage years





Came From
1. Bobby Brown Jr.
2. D-Place
3. Jamal K. Franklin
4. Charles X
5. Virgina Slim



Most Read Day: Thursday






-Marz

NO SCHOOL BABY!

The school's are closed because the teachers have to meet to learn how to make us students into better mind slaves; open to be raped to the information ejaculated into our brains. I had EIGHT tests this week in almost every subject, not including the tests in my college class before the midterm.

I should rest today, but I have so much to do. I have to write three essays for school. I have to study for two major tests waiting early next week. My parents got back to me, and finally something good comes from being poor. I qualify for the summer Princeton journalism program that is free. I hope my grades are good enough. I have to write a response to an article that has impacted me recently. ( I’m doing this Newsweek article that says boys are getting dumber, while girls are getting smarter. DUH of course. I believe that it’s those few days of menstruation that keep men in things. The women get out of whack and need to rest and eat chocolate brownies infused with ibuprofen, and men get to be mobile for those days. I’m so ready for Ms. Clinton to be in office. I am such a feminist.) I have to show off my journalism skills by writing a piece. I’m deciding between the new Stop Snitching craze that’s hit Philly. (They are selling these shirts that advocate not sharing information in crimes, which is helping in the rising crime rates on Philly.) Or the people who smoke cigarettes underground when it’s illegal, and there are posters posted. But I’m kind of shaky about asking people why they smoke when it’s illegal. Because my blog will magically end.... ( Get me? LOL)

The last piece is why I want to be a journalist. ( I don’t , but they don’t have to know that. Ooops what if they read this. LOL) it’s kind of weird, because I have things that are so close to my heart in morals and things I fight for, and my parents have no clue, and they can’t get a clue. For instance gay rights, debasing Bush, and just other things they oppose. I also need to write an article for my online newspaper. I’m mad they didn’t post my article on how to put on a condom. THERE ARE SO MANY TEENAGERS THAT DON’T KNOW HOW, AND ESPECIALLY THE GIRLS. "Why do we need to know how to do this?" Well, it’s going into your vagina, not his. ( hopefully LOL) And we all know it’s the big dicked ones who will leave you knocked up in their search for a tighter hole. And honey yours is stretched out, because Raheim has 14x5 inches BOO BOO. (LOL. Yes people MARZ has returned. LOL) ( Sorry for the generalizations. BIG DICKED MEN LOVE RAISING CHILDREN THE SAME WAY LITTLE DICKED MEN DO. LOL)

MY WRITING

Recently I have been getting a lot of emails about the Day I Pre-Came Out. And they are like WOW. I forgot what I wrote, and had to go back last night. I LAUGHED READING IT! I don’t know, I guess because it’s my life. But when I read it, I read it objectively. ( It really was objective because I forgot what I wrote. LOL) The comments I get are REALLY NICE. I mean some of yall just throw words out there, and I’m like, "WHOA honey. You can hold onto that one". I don’t know, maybe I have a problem with being congratulated and celebrated. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel as though it’s as good as others make it out to be. I don’t know. But I’m waiting for the day that a young gay person reads my post and writes me, and I get misty. And I’m sorry for the people I make cry reading my stuff. ( Please don’t sue me for pain and suffering. LOL) But in all reality, that story is NOTHING AT ALL, compared to some stuff I have yet to write. Hate to say it but, YALL STILL FLOATING IN SPACE. You’ve yet to reach even my atmosphere. My next self revelation will be dropping two weeks from today. ( it’s going to be interesting to write out, and that’s to say the least.) I’ve HAD a life, and I still have one to live, and many may feel as though I haven’t but that’s up to speculation. Have fun speculating though, I have to keep on moving. Mail me the results. Be here in two weeks folks.


I would like to thank my readers, because yall are a very interesting group of people. Some of yall almost cashed in frequent flyer miles because I said I was a cutter. I’m saving that post for May. But I didn’t cut myself, although It seemed like everyone was trying to get me to do it. I was in class and one boys pen hit my skin the right (or wrong) way and I was like. " GET IT AWAY NOW." in my head. It’s not something I deal with everyday. I said it was a habit the other day, like it was biting my nails. But it’s a coping mechanism. A way to cope when my life has hit DOWN. And truly I was DOWN. But I’m glad I didn’t go back.


Also, I realize that some of yall may want to speak to me. I CAN’T DO PHONES. ( I don’t do them anyway. Although I have to call Pride today because she threatened me. LOL) Add me to your yim at: phillee_kid or aim at: teenmarz215. I’m tired of yim and the fact you have to wait for someone to add you to their list before you can talk. One of my closest friends just added me, and she has to wait for my permission to IM me. THAT’S FOOLISHNESS. (But it's interesting when you see others profiles and they have like a secret porn collection in their phto bin. SCORE! LOL YEAH BABY YEAH)

BLOGROLL

So I didn’t explain my blogroll yet.

My current Addiction. This is someone who’s blog I LOVE, and must read it all from beginning to end. After I read it all, they get added to Blog family. I’m done with E, and he needs to think of a name so I can pick my new addiction.

BLOG FAMILY. For the most part I’ve read their whole blogs. (Except the ladies but I’m getting on it.) All the people have either proclaimed their family relations with me, or I’ve told them this is how it’s gon’ be.


In my 365's. These are people that I love to read. Where is the estrogen? I’m going to have to find Ladynay, Jameil, Nic, and some others.


Earthans: Are bloggers I like who live in other countries.

Touchdowned: Bloggers that are new to the game, or I feel need to be checked out by other people.


On the Martian Frontier: I LOVE THE CHICAGO BLOGGERS SO MUCH!. I mean before reading their blogs, when I heard Chicago I thought, "The Bears". THAT IS HORRIBLE IF I HEAR THE NAME OF YOUR CITY AND I THINK OF A SPORTS REFERENCE. It’s like when I hear Phoenix, and I automatically think, "The suns and killer bees (LOL)". They have given Chicago a life, flavor, soul and I love the embodiment they’ve given it. (Although, none of them ever talk about Chicago exactly. What's up with that?)

I have so many people missing from my lists. I’ll get to them as time goes by. But I have to have some sort of system. I don’t think I want my list to get as long as some people. I think Jamal K Franklin has the longest list. It was Professor GQ before, but he seems to have done some cleansing.

If I add you to my blogroll don’t thank me. You got there for a reason. I’m not just going to throw random people up there. (or maybe I will. I get weird sometimes. LOL)

MONEY ISSUES

I have ten dollars to my name, and I want to use that money to get a well needed/deserved manicure tomorrow. But I don’t know. I feel like I should save it, and that a manny is a waste. But I need it so bad. My job cut my hours in half. ( long story don’t ask), and I need some money. I’ve been thinking about finding some dumb boy that will pay me to keep me cute. But then they're gonna want some booty, tongue, dick, hand, whatever they get down with. And I’m not about that. WHY ISN’T THERE A FOOLISH BOY THAT WILL SUPPORT MY EFFORTS OF LOOKING NICE WITHOUT TALKING TOO MUCH, GETTING ON MY NERVES, AND WANTING SEX? (Aren’t I a picky golddigger? LOL) But then again I don’t know. Even though the people I’ve asked agree I have this "boy hooker look;" I don’t think I have the looks to get money from people. Maybe it’s self doubt I don’t know. LOL. But I wouldn’t want to be a golddigger. But sometimes I see those girls and their man gives them some real money everytime they talk, and I’m like, "I am not that ugly that I can’t find someone to give me money". I mean someone should be paying me to be their boyfriend. ( I become so indignant at times. LOL) But I wouldn’t want to play with someone’s emotions, because you reap what you sow. ( I hate having a conscience sometimes. LOL)

LAST NIGHT

I keep seeing this boy and he dresses like WOW OMG WOWO WOWWO WOWOW. The first time I saw him I stopped in the middle of the street and had to turn to see his outfit. I need someone to teach me how to dress nice. (Teardrop. LOL) All yall gay men reading, all yall want to instill some values in me. INSTILL THAT. (LOL) I mean I dress nice, but that boy is like WOW OMG WOWO WOWWO WOWOW. I would love to just sit and watch him shop. I would love if Lloyd Boston was my father. Instead I got a straight man ( Oops wait that's written like Mr. boston is gay. I don't know his orienation, so someone get back to me on that. Don't want to start something.) that wears flannel, knee socks with Reeboks, khakis shorts, and clippy hats. ( But my father is who he is, and I respect that.) BUT I WANT TO BE SO FLYY! THAT I MAKE PEOPLE BREAK THEIR NECKS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, FAIL TO SEE THE LIGHT CHANGE AND ALMOST GET HIT BY A CAR. ( It was worth it too.) My latest fashion dilemma is tying a scarf. Gay people seem to know five million ways to tie a scarf! I have about three. (LOL) OH, will Marz ever make it in the world of homosexuality to come out on top, of all the tops, bottoms, versatiles, hand-jobbers, ab-rubbers, back slickers, " I don’t suck dick"'s, and " I love eating ass"’s. We’ll see won’t we? (LOL)

My life the screenplay

Because I’m not allowed to listen to anything except gospel music; when I listen to a cd that isn’t gospel I take in everything. I store the words, beats, rhythms and so on in my brain. That way one day I’ll say, "I want to listen to Fiona Apple's cd". And I’ll just start singing her cd from the beginning to wherever I want in my brain. ( It’ s weird. ) Anyways, one day I was starting up Jill Scott’s second cd while cleaning the living room. I had just finsished "Warm Up", and this is what happened.

"boom boom chuck boom boom boom chuck boom boom chuck boom buh boom boom, boom boom chuck boom boom boom chuck boom boom boom buh boom boom. I am not afraid, to be a lady".

" YOU HAD BETTER BE!!," my mother scream out, as I jumped onto the couch. I roll my eyes at her, because of what I just said and how she doesn’t know it’s a song. I started to think, "this song is so slow," and, "I wish the next line would come so I could renew myself".

" I am not afraid, to be your whore". " UNNH UNNNH Stop singing that. I don’ told you about that word. "

P.S. Since many don't live in Philly this story has just been plaguing me. A seven year old girl brought 12 bags of crazk cocaine to school. One child ate some of the cocoaine, and the whole city is dicsussing it. I think they're going to start putting cops in elementary schools. I mean little kids are going to start bringing guns soon. This is almost as bad as when that boy with AIDS brought his diabtees test thing to school and stabbed all the kids and they all almost caught AIDS. ( the philadelphia School district is a MESS if you don't see by now.)


P.S.P.S. This is too funny actaully. A lot of the gay black bloggers have return addresses for thier comments. Recently a lot of them have changed from their normal aol, hotmail, yahoo, etc, to gmail. I thought the g was for gay, and my first reaction was there was a gay email website. Then I was like,"LET ME FIND OUT THESE PEOPLE ARE USING THEIR ADAM4ADAM PROFILES AS RETURN ADDRESSES. LOL" ( Yes I'm a mess.)


Bigbrotherizalwayswatching too cute. (LOL)

-Marz

Brought to you be the letters A&H

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ( intake breath)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Thanks to my readers, but I was just saying yesterday. I haven't cut myself, although I have been staying away from certain old faves ( forks). I SOUND SO DAMN CRAZY. LOL Whatever.

BEFORE I GO

Can someone tell me why all these old ass men hit on me when I look so distressed? Like three hit on me yesterday, and they were like 50. And not even sexy 50, because we all know how I get over sexy older men. SPEAKING OF SEXY OLDER MEN. Tonight I am going to come into contact with this SEXY ASS MAN. He is like 33 and so sweet. His ass is so PHAT and his thighs are so huge. And his lips are so pink, and he is so sweet and caring. TAKE ME ON THIS TABLE AND I WON'T SAY A WORD. DAMN his heterosexuality. (No it's not a hookup, he is in one of my extra curriculars. LOL)

Well I guess I was wearing my shoes ( for a 15 hour day, not a smart move. my feet HURT!) and some nice clothes, with a dab of BLUE from the GAP. This lady asked me if I was registered to vote, I was like," I'm 16". I love it sometimes when I look older and people are like WOW letme holler at that, or treat me older. But today I'm enjoying being my teenage self, in my shelltops blasting Avril Lavigne into my soul.


OMG so new people have added me to their blogroll and this is the first post they are reading. MESSS! I should be back soon enough. (LOL)( what they must be thinking?)

"That crazy negro slashing his arms"(LOL)


TOPMODEL IS BACK NEXT WEEK, AND I DON"T HAVE COLLEGE CLASSES SO I CAN SEE THE FIRST EPISODE. NANANANANANANANA NANANANANANANA

This post has been brought to you by the letters a&h( and let's add N for the top model theme song shall we.)


-Marz

Feelings, Outlet, Struggle, Yesterday, Poem

Feelings

I feel like I’m in the process of becoming nothing.

I beat myself up so bad about not doing certain things.

I want to do so much. But I feel like it won’t get accomplished.

I don’t share my feelings because, inb the past, they’ve been taken and used for the amusement of others; to peg me into a box of my definition. I WON’T BE DEFINED! I want to cry, but my ducts seem empty after 12. I want to yell, but no one will understand the volume as distress. Just a cry for attention. Also, screaming outside looks crazy, screaming at home is of the devil, and screaming at school will result in lower grades. Which will then in turn result into an insufficient means of living at 40.

Outlet

Many teens have some source of outlet for their issues. Most of them have drugs, alcohol, sex, poetry, music, just something fun t relieve themselves of the everyday toil. I have none because fun is of the devil.

"And many readers would say, " you have writing.". No. I have one period to type up a post a day, because any writing left in a notebook or on the home computer would be found and discussed. So I’m only allowed to really write about forty five minutes a day." But I’m tired of repressing myself into myself. I need to externalize my internalized thoughts, feelings, fears, depressions, and other.

STRUGGLE

My struggle is to get to somewhere that I haven’t defined yet. I don’t know where I want to go, but I know where I don’t want to go. I don’t want to become the average black gay man ( and the manty ways you can mix and match them.) Because I’m above average, and will not settle for less. But those who don’t settle, must have a strong constitution and determination to stay their course. ( Why did I jus think about my virginity? LOL) I’m in a sturggle to gt to a place defined by what its not defined by. ( get me? This post sounded so much better in my head.)

YESTERDAY

I almost relapsed into a horrible old habit, self mutilation. Gyea, I was a cutter ( more depth to come in my May self revelation. ) The whole room became open with the possibilities, my fingernails, pen(cil)s, the wire from my spiral notebook, the side of my desk, I coud go on forever, but I’ll stop. I Thank God I was able to keep myself under control.

In Elementary Functions class, I was on the verge of a breakdown. I didn’t finish the homework, because I didn’t understand it, and I deemed sleep more important at about 11. I would’ve copied the answers from the back of the book, but what would I have learned then? A lot of my repressed everything came to my surface, and I kept staring at the board blinking in and out, and not getting the information being explained. (Inverse Sine Functions) I kept thinking, "How do you expect to be an engineer and you don’t understand this? You’re going to be in Calculus classes for a good six more years." Then I kept picturing myself homeless on a street regretting not doing my homework for Elementary Functions. ( yes I know that’s a tad insane, but my schooling is so important, and that sort of shows the importance of education to me. ) I was so pysically, mentally, and emotionally tired that I had to rest my head staring at the board in oblivion of the range and domain of inversed trigonometric functions. ( I sort of got it, but I KNOW that test is going to be my downfall. Like it always is no matter how hard I study.) My fists kept unballing, revealing my nails to slash my cut myself, and I had to reball my fist quickly. My teacher kept patting my back sympathetically. ( Becaue my face ALWAYS shows my emotions. Which surprisingly is a turn on to men ( my distressed face ) because I got hit on twice.) He tried to get me to press on," Come on. You’re just digging yourself into a deeper hole by not listening." I KNOW , I wanted to scream. I know that I’m causing my downfall by dealing with my emotions instead of performing. I did some of it, and he wants me to come to tutoring today so whatever. It won’t make a difference because I always get his class up until those hard test. Then it doesn’t matter. I guess maybe my lack of hope has to do with it. But I usually have a good faith of passing until the test is on my desk, and I don’t know any of it. WHICH IS SO WEIRD BECAUSE I’M GOOD IN MATH, AND I GOT IT WHEN IT WAS HOMEWORK. Stupid hard ass test. Stupid me for taking Double Honors Math. Maybe I should’ve been average there. But second guessing adds to much stress with its what if’s so for right now. I’ll just have to try harder. ( I don’t think I can try any harder. Lugging that heavy book home every night.)

POEM

Yesterday,
My pen cried the blue liquid my eyes couldn’t smearing the paper with my frantic yells.
I held myself because no one else would hold me
I hugged myself because noone else would hug me
I valued myself because the worth of a gay black teen in the inner city of America is negative
I broke down because I have no one to help keep me fixed
I cared for myself because although many may care
the care needed for a normal person
is not the same care a Martian needs
yesterday was a bad day
and in my bad day I wondered
was it my declaration that declared it a bad day
was it a compounding of my issues
what was it?
I DON’T KNOW.

But today
I smiled
it was a short smile
barely noticeable
but it was one smile that yesterday lacked
(This is such a bad post. But I guess I have to balance the blog out with good and bad posts.)

I would say I can’t wait to be back to my old self. But going backwards is a digression of self, and I need growth, and whatever the hell this is, I know it’s growth and evolution into the person I’m destined to be. I just hope I learn what there is to learn from this, for future references.

Life is a lesson that cannot be taught, but experienced. ( I have a feeling I saw it somewhere, but until someone corrects me. ) -Marz

P.S. I won’t be cutting myself. ( I know some may be worried. ) Well hopefully not, I’m not going to make it seem impossible. But hopefully I won’t. And I know some may have questions feel free to ask. ( HMM I could post them on Friday.)
I’m off to tutoring. ( Does anyone know how hard it is to admit, that I’m not understanding something in class ( Especially math) and I have to go for extra tutoring. HAA me and my hang-ups. Well I need to get over my pride, I’m asking and getting help. I SO HOPE IT SHOWS IN MY GRADE.) I so have a HUGE AP Us History test tomorrow with a DBQ afterwards.

P.S.P.S. My dreams last night was so weird. I had five dreams and in each one I was having a conversation with each of my teachers and we were discussing our life stories. IT WAS WEIRD.



-Marz

ANNOUNCEMENT

BLACK HISTORY MONTH IS OVER. If you have been struggling to perpetrate someone who cares about their lineage, or history for the last twenty eight days, then GOOD JOB & IT’S OVER. I REPEAT YOU CAN PUT THE MARTIN LUTHER KING BOOK DOWN!. But before you do, check out these photos taken of segregation on the Birmingham buses after the laws were abolished..The media just released these, because the people thought if these pictures weren’t shown IT would go away.


I guess IT is going away...to a corner near you, be sure to support his endeavors as the genocidal hustler employed by the KKK. I mean we do have a president that basically is the head of the KKK. He didn't get in office by himself.......You have to see what a shame it is that ALL the Black biography books are going to be waiting for me to put up later on at work. I saw them the other day and shook my head.

P.S. This isn't today's post scroll down. Just an announcement.

-Marz