Moon Your Sun / ETHIOPIAN ELDER MEN

The 4 C’s of diamonds are clarity, cut, carat, and color. I can think of one they forgot to mention. Cost.

Nothing says unity like a whole group of strangers working together to align their cars to block some asshole from trying to cut in at the front.

I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

“You know what I hate? Life.” –a coworker of mine

Can one really enjoy one’s leisure in a leisure suit? Aren’t those things itchy? Polyester? Uncomfortable? Flammable?

When you flash your ass to someone, why is it called mooning? Your ass looks nothing like a moon. It looks more like a round hot dog bun. In fact, why do they call your buns cheeks? Your butt cheeks look nothing like your real cheeks. It would look more like your cheeks if you didn’t have a face in between them.

If I’m nodding my head continuously while you’re talking to me, I haven’t heard a word you’ve said.

Next time you’re in the middle of an argument and suddenly realize that you’re wrong, just start making up stuff. Do it. Then after you’ve thoroughly confused your verbal combatant, quickly walk away.

I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.

One week, two people on two different days told me that I shouldn’t marry outside of my race. I find it interesting that these two people both had spouses of different races.  That’s like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich telling a jar of peanut butter that it shouldn’t ever mix with jelly.

I need to invent a sarcasm font. I’m not joking.

Sometimes, I’ll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the hell was going on when I first saw it.

“Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means that I will never wash any machine because I could possibly get electrocuted and to stop bustin’ somersaults while holding wet dishes.

One day in the future, someone will get a Nobel Peace Prize for figuring out how the hell to fold a fitted sheet.

Learning cursive in grade school was about as necessary as learning your ABG’s.

If LOL has gone from meaning, “laugh out loud” to “I have nothing else to say,” then LMAO has gone from meaning, “laughing my ass off” to “I still have nothing else to say.”

Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they played music like those birthday cards that sing when you open them up.

The difference between being book smart and street smart is knowing how to hurl a science book at somebody’s nuts in a street fight.

What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

Los Angeles is full of directionally challenged businesses. Wilshire Boulevard Temple is on Olympic Boulevard. Brentwood Pet Clinic isn’t in Brentwood, but West LA. Westwood Auto ain’t in Westwood, either. It’s in West LA. Beverly Hills BMW is about 4 miles from Beverly Hills. Hancock Park Apartments is in the Miracle Mile neighborhood, which is next to the actual Hancock Park.  I guess that some confusion should be expected.  Many people don’t realize that Los Angeles is short for “El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Río de Porciúncula.”

Jumping in the shower first and then turning on the water is like putting the toothbrush in your mouth and then squirting in some toothpaste.

The best stories always start off with the dumbest actions and decisions.

If Clifford the Big Red Dog and Big Bird ever had a love child, it would most likely be an orange birddog.

The Point of No Point: That point of the day when you realize that there’s no point of working anymore because you’re physically unable to be productive for the rest of the day, and you just don’t care anymore.

Freefalling Fear: The few moments when you’re leaning back too far in your chair and you’re about to fall onto the floor on your ass. Those few flashes of time when you’re trying to break your fall or prevent your impending crash…all in vain.

Saw a sign the other day that read, “School Zone: Speed Limit 25 When Flashing.” I don’t think they need to be encouraging pedophiles to expose themselves from slow moving vehicles.

All drivers hate pedestrians. All pedestrians hate drivers. But all drivers and pedestrians hate cyclists.

Being a cop must suck sometimes. Everyone driving behind you follows the speed limit, so you can’t pull them over. And if a cop pulls someone over, then everyone DEFINITELY obeys the speed limit. If you’re a cop and folks start following the law the second they see you, what else are you going to do? How are you going to pass the time? Who are you going to harass? Oh yeah, that’s right. You’ll harass black dudes walking in their own neighborhoods. True story.

It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

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*This was started in a coffee shop in 2009 and remained unfinished until 2014. Still a bit raw like the sugar I ingested, this bit is the result of an inadvisable synthesis of insomnia, high amounts of caffeine, three bowls of cereal, a session of people watching, and three quarts of boredom.

ETHIOPIAN ELDER MEN

I see images of you in images of me
Pull back on the lever
Beware of the trap door hidden underneath the rug of reason,
Eroded from the guise of lies
We lie on it anyway because we like how it feels.
Feels good like a Q-tip swab hitting that spot in your ear.
Like a car with the top down, wind blows us hope, we believe in the unseen
A pair of Ethiopian elder men sit by me at the moment.
I’d like to pick their brains, but it’s not harvest season.
All you need is a reason to not invest in your enlightenment,
Opting to stay in the dark. Sow what?
Moment’s ripe with opportunity, not without impunity.
You like not knowing, not moving, not growing.
While you’re moaning and groaning, I spread my wings like Boeing.
I listen to you. Now listen to you.

My tastes have become more varied and eclectic,
Like freshly brewed coffee.
Time to get a refill. I need that caffeine.
I can sleep when I die. Don’t want to miss anything.
Sitting here watching the world go by,
Mothers pushing the future forward—one revolution at a time.
Couples hold hands with starry gazes,
Vehicles putter down the boulevard to destinations unknown.

There’s something comforting in being uncomfortable,
One can see the full picture when looking at a blank stare.
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes’ name is Destiny,
I asked her to rest with me, but she didn’t like my tie—-or britches—-
Or my new acquirements from the haberdashery and tonsorial parlor—
But she’s still gonna come over and crash.
Her eyes draw you in like an auto accident or someone else’s misfortune,
But there’s nothing we can do but take the hit—-or the hint.
Yet we scream ‘til our throats are raw, bloody, and torn
In the hopes that there is hope still out there, real out there.
Real out where?
Still out there.
It’s real out here. Feel our fear.
We’re LOUD and c l e a r.
Loud but not very clear. Still struggling to find some guidance.
Still looking for a role model; someone to tell us “no”
Or spank our hands, or point us in the right direction.
Because we act like we know it all, like we’ve got it under control.
But the reality is we’re out of control. Weak spines, out of the fold.
Too immature to make smart decisions, and too dumb to do what we’re told.
Or do what’s been suggested. It’s hard to digest it.
Especially when your foot’s in your mouth and your development’s arrested.
We’re cockalorums with bad decorum in anything from quorums to online forums.
In those moments, I remembered where I was.
I regretted what I was and wanted to be a better version of myself.
It was time to pick their brains. It’s now harvest season.
I had finally found the reason to invest in my enlightenment.
I opted not to stay in the dark.
I looked over to the Ethiopian eldermen of some wisdom.
And they were gone.

– Me
2009/5:48am PST, 2/28/14
LA, CA