As this year comes to a close, the sci-fi horror story complete with a failing economy and killer pandemic is only getting worse. The pressures to do something, to be somebody have only multiplied. Never has it been such a great time to give a fuck less. Enter: The Subtle Art of Not Giving aContinue reading “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck (In 2020)”
Last night, I saw two people die in a car accident. Their car hit a pole, splitting the hood in two. I opened the driver’s side door to see if I could help, but the interior was so mangled, I knew he was gone. I went around to the passenger side and saw a guyContinue reading “The Mortality of the Writer”
Drugs. Violence. Police brutality. Hate. Love. Love. Love. In 1995, if you would have read about the Robert Taylor projects, the news report would probably have headlined something like this: “17 Men Arrested in Drug Sting at Robert Taylor Homes.” But inside those forsaken buildings where no one but those who lived there would haveContinue reading “Our Own Sort of Fun”
As you’ll find if you read my blog thoroughly enough, I grew up in the Robert Taylor Projects on the Southside of Chicago. If you do any research, you’ll find it was not the ideal place to grow up, being overwhelmed with drugs and gang activity. But it is where I am from, and IContinue reading “Inspiration Comes from Everywhere”
This year has been one of the most successful and stressful for me as a writer. I am in my third semester of a Creative Writing MFA program that requires a bunch of reading and writing, I have done a poetry reading, gotten into a car accident, written a novella, published a novella, worked onContinue reading “This Year So Far as a Writer”
Nearly three months ago, my third beautiful daughter was born. Her eyes are a color I have never seen before and I cannot name. I was hoping for my first son, but I’m blessed either way. The question is, where do I go from here?
One of my most vivid memories of my life in Chicago’s Robert Taylor Projects is my friend Travis and me walking through a grassy field and finding a huge ZipLoc bag of crack cocaine. There had to be at least 300 rocks in there. Up until this point, I had seen plenty of crack transactions.Continue reading “I Am a Drug Dealer, Not So Much”
The bullet exploded. The heavy gun powder choked all of us.