When has it become okay to allow ourselves to be as locked down as the men who look at prison bars and are banned from seeing the light of day?

While sitting here listening to my favorite radio station late at night, woman after woman relates their love through the airwaves to the men that have touched their lives, but can no longer touch them physically. Those on lockdown - Rikers and those upstate.

I sort of have mixed feelings on this. Who am I to make judgments on whom is most deserving of love when I am not and haven’t been in a very long time? At the same time, why would a vibrant free woman save themselves for someone locked behind bars when it is common knowledge that when the roles are reversed, no man will sit and wait, pine and fantasize over their woman behind bars.

I know that absence makes the heart grow fonder and the image of who that person is and was burns a hole deep inside, deep enough to self impose isolation from living. I just have to wonder why? Never having been in love with someone on the other side of the law, I’m only left to wonder about it: the mysteries of sold out prison buses packed to walls with women in their Saturday night’s best going to romance someone whom they can’t touch, hold or kiss - yet their love and utter devotion is stronger than loving someone on the outside.

Something about our memories remain pristine - forever untainted by the sadness and brutality of reality. Is it true that a loved one’s last kiss or arms caress when you can’t get to them resonates stronger? Is it burned into the backs of their eyelids while they sleep, scents tattooed into their fingertips, with the hope that they won’t have to wash their hands or souls of their loved ones love shared as they take the long and lonely bus ride home.

SHE: This is twice in a row I’ve seen you this week.
ME: I know. Go figure. And we are both late.

We finally make our way to the platform. There is some homeless/vagrant dude yapping away about something no one understands. Bobbing and weaving through the crowd. It’s hard to miss him.

SHE: Don’t you love commuting in NYC. It’s always something going on.
ME: Tell me about it.
SHE: Well, this is my train. See you tomorrow.
ME: Yeah, have a good one.

I’m making my way through the crowd on the platform to find a clear spot to call my own until the train comes. Who makes their way toward me but the homeless/vagrant guy.

Homeless Dude: Hey! What happen to your hand? Injured yourself.
ME: Something like that.
HD: I see you work out.

It’s a warm day. I have no jacket. My shirt isn’t tight on me at all. But it is hard to miss the fact that I work out.

ME: Yeah.
HD: Is that how you injured yourself?
ME: Yeah. Doing forearm curls.
HD: Yeah, I can see why you injured yourself. You have skinny forearms. You aught to be careful.

No shit I thought. That is why I was working on them. OK. Now I’m ready for the train to come. This seems like the longest wait I’ve ever experienced during rush hour.

HD: I see you work out on your chest. (as he points to my chest) You do those wide grip joints and the bench presses.
ME: Yeah, those “joints” are pretty standard for chest workouts.

Homeless/Vagrant dude steps closer to me. This time around he pocks me in my stomach. My abs aren’t where I want them to be but they are pretty much solid.

HD: Oh, you got abs.
ME: You need to back up. For real.
HD: Feel my abs.
ME: Back up.
HD: Just feel my abs. I don’t smell.

Homeless/Vagrant dude, althrough he didn’t smell, had missing teeth and clothes that were of the dirty kind. He looked homeless in every way possible.

ME: You need to back up.
HD: Just feel my abs. My stomach is tight.
ME: OK. You need to back up off me. Step back and keep it moving.
HD: Why?
ME: Because I asked you to.
HD: Good enough. Hope your wrist gets better. And work out hard. Summer’s approaching.

WTF? Can I not have issues with the homeless?

Change is overwhelming me at this juncture in time. I don’t know where to turn don’t know where to go don’t know the beginning from the end. But I do know right from wrong. But I’m not sure if the right choice is ahead of me or even in the near future. I know that change is occurring and I need to make decisions to guide change for the better. For the better of me I need change to occur. This is my life right now. This is what I’m dealing with. This is what is going on with me. If only I had a crystal ball that would tell me my future. Tell me that I am supposed to be a writer. Tell me that I’m supposed to be photographer. Tell me that I’m supposed to work in customer service. Through education I will change my level of intelligence. I will find my way through change. You see the change that is occurring in my life in abundance has a lot to do with work. Not just one job but three jobs. Yes, dude over here named Urban Thought has three jobs. I’m a product of my mothers making. She had three jobs. I have three jobs. I can handle this but the change that is about to occur, I don’t know. I’m unsure. I’m unclear. Stay focused they say as a change is going to come. It is going to occur and I want to be in control of it. But I also think about the change that is going on with my so-called friends. You see my friendship with my boi has changed over six dollars and me telling the truth. Believe that. My friendship costs me six dollars and the truth. Go figure. That is a a change I can deal with tough. Because at the end of the day I am still the person I’ve always been. Strong, Confident, Willing and able to make all things possible. Change is occurring and I’m going to be apart of it. I cannot fear change. I will not allow change to destroy me. I once met a woman who was screaming change to spare, change to spend. Actually, I didn’t meet her but I was aware of her presence in the world. She was homeless and she was begging for change. And I can only imagine the pennies in my pocket changing her life. That chump change that is in your pocket can change someone’s life. Go figure how little bits of change that you give to someone can make a big change in someone else life. Imagine how we are all connected by change. Imagine the thought of us being without change. How stagnant our lives would be. What we can take from this is CHANGE is great. Change is consistent. Change is constant Change is the only thing that you can count on to always be there for you. Change is reliable. I just think we need to learn to appreciate and accept change. It is those who have problem with change that don’t make it too far. Learn to adapt and be one with change and you too can control change. You can change for the better. Tell me you understand. Cause at this point I’m able and willing to accept change. I am willing and able to conquer change. Life is changing around me and I will make it change for the better. For the better of me will come with change. For the better of the world change will come. For the better of the nation we need change. Shout out to Obama. He’s got that change thing down to a science.

As I pass by the Burger King I overhear a guy begging for change. He’s fixed in front of a poster of the King (The Burger King). Before I can get two steps past him he says to me, “Hey bruh, can you help me get some food? ”

Today I’m feeling generous. Helping someone get some food is the least I can do. It would be a good dead to start off my day.

“Sure, no problem. What would you like?” I asked.

“A Big Mac,” he responded.

“You want a Big Mac standing in front of BK? McDonald’s is across the street. I’m not walking over there.”

“Oh OK. I’ll settle for a Whopper.”

While I walk to the door of Burger King I realize its morning. Most locations don’t have burgers this early in the morning. I’d thought to ask the cashier anyway just in case they did have it. But just as I suspected… NO BURGERS.

I poke my head out and tell him the bad news. I asked him if he would prefer breakfast.

“Nah, I had my heart set on that Big Mac.”

Beggars Can Be Choosers

I leave you with this video I saw on the net. Don’t remember the site. Enjoy!

YouTube Direktvideo link

They say the truth shall set you free. Some people say that you cannot handle the truth. I for one am all about the truth. Well, not quite. I actually appreciate the truth. I’ll tell you the truth if you ask me. I’ll give it to you straight, no chaser. Most people cannot tell the truth if their life depended on it. Not because they don’t understand what the truth is. But more so, they cannot handle the truth itself because it will either put them in a bad spot or make them look like a bad person. Or perhaps the truth that they fear is what will keep them from growing as a person. This is where the truth shall set you free. It will allow you to let go of the burden that has been weighing down on you for so long. it will free your mind of the worry that has been causing grey to show in you hair. That which has caused those extra lines in your forehead or around your eyes. We run from the truth because the truth can reveal so much about us that we have no intention of showing other folk. That we try to hide from the light of day because we find comfort in that truth as long as its the truth we are only aware of. Am I making any sense here at all? Please tell me if you understand. I work in a corporate environment where lying is expected. Where we tell people half truths, but not the whole truth. Where most of us are aware of the truth yet some of us find it easier to tell a lie. I never liked corporate environments. But I’m here. Last night I received a phone call about one of my favorite people telling the truth about our lazy manager. She was confronted with the truth and looked like a dear caught in headlights because she couldn’t understand why someone would call her out on the truth. The truth that she is lazy. Not fit for the job. A truth that she herself is aware of yet probably is too much of a punk to admit to. But when the truth is forced down your throat you can do but so much. Perhaps swallow it whole and cry about it. Or embrace it and own it. Live it and learn it. And be free of all that worry that you’ve carried around. Because once you let the truth set you free you can accomplish so much. The truth hurts. I think it only hurts when you allow it to. I told my friend the truth about himself the other day. I haven’t spoken to him since. I told him that he causes problems for himself. I told the truth. I probably lost a friend over the truth but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t tell my friend the truth? What kind of person would that make me? I think I’m reaching at this point but I have three minutes left. OK… So here we have the truth commercials and I watch them and find them funny. I watch them with smokers who laugh at them and think Oh my… Is it really that bad as they continue to puff away? And then I see the lady with no fingers and her truth that she can no longer change a light bulb. She was aware about the truth of cigs but she decided to smoke anyway. She not only was aware of the truth but she chose to ignore it. It cost her her the fingers. The finders she took for granted. Funny how that work outs? The truth is on the side of a pack of cigarettes and we still don’t take heed to it. Like those times when someone tells you that they are a bad person and you don’t believe them. I warned you… I’m a snack. But now I bit you and you act like I’m wrong. Snakes bit. That is the truth. You chose to ignore it and now you’re sunk. The truth that they are a snake has set you free to understand that you are bit. Times UP. Can you handle the truth?

Stillwell Memories: Ode to Coney Island

How do you say good-bye to
childhood’s beloved landmarks:
gritty salty air, stale, but sweet popcorn
moist and sweaty Cyclone guardrails that barely protect you from falling out
but just not safe enough to not be condemned.

Long treks through the history of Hip Hop
starting in the boogie down with knob filled boomboxes
blasting KRS-one’s South Bronx,
zooming through Harlem World while Teddy Riley brushes his shoulders off
to the grimy strut of Shabba Rank’s BK growl;
all controlled by one random stranger who had the power to entertain hundreds,
cutting a train ride of eternity to danceable moments on the whim of a tape deck DJ.

Ice cold blue on fingers and lips
Watermelon green on fresh new gear
and mama’s fiery red shouts of
“Girl, why you so damn messy?!”
as we walk towards the sea.

Silence, me and the sea seem to be connected
as gentle memories waft past my eyes,
slip down my smile and land on computer keys.

How does one say good bye to the memories of urban dirtiness
too many small toes running across dusty pavement
lost ice cream cones and squeals of delight,
grime, sand and spit when it cradles so much goodness?

Leaving behind summer memories captured digitally only on Wikipedia screens

- The Orange Phoenix 2008

My fire escape
an urban terrace to serve
fresh barbecue from

- The Orange Phoenix

The Orange Phoenix © 2008 Urban Observation All Rights Reserved.

1. Link the person who tagged you. - Done
2. Mention the rules in your blog. - Done
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours. Done
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them. (Nope, not gonna do it. )
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged. (See No. 4)

My unspectacular quirks are:
1. I put hot sauce and/or BBQ sauce on everything.
2. No matter what channel Law & Order (The Entire Franchise) is on I’ll watch stop and watch it. Midway through, a few seconds in. The last couple of minutes. Doesn’t matter.
3. I have a fascination for homeless people. I cannot help but to take pictures of every homeless person I pass.
4. I eat dry cereal. I’ve never been a fan of milk.
5. I wear socks to bed.
6. I smile at nothing in particular.

Same like the riddle of which came first or
what happens at the crossroads
and if it involves the selling of souls,
What happens when the city of dreams
bright lights and apple flavor becomes a modern day Attica?

When the spotlights that line Ol’ Broadway
are searchlights illuminating prison numbers like train lines
monitoring the blank, the faceless and the nameless
can I remain here to find my name?

Between 3, 4, A and B47/B46
I scurry to find the shade concrete can’t give,
listen to the waves as they crash in
exchange them for the roar of a platform
devoid of sun - teeming with souls breathing with one beating heart
inhale - watch out for the closing doors
exhale the futility of running to catch a train as it departs

Can I trade the vehicle that wiggles,
five toes painted pink, red or mauve,
for the stillness of footprints on sandy beaches,
carve OP was here
or always wonder - was she really?

Peace.

- The Orange Phoenix

The Orange Phoenix © 2008 Urban Observation All Rights Reserved.