And I’m loathe to say this because I know what it sounds like when said for maybe the millionth time from the same indefatigable cohort of 3-5 stallwart believers still alive after the full fall out of the first nuclear winter in us with festooned weeping smiles weighed down by worry and heterogeneous habit zones. What they seen is not what is meant. They just tired and the indwelling love in the back back back prt of the icebox hearts with Omerion and British Knights ain’t so fresh or accessible like it used to be when presence word and assurance could make that love rise up like goat weed make a man nature return. The hospital cornered lips that use to turn up with out limit like Master P and Mystikal are the result of physical fatigue. I worried about you. But aint a damn thing I can do to make you call a ninja except be here when you call. I do the same thing periodically. Shit, I’m disappeared now got damn. So I’m just saying I ll be here. I’ll never tell you that I was waiting because I won’t be. I will just be ready to lean into your presence and dust off that space in the pocket dimension we share when in dyad.
An allegory on waiting or just holding place. No.оден rahobamдва
A Hoe tale about Lil Gurl Blu Maple aka SWEMM
I’ll be here. It’ll look like what waiting 10 hours looks like that was promised in an hour. Truly if anyone knows the presence of hope that is the substance of faith its evident in one waiting for a package delivery of that momentary Jesus. Like Slow head Wet Mouth Maple, Swemm for short( when she had a business manager clients would call or text to hire her out just by saying that they’d like to go for a swim) the sex worker that self identifies as a crack whore because she feel like she still her. But when she breaks a look in the mirror she swear she don’t know who the fcuk looking back at her from the otherside. At 6am Monday morning after a robust high volume weekend she can barely recall to grasp in memory what was fun she had cause it went by like a locomotive powered by a smoking hot pot of kneck bones. There are no incalls, car calls, door way calls, dope trick calls abando or tent city calls going to come. The club her body turned into is closing. She aint built coded or zoned for after hours day party’s. She couldn’t tell who it was looking back from the bathroom mirror during the night. She sure as hell didn’t want to see who it was in the day. Glenmore Gin and a rock. A rock, not to go to space then just as a passy to acquire the nostalgia of the numbing taste the brain clinches like night cleaves back fast from light; the euphoric recall begets clitoral fumbling then full vaginal tumbling into a velvet assault masterbation mumbling. Thats all that is left before the streets beat back cause she been on her beat all weekend and the sun kicks her out of the day cause his light never seent her befores. With the last wages written on a long black check thats her body she bought some Glenmo’ with 3 dollars and because Ron Ron had gone in from the trap she gave the 4 out of the 7 she made to she think it was Irish baby girl from down where she used to live and where her mother greatgrand mother greatgreat grandmother lived. Seem like they took two steps from the plantation in 1865 right onto a concrete front stoop actively niggardly with the use of its back for use itself just Techwood housing project. The truth about a 4 dollar hit was currently held captive with all other facts about reality behind a highjacketed mid brain and the recurring pain form dick sucking whiplash. She smiles again cause she put the Too Mortal Wong Foo combat Atlanta Oral Ju jitsu version 2.0 of her lip tongue throat game down on Stanky Ball Lester Muskeratt in his electric wheel chair. He was squirming so she that he might leave his diaper britches and chair first rockets red glare. In her minds eye past became present. The vet track star rock star that she is in her mind, and The Ledgendary Bottom Bitch for New Port Money Green out of Cincinnati came crashing through the screen door. And for a time that morning she waxed and melted into the past. They used to call her Bee 50-1 cause like some David Blain slight of hand real magician shit a loose straight razor was from under her tongue out her mouth and cross yo face in a slice like a piece of pizza so fast not even light could ride that blade without getting cut in half first. She was quick to cut a hoe; male or female. Her violence and the way she took to hustling like a fish to water became the habit before dope. The Pimp was called Newport Money Green cause he dressed like a New Port Menthol Box of Wide Gauge Cigarettes; emerald green, white and gold in some combination head to toe. . He was into transcendental meditation and believed you need to not only think but also wear what you want to attract hence green for money and gold for gold. In the end all he attract was the semi that Tboned him in the intersection of Washington and Mlk. It seems that he and the driver of the semi attracted green at the same time. My voice narrated her reverie as she emerged from the smog of unclear thoughts yet clear regret put her off balance.. She spun to herself as long as I never become a crack head. Yesssss, Ill sell pussy for crack its an atm hot from over use. I be all day baby Sop Sop Sop she smiled thinking to herself was it Lil Biggie Momma, with the purple banged lace front, not Big Lil Momma with the money green all over low lites, she sent for a hit. Its 5 hours later and she under a street light at a popular intersection just outside the reach of BP gas stations property line. She is banned from that BP, 1 Kroger and all Publics. It started raining immediately as LBM or BLM bust that first right and got out of sight and voice yelling never mind range. Hours later its hailing, thundering and lightening in October. And so Maple No Syrup no longer a Bee 50-1 holds on to the ground, a promise and the future. She got on camel tan glitter hot pants, a motley colored white rabbit- black coon- brown nutra fur high lapel waist coat, a crocheted green apple berret, a Pan Africanist Flag colored halter top from her Anti Apartied fcuk Sunny City and Dee Klerk youthful days withCeremonial SwaziZulu maiden raffia epaulets chasing the fringe, Low Converse All Stars in Natural White with duct tape over the left foots ptoes, sweat and The Opium perfume she was baptizes in everymornjng. There are now snow flurrys but she is planted in a belief partly espoused by the erroneous aphorism ” honor amongst theives drug addicts pick pockets and chimey sweeps ” and the kind of street level trust based in no evidence with a person she thinks the hood calls Smoky The She Bandit, she pray she didn’t run off with her coins. That’s fcuking low. Thats the crack head in herself she try to to keepone eye woke for. Insanity is the vein running through all the aforesaid. Its gripping a feeling caught on a hook that only God and Edgar Cayce could remove with intimate spiritual surgical defragging. That new path way made by hook and crook becomes attached to the front lobe like a merkin or a toupee that you know don’t look good or even plausible but the shit puts itself on while you sleep with a sucking sound so loud its like a head coming out an ass hole…POP and eventually you start to believe that East Indian hair did grow out your head and out round your pussy lips. After three more hours to the five she finally accepted what she’d already known 15 minutes after sucking old dick coins rjnsed free her hand that she was sold a dream that been long gone. She pulled her dual butter knife house keys ADT home security tech out of her Payless faux diamondback snake leather clutch. Full of melancholia and sadder than a mutha fcuka and0 before she could properly register it her cankles angled her stride up the street toward the basement under the fire gutted abando, next to the abandoned nursery school with the hospital white facade inlayed with British racing car green stripes and canary yellow polka dots she, calls home along with the sprays spurts spots paroxsyms and petite mal gesticulations flinging human biological material in full hazmat gear on the widows walls and dirt floor. She breaths, wrest control of the 50 counts finely woven plastic insulation material blankets indistinguishable from carpet. Its conspiring and actively snitching about by the imedded fiber glass with the rashes that happen especially after a full night or more turning it when the cootchie been busy like a lake of fire and the feet barely wore gravity to the ground the ground. Usually a summer night when under the spot light of her starved mind it seems like everybody was swimmin the deep wet waters she fjorded car to car. She’d get home itchy and itchy some more. Her arms would be on plum black skin fire alert as she trying unsuccessfully to put that shit out cause it burned like crawling fiberglass dirk ant legs most unwelcome but not defeated by the clawing she would self inflict e’ry night in the winter. Her arm became Zebra’ed in red wells and what appeared tiny bites. Some times suffering aint nothing but a normal day or night. Scratch scratch sniff sniff. Just in case she need to hit it for coin or freedom tonight she gotta be 20-30 if not 50% powder fresh. Because she still had some faith and knows that God watch the sparrow and all things big a small she mouthed against the wall of chared blackness in night, “G’night dust and mold and to rats that piss themselves by all tales smelled and told. I’ll never know I am not in rats hold. I wont lose myself under a bridge a troll. I’ll cry out to the Lawd fo recuse befo’ I’m grey dead and cold, ” Over here Lawd you may not recognize me I can’t say that I do. I was lil girls blue pure as your morning dew. I’s the 1 lost not sold out the 99. The fire you put in my soul gone cold. You lookin for me Father I ready fo the treasure and gold. You came so quick what the hell was I thinking befo’. I thought I ran so fast so far that you couldn’t see me oh no no no. Im shame. Why you didn’t say nothing. It is the oldest profession on the globe. Oh the people were doors. What, I cant understand a damn thing you sayin. Yo lips aint moving and the sound in my head aint NO louder than a rat pissing on cotton. Next time you gotta speak louder. Damn. No wonder we so fcuked up we can’t hear a damn thing you be saying. Shut up. What you mean shut up. I got a straight razor and I ain’t afraid to cut yo ass God. 😳 what…I heard that…” inconsolable God picked her up and cared for the beloved child. After she threatened to give God a buck fifty God laughed and over the deep rolled thundering laughs and God says to her, “Thats why I love you Lil Gurl Blu”. She never heard that. No one ever told her that God loved her. And that’s what she wanted and needed always. She waited 70 years for crack and a lifetime for something she always had.