Seconds of the counter slip away, as Siri proclaims it loves a good countdown. Two minutes are ticking away. A statement of all the progress we have made. Yet, it is really a testament to the depths of our regression. Our self-inflicted oppression is looming. The counter reaches zero, the buzzer sounds and the words we've been looking for rear their head at the edge of shadow and whisper...
Each time we pick up a pen, we dare to be bold, we dare to record the truth wrapped in the skin of our own opinion, our perspective... Is what we record, what we witness? Or is it a carefully orchestrated version of own truth, disguised to prevent the ultimate evil ...
To be known
The morning chill creeps through my layers, as I sit on my porch twirling my finger playfully in my whiskers. I swallow a sip of coffee while tugging at them, lost in the depths of my thoughts. The amber glow of the collision night and dawn illuminate the horizon. Today, a man was born that brought so much light to the world. His very presence hurled us out of darkness; we had been submerged in for nearly a hundred years. His vision, his courage, and his devotion to humanity will never be forgotten.
Sipping coffee, I look at the lights turn on one by one, as the neighborhood awakens. In a neighborhood where I could have never lived in if it wasn’t for the efforts of this man. Not because where I live now is better than where I grew up. Society’s attitude is better. I remember as a child the speech of this brave man. Every year during this time, I heard a speech of hope, love, determination, and courage. It was one hell of a dream.
Now a seasoned man, I wonder if my efforts in life have helped fulfill that dream. Most of my life I spent fighting for God, Country, and the ideal of freedom. Countless hours spent away in pursuit of the dream on the mountain top. Endless miles walked for the dream of the Promised Land. No mile of this did I walk alone. Each mile walked and every hour spent away, was in the faith that a moment of hatred was erased. I hoped they would ring the bell of freedom. A sound heard in the souls of each man and woman in the land. A faith I held onto with all my might, even though it was sometimes fleeting ….
Each time I heard the word Jew, it took away a little bit of hope. Every time I heard the word cracker the freedom bell rung a little softer. Every time I heard the word spick or chili pepper, humanity’s love got a little weaker. Each time I heard the word nigger, humanity’s dignity lessened. However, each time I heard these words I fought a little harder to fulfill the dream of a man I never knew. I fought a little harder to fulfill a dream, our forefathers had written over a hundred years before my birth.
I look upon my granddaughter who shifts under her blanket of freedom. A freedom provided from the fulfillment of this dream. Today a year older, she is allowed to live in a world and taste the crispness of a freedom that wouldn’t have been without his dream. A smile comes across my face as I finish my coffee. I smack my lips, because I too taste the crispness of freedom in the fresh morning air.
I stumble into a diner on Permeating and Decadence. I picked a booth in the back by the kitchen. The clanging dishes were soothing. A waitress with a beehive hairdo, popping some chewing gum poured me a cup of coffee. She took my order of smothered covered spuds and eggs. Fresh coffee was painted along the outside window, but by the smell of it, fresh must mean scorched from a couple of hours ago.
Innocence caught the attention of my bloodshot eyes. A young waitress and patron were nervously flirting with each other over raggedy menus and steaming eggs. Their smiles and giggles were hypnotic. Yet, they were rapidly heading towards the birth of a lifetime of blissful memories. Or, perhaps they will consist of just a few stolen moments, spent in a fogged up windowed multi-fueled sedan. I chuckle to myself as the image plays in my mind, the two of them wiggling and gasping in that tight space, desperately trying to reach that “ooh baby” moment. There is something to be said for American muscle.
While taking another sip of coffee, I noticed a man walk in. He was the very definition of cool, looking like an extra in the sequel of “Superfly.” As I realized that there wasn't a sequel, I began wondering did he seriously walk out of the house dressed like that. I gave him a courteous nod hello. Then I finished eating my breakfast of delight, topped off with the coffee that could easily stand on its own without a cup. Ahhh... What a bitter memory to taste.
My index finger fished around inside my pack of cigarettes, as if fishing my finger around was going to make more cigarettes appear. I grinned a bit as I found one; a bent one, right in the very corner of the fold. I perched it between my lips, as I rifled through my pockets, searching for a light. Right on cue, the beehive appeared again offering a light, as she whisked my plate away. Taking that first drag after a meal was contentment in a puff, while I pulled my old notebook out to finish the deed. My scribing is what gets me through, but it is also what keeps me lost in yesterday.
Through my burning eyes, I see a diner full of assorted characters screaming their individuality. Yet, when it boils down to it, they are just ordinary people. I am just a scriber of the stories their faces speak, while their mouths tell another. I spend each day writing the pain of others, so I can hide my own. It is something that becomes easier each day, as I write the memoirs of a breath.
©2011 Mangus Khan (REAE) All Rights Reserved
The sparrows covered the truck tires like they were made of bread crumbs. This event seemed a little odd to me. I suppose I should have paid closer attention to the nuggets of wisdom that my grandparents dropped from time to time. I vaguely remember Nanna saying that the sparrow brought the new souls from heaven, which meant that a baby was about to be born.
My fingers scratch the salt and pepper whiskers that cover my face, as I took the initial drag from my cigarette. It’s nothing like that initial drag from a cigarette. So soothing and calming, taking the edge off whatever stressed you. Smoking the rest of it is just a habit if you want to be honest about it.
The sun was bright but there a cool breeze comforted the outside dwellers. I stood aimlessly in smoking area trying to find that piece a sanity that just slipped through my fingers. I hear a car screeching through the parking lot. I guess the driver is late for something. I wasn't even sure if they know what they are late for. The Subways classic “Rock and Roll Queen belted from the radio. In the opposite direction, I can see a group of youngsters bobbing their heads to “I'm so sick” by the Flyleaf’s .
I found myself swaying to the clashing melodies, becoming caught in the rapture of me. As the sparrows flew off taking the old souls back to heaven. This according to Nanna someone had just passed on. I finished the cigarette and prepared myself for the remains of the day. Realizing that I was actually wondering why the Rock and Roll Queen was so sick?
Then it occurred to me …
I don't know
©2011 Mangus Khan (REAE) All Rights Reserved