Open Your Heart

Open Your Heart

As many of you may know I have been diligently working on increasing my exposure, writing my book and getting my work published. I’ve been recently published in two small press releases; The Devil Inside and House of Horror Best of 2009 Anthology. I took a plunge into the Fishbowl and tried my hand at producing a radio show. That took a lot of fast writing. I was on local television. That took very little writing. And I won my first column called On the Other Hand with Pagan Imagination. It’s been a great year. Slowly but surely it seems things are coming together.

I realized early on that nothing was going to happen at all if I continued to sit in my little writing hole pecking away at my keyboard. We, writers I mean not you and me, have a tendency to cloister ourselves and by turns peek out at you masses so that we might cull your personage for our caricature. While great for the art, this approach is not t all good for the career. So, with that thought, and my trusty notebook, in hand I ventured forth into the world of “professional writers”. Always thought to be a daunting and perilous place with mountainous Publishers and Agents standing guard over the sacred Hall of the Published, I found it’s more of a crowded room full of excited people hoping to be the one the gods pick next. Picture a digital casting call where everyone has a voice, and are talking all at once. Sometimes the people standing closest to you start talking about interesting ideas and we get together and get involved with making it happen for our selves. So it went with the places where I have works and write currently, and so it is with Debrin Case and Open Heart Publishing.

In my search for words I am also searching for work. Hopefully, and this is as all writers would like it, I will get work writing. Open Heart Publishing came to my attention through Facebook and a little project called An Honest Lie. Here’s the pitch: Writers from around the globe competing for a chance to not only be published but to also win a BOOK DEAL! I missed last years call to submissions so I will not make the 2009 anthology and I won’t land that book deal this year. Next years An Honest Lie anthology however will be different, much different. The theme is Delusions of Insignificance and while I have time, I must create a master piece that will go down in OHP history as the greatest story ever told! But I digress. There is a greater draw still for me. Another little competition called: Become a Staff Writer.

While this may not be important to some writers, and downright out of the question for others, it would give me what I think of as a one of kind opportunity. Not only will I be writing but I will be collaborating with the publisher and other writers on a serial fiction project. It’s the next best thing to going to school and I think a fantastic opportunity to become a great writer. The bonus section to this is a paycheck. Not a lot of money, but money and money for doing what I love to do. Can anyone say, “Dream Job”? I can.

I had the opportunity to speak with Debrin. His enthusiasm and passion for the work he does is catchy. There are big plans for his company in the future and I only hope…. No, I don’t like that. I am certain I will claim my place amongst the ranks of writers published under his banner. Be looking for the networking chain to grow as ever it has but in bigger and better directions.

As always my loves I leave you with Peace and Zen.

Read! Write! Unite!

Indie Radio show Needs Your Support

Indie Radio show needs your support

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The Stand

Episode1
The Stand

I don’t believe I’ve ever struggled so hard over a piece of writing. For days I’ve pondered the approach. Should I be light hearted, or should I come straight down the chute? I started, and then stopped again. One attempt began something like:
“34 years and some months ago I came into this world Kicking and screaming.”
Really? I thought as I read that disaster over. You cannot begin that way. And by the time I read:
“I didn’t see the humor in it then, wide open mouth granting entry between the thighs of the laughing fat lady.” I’d decided I had to begin again.

I knew I wanted to say something that would catch and hold your attention. I knew that I wanted to thrust you into, and leave you deep in thought. I knew I wanted to surprise and stun you and leave you wanting more. I was aware that my delivery had to be eloquent and articulate and that my voice had to be deep and strong and it had to resonate out over the airwaves and touch your ears like a gentle whisper, and be pleasing.

I considered writing this in the rhythmic staccato of the spoken word poem. A delivery method I am familiar with and good at. I could say something like:

Words are like air to me
Everywhere and possessing all things with meaning
Giving the day a name and making death a pain
Words are like air to me.

But, I’m not a huge believer in poetry to begin with and it all sounded so forced. I decided at one point to take the easiest road and give you an hour of my music art and stories. I thought to regale and entertain you with my greatness, talent and skill. Live raps, and stories and poems, all wrapped up in the silky sheet of my voice. Internet radio as a shameless vehicle of self promotion. And don’t doubt that selfish self promotion will play a part here, over time, never fear. All good things in small doses I told myself as I crawled back into my humble pie.

I struggled with how to tell you who I am and with how to make this a moment you remember and long to return to week after week. I want you to love me, I want you to tell your friends about me and why they should love me too. Stories about my childhood I decided were trite, boring and only relevant from the perspective of who I am today. And who I am today is your humble host D.K. Renaissance man, friend, lover, and father. What I am today is a man with a radio show. What I was yesterday was a man with a radio show to write. What I will be tomorrow we can only wait to see. That is truly in your hands.

This show is not just about me; this show is also about you. This show is about dialogue and discovery. This show is about exploring the boundaries of reality and truth as we know it and should we find them lacking, tearing them down and casting them aside. This show is about bringing the things that affect our lives out into the harsh light of day. And in this world, vampires don’t sparkle. The minutes following this dialogue are where you, get a chance to find your voice, to state your viewpoint, to shout out at those things that frustrate you. Everyday we are surrounded by so many lies, half truths and misleading leaders there is a feeling that no one can be believed. Our Jobs are lies, our coworkers are lies, our television is a lie, or politicians, teachers, police, judges and ministers are lies. This is the time when your moral compass must be your guide and this is the place to stage your war. I ask of you only this in the end:

Stand together with me! Raise your voice so that they might hear our cries and understand. WE WILL NOT GO EASILY INTO THE DARKNESS!

This is it final show prep. Tune in tonight from 5-7pm on www.fishbowlradionetwork.com we will be in the blue studio.

A life lesson

This weeks lesson is entitled:

What the Fuck you niggas

wanna do?

By Davin Kimble

Let's go the nigga!

You stepped up, chest up

Eyebrow frowned

Arms all flexed up

Don't think that bowin' and showin that crazy front

Won't get you bumped, crumped, trumped and dumped.

Yo, I'm a mad man too

I put the Fu in Fool

And some how, I bet now

I'm just lil' bit madder than you.

You stepped up, chest up

Breath all foul

Fists all clenched shut,

Nigga What!?

Is that a threat?

Nigga, bet! I'm ret ta wreck.

I throw bows and shit

I'll power ya pods, phones bones and shit.

I gots super hero power

Gots clones and shit.

You stepped up, chest up

'bout to be mad

Cuzz ya clothes got messed up

Don't run nigga what?

You awakened the beast

So you can stay to fight back

For the crowd at least.

Don't make me hunt you

Cuzz I will catch you and when I do,

Nigga OOOhh!

You know there is another definition for fool

Like that' what I'll make you

I'll break you

You stepped up, chest up

Mind all gone

About to come as close to god as ya ass wanna get

Divine Power Wreckin'

Mutha Fucka Checkin'

Nigga Disrespectin'

Baddest Dragon you never wanted to meet

I'll destroy you fool

Get a clue!

Obsession

Have you ever had an obsession? If you have you know how it feels, if you haven’t, well, consider yourself lucky. It’s like being trapped in a continuous loop and no matter what you try to do to escape it you simply can’t, not until you’ve done what ever it is you brain is demanding you do. My obsession arises when I need to write, but I can’t think of what I want to write. Actually it’s the need to express an idea, and I can’t seem to write it down. I call it writing in my head. This constant swirl of thought and idea, where the thought becomes a story and the idea becomes something I cooked. It’s like a Ground Hog’s Day-Twilight Zone Mash-up. I keep repeating the same general thought in my head, “You need to write.” But each verse is sicker, more cracked than the last, and the hook is all crunk music. Sometimes it’s loud and I’m feeling it, more often it’s like that Ipod on the bus when you are trying to read, pulsing, always a touch too fucking loud.

If I’m going to write, I want to be a great writer. I want to wax eloquent, be wise, witty, and drone on in a honey sweet baritone when I read my work aloud, like that syrupy Anthony Bourdain. I want to have a column, or a blog that everybody reads; not because it’s a popular topic in a fashionable and digestible package, but because I actually have something worth reading. I often find myself digging down into my most private places, trying to find the courage to say what I really think. I find it, but I wonder why I had to dig for it. I have one follower on my blog, and she sleeps with me. She reads it when I write it and she gives me feed back I can use. I have to give my obsession an expression I can use. And I have in a number of ways. But there is always a lingering doubt when so long goes by and not a dime for your efforts, rarely an offer but more often a rejection. I delete rejection emails. HOW DARE you reject me? You pompous ass! But I never forget, I never neglect what is said about why I lost. It’s making me a better writer, but I don’t want to open the junk drawer and look at a bunch of fucking yellow slips. Down that road lays alcoholism my friends.

Let’s examine for a moment. I have all the prerequisite skills of a great writer:

· I can write.[1]
· I love beer.[2]
· I’ve been a womanizer.
· My temper sometimes gets the better of me.
· I can be cloistered and gregarious, and pompous.

I want to be clear; I am speaking of GREAT writers. I am talking about people who have written the works that have withstood the test of time, the temper of ignorance and the church. Not because I believe that every thing people write is worth saving, but because I want people saying my name a thousand years from now. Some Stephen King level exposure and money would be great in the interim, so I write on, spilling my inky seed onto bright white sheets. For future remembrance of me, I spread the word amongst you; I write because I’m good at it and getting better all the time, but I also write so that you may hear and believe, there is more than one valid way to live, to love to fuck.

Writing isn’t my obsession it’s a tool for my obsession; and it’s the one I use best. So, never think that you’ve heard the last of me, for my obsession drives me, and though my tires squeal and blow out, I will always rejoin the race.
[1] I know what some of you are thinking, “Hell, I can write.” But it is NOT the same.
[2] I mean come on…when you can’t get pot…?

On a Drug Induced Spiritwalk...

I've been having trouble sleeping lately. It's been diffficult falling to sleep, and when I do get to sleep I don't sleep very long at all. Many times, no matter how early in the morning I finally pass out, I am awake at 9:30 am. It's been rough. I can't think straight, my reflexes are off and my paitence is shorter than usual. So, after many days of deliberation, I decided to take an Ambien. You must understand that the hardest drug I intake is nicotine. I drink, I smoke pot, but I don't take pain medication, I don't do OTC, or anything. I took this pill and walked straight out of my skin.

Fighting a Loosing Battle
In the dark of the night, on a street corner in a rundown neighborhood, I found myself standing opposite a bad looking bunch of dudes. They were gangsters I knew, for I'd seen their type before. I'd been their type before. Young and hostile they closed in on me, old and confused I stood my ground. The fight came for me quickly, but suprisingly one on one. I rushed him trying to get the upper hand, and I moved as if under water. Though I dodged and parried, barely surviving the onslaught, knowing in my mind I could have slipped that blow that caught my chin, if only I were a step faster. Feeling my fancy footwork fail me slipping, going down in a heap. Rolling to avoid the inevitable kick to the gut or head, catching a glancing blow, barely surviving, now looking for an escape. Slipping, running, falling into my bed. I looked up, the asphault burns tingling on my arms and shoulders, my jaw aching still, to find that it was 9:30 am.

Near Death Experience and the Wasp
Drifting away again, afraid of finding myself back in the fight, I instead stand on a balcony, high above a city street. Below me a man grips the railing, knuckle white in his attempt to save himself from a fall that would mean certian death. I rush to him, throwing myself forward, leaning too far over the rail in an attempt to grabim by the wrist, or coat. My weight causes the balcony to rock and shake him loose. As he falls, screaming, the balcony breaks and I can feel myself, for a fleeting moment, falling with him, above now, but certian to be on his level soon enough. With a sudden jerk, one that should have broken my kneck, My plummet ceaces and I dangle there in mid air by my kneck. My tie, snagged in a broken peice of railing, just above the tag, or in this case below, is all that keeps me from falling to my death. But Death himself, wile cat he be, would not give me up with such ease. My tie, while at the same time saving me from death, was killing me. Forced to reach with one hand, and secure a grip on the uncertian stability of the balcony remains, and with the other attempt to relieve the pressure on my kneck by winnowing a finger or two between my flesh and that hated tie, I struggled for my life. Best bet, by far, pull myself up to safety. But, the struggle was a task, for, I don't spend as much as much time in the gym as I should and my body is weak; The tie, hated, hated strip of ugly cloth crushed from me my breath, everytime I drew one, the next was by degrees more difficult to draw. I was dying, I am certian now of that, I would die, hanging there, so many stories up, above a man who had recently plummeted to his own demise, because of me. The one driving thought I had, as the edges of my vision was: "The moment I black out my body will do the Hanged Man's Dance and I will know then wether or not Hell is real." The thought galvanized me to greater strength and I pulled myself up with one great heave. My head sliding between two bars I knew, if my head could fit, my shoulders surely would. Safe, alive I in my heightened state noticed with exquisite detail a small paper wasp nest, with one very large wasp working away on it. As I drew deep into my lungs the first breath of the rest of my life, I saw him turn to me and alight. As fresh blood rushed into my head, the drone of his buzz was like a nervous hive of angry bees, so loud, so terror inspireing. Not now, a battle with a bug though I thought I could win. I scuttled, crablike on my hands and feet, backwards away from him. Thinking of both avoiding the sting and also retreating from that precarious ledge. Inside the apartment finally I turned and fled that drone of angry wings, searching for something to swat it to death with. I fled as if it were the devil chasing me, into the bedroom, not getting the door closed in time, I stumbled and fell, crawled for the bookcase but he was there, cutting me off. I rounded then, my only escape back towards the kitchen, where I knew there was flying inscect spray. And I awoke to the harsh blare of my phone, telling me facebook was calling, to tell me good morning. Thank you Facebook.

Free Pussy
I drifted away and found myself standing in a long hall, an overnight bag in my hand, and a grin on my face. The hall was lined with red doors, each tacked with a small silver number one to twelve, evens on my left odds to my right. In each one of these doorways stood a beautiful woman and I only had to share the dozen with two friends of mine. Men I've known for the majority of my life. Oh, happy day in my mind I knew we had 24 hours free in this place. A gift, from whom I did not care. For why, meant not a thing to me. Let the party begin, is all I thought, a dream come true for many a man, I am sure. A dream I've not had before, but was happy to be living now. But, not right to the fucking, oh no, let us first party and portion them out, the favorites, amongst us, oh yes. And party we did with gusto and verve, much wine was poured and much food was served all for our pleasure of course. And, somewhere in my Dyonissian revelry I lost myself and only found me again, later asleep on a soft bed. The only sounds were the ticking of a grandfather in the hall and the soft moans of a woman in her pleasure, one room over. I smiled at the thought, hung over and randy. I left my comfortable surroundings in search of a sweet treat to soothe my raging passion. But I found not a single woman about as I wandered the halls, and the red doors were closed, each mocking me with a remembered rule: "If the door is closed, do not disturb." I was sorely distraught, shit, what a way for this to go. Here I am, with a full free day in a brothel and there are no women about to service my needs. I sat amidst the party remains, sipping a beer and nibbling grapes, cheese, and crackers, marveling at my terrible luck. I felt again like that high school freshman invited to the party but taken no more seriously than the cat. The hours ticked by and I watched them tick, a sour face becoming bitter as the grandfather mocked me each hour with one more bong than the last. Deciding at last to be free of this torture, even if I did have hours left to spill my seed, I rose from my brooding place and returned to the hall. And there coming toward me was a beauty I'd not noticed before. Shift change maybe? I did not care for she came directly to me, hips and breasts swaying as she walked. She whispered in my ear and I could smell lavender in her long brown curls. My pulse quickened and I led her to the room where I'd awoken hours before. Though the door was closed, and I knew the rule, I thrust it open, pulling her to me as I did, only to find one of my friends there with two women in my bed.
"What the fuck?" He said to me.
"No!" That was my reply. "I've waited all day for this and this is MY Room!"
My fury was red as I moved towards them intent on throwing them, or at least just him, from my claimed territory. And I fell into my bed and awoke, looking at my familiar wall, anger still seething in me, trying to find my way to reality again.

Gang Fight and Home Cooked Chinese Food.
I stood in a kitchen in someone's home, holding a Chinese menu. Across a small bar from me stood a smiling little man holding a large knife. I looked down at the menu before me and was puzzled at its size. It seemed to hold every dish in the history of Chinese food, broken down into what I recognized to be Chinese provinces. Though the menu was written with Roman Characters I was confused and I looked around, hoping to see Anthony Bourdain, or Andrew Zimmern there to guide me. The Chinese man smiled, I puzzled and a television in another room seemed to be playing Japanese game shows. While I pretended to decide what to eat I studied my surroundings. The kitchen I sat in was huge for a residential home, bigger than I'd ever seen. It boasted only three bar stools, one of which I was seated in, and six tables with four chairs each. Everything was old and in need of a coat of paint if not outright repair. The most amazing feature of this place though was the stove top the little man cooked over. It was a gas stove, shorter than most by half a foot at least. The cook top itself was a single piece of cast iron, set above eight hotly burning eyes, four in each row. I wanted that stove. Turning my attention back to the menu I swiftly scanned it looking for something that may be sweet and sour chicken when the front door squeeked open.
"It seems your friends are here." The little man said in perfect English. "Will you be eating?" He asked me.
"Sweet and sour chicken," I said to him, "but later."
"It'll be ready, right on time."
"Thank you, Charlie," I said as I rose from the bar.
Standing in the front room as I entered were three identically dressed people. They each wore a leather motorcycle jacket, white t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots. One was a woman, all had a fuzz of black stubble covering their heads. They all looked dirty and worn from the road but happy to see me.
"Ya'll know what to do." It wasn't a question and no one answered me as I walked past them into the street.
They were waiting for me when I walked into the sunlight and I wasted no time shooting them. I think it was the brightness of the day in contrast to the shadows of that kitchen, but I ran dry of bullets before the last of them was dead. He was a fat ginny-looking fucker and he leveled a revolver at me as I stalked him. The doors of the car parked behind him opened and three more guys stepped out, all armed. HE smiled, but I did not. I continued to walk right at him thinking, "Even if I get close enough to tussle for that shooter, he's gonna win that fight." Just then my biker friends unloaded on his buddies and I walked right into the barrel of his revolver. He pulled the trigger and got only a click.
"What was it you told me you guinney fuck?" I asked him as my friends leveled their guns at him. "Should've brought a backup."
When he was dead I turned to my pals and embraced each in turn.
"Thank you, my leather-clad friend."
He handed me a pistol and I turned towards some woman in a dress.
"I have a bone to pick with you, bitch." I said as I shot her in the chest. She slumped as I rose from sleep.

Ambien is Not my Friend
I wandered back into my flesh about twenty minutes before my alarm was set to go off. On the way I kept thinking:
"The Light is fading, fading away."
"The museum is broken because no one gives a fuck about the past anymore. The Light is fading and it is only we who walk in its shadow that will remember it ever existed in the first place."
"This new light is a lie, an artificial caster of shadow that leaves no true night."
"The museum is broken and The Light is fading. Fuck!"

Halloween Party on the 24th. More details soon. Mark your calendar's now.

Thinking

So, Rewriting Writng. I lost this whole thing and decided to take a day before I rewrote.

I missed a week here and I had time to think. I needed some time to think, I think.

I thought about the family I called fiends. I was thinking that they did what they did out of cowardice rather than malice. I believe that you have to have courage in order to act with malice. They are those people who are lazy and selfish abot EVERYTHING. And they are translating that message to their children. He is a bully and a punk. She is a bitch and fucking lazy as hell. cowards and fools I am beyond them.



I was thinking about Friends, or the punk ass bitch nigga I used to call friend. I always knew he was a punk ass though, so.... I remember when he used to kick people out of his car on the side of the road, anywhere, just for "mking him angry". Like he's the fucking hulk or something.

"Arrrgh! Don't make me angry, or I'll put you out." Punk ass never even attempted to put me out. He said it was because I was always cool, I think it was because he was/is a coward. I know for a fact he used to get his wife fucked up, they are both alcoholics, so that he could fuck around on her. And this would happen right in her house, right in her face. I wouldn't be at all suprised if it still does. I think we were friends out of habit more than anything. He has this reputation as a philanthropist, and a benvolent, and kind friend. But it's not true. The man as much admited that he kept some people around for their entertainment value. He has said to me before that he invites women from his job to his parties hoping to get somebody laid. I know for a fact that is you don't fit in to his idea of what's right and wrong you become an outcast. Oh, you can speak your mind, but as soon as you say something no one likes, like:

"Jesus is a fictional character similar to Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy." All fucking hell breaks loose. Or when you stand up to a cop that had no business in your business in the first place, you are a maniac and a subversive individual. Well here is that I think his problem is: While on the one hand he will sit and place a front as a good person, her is in all honesty more like a Baccus or Dionysus. He is fat and breathes like a bull, he drinks too much, eats too much and lechery is his watch word. Debauched and depraved, he hides his true nature under the thin veil of suburban respectability. He's a punk and a coward and I wish he would have the balls to face me but he won't.

I was thinking about my ex-wife. I was thinking that she doesn't think I understand what she is going through. Hell, if the ecomomy is rough for us with 5 mouths to feed, it must be killing her to live in her parents house with one, bright and self sufficient 5 year old. It's got to be hard to drive to Abeline every Saturday to hang out with a man who only weeks ago sent you home in tears. She doesen't understand that I KNOW I only have a small portion of the divorce papers. I am with a woman who is also getting a divorce and I see it all. I get one small packet...where's the rest I ask you? Oh, I don't ask because one; I really don't give a fuck about what she claims from that storage building, Two; anything she does to me out of spite will be harder on out daughter than on me, and I really don't think she's that vindictive. Lost, lonely, foolish, but not vindictive. I think, as I whip up super meals around here, and care for the house and kids, that I used to do all this and more for her. For her I've worked fourteen hour a day jobs, drove busted abd broken down old petrerbuilts' around this state and beyond, I deliverd papers at all hours of the day, I cared for her needs, I went to the laundrymat when we had no way of doing it at home, I cooked and cleaned and never asked her to do it. I took care of everything while she was away so that all she had to do was spend time with our child when she got home. But she used to push our baby aside, worrying about our relationship, when all I wanted to do was get some work done. And in the midst of all this I still managed to put out a whole CD by my self with mediocre equipment. I worked hard on it, while she will tell you I gave up, it wasn't before I put in every effort.

I think she walks around in this perpetual state of panic, as if everything is slipping through her hands right now, and if she doesn't do something she will loose it all. The truth is, she had a great career in the makings, she has people that love and care for her, including my dubmb ass, she has life and all the happiness in the world, if she would just fucking relax. Relax lady.

I was thinking about my kids. Amara, my lovely little girl. She turned five recently and she is as tall and as strong and as smart and brave as any 7 year old boy. She is the light of my life. The joy in my every day and I miss her when she is not here. I hope, and this can change even though I mentioned it last summer, that she will get to spend the summer with us next year. I want to have more than a week, or a few days, to live with my baby again, do the things we used to do together she and I. I was thinking about my son, Dante. He was 8 months old the last time I saw my son. I hope he is well, and happy and strong and bright. I can only hope, he was living in the house that moron built last I heard. Do I regret cursing his mother? Hell, no. She is the cunt bitch that took him away from me, I DO, hope she dies in some fucked up, "you can stop, drop, and roll, bitch roll; but you can't put the fire out," kinda way. Dante will be 3 on October 14, and I will miss it again. I miss him every day. My only son, and I may never know him. Me, who wants a son.
I was thinking about the work I do. Just because I don't have a "job" people seem to think that I don't work. I know for a fact that in a day I do more work than any two of those "get off at five" mutha fuckas. I do know that my work is becoming more focused. I am not just writing at random anymore, I am not just writing about religion and philosophy, I am developing a new sence of the world and how to live in it. I may not be popular, or liked, or in your face every day, but I didn't end up with a public voice because all I do is play games all day. I'm working and I forsee a future where the Kimble Viewoint is a respected voice. I haven't stopped making music, taking pictures or developing my art. I won't stop writing or expressing my views. People are listening.
I was thinking about my life today. It's a happy life, one with little strife and turmoil. That shit comes from outside. I used to be an angry man, and some of you still piss me off, but I have never been selfish, or stupid. I have a woman now that belives in me and won't push me into being someone I'm not. I may not be your average guy, with an average life, but I am a happy loved man. Who wants to be average anyway? I love my life today and I wouldn't change it for anything. Want to know that I think?
I think that if you are not living the life you want to live, then you should get out and get a new one. I think that if you are not happy you should change it, today not tomorrow. I think that if you have an opprotunity to do something for those you claim to love you should do it. Even if it's cleaning the kitchen so she won't have to. Or, giving him a day to play, without you in the way. Or, talking to your kids instead of yelling at them. Take interest in your life.

Love in Sex

So, It's another lovely Saturday. It's pouring rain here in Texas and it has been for days. Rainy days often put people in an amorus state, and here recently amour has been on the agenda around here. Sex with my girlfriend has been great from the beginning. As expected it would, it has been getting better as we get to know one another, but this better is different.

I have been having sex for quite a few years now. Over the years I've become a better lover through a love of practicing the art. I used to say, "When I go in there I am going in to put on a fucking show." Though in many ways that statement holds true, in my older age I think that sex has become more about the person, or people, than the act itself. Factoring in something other than your dick, or pussy, as the case may be, brings into the act more emotion than I'd ever considered before. One can still fuck. I like to fuck, and sometimes we just fuck around here. Fucking is always an option...the possibilities are out there, especially if you love sex like we do. Anyone who is not fucking should find some one, or some ones' lay down some ground rules, compromise, negotiate, beg, and get down to fucking, it will work wonders towards making your days more tolerable. Three cheers for fucking!

Fuck me baby, but fuck me especially if I love you and you love me back. I don't mean puppy love, or lingering lust, I mean love me bitch like you love nothing except your kids, and love me differently from them because I want you to fuck me all over with your love. Love me like that, then come swallow my dick. I mean there is something truly fantastic about fucking someone you love, I know that now like I never have before. My girlfriend and I had a long night of fantastic sex last night. I mean worn out in the wee hours, need to be awake in an hour in a half sex, and I wanted nothing more than to fuck her again this morning when I saw her laying there wrapped in red sheets. Hell she is laying beside me now and I want to stick my dick on her lips, a nipple in my mouth, a great heaping handfull of ass in my hand. It's all because I love her I tell you. Her sexy just turns me on, her swagger is unmatched, her understanding, boldness, passion, confidence, the out right balls of this woman turns me on. Is it because so much about her turns me on that I love her, or do I love her because so much about her turns me on? Does the question even matter?

I love her, and she loves me back, in a crazy way and that love drives the passion like a fucking big block 454. We haven't compromised for eachother, we've contracted one another to an open ended deal. That makes it hard for all of you who wish you were we, and had one or both of the two. You'd have to be a spectacular specimen of a person because we each feel we already have the best thing going. Why bother with you, when I have all I need making me cum on a regular basis. We will remain together as long as we love each other like we do today. We are planning to grow old together, but even if it winds up we don't I can tell you we may fuck until the dust blows away forever.

All I wanted to do last night was stay home fucking my girlfriend. I really had no desire to be out amongst people at all. She convinced me, and I went. Driving through the night, almost a little too high, I was thinking to myself how easy it is for me to slip away from people. I know I need to socialize and network more if I want to have a better hope of success. The problem I have is... well, the people.

There is the guy who calls all his friends family, then chooses sides.

There is the lonely woman that can't find herself at all.

There is the mother who decided she was going to keep a mans son from him.

There is the old friend who judges you more harshly than anyone ever has.

There is almost no reason to continue meeting new and ever dissapointing people. The audacity and stupidity is beyond astounding. Like the woman who pretends to be the mother of your child, like it's funny. I often wish I had the lack of moral capacity to just do what ever I want to people. It must be a great tool for chewing your bit of flesh out of life. But I can't, so I continue to meet new people and I continue to be dissapointed. I go out, when i don't want to, but know that I need to. So last night I went out. And it was well worth the trip.

I know that some of my problem has to do with the type, caliber of person I choose to associate myself with. I can be elitist, I believe some people just will never work out. I give them a turn around the wheel anyway. And they fail me. Like the red kneck pretending to be diverse, but only because: "Davin's not like other black people" .

Last night was different. There was this dude there with an underground, artistic style, back pack jamed full of the tools of an artist, CD's and oddities. Quiet but always talking, creative and distracted, he blew in, filled my head with music and memories of being an underground kid, left me some gems, and split.

I had a chance to get to know some people better. He's a hair stylist, she's an actress, they are an eclectic collision of art, and song, and passion wonder for life. I believe they are genuinely good people.

I spent my week as I do many not really thinking of the lessons we find in our lives. I had a few conversations about people over the last week. About forgiveness, and the reasons it shouldn't be given away so simply. About doing the right thing, thinking the right thing and what all that means. About human sexuality, and why we love food. I realize sitting here, that my life is just as full of philosophy, and adventure and excitement as any travel writer.

In my view point you have to see your life as it is and you have to love the life you are living. It's not something you can fake. You can't pretend to be..., when you are clearly not. You can survive it, but if you are living for sirvival, instead of love... you're missing out.

That's the Kimble ViewPoint.

n, win a prize.

That television spot I'm in begins 2nite. watch @ 6:58, 7:57, 11:28. On KERA channel 13. Alternate version online. Be the first to find the online versio

What a fuckin bitch.

I never thought I would say it, but I am happy my divorce will be final soon. I am so happy I will be shed of this cancer in my life. Not really, we have a kid together, but as far as giving a fuck what she is going through?I am done. Just last weekend she calls me crying, blubbering to be more precise, about how Larry, her boyfriend she just moved my child in with, embarrassed and verbally abused her in public. They were breaking up, and how could she be so stupid, and cry, and whine. That was on Saturday. Monday she calls me all excited, ?You?ll never guess who I ran into on Myspace.?

?Oh, who?? I?m thinking Abby, or Juan, or Lisa; I know however the only reason she would approach me with it the way she did was if it was Brent.

?Brenton Wallace,? she says all excited. ?He wants to talk to you. Says he?s sorry for the way things happened. He says he wants to talk to you. Can I give him your number??

?Fuck that, no. I don?t want to deal with some fucker clearing his conscience all over my day.?

But I?m a sucker, let me back ya?ll up a bit and tell you how we got here.

When I first met Amanda she picked me up from the parking lot of the pool hall. We went back to my friend?s house, and after his girlfriend, and the guy I thought was her husband was passed out; she came up stairs and had a dick in each end of her until dawn. I was completely cool with that, I had a clue what type bitch I was fucking with. We proceeded to get into a relationship that was sexually free. Although she was allowed to have boy and girlfriends right up in my face, everyone I ever saw was not good enough; they were made out to be scheming bitches, or excluded from our household.

We met Brent at the gas station. He used to sell us our cigarettes. Over time we got to know him and not only did we invite him into our house, he invited us into his. We all used to sit around with his wife and kids, watching wrestling, smoking pot, going on crazy trips together. When he started having problems at home our hearts went out to him. We invited him into our home, and I invited him into my wife.

I remember the first time they fucked. (In hind sight I think it was the first time they fucked. They were probably sneaking around on me long before that.) He was kicked from his home, had no where else to go. We were all sitting on the couch, they started making out. Eventually I was like, ?hey ya?ll want to take that shit out of my lap?? From there he lived with us. He moved with us to Austin and for a long while I was the one who got up a 4am so I could ride the bus all the way across town o be late to work every day. I am sure they took advantage of my long days, and my kindness, and fucked most of the day. Neither one of them had a job before we moved out of there into our duplex, the duplex where he betrayed us both.

We were all living together in a duplex. We really could only afford it because we were all working. We had the best time. Our house is where the people hung out. Free flowing booze and sex and pot and fun. They even went off and spent Thanksgiving together because I had to work that weekend. I was well aware of where their feelings for one another were going. I didn?t mind, he was a friend of mine, a trusted comrade. I always believed, and still do, that a poly relationship is possible. This was my proof, things were great. Then around Christmas he betrayed us all.

One day he left to pay the rent and he never came back. Well, he did later with apologies and begging, but not the rent money he stole. Yep, he left, used our rent money to buy his kids Christmas and when that shit ran dry he wanted to come home. Well, by that point there was no home to come to, we were about to be evicted for lack of payment, and Amanda was pregnant. She was so upset that he left, but I think she was more upset that he left without her. When he came back, I could tell she wanted him to stay. I told her so; I told her that for my love of her I would get past this. Instead of doing what she wanted she did what she thought was best. Of course her decision to let him go was my fault. My fault for being her husband, my fault for getting her pregnant, (that was uncertain at the time too. How did I know if it was mine? I was there for some of the stuff she did with her pussy.), my fault for pushing her to make a decision like this. She let him go, even though I knew she didn?t want to, even though I told her I would accept her decision and work my shit out with him, she let him go. ?To save our marriage?. That?s what she told me. He told me yesterday he stole our money and left to save my marriage too. Neither of them realizes this was the incident that sent us on the long road to divorce.

He betrayed us, a betrayal I know I wouldn?t have been forgiven for, by either of them. And even though he did this evil against us, she loves him still. That was the ultimate betrayal.

But she was pregnant with my kid, a fact I was unsure of until I looked into that baby?s face, so I continued through this. She knows full well what a problem this was for me. The last time I had a nightmare was over this shit. I hated her, I hated him, I wanted them both to suffer. But he was gone and we were moving on. Our relationship was in tatters but neither of us realized how badly torn it was. Eventually we do a temporary separation, me again trying to get us back to the city and out of the fucking country. And you know all these years later, as we are supposed to be fighting for our relationship she asks me if I can help her find this man. I lost it, I went off. How could you ask me such a thing? That day was the day I knew I would never go back to her. Judas! Both of them.

So we are getting divorced on Wednesday. Last Saturday she was distraught over the loss of her relationship with Larry. Monday she is calling me saying Brent wants to talk to me, Thursday she is trying to play with my desire to see my kid, so she can go see Brent, on Saturday. Not a few days ago her world was over, when I offered to ease her burden and keep Amara for a while, she says that all she needed right now was her baby, fuck these guys. Today her slut potential is looking very bright indeed. I can see what?s coming. I am going to get to see a lot more of my kid, but I also have to look forward to the potential that she will wind up with a person I hate. I may have to pick my kid up from his house, as this fucking slut looks on smiling.

She says I always win, that I bully her until I get my way. All I am telling her is, if you are going to do all this dick hopping, stop dragging my baby into it. Let me keep her here, where it?s stable and there is no chain of dicks lined up for their turn. I hate the guy for what he did. I hate her for her refusal to see how fucked up he really is. I hate the fact that she is going to play my baby into this and every time I say ?I can?t? it?s going to be played up as she being the long suffering most responsible one. Every time I say ?let me keep her for a while, let me take that responsibility, I can do it now.? My response is ?YOU WILL NEVER TAKE MY BABY AWAY FROM ME!?

It?s the same pattern we always had in every fucking argument. I would make a pretty eloquent and well stated case, she would barely respond with some short hand baloney, I would be angry that she didn?t even listen to my argument, she would say something stupid or insulting, I would then proceed to shove my fucking point down her throat. Better off for us all if she just died. But no luck there I?m sure. I?ve never been that lucky.

So, I decide to give forgiveness a chance and I contact Brent. He doesn?t seem to remember, or care much about what happened. I say fuck it what ever man, you fucking suck. Hours later this bitch is trying to use me so she can go suck his dick, and then gets mad at me because I balk at it. You know, come Wednesday she can go on ta whoreing it up big time. Hell she did that as soon as I left her ass. None of what she does with that cunt is my business anymore. But taking my baby up around someone we both know is dirty, shady and untrustworthy is just stupid and unforgiveable.

I told the bitch I would be here all day Saturday, bring my baby on by. But because I told her how I feel about her slutty ass, she is now making it out that I beat her down and I am keeping her away from her big black dick. I am sure she misses it after a year with the abusive Mexican. But i can see how this will turn out. And again, it ain?t gonna be good. But fuck her; she is going to have to find a new fucking shoulder to cry on when shit goes bad. Not me, not anymore. I am shut of it.

As the world turns

I decided, about a week ago that I was going to blog; A serious blog, once a week, something about my life; not necessarily topical, but about my life. Developing the “concept” has been a problem. So, I am throwing out, concept, and format, and I am writing the way I write, off the dome. Consider this my first foray into, serious, blogging.

With that said, I want to get the elephant in the room out of the way. Tomorrow, I am going to be interviewed, by KERA , about our economy. To be more precise I am going to be part of a KERA promotional piece, highlighting their economic page online. Most of the people I know are under the impression that I am going to be interviewed for a position with the company, and that’s okay. I almost want the actual footage to mostly be an internet find, rather than selfish, self promotion via my networking pages. I’ve mentioned it, but it’s not a huge deal to me. I believe that these people have our best interest at heart, or I would never agree to be exploited this way. I can honestly say that I go to NPR and the KERA website first for my news and information. Saying that won’t be difficult, because it is true. I don’t want them to ask me to be, channel 11, man on the street chipper about it. My biggest fear is wasting these peoples time or embarrassing someone.

These are television professionals coming into my house. I don’t want to be a waste of their time. I don’t really think I have a whole lot to offer. What do I know about the economy? All I know is what I’ve experienced, and seen. They are going to use me, the second sign that release form, no matter what I say they will be able to use it. If I am to avoid embarrassment, I have to be at my best. It’s a daunting prospect, like standing down a hurricane. I’m a bit afraid, but I am also supremely confident. I have aspirations. Maybe I will impress someone, maybe this will be my flash in the pan. Either way, I am ready.

Let’s move on,…shall we?

Kids play a huge part in my life. My girlfriend has three, I have two. Our hands can be pretty full sometimes. We run a pretty loose household. We don’t ask for much; keep your room clean, turn off your TV and lights when you leave a room, let us know where you are going, be careful, and don’t talk to strangers. It is all very simple stuff. And because of the freedom afforded you, you must abide by the rules or deal with the consequences. It seems to me harsh from a kid’s perspective, when everything is so big and scary. It seems to me the best way to teach a kid how to face the trials life has to offer. They must be strong, and they must understand the basics of this society. A strong handshake commands more respect than a weak one; An articulate individual, no mater how under educated, will command more respect than an illiterate dupe. A child that is well schooled on the potential hazards the world has to offer, is a child better suited to become a true member of our nation, rather than another drone. We have to take chances and allow our children to explore their world. If we instill positive habits in them early, we may worry, but we will have nothing to fear.

I find myself in a very awkward place in life. On one hand I have an opportunity to develop my art and become some thing before I die. On the other hand I really should, according to every old tradition, be breaking my back if necessary, taking care of my family, financially. I should be giving up every dream, for the socialist, 1950’s American Dream fantasy we all grew up with. We know it’s bullshit, yet we continue to feed the machine. I wanted nothing more than to never give another dime to Walmart; then I realized, after 60 days of expensive groceries, that I can’t afford to take a moral stance. Still, rather than work my fingers to the bone, in some rich guy’s sweat shop, for 60 hours a week, so I can just get buy, I would rather work towards something better, for the rest of my life, than wok my ass of to be broke anyway. Some may say I have taken a women’s role. I would tell those people a few things. One: I do this job better than most women out there today. I know a few who couldn’t cook minute rice. Two: I do this job and still manage to move my career forward, alone. Three; if the hoe wives out there kept their wives as happy as I keep my girlfriend, the divorce rate would go down. That would also happen if the marriage rate decreased; but I digress.

Point is, I am getting by. Bad economy or good, partner, alone, or with a gang, employed or un-, it’s all the same. My DOW is steady and my SNLP is not slippin’. It’s because I am working towards beter today, than I was yesterday. It’s all gotta add up to something, right?

MindFUck

So, I am sitting here, working on my "web presence", watching MindFreak, thinking about the changes a few years bring. A few short years ago, I would have been sitting here, switching between the UFC and MindFreak, in some way wishing I was one of those guys. doing push-ups as I drank beer after beer, never getting anything done. feeling like a failure before I had a chance to even try.

Now, these few years later, I sit here, after one in the morning, watching MindFreak, foregoing the UFC, wondering what I saw in any of it. I know, of course, but I still consider it. I believe that I was searching for something to believe in and, not wanting to believe with the masses, and not fully understanding my chosen path, I wandered in the macho abyss. Swallowed by not being a man, and not knowing how to become one, I found myself in years of fear and failure.

Now, right now, on the brink of.... What? Nothing really, an opprotunity to make a fool of myself, a flash that can become my crowning glory, more easily than it can become an in road to success. My daughter sleeps soundly in the room next door, a child afloat in a sea of her parents failures. My girlfriend snores softly beside me. So tired, so exausted by all we must do. Madison turned 12 today, and in a way, I feel her brothers behavior overshadowed her day. My ex-wife sits right now, in a small house where her only child must sleep on a couch every night, instead of having her own room. There are two little boys, right down the hall from me that deserve the extra minutes of time our lack of sleep gives them.

All of these people need me. They all need me to become something, because they all believe in me. They all give me the room to work, because they beleive in me. What sort of failure would I be, if I didn't believe that every opprotunity, is a chance to make their lives better?

I used to believe in violence of action. I still do in many ways. I may sign my emails with "Peace and Zen', but I will act with violence. I truly only want to give something to those who have given so much to me.

I've always believed in magic; it's never been a question to me whether or not the impossible was possible. The only question was, "how do I make it so?" While I look at the television build-up, carefully cut audience reactions, and filler, fluff; I wonder how I ever believed that he was any different from any other street magician. No matter what trick he pulls, it's still all slight of hand, misdirection, smoke and mirors, the Art of Lesser Magic. I sit on the verge of possibilities, a small predator in an ocean of much bigger, more experienced fish. But I do have the power I learned in magic. I know the psychological benefits of believing in something, and I choose this.

I will rise, as I always have. From the Great Horned son of the Dragon, to the Dragon King himself. I have to accept what lies ahead of me with great humility. I have to face what lies ahead of me with great courage. I know what must be done.

Steady as she goes

Steady as she goes

So the economy is a subject that is fresh on everyone’s mind right now. Every day we hear reports that our economy is in a recession that is alternately, slipping into a desperate depression, or reversing itself. The experts will tell us a thousand reasons why this is happening, and why it seems to change daily. They tell us that shopping helps stimulate the economy, but most of us don’t have the money to shop. We buy what we need, and on occasion catch a movie, or have a nice meal. Every day you can look around you at the world buzzing away as it always has and there truly seems to be no problems. I may not have the extra cash to spend a hot miserable day at Six Flags, but somebody does because those coasters keep –a – runnin’, don’t they?

I believe that the economy is having problems on a global scale because of the wars, and the cost of war. I believe that corporate greed and mismanagement contributes to economic loses. I believe that the way the economy affects you depends entirely on how you view your life. There are people out there making it every day on less than you have. As bad as it may seem, poor people live better here in America than poor people in other countries. We have options and opportunities right at our finger tips, and instead of utilizing them, we continue doing all the wrong things.

If the economy is going to change for the better, we are going to have to take our part in it more personally. Begin to make changes right in your home that will bring stability to the only economy that really matters, the one right in your own home.

http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=113304872821&h=fUGK-&u=r_E3q&ref=nf

Testing.

Incontinence: Souls Passion

Incontinence: Souls Passion

I was snatched from the world.

Buffeted immediately by the winds that torment me still, I did not fall, no; I was torn up by Hell like a shallow weed. There was no graceless descent, only the storm. Constantly, I am whipped about by the mercy-less currents. Rain and hail and fierceness are all I feel. And the ground, the unforgiving hard-tack earth below. I am not always tossed; often I am flung, free of the gale, and left to fall crashing to the ground. There is no rest for me, broken on the stones. Great beasts roam the lands around us. Their huge feet trample and kick us as they pass. Huge, taloned hands, scoop us up with dirt and rubble, a dozen in a hand full, and toss us back into the storm. And through it all, never do I touch a soul.

Though our numbers are as great as the raindrops, I have never made contact with another soul here. As if the very air is too thick to allow contact, we never even brush one another. Often the hope is there, as you twirl past another tortured soul. You can see it mirrored in the eyes, and the terror, and the disappointment of missing the remembered intimacy, again. We reach for one another in hope on the dusty earth, seeking an escape from our tortures. And scream as those hopes are dashed to bits before our eyes, or flung into Madam Gale, lost forever.

Limbo: Souls Lament

And then I died.

Oh, what a wretched soul I became in that moment. They say that dark shadows come for you when you die, but I saw no shadow, and I saw no white light. I fell. I fell, and I cried out in utter terror as I plunged headlong into black abyss. I could see nothing, and my descent increased in speed until I felt I would be ripped apart by the sheer velocity of the winds. My cries were stripped from my lungs, and my eyes squeezed shut tight when I hit the first cliff edge. The shock of that blow was astounding. I struck that rock edge with such bone breaking force that I was rebounded and cart wheeled back out into the abyss. My eyes flew open from the shock, and as I twirled through the air, momentarily suspended, I saw others, no luckier than I, broken on those sharp ledges. Around me flew a great host of winged horrors feasting on, and fighting over, those poor souls. I saw this in only a second as I flew, then, again, I fell. Many times my body was smashed against the ledges. Once, a terrible beast, raked me from a ledge, tearing a great hole into my side. I wailed from the pain as I plummeted, again faster and faster, I could see others around me falling, some crashing into one another, the number was so great. I fell together, with them, through a great cavern. So vast was it?s depths you could not see any end. And the fear than leapt into my heart as I saw what awaited me below, was more than I can tell. Spread out below me, like great tapestries, were horrid tortures and brutal suffering. Some crashed to the stones below, only to be impaled upon a jagged weapon and deposited into a pit full of broken souls. Others fell directly into the pits and were crushed by the soul above them, or beaten back from the edges with whips and spears. I fell into the open maw of a Demon mouth and was swallowed whole. Crushing and suffocating blackness surrounded me. I was burned and broken, tangled with others limbs, I thrashed against the confines, no care for those suffering around me. The crowding in that putrid stomach was more than any but the damned could bear. The beast, finally full, vomited us into the pits, one atop the other, twisted into the shape of its throat, we splattered in a heap upon those who came before.

Above me, before I was buried, I saw a great fiend, fallen souls crashing into its back. As tall as a mountain, it labored ceaselessly, reaching down into the pits with its massive shovel like hands, churning the cauldron of souls. Those below were brought to the surface, and others were lost to the depths. This motion created a slow current that moved us about, but not for a moment did my torment stop. Carrion birds circled above me, squawking for a meal, they dove, tearing my flesh. Others around me, fighting off the flock, kicked and punched me, all struggling to remain on top of everyone else. Though the birds ate me, and the maggots chewed my flesh, I fought to remain on the surface of this sea of souls. My greatest fear was the thought of being turned, for ever, beneath that crush. As if, through my fear, I wished it into being, a succession of souls crashed into my back, pushing me down with its weight. All is black now. I can?t recall when I last drew a breath, or felt the weight of my own form. There is only the crush, and the dark.

WTF?

A very old girlfriend and a Diamond in my heart
Or
WTF?

So, here we are at a point in my life where it seems that I have some sense of peace. Things are going well, all things considered and I am very happy. I have a loving girlfriend who gives me everything I need and want. I get to see my daughter on a regular basis and I have a pretty good relationship with her mother. Enemies are nonexistent, and I an rarely truly angry. Now don’t get too excited the story gets very fucked up. So, my friends… If you need to pee or if you have a weak stomach you should pee and make a cup of tea. Okay, are you ready? Good…here… we… go.

A few weeks ago a daughter I haven’t seen in eighteen years (yeah I know), pops up. Actually her mother popped up. Good news right? Finding a long lost child. Yeah, yes it is but don’t look forward to a happy reunion story like the ones you see on Oprah. No, this is definitely not one of those stories. This tale is grim and anger inducing. The first few days were alright as far as these things go I suppose, I am not an authority but I am quickly becoming experienced. I find that this almost adult child is in pre-med at UNLV. She is very smart and athletic, beautiful and the mother of an equally beautiful one year old daughter of her own.

Oh? What’s that? Yes I said daughter, “of her own”. I went to bed one night making the joke that I could wake up the next day a grandfather for all I knew and wonder of mutha fuckin wonders I wake up the next day a GRANDFATHER! Yeah, beware idle jokes people.

So, anyway, sometime over the next few days of constant crying from her mother who is, and has been, completely in love with me since I was 15, (I know right? WTF?) There is a plan for us to get together over spring break. She, the daughter is coming down anyway, it’s a perfect plan. Yep, until as unexpectedly as can be BAM! The kid has a car wreck while talking to me on the phone and eating some form of fucking disgusting fast food. This is the first time everything mysteriously goes dark for awhile. When the lights come back on the mother is on her way to Vegas, makes sense right?, so we keep in contact things seem to be progressing rather normally, I offer to come down as support, the kid wakes up and everything goes wonky.

Suddenly, and I say suddenly because that is how it seemed to me…BAM! Bitch it’s a new fucking day! Wake yo ass up! Suddenly the mother is cawing and blubbering about a heart condition that she’s had since her mother stabbed her in the chest for getting pregnant with a nigger baby. (I warned you this was fucked up). Apparently, she made me the beneficiary or custodian of EVERYTHING until my kid is like 25 or some shit. I’m thinking to myself, as I am certain you are, WTF? Right? Then you’re with me here. Okay my kiddo is getting better and then the next fucking day has some relapse thing and her fever won’t go down and she won’t sleep. And her mother goes down with a heart problem and has to go immediately into surgery. And… wait for it.

The lights go out again. Click just like that, silence. I don’t know what to think right. There is all this weeping and asking for help. But absolutely no listening to a fucking thing I am saying. I want to know what I need to do. Obviously if this custodian thing is real I will have some decisions to make and some questions to answer. But nope anything important goes unnoticed in the depths of what I am now realizing is a deep sea of self pity and excuses. And, fuck me, I am swimming in it during a storm and I didn’t bring a boat. Lucky for me, or lucky they couldn’t keep up the dramatics indefinitely, I am a strong swimmer and the raging emotional sea calmed a bit. Or that’s how I remember it happening.

The lull was brief but I thought very productive. It was the first time I really got to talk to my daughter without her selling me on her mother every five minutes. I find out that she is a gamer and a rapper like her father. She hates food obviously because she won’t eat anything that isn’t prepackaged and ready for consumption. Her favorite color, and music, and what’s going on with that boyfriend of hers.

Speaking of which, I forgot. When the kiddo first went into the hospital, her mother went to her place to pick up some things and finds the boyfriend fucking some other chick and proceeds to beat the shit out of them both and goes off to JAIL for two days. All together now…WTF!? Yeah, I know.

Where was I? Oh having a great time with my kid. She is getting better, leaving the hospital soon. Her mother hadn’t awoken from the surgery but, the lights are on and very bright. It was good. And then… mom get’s worse. Now Doctor Kimble proceeds to tell me she is going to find a way to save her moms life and; Blackout!

I was as tired of it as you are by this point and so some questions started needing answers. With some help I did some research, Love the WWW right? But I came up blank. Dead end. Then I learn that during all of this the mother’s myspace page is being updated every day and the daughters is bullshit. So I start asking questions. Like: “Why do we continue to ignore the important shit like, the hospital you say ya’ll are in doesn’t exist?” It’s a valid question right? Especially when everything is completely illogical. The only thing I actually believed at this point was that this is my kid. I know the mother and I know who I was fucking at 15. Everything else had a dark veil over it and then we got into a fight. My daughter and I I mean. And it was a good one. I am known to be verbally vicious when I want to be. But when I feel I must do it you deserve it believe me. So after the verbal whipping she vanishes completely. Absolute darkness.

Then, miraculous recovery her mother wakes up. What? Huh? The fuck is that shit. Heart surgery and you are sounding pretty hale and hearty. And getting out in a few days? Wow aren’t you a tough nut. Your daughter is back to work already. Yeah I know… So what’s up. Ah nothing. And there really was not much. Things were pretty cool but they crashed and continued to do so.

It seemed that every week there was a new hope and then a new reason for them to not show up. I was supposed to fly out to Vegas to meet her. That turned into her mom flying here and us driving back together, then that turned into my daughter driving here and us driving back together. None of it happened. First there was mom coming here to clear some things up and help my kid find an apartment. Then she went BACK TO JAIL here. It took my kiddo three days to get here and when she got here she never came by and neither of them would let me come over their house and always had a reason we couldn’t meet. Then I find out my daughter just moved on her own accord and would be here. Great, I thought, that’s wonderful. Still there was no meeting. They refused my invitations to dinner, they refused my invitations to hang out and recently she refused my invitation to her great-grandmothers 83rd birthday party. And some how along the way all of this is my fault. It has caused tension in my household which is happy, and full of love, light and laughter. Since this started there have been an escalating series of fights that almost destroyed my relationship.

I want nothing more than to get to know my child and grand-child and at every step I have been turned away and here, I believe is the reason why. These women in their minds had built up some idea of what this reunion would be like. Maybe they thought I would just run away into the sunset with them and we would have some family dream. Maybe they thought that instead of living my life I spent all of it wondering what could have been, living in some memory of a 6 month relationship I had when I was only 15 years old. When they didn’t get what they wanted out of me they decided instead to try to destroy it. They almost succeeded. My girlfriend and I had a huge fight last week and we split in a very ugly way. During that night and most of the next day I practically begged them to help me go to where she couldn’t find me. And again they went dark, left me hanging and blamed me for not being there waiting the next day. No I wasn’t there hanging. The woman I love showed up and there was only one way I was going to allow her to leave me at that house…if she wanted to. But they couldn’t destroy my life. They want to say that all of this was my fault. The truth is it was theirs. Diamond and Amy created this situation not me. I worried, and paced my floors, I cried and fought my loved ones on their behalf, I wondered and dreamed and lied to my mother about how well things were going. I allowed these people into my life and they made a fucking fool of me. I ate it I accepted it and I almost lost everything because I want nothing more than to be a good father to my children, if they want me to or not. And now I am just tired. I am tired of being played with, I am sick of being pushed and manipulated. Play games with your friends or those punk ass niggas you let put babies in you but do not fucking play games with me. I want to close this by giving you the one example of texts between us I still have.

Her: Hi there Crystal this is Diamond do you know where my father is please

Me: I am here baby girl whats up

Her: Hey how are you

Me: Much better. How are you love? Hey there is a little gathering for your great-grans birthday tomorrow. Want to join me?

Her: I am good so you and crystal made up and everything is back to normal

Me: Yeah. There were some things that needed to be said and we are moving forward.

Her: That’s good I thought I would let you know that we are all moving to new york

Me: So did ya’ll make that decision when your mom stood me up the other night?
Her: Mom did not mean that she was going to call you because we got hit (at the hospital where they both supposedly work.) right when she tried to leave and she was going to come that morning but she called and you were gone back to her

Me: Naw. I didn’t leave my grandmas till after one o’clok. But it’s cool I see where I stand and I get it. Just stay in touch know your father loves you and always had. When you are ready I will be here.

Her: I think that with all that has gone on I do not think so I can not deal with it and I can not be around someone who does not like my mom or anything like that okay so this is it. (for the fifteenth time.)

Me: What? This has nothing to do with your mom. She left me hanging and that’s fucked up but it has nothing to do with me liking her. I don’t even know her. But let that be your excuse. (today, she always had one or another reason to quit talking to me.) Take responsibility or run from me but don’t blame the lack of a relationship between your mom and I for your choices.

Her: I have talked to mom and she told me everything okay I am the one who told her to leave you there cause all you were going to do is go back to her (meaning Crystal,) and all the shit that she talked I knew that is all it was so do not go there with me ok so now you can keep on doing you cause mom had nothing to ever lie to you about ok I am the one who does her my space page ok so you all can think whatever about us on I knew this was a mistake from the beginning ok

Me: That hurts me. But it’s your choice, your blame not mine. Not once did you take any opportunity to get to know me. I don’t fit your mold so you choose to keep me out. And the truth is I needed you and you bailed on me. Crystal really loves me and cam through when you never did. The only mistake is that you never had the balls to face me and see my life, my world. You never cared enough, kept me out at every turn. Do what you want. You are going to anyway. Again I am here and forever will be. When you grow up maybe you will understand. Or you will act like your grand-father and toss me aside. I am used to being the scape-goat I carry that burden well. Say what you want about me. Think what you want about the father you never knew and then made the choice to not know. What ever makes you feel superior.

Her: Well I am glad that you are happy cause I know I am okay I was better for not knowing you. (She still has no fucking concept of who I am. She doesn’t get that though.)

Me:I can’t do anything about how you feel. I am simply not a dog to be led around. Playing with my emotions. Here, then not. Putting me off. Like I said, what ever helps you sleep at night. You are an adult, quit blaming me. You chose this. You are choosing to end it. For all your smarts you are a serious disappointment as a person. A Kimble is strong and faced adversity with power and grace. Keep that in mind as you journey into your future. Honor, Dignity, and truth. Not cowardice and fear.

Her: Whatever davin goodbye have a nice life bye.

Me: I wish you only peace and happiness on your journey my child. Hate me if you must but know that I love you instead. There is nothing else I can do you won’t let me.

Her: because you are full of it okay you tell my mom that none of ya’ll believe her and shit. (because there were so many inconsistencies.)

Me: That’s not what I said. Look, here is the deal. Come through for once. Do it now, right now. Get to know me, learn my life, love me or don’t. But quit playing with my emotions. I want you if you don’t feel the same then stop threatening me and be done. The only reason there is so much doubt is because every time I put forth an effort, every time I open my heart and house there is a new reason for you to say no, not now, later. You are full of it. I am ready and willing and I have been from day one. Now I am just tired of playing this same game. You guys have my address but you never opened yourselves to me. (I don’t know anything about these people, nothing.) To me there is no reason for all this drama. I am your father. If you really cared about that you would have been here in my face weeks ago I am not going to continue playing these games with you. Be real for once and face me tell me what you want. But it’s your ball game you are making the rules and changing them as you please. I am just along for the ride because I mean what I say. That’s real. Dance or clear the floor for the real b boyz. Rap or pass the fucking mic.

Her: I am sorry but I do not want anything to do with you or her but I would like to know the rest of the family just not you or her.

Me: Fuck that. One thing you fail to realize about family young one, it’s all or nothing. You can’t pick and choose. They haven’t called you because you haven’t met me. You think this is a game? This is loyalty at its best. Get in where you fit in or get the fuck out. I have been very generous with you my family is harsh and exacting.

Her: Fine then I do not want any of you, so bye I will never contact you again.

Me: Too bad. You are missing out on a very tight family that would embrace you without question if only you would quit treating me like shit. Your loss. They are dear to me, more than myself, and I to them. And as much as you would like to subvert that it won’t happen. But I am going to give you your chance to try. Let’s start with your grandmother. Her name is Q**** Marie and she is my mother and the first woman I ever loved. (here I give her my moms number. What? No you can’t have it.)
Her: 04-12-2009- Happy Easter. (Wow what’s that? I guess this was her attempt to come to the party.)

Her: 04-14-2009- Not like you care or anything but I am leaving today for New York.

Me: not like you ever gave a fuck bit I would have liked to meet you.

Her: how do you know what I wanted huh you do not the only thing you want or are worried about is your stupid respect (respect is stupid? Well that explaines errry thang!) you want people to respect you and if they do not then you want nothing to do with them and that is messed up because I tried to come meet all of you on Sunday (the happy easter text I guess.) but no one would tell me anything I texted you to find out and there was nothing so please do not give me that shit okay she does not want you around me (Crystal I guess) my daughter or my mom well I hope she is happy cause none of you have to worry about that any more ok it was a mistake to find you okay (wow really?) and I am sorry to have caused you all of the shit that I did but how could you be with a woman like that (crystal again I guess. But it proves again she does not know me. Anyone that does knows Crystal is my kind of woman.) huh love or no love that is not the woman for anyone (judgmental of people you don’t know, how charmingly xian of you.) just gross now I know why that other woman keeps you from my brother (Dante and his mom came long before Crystal and left long before too.)…

And on and on in judgment of others drawing conclusions about my life.

So this is how it ends, me screaming into the phone in the middle of the street so I don’t disturb the kids. I am on the phone, on both numbers and one brand new number I never had before with a bunch of mutha fuckas telling me they have no idea what I am talking about. I am mad as hell and feeling gangsta as fuck. I only ever tried to be the best father I could be and all I got was bullshit for a full month of my life. To the point that I was about to loose the most important things to me for the sake of a child I have never known. I was played and now I understand why these niggas go to Maury and Montell to find out the truth. When you stand up and decide you are going to be the truth all you get from the fraud ass mutha fuckas out there is bull shit and lies. All I ever wanted was to be a father to the child I never knew and all I got was drama and lies and bull and unfortunately everyone in my life was drawn into it. What I have, as my girl would say, is a whole lot of crow to eat. I have to back track on a lot of what I’ve done and said on behalf of a lie others told. I am the truth but it would seem that even that is not enough. It would seem that you also have to know that others are as well. I am saddened as well as angered by this situation. I feel that out of their fear of what I might do, what I would do, they decided that deniability was the best option. Now I know why I never got an address or one moment of face time. Now I know why I never saw these people or learned one thing about their lives. If there ever was a child she is just as guilty as the rest and she can die with the people she chose over me. She can DIE do you hear me she can burn and rot with the rest. Yes I am fucking pissed and I mean every word of it. Eat shit and die slow all of you. I am DONE!