Memories are fleeting

 

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Memories are fleeting

They come and they go

They travel with purpose through time and space shrouded in a benevolent grace

They tip toe in and out of dimensions never asking for permission

They come and they go

Finding clever ways to ride the storms of emotions

Begging to be let go

While others cling to the atoms of your mind tethered in anger and pain

Threatening to ignite if their grip ever fades from synaptic light

How can one fight a memory?

It possess no physicality, yet remains deeply rooted like an oak tree encompassing the total of your mentality…

Memories are fleeting

They come and they go

Some hide from the light

Carrying decades of secrecy and misery

Poisonous and toxic diseased things these kinds of memories are

Born in tragedy they seek to infect you mentally

Replication of their birth is all they perceive to be worth

Tricky little parasites who possess no physicality, yet remains deeply rooted like an oak tree

How can this be?

Memories are fleeting

They come and they go

You would chase them across billions of oceans to grasp a ghost long past

Stuck to the back of your eyelids resting on a bed of pillows forms your heaven in which you would proudly close your eyes every second just to watch the cinema of your life’s past.

This vision you cannot let go

It envelopes you like a bottomless sea but in this memory it’s ok because all you want to do is see

But the past is tricky

You no longer live there, therefore it’s impossible to exist there

You have to come back

In fact, you should probably run, and not leave your mind there,

Your physical self is here

Although we are multi-dimensional beings our presence is first and foremost present

Let memories inspire you but remember they are fleeting

Don’t let them leave you stuck in the past chasing flowered meadows blanketed by warm and beautiful sunshine while singing and playing

And then…

And then they are gone

Who craves being stuck in the past unable to escape the grave of all graves?

Each level carries the burden of 100 deaths

Leaving you in darkness buried under the universal void of forgotten and unknown

To never exist is the same as being forgotten

To be forgotten is to be unknown and erased from the cosmos

And this is the premise in which all memories fight

We give them life and all life fights to remain alive

Memories are fleeting

They come and they go

But honestly though

Sometimes it’s best to smile when they come

And let go when they go

By FAAther Time Neteru

12/4/2015

there is a difference

the_phantoms_of_the_brain_by_richworksTHERE IS A DIFFERENCE

Part: one

BY

FAAther Time Neteru

 

You walk up to the door of a house where a small house party is being held. You open the door and see somebody you know, and then say, “What’s up my negga … what it do?”

As you walk through the door, you see a female to the left and one the right, both of them sitting on couches. You then see your negga Dell, and then he looks at the female to your right and tells her, “That’s a real nigga right there baby girl”.

You find out a little later that her name’ is Aaliyah. She takes heed to what Dell told her, so now she is checking you out from head to toe. You see her checking you out, so you walk over to her, and then say, “What’s poppin? They call me Sneed.”

She smiles, and then extends her hand, “I’m peace … ” She says, ” … My name is Aaliyah. How you?”

You respond by saying, “I’m good ma. Just trying to figure out why a fine ass female like your self is sitting all alone.”

She smiles, ignoring the compliment and then says, “That’s funny how you say you was doing some figuring because I was doing some figuring too.”

You jokingly reply, “Naw baby … I ain’t easy, you can’t take me home tonight. Ain’t that what Monica said, ‘I wanna get down, but not the first night’?”.

She looks at you, not hardly impressed by your humor, but to not appear rude she smiles and then sarcastically replies, ‘Yeah …that was cute.  And here I was thinking I was about to get some… you got jokes”.

You are so caught up in yourself that you can’t even hear the sarcasm, so you foolishly think you are getting somewhere. You ask her “what’s on your mind ma?” She responds by saying, “You must be reading my mind, and I got a lot on it too. But, I’m just going to start with some figuring out. Remember that?”

You nod your head, not really knowing where this is going. But she doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it to much before she starts to speak. “When you came in here, yo boy called you a “Real Nigga” … why he call you a real nigga? ‘What makes you a real nigga?” She says smiling.

You take a closer look at her. She was sitting by herself in a house full of hard legs. She smelling good as fuck, looking good as fuck, no makeup, no perm, everything is just right. The only jewelry she is wearing is a gold necklace with a funny looking cross you had never seen before with a loop on top of it. She also has matching dangling earring. Looking in her eyes is both intoxicating and intimidating. It almost feels like she can see right through you, which in turn makes you want to look away periodically to avoid her stare. Trying to maintain the eye contact just about makes your eyes water. You soon notice that when you look away she follows you to maintain the eye contact.

You sit all the way back on the couch, and then she scoots closer. You take a deep sigh, and then say, “Shit … I’m just a real nigga. Flat out. Ask anybody that shit. I keep it all the way trill. You feel me?”

Looking a little disappointed by your response, she responds with, “I hear you, but I don’t feel you. You didn’t answer my question. I wanted to know why yo boy called you a real nigga. Why—are you a real nigga? What—have you done—that qualifies you—to be a real nigga? I mean … did he call you a real nigga because you play with hammers? did he say it because you been to the joint? Did he say it because you fuck a lot of hoes? Did he say it because you push work? Did he say you a real nigga because you a jack boy, you like layin niggas down? Is that what qualifies you to wear the title, ‘Real Nigga’. Boo … you gotta break it down to me”.

You are shocked to say the least, which in turn sparks this response from you, “Damm … you a muthafucka! But I like a challenge though. But what kind of shit is you on? You talk reckless as fuck!”

So, while you sit there dealing in emotion, she sits there cooler than a fan in wintertime chilling on a deep freezer checking you out. She not feeling your swag, and never was.  She thought you were cute, so she indulged you. Never once seeing you as an equal, but more like a mouse trapped in a maze being trained to hunt cheese.

Looking in your eyes she says, “If I offended you, I’m sorry, though I’m far from being sorry. There is nothing sorry about my divinity…I’m just trying to figure you out”.

You stare at her for a second, and then it hits you.  You start to feel it. You’re starting to think to yourself that you may have bit off a little more than you can chew. But, you are by no means a quitter. And, even though you couldn’t figure her out, you decide to take another crack at it. So, you tell her, “Yeah … that’s why I’m a real nigga. But, that ain’t the only reason why I’m a real nigga. I take care of my neggas. If shit need to get bodied, or laid down for one of my neggas, then fuck it, that’s what it is. My neggas will do the same shit. If neggas look out for me, I’ll look for them. If neggas show me love, I’ll show them same neggas more love. I take care of my sister and all her kids. I pay my momma’s and my sisters bills. That’s why I’m a real nigga, cause real niggas do real nigga shit.”

You stare at her while she quietly sits there nodding her head. But she doesn’t nod in agreement.  She nods because she told herself that all niggas sound like broken records repeating the same ole ignorant nonsense as if they were born with a manual of dumb shit to say. So, with a deep sigh, she replies, “I heard some of what you said, and I was feeling some of what you said. Taking care of your family makes you a real man, not a real nigga. I mean think about it … what does negga mean? The dictionary defines the word nigger or niggardly as ignorance or derogatory term for black people. I could go deeper into the etymology of the word nigger, but i dont think you would understand. So, do you really want to associate this word with yourself? What are you saying about yourself or others saying about you when you or they say, ‘I’m a real nigga,’ or ‘I fucks with nothing but real niggas. These same real niggas saggin they pants, showing the world they ass by robbing, and killing their people, by selling that narcotic death to their people, and by giving the opposite sex incurable diseases. If you ask me, I think these so called real niggas got being a real man confused with being a real nigga. They are not the same. There is a difference. Real niggas need to understand that. Real niggas need to understand that real men take care of their families, real niggas don’t. Real niggas play with hammers for dumb reasons, real men don’t. Real men have a problem with taking stuff from people that don’t belong to them, because they worked too hard for their own. Real niggas don’t give a fuck. So boo … there is a difference. A man—ain’t a slave, because he’s not a negga. A negga is a slave, or should I say, that’s what the slave master used to call his slaves. And since the slave master wasn’t big on teaching his slaves how to read or speak properly … slang and Ebonics were born. Or, should I say the word negga was born. So, a man who refers to himself as a nigga or negga aint really a man, because he is telling the world ‘I’m ignorant because I say I am and, ‘I am a slave who will do masters job for him. Can’t have massah bruising his hands and feet walking all over and beaten up on us poe niggas. I has tah do it fo him. I has tah rape and beat black women fo him. I has tah rob and kill neggas fo him’. “Do you feel me or am I trippen?” She says leaning toward you, her face is like 12 inches from yours. All the while she is reading the confusion and anger in your face. It’s almost like she is enjoying it.

From reading you, she thinks to herself, “I hope I ain’t made this brutha wanna run to them she devils. Oh well if I did. They can have all them real niggas. Let them fuck they lives up instead of ours. Let them get turned out young and dumb, drinking, smoking, fucking and dropping out of school thinking it’s cute or cool just for some dick…I ain’t the one”.

You mad as fuck. You want to slap sparks out this bitch because you know she just disrespected you in ways you don’t even understand. So, you stand up, and then say, “Man… I’m feeling some muthafuckin kind of way!”

She looks up at you, while pulling you back down by the hand she says, “You asked me what was on my mind boo. I just assumed you really wanted to know, or why else would you ask?!”

Now you really pissed, because you feel like she just came at you like a straight sucka. You know you ain’t never been that. So, the first thing that comes out your mouth without thinking is the word…

Bitch!!! … BITCH YOU GOT ME FUCKED UP. I DON’T KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU TALKING TO. LET ME GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM YO GOOFY ASS. YOU STUPID ASS BITCH!!

AAliyah shrugs her shoulder as you walk away. She’s use to getting those types of responses from what she considers to be weak men, little boys wearing the skin of a grown man. But she says one more thing to you before you walk out of hearing range. “I’d rather be a bitch then a real nigga”, she says as she starts singing and grooving to the Keri Hilson song ‘slow dance’…

Got you in my element

 Time to represent who you wit…

The whole world staring at the both of us

and I’m giving you all my love.”

You walk over to yo negga Dell and notice he is laughing.  You say, “Negga … that bitch is fried. Negga…I almost punched that hoe in her shit.”

Dell is now laughing so hard that he got you wondering what the fuck is so funny. So you ask him, “Negga…what the fuck is so funny?”

It’s at this time that you pay attention to the female that he had been sitting with since you walked in the door.

“My negga…” Dell says. “That shit funny because you like the fourth negga to try and holla at that bitch and leave salty as fuck. She been sitten right there all night shitten on neggas…lol.  Me and her cousin been sitten here betting on how many neggas go over there and leave salty. This bitch just got me for another fifty bucks”, he says laughing.

“I ain’t betting no more. I just knew yo pimpin ass was gonna knock her off. If you couldn’t knock that bitch, it’s a wrap. Shit…if she don’t fuck with real niggas, what kind of neggas do she fuck wit?

FAATHER TIME NETERU

3/4/2009

“The moral of the story is perception and projection….how we perceive ourselves is what we project to the world of what we think we see in the mirror. Most of us have been brainwashed and conditioned on what to see as a real nigga, and because of that conditioning we break our necks to project it. It has become a culture all on its own. A culture we aspire to and think we are supposed to be. We view any behavior contrary to it as corny even though our quests to be real niggas has and always real result in the same negative results; prison, fatherless children, death and a whole slew of other consequences. It is imperative that we change how we perceive ourselves. We must see ourselves as divine beings so that we may project our divinity and change our condition in the world and then change the world…we must remember that we founded every ancient civilization in the world and it technology that can’t even be replicated even today.”