truth—a fruit so sweet
Should never be withheld until it is profitable
water in a desert—truth!
The dying need the truth
If I am going to heaven let it not be on a bed of lies
And if to hell—there I will need more truth to wipe my brow
Let me panic—at least I will breathe a little
when we become as
water we are unbreakable
fluid and flexible
The Black Arts Movement was a revolution in itself, it was art in action; it wasn’t just entertainment work, it was more than social-medium appeasement, it was art that could be your last expression. Art is powerful and dangerous enough that it can change things.
A man handed me a phone card and said, thank you for your service; I responded thank you for the years. See the moment he handed me the cards, I was 21yrs old again, sitting on the hot deck of the USS Lake Erie off the coast of Jebel Ali dreaming of home or a cold beer to wet my thirsting throat. The days of turning-two in the high-noon, before cellular and email, when letters came few and between months, when everyline was followed by “over!” We only wish that it was and prayed that it wasn’t. He smiled and said, “you’re welcome!”
In matters of responsibility, there is a gross irresponsible approach in the way we measure accountability in this day and age. Our social construct has stepped in the way of our effective ability to make the sound and most need hard choices to ensure a generation will survive the next evolutionary change in the human existence. There is a trade-off for social politeness over good citizenship, and it seems more a hoodwink than a fair deal.
The world is a scarry place as it is, just think about that before you let your monsters loose on the rest of us.
Tshombe, thoughts on the rise of social media
what have you read today? If you aren’t reading something, besides social media’s deluge, for at least 20-30 minutes a day; you’re wasting an opportunity to learn something meanigful.
read something that will help mental growth