Bob Marley is a good artist to listen to if you are seeking inspiration. As I listened to,the Marley tune, “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright,” last night, while typing out some new poems, my cat, Jaggar, climbed to the top of the chair that I sat in at my desk, and dug his razor sharp claws into my back.
“Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!”
I gingerly unhooked my cat’s claws from my back, and shirt. Then everything was alright.
My dog Morisson looked at me funny, as the moon was rising, when I was making chili in the kitchen. As I dumped black beans, and diced tomatoes into a large bowl, I was dancing, and singing, along to the song, “Get Down Tonight,” by K.C. and The Sunshine Band.
Morisson was looking up at me like I wasn’t quite right, but he was happy when I scooped a table spoon of the finished chili onto a plate, and laid it down in front of him as a snack.
Dogs are happiest when you are feeding them something. (They love it when you pet, or scratch them, too).
Tis the season… A friend of mine said that she was going to buy a toy for a tot, but that she WAS NOT going to buy it at Wal-mart. How does Wal-Mart thrive when so many people hate it? Maybe it is only the circles that I run in that have such feelings. I sneak into Wal-Mart every once in awhile. I drink Coca Cola every once in awhile. Target is supposed to be evil, also, with conservative anti-gay ownership, but I buy underwear, and socks, from them, every once in awhile. I’m a sinner.
The dogs need to go out, and it is 45 degrees outside, this morning, so I have no excuse to not get out there, and scoop up mounds of doo doo, as we walk this Midtown city block that I live on. My son’s mother told me not to write about my dogs’ doo doo, and I told her that Hunter Thompson did, which was a lie. Hunter wrote about much loftier things than I, but look where he wound up.
I just found a small black speck of something in my oatmeal, but I refuse to believe that there is anything bad in my lunch. Was finding this dark speck akin to cancer finally finding its way into the lungs of a person who failed to heed the surgeon general’s warning? Could the speck have poisoned me? Could the speck have, somehow, polluted my body?
The people who make our food are concerned about our heatlth, are they not? I have nothing to worry about when eating manufactured eats; do I? Didn’t they once say that cigarette smoking was safe? I’m going to finish my oatmeal, inspite of that little black spot. I’m going to assume that it was not bad for me, just like a cigarette smoker assumes that he or she can beat the odds; and, yes, often, I have oatmeal for other than breakfast. This morning I had four tablespoons of homemade chili for breakfast. Variety is the spice of life. Yum, yum.
The dogs, and I, just did an hour walk through The Hood. We stopped to say hello to a two year old girl, and her family. The little girl wanted to say hello to the dogs. I warned her, and her mommy, away from Bundy, and told her the deal with him wearing a muzzle, that he was a nipper, and all: a dog that would bite you out of the sheer joy that he was experiencing in meeting you.
The little girl came forward, and tried to pet Mo, but Morisson was standoffish. He walked away from The Little Girl, and started sniffing a tree.
“Morisson,” I said, “Say hello to the little girl,” and I tugged, a bit, on his leash. The dog was not interested in this two year old. I apologized to the little girl, and her mommy, and went on with our walk.
Next, several city blocks down the street, we met a man named Phoenix. Phoenix said that he was a record producer.
“Hip hop,” he smiled, “The stuff that pays.”
He also said that he was from Africa. He had no African accent, and if you didn’t know better you would have thought that he had been born at Grady Hospital, here in Downtown Atlanta, and had spent his whole life in this beautiful Southern city of ours. I mean, he talked no different than any of us; we who were born in the U.S.A.
My parents weren’t born in The States, they were born in Ireland, she in Dublin, and he in County Cork. They had accents. The cool kids in the public school that I was transferred to in the 6th grade let me know that my parents talked “funny.” That was the job of the cool kids, when I was a kid: to point out inadequacies, to pick on, belittle, and even beat up the kids who weren’t “cool.”
The cool kids were bullies, and I realize now, cowards. They always operated in a pack. They were lead by the largest kid in the school, a moron who eventually became captain of the football team in high school.
I wonder if the people who make our food, the people who make cigarettes, are bullies?
It’s all about choice, isn’t it? It’s all about freedom of choice, and we are all free to make
our choices. I didn’t have to eat that black speck that I found in my oatmeal, you don’t have to smoke.
The I hope that you are feeling better dept… The Good Neighbor, Adam Ayers, was nearly down, yesterday, with the flu. The flu sucks. I hope that he is feeling better, today. Today, I baked one of my World Famous Banana Breads. I am baking it for a special woman. Don’t you wish you were getting some?
Tis the season for giving…
I have a friend who lost her job due to the economy. She is a Legal Secretary/Para Legal. She is the nicest woman in the world. She is a hard worker. She has a great smile, a great personality. Her car tag is expired, so she can’t drive, and her cell phone has been turned off, so she can only communicate with you on Facebook. She has over 20 years experience in the legal field. She needs a job. She’s kind of a hippy chick in that she is always giving. She loves Panic, and The Wayside Riders. If you have a job to offer her, or know of someone who does, or if you want to help her out with her tag, or her phone, you can contact her at:
The Ho Ho Ho Dept… Santa is coming early for you as I am giving you the link to the James Truax flick, “Mikel K The Movie.” I am not the only talent in this movie, named after me. There are also some great Atlanta bands in the flick, and featured performances by Rob Maallard, and Coleman Lewis. Enjoy. (Warning: this link is not good forever. Filmmker Truax takes the film down, and adds to from time to time, making it then unavailable to The Public).
Mikel K The Movie:
I am going to end this column with the words that I start my day with. Thank you, Lord, for letting me see the new day, breath the air of a new day. Please guide me in thought, word, and action, Lord. They will be done, not mine. Please keep me off drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes as I have been since my treatment ended at the Recovery Delivered clinic, Lord. I think that that prayer is appropriate for any time of my day. I will tell you more about how I came to pray it, here, in The Daily K, one day, soon. Keep coming back.
Oh no. My cat, Jaggar, is back at my back.