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People died today.
They died…and I didn’t care. I didn’t shed one tear or weep away my sorrows with a hurt heart.
I heard that 53 people were injured at a gay club in Orlando, Florida on June 12, 2016. I heard that 49 died–correction–I heard that 49 human beings were killed. I glanced over the headlines, and I read those heartfelt Facebook status’ from my friends and family, but for some strange reason, I hardly felt anything for the human bodies that were massacred on that day. I didn’t feel hurt for them nor did I feel sad for their families and loved ones.
I just want to make it very clear right now that I do not condone the actions of the Orlando Killer whatsoever.
However, I do feel as cold-hearted about the situation as I can only assume the Orlando Killer felt while slaughtering an onslaught of human bodies. But I do not feel cold-hearted for the same reason as the Orlando Killer.
I feel cold-hearted about the death of another human body that is not immediately connected to my own because in my life experience, murder and death is a normalcy. Sure, I may not see murder or death everyday, but I feel as if I hear about it almost everyday. I hear about murder and death so much that I have grown numb to the feeling of genuine care. My ears are numb. I am detached–disconnected from the emotional realities of the death of 49 human body, let alone one, and it’s because the situations are not close enough to me. Those dead bodies are foreign to me, so my natural response is “That’s just the way it is,” or “Life goes on.”
Now, after hearing about the shooting massacre in Orlando, I may not have responded as nearly as properly to the fact that over 100 human bodies were either expired or harmed, but I did however respond to the details in which the Orlando Killer executed his plan.
My initial reaction after I spoke with my girlfriend about the situation over the phone was, “Man, that’s crazy,” and then, “How in the hell do you kill 49 people and injure 53 with just a hand gun, and an assault rifle?” Upon further review of the situation from The New York Times, whom I believed to be the most accurate source to go by on the net, I began to wonder who the killer was and what were his motives exactly. As of now, I have heard everything under the Sun concerning this man’s background including that he is a member of ISIS, he attended Pulse, the gay club in which the heinous shooting escapade was conducted, multiple times before, that he abused his ex-wife, he was an American Citizen, and that he was connected to the NYPD at some point.
All of those details are certainly important, and I have my opinions about all of this information, but there’s just one thing in all of those details that is just not mentioned enough: People died on that day.
Human bodies were killed on that day, and not just in Orlando, but all around the world.
And after I spoke with my girlfriend about the situation, and mentioned it briefly with my mother, father, and uncle, I did my laundry, watched Game 5 of the NBA Finals and went to sleep.
People died, the shooting was wrong, and I went to sleep soundly in the same exact night.
The next morning, I went to work, shared a few posts on Facebook, and went about my life as if nothing had ever happened to me.
On the day of the shooting, I seemed to focus more on the shooter, than the bodies that were killed. Even today, I tend to question the motives of the shooter, and the role of the American government and media in this whole ordeal. I tend to forget about the bodies, but for the past couple of hours, once again, I have glanced over a few headlines that are aimed at letting the public know who the victims of the fatal shooting were. Some of the headlining photos were the faces of the victims.
I glanced over the headlines. I glanced over the articles. I glanced over their faces.
I have a mother and father who I care about dearly and want to make proud. I have an older sister who I love to make laugh. She has two children, my nephews, who are seemingly little lights in the darkness of this world. I have a younger sister who I hardly ever see, but would be just as sad to see pass away as my older sister. My girlfriend is my world and the love of my life.
There are so many people in my life that I would completely breakdown for if they were to pass away, but still, compared to the millions of other human beings that I have yet (and probably never meet) to meet, these people in my life are just a small fraction of the human population.
So as I sit here now and type this entry, I’m thinking to myself Is it wrong to not care about people who I have never met? and most importantly What do I do now that I have identified these things in myself?
I did not start this entry because I wanted to persuade someone to think a certain way about this situation or my thought process, and I still do not know what to do now or what actions I should be taking, but as someone has said before “I know what I know.”
And what I know is to write. So…
Wow. Wow. Wow is all that I can say right now. It’s been so long since I posted something on here, and I was finally inspired after reading a journal entry on Neil Gaiman’s website awhile ago.
I apologize to my followers for not being as active as of late. I have been extremely busy with my school work, my personal writing projects, reading and writing projects that have been bestowed upon me by other people, my relationships and not to mention being a Resident Assistant.
I’m probably just going to free-write this post because my brain is sort of fried, so please don’t expect any hidden wisdom from the words that transpire hereafter, just accidental wisdom, which should always be expected.
Being that the new year has finally come along, I guess I should use this post as a sort of reflection that can be used to catapult my mind into my future endeavors.
For starters, 2015 has certainly been a full of splendid memories that contain a lot of great and interesting characters in my life. I know that I sometimes have problems remembering the details of certain people and events, but right now, I can recall a time in which I met a barber who incidentally, was a firefighter. Honestly, it was so refreshing to meet the guy because I had never actually had a conversation with a firefighter, and it was interesting to meet someone with such a notable background.
This past year I was also able to meet a string of characters as an RA. Thinking back on my encounters with those people just makes me really appreciate the unique characteristics that every human being contributes to living life on this planet. I mean, through my job, I’ve met vegans, rugby players, feminists and pro gamers. I’ve met and built relationships with people from different countries. I’ve had conversations with people whom I’ve respectfully disagreed with. All in all, I have been enlightened to new characters that I would have never met had I not been an RA and for that, I am thankful.
On another note, I don’t really care for talking or writing my intimate relationships, but in this past year, I feel that I have found my soul mate in my girlfriend. Together we have accomplished so much, and I know that we will only accomplish more as long as we allow God to lead us through his love.
Alright. Enough of that mushy stuff before I rethink that last paragraph and start hitting the backspace button.
As far as 2016 goes, I’m feeling rather enthused and highly excited about my life right now. Through the kind hearts of my loved ones, I received a modernized typewriter. The first project that I completed on it was a Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. speech, which I will be presenting to a congregation on January 18 (Dr. King’s birthday). I don’t think I could ask for a better set of words to have first been typed as an actual project than those in which I chose to put down on those three pieces of paper a few days ago.
I’m not too sure when I will be posting again. Hopefully, it’ll be sooner than the time in which it took for me to write this post, but I won’t make any promises since I’ll probably be dying from the work load while at school. This semester I will be reading and writing a ton for my classes and for my school newspaper, The Bulletin. So I will certainly try my best under these circumstances, but don’t be surprised.
Be on the look out for something big and amazing. It could come at any moment.
Peace. Love. God Bless.
Shame on this dark skin.
and Hidden Deep Within i am an Iceberg.
i am not this, but surely, i am This Word.
Contemplating this dark skin that i am in,
for this skin that i am Ashamed is Surely a Sin.
the black crows are the worse, i would rather be a White Bird.
a Dove at Best, though i am AFRaId ‘CAuse what might be Heard.
since Words Are Power first amongst those of kin,
until Death is due to this vessel of mine,
i proclaim decay or Conform In Silent.
the color Grey will have Never looked so good in the hood.
both Weathers will be welcomed in all their mighty Climate.
Choose between the Two is what i should
Become who i’m not, Passed My Sinus
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to feel on my own
using freedom Sky has given me,
For it not be genuine.
like a woman who swoons for the taste of pink salmon,
But consumes a hot dog instead.
a man who meets Sky on rest day,
But really wants to dream his day away.
I will not be chained to actions of society
and words they speak.
for I am not like those who have come before me.
tangled in their words.
“speak of our culture,” they say.
“tell of our story,” they pronounce.
“Speak of love,” She says.
“For that is something that everyone can be reminded of.”
this is the process of coming to a realization of defeat.
Insanity overtakes the mind for No Known Reason.
Why should I be Confined to this word with Several Meanings?
No, I Shain’t.
Curse these thoughts that escape me!
and then there was nothing
sitting on a wooden bench as poets do,
birds singing with ringing of insects.
motors rumbling down Commercial,
and Sky watches.
the sun pierces my left eye.
It sits right in front of me on the bench.
the two of them may Be,
but in their eyes i See.
“fucking love,” i smile and repeat.
“tis something I would never write of.”
and just as i thought i could escape Her Webb of chain,
i find myself writing about love again.