It has been some time since I Crafted Words about Solitude; indeed, I have not graced that Place in a few weeks. I credit little for this, merely wait quietly for the Storm I Know is coming. Doesn't matter what Form it takes; it will Happen... if only because of the Math.
I am not Happy; I am not Sad or Depressed. Mind... having the neighbor across the street commit suicide over the Weekend is disturbing... especially since I actually know the guy and speak to him and his kid. I was unaware Things had gotten that far in his Existence... yet Find myself oddly distant from the mourners. THEY know WAY more than I, and that still doesn't cover the Truth; having held my Life in my Own hands once... I Know all too well the Door he walked through.
Why did I not? A Woman... a former co-worker; she said I was too Good of a Soul... and believed I was Destined for something.
At least... that is what I'd Like to think; the Truth is so much more complicated that only Human Excuses can possibly hope to Explain Why.
Maybe it's the Street Samurai in me... that Little Something that refuses to lie down and die; Maybe God had a hand in it.
Asking why me and not that guy... and I Feel an ethereal Warmth... an arm over my Shoulder; back Home in New Orleans... it is RUDE to ask such Questions. He is Gone; Celebrate the Life and the Man... the Love, Hopes and Fears. Dance... so that the Spirit may Know Joy one last Moment... before Going Home.
I like that Mentality a shitload more than the crud floating around Necropolis; Funerals are still considered Social Events. You comment on who was there... what they wore... who was crying...; Funerals are... Events for the Mask-wearing pretentious... NOT for those who truly mourn the Loss.
* * * *
And yet... he was From the Streets... raised in the Projects and Da Hood; so... where there was Second Line in New Orleans... there is the Wake here. Enter the Home, bringing offerings of food and prayers; you check on his Ol' lady... the Kid... any older Relatives. And if you happen to be one of his Dogs or Boys or Partnas... you Break Bread; this is the Code of the Streets.
If he toked, you can bet you'll find a Circle with no less than two blunts in Rotation; drinkers can expect shots and beers, along with drunken Tales and Ass Showing by the ever-present Drunk Relative. Children will naturally be present, run ragged by Big Black Women yelling at them to find something to occupy their energetic Forms; plates heaped with Food join beer cans and plastic forks in the trash as night deepens beyond Kid-Bed Time... because there is no more room in the fridge for the leftovers.
And because this was a suicide, WHY will linger over the grief; and because Hood Rats will be by, dressed in Street Best, which in some cases was one Accessory away from being Hit-Da-Club Ho Gear (more commonly Phrased thusly: I look CUTE!!), Why will take on different Meanings. And Because the Game Don't Stop... some of his Dogs/Boys/Partnas will offer up a prayer to him, asking for Protection as they go out into the night... Back on the Hustle.
Pay your respects... and Pray you don't Hit the Wall like he did; THAT is pure Game Talk chummers... as heartless as it comes... and the shit I See each and every Day/Night. Not that I'm any less Guilty of Compliance; tomorrow I'll head into the Kitchen. Same Routine... just a Different Day; more Chances for anything, everything and nothing at all; not bad, now that I Look at it.
Indeed... much makes sense now. Looking at tomorrow... I find myself suddenly Needing Her arms around me, Knowing that all I might grab is an Honest Hug from a lovely Woman... all while trying not to Feel that it is inadequate...
The Game Don't Stop, chummers; Life Moves On.
Fin
{{Author's Note: I Wrote this in Memory of Earl... a Man I Know. Sleep Easy in God's Arms Bro.}}
Kevin L. Miller
05 May 2010