SPACEKATA

Next to me

2011-06-03T21:31:00.000-07:00

There is a weather pattern
and I can assume it shall pass as it shall always pass
Hence I brace and embrace whatever it shall bring
Life left me on my keels, and life lifts me upon my heels
To weather the pattern that is what it is
Next to me is probably a storm
A sprinkle, a mist o'er the faultless land
Next to me may soon be the wavy vapor of humidity
Or the blissful sunshine beyond a hurricane
Yes, next to me is the coming of the unknown rhapsody
Where I prance upon a puddle, dance beneath a cloud
Run until I find it next to me always
Always, dear withering storm
Fair sunshine and stillness
Be as weather next to me
As the day as the dusk
As the dawn as the night
Producing my zeal for movement
My constant desire for more of this life
She, next to me, is the weather
The all that weather is

Magellan...Me

2011-05-17T17:49:00.000-07:00

Before ain't now, but shaped now. Sure, life presented moments, described by one prone within despair or raw loins and theories. Or ideas drummed up yet dissolved within a lazy dreamer's desires. I suppose all that was is what may be what is, but in the modus operandi of evolution, undoubtedly things have changed.

What attracts more than ever before, is what is more than ever before. That which grabs now, is stronger and more forceful. More alive and more perfect. More real then fleeting. More important. More precious. This due to facing death. Facing life. This due to failures and triumphs. More and less. The Now--and she is the ultimate in the Is. And the want to be in the Is. The desire to float away is absent. The craving to invigorate is unnecessary--for life and its moments with her are perpetually invigorating. I wish I could repeat sonnets. I wish I could revisit creative ways that I have said, "Hello" to say them to her. But I am one who despises plagiarizing myself. Its a torturous inner rule, but one I have yet to break. For if I could, I would change the hands of every soul who may have received a kiss on the palm, edit all the names of those who may have received a sonnet, or even move my lips from that little one whole stole my first kiss--pressing them unto she who is here now--for they were the treasure map that led me to her. And as all voyagers know, once the treasure has been found, the map renders itself either obsolete, or a sentimental keepsake. Nothing more. Nothing less.

No, I am stuck with mere mortal powers. That which allows me to connect the dots of my life, all consecutive and one after the other, without conflict, leading to this which is now. To this which is her. To she, which links me to what is perfect: God.

You, Inc.

2011-03-08T14:33:00.000-08:00

Your Body Is A Corporation

Your Product Is You

All Of Which You Are Made Of Works To Put Out The Best Product

Every Molecule Of Your Being Is Your Employee

Make Certain They Are Performing Their Tasks Optimally

Check On Them As You Would Your Employees

Periodic Reviews on Their Performance

Treat Them Well With Vacations and Celebrations

Honor Them With A Sound Work Environment

Reward Them With Gratitude And Love

For Their Performance Is A Direct Result Of Your Leadership Skills

Run You, Your Corporation Well

And No Stock Shall Be Valued Higher

The NBA Dress Code Uplift

2011-02-26T20:44:00.000-08:00

In a memo issued Monday October 17 2005, David Stern, league commissioner the NBA set forth a "minimum" dress code starting with the 2005-2006 season. The following highlights are excerpted from the memo:

1. General Policy: Business Casual

Players are required to wear Business Casual attire whenever they are engaged in team or league business. "Business Casual" attire means:
• A long or short-sleeved dress shirt (collared or turtleneck), and/or a sweater.
• Dress slacks, khaki pants, or dress jeans.
• Appropriate shoes and socks, including dress shoes, dress boots, or other presentable shoes, but not including sneakers, sandals, flip-flops, or work boots.

2. Exceptions to Business Casual
There are the following exceptions to the general policy of Business Casual attire:
a. Players In Attendance At Games But Not In Uniform
Players who are in attendance at games but not in uniform are required to wear the following additional items when seated on the bench or in the stands during the game:
• Sport Coat.
• Dress shoes or boots, and socks.

3. Excluded Items
The following is a list of items that players are not allowed to wear while on team or league business:
• Sleeveless shirts.
• Shorts.
• T-shirts, jerseys, or sports apparel (unless appropriate for the event (e.g., a basketball clinic), team-identified, and approved by the team).
• Headgear of any kind while a player is sitting on the bench or in the stands at a game, during media interviews, or during a team or league event or appearance (unless appropriate for the event or appearance, team-identified, and approved by the team).
• Chains, pendants, or medallions worn over the player's clothes.
• Sunglasses while indoors.
• Headphones (other than on the team bus or plane, or in the team locker room).

This Dress Code profoundly proves how attention to details on the outside can indeed transform the inner state. The players went from sweats to suits and with that implementation of style came an underlying energy of substance. These players not only adhered to the policy but turned it into a fashion statement akin the cover of GQ. But more importantly they assumed the business vibration that accompanied this style. I'm certain the NBA and its ownership were trying to appease the corporations and not trying to wake up a sleeping giant called "self-worth."

This leads us to today where players have more control over their careers than ever before. They have made themselves into a brand (Ironically once upon a time many of their ancestors were branded!) See how the players move and shake wheel and deal to align themselves with interests most beneficial to their brand and capitalize on the brevity of a professional career.

This may have a profound effect on owners and how they approach the upcoming negotiations with the National Basketball Players Association--led by President Billy Hunter (Black) and its Executive Committee (eight Blacks including Lakers Guard President Derek Fisher, and Matt Bonner, the lone White.) I'm certain the owners will do all they can to cease the free enterprise existing today possibly by creating "franchise tags" to prevent their superstars from bolting.

But what I really am honing in on is how much how you present yourself and the care taken into being clean, neat and representative of professionalism can seep into your mainframe and get you farther than not. Even with a fresh new pair of running shoes and a new workout outfit will invigorate and motivate something a little "extra" out of your workout.

What's your thoughts?

Athletes today/yesterday

2011-02-18T06:02:00.001-08:00

Comparing today's athlete's physical and athletic ability to those 40-60 years ago is like comparing the walkman to the ipod. Comparing the greatness and fortitude of athletes 40-60 years ago to today's athlete is like comparing Einstein to Charlie Sheen.

Food Revolution

2011-02-16T11:39:00.000-08:00

Food has incited the recent revolution as most other revolutions in their wake. People want to eat and when they cannot feed themselves nor their loved ones, they will take this issue to the streets and to their death. The price of food, due to the freaky climate and lack of foresight in production has risen, which raised the price of fuel, etc. Add that to population boom and not to mention hoarding, there are 75 million more undernourished folks than in 2008.

The United States must trail blaze in staying ahead of the trend, but not by creating genetically modified foods to fill cupboards, but to give farmers incentive to produce organically. Farmers however need to fulfill a demand and must produce for that demand--thus the need to modify.

To counter this, citizens--in a revolutionary way--can consume less. This decrease in production can balance the efforts of the farming industry, and reduce the need to genetically modify. This revolution with create a cycle of better nourished citizens, lower energy prices, and a greener planet.

So, think of your fellow man before you reach for seconds.

Egypt and the internet

2011-02-11T16:40:00.000-08:00

Oppressors oppress by eliminating the oppressed's ability to communicate. Revolutions are only successful through communication. The technological age has come back to haunt the oppressor (see free internet) and now missions can be created in the basements of the meek. Dictators and Czars are hiding their wealth and kids as we speak. A little over 100 years ago, it was American slaves whispering to one another that shifted their existence. Today a dude thanked Facebook for the Egyptian Revolution.

Nouson.m4v

2011-01-27T06:18:00.003-08:00

Nouson.m4v

2011-01-27T06:18:00.002-08:00

It's All Right (the remix) by Ganious copyright 2011

2011-01-27T06:18:00.001-08:00

ComeOva.avi

2011-01-27T06:18:00.000-08:00

Oh, I got a music hobby too, FYI folks. :)

2011-01-27T06:17:00.001-08:00

Hey, I posted some of my music clips. Check 'em out and subscribe for the latest uploads to the channel. We're gonna have a funky good time!!!

http://www.youtube.com/user/ganious

Lover Left Me

2011-01-27T06:17:00.000-08:00

What Does This Dream Mean?

2011-01-20T16:43:00.000-08:00

January 20, 2011

...Was on New York Jets football field...at a night practice. Remember thinking how it felt to have the equipment on and how I’m too old to make the team. But thought if there was a way to get a shot…then maybe????? Remember asking another player who was the oldest on the team how his legs felt and how he kept ‘em in shape? He smiled and said “I just do.” We got on the field and I realized I was supposed to be just hovering on the sideline. Mark Sanchez was there too and he was pretty cool. The coach threw the ball up and I happened to catch it. Then he threw me another and another and I was making really great catches in stride. I could tell he was starting to see something in me. Next he put me in plays to see if I could block and catch with other players on the field. It took a brief second for me to get the gist of the offensive schemes, but I got it. And I knew that I was in the middle of opportunity. I literally said to myself, "I'm in the middle of opportunity."

Time To Conquer The Misconception Of Labels (Food)

2011-01-20T11:08:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm back. How's everything with you guys? Lots to discuss. First I wanna get into dealing with the administration of the Food Label. Yeah, that's what's on my mind. A client this morning boasted about the low caloric/sodium content a Trader Joe's salad he'd been eating for the past year. I had to burst his bubble by telling him on the label, it says per serving, and that the salad was two and a half servings! So he was actually eating two and a half times what he thought he was eating! He was really pissed to find that not only was the 290 calories he thought he was eating actually 725 calories, but that the salad was barely enough to satisfy him!

{Low numbers on food labels does not necessarily mean its good. Chemicals are calorie-free. Eat real, unprocessed food. Your palate is adaptable. Step by step. And include your entire family in the process. Trust me, I grew up with this in the hood. And in the hood, the diet is the meanest gang out there.}

LL Cool J - Mama Said Knock You Out

2010-11-19T16:44:00.000-08:00

Me and Obama had the same issue. We both wanted everyone to like us. But my pop said, "Boy, not everyone liked Jesus, King, X, Gandhi. So why do you think everyone should like you?" Obama, here's your new theme song!

Cancer Sucks

2010-11-17T15:56:00.001-08:00

that's all I have to say.

How To Stay Sick-Free in the cold/flu season

2010-11-12T16:11:00.000-08:00

Ok: I haven't been sick since 1995 and I am going to reveal the six things U need to do to avoid getting sick:

1-HAND SANITIZER/WASH HANDS almost like ur Obsessive Compulsive.
2-Finish your shower with cool water to close your pores.
3-Keep your hands away from your nostrils, mouth, and eyes at all times.
4-When around sick folks, don't inhale for 30 seconds after hearing a sneeze or cough.
5- Monitor stress levels and try to alleviate stress as it weakens the immune system. If you're feeling stress, do moderate exercise and increase your intake of amino acids.
6-Mentally summon your inner CHI-force to reinforce your immune system.

Run!!!!!

2010-09-27T22:26:00.000-07:00

When was the last time u ran as fast as u could? I mean like ur ass was on fire?!! I don't mean anaerobic. I mean faster than that! I mean like u were trying to catch someone who stole your last dollar. The energy. The uuumph! The raw, free let-go! The Aaaaagggghhh! Most treadmills go up to a speed of 12mph. Some 14mph. A couple gyms have a few treadmills that top at 16mph. Add sprints to your repertoire!

Your Heart Rate

2010-09-27T15:51:00.000-07:00

How in shape are you? 3 mornings in a row, take your pulse for 20 secs X by 3. Find average. This is your true resting heart rate. Under 70--ehh. Under 60--Good. Under 50--Great. Know: The more you train your heart, the better conditioned you'll be, internally and externally. Know: How to monitor your heart without a HR monitor. Know: Your breathing reflects your heart rate and how conditioned you are.

Your weaker side

2010-09-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

There is a reason your left hand seems weaker than your right. Or vise versa. You keep working both sides the same. Work the weaker side with more conviction--meaning focus mentally on your weaker side. Ex: If doing push-ups, tune in to your weaker side as you elevate, and drop. This is in every movement from cycling to dancing. If your weight lifting, use a heavier weight for the weaker side, or perform more reps with the weaker side. It has to be trained different than the stronger side.

2010-09-23T23:14:00.000-07:00

Your future

Calories: 30
Sodium: 20mg
Carbs: 8g
Protein: 0
Other nutrients: <0

In case you wondered, this popular post-chinese meal is very limited in everything except possibilities! But it is a very unnecessary food--hell, who really eats it after getting the fortune?

Run Jimi Run!!!!!!!

2010-09-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

She's running for the Century!

2010 Virgil Crest Ultras 100 Mile

http://www.virgilcrestultras.com/RaceCenter.aspx

Yep, Jimena is running the 2010 Virgil Crest Ultra 100 mile race! I'm certain this isn't even close to her last great challenge. She is an inspiration--not because she pushes her body to no end, but because she does it in a way that's graceful, without seeming zany nor maniacal. We once ran for miles in flip flops!!!! LOL!!! (Okay, maybe a little zany!)

Jimena welcomes physical challenges as a matter of fact, and as her way of saying to the Gods, "I can and I must." She is sport. And sport is finding a challenge and turning that challenge into a, "Oh yeah I did that...now I'm doing this." Let's give her a round of applause and I will keep you posted on her results. All I did was provide her with a sensible way of feeding the vessel she's using for this major event. I hope it was enough. We'll see. Stay tuned folks.

Here's the race link again if u wanna check it out:

http://www.virgilcrestultras.com/RaceCenter.aspx

The Format To Flattening Your Belly

2010-09-05T07:42:00.000-07:00

1- Get and STICK to a CLEAN eating strategy.
2- Weekend Cleanse.
3- Train.
4- Repeat 1 and 3 everyday.
5- Skip 1 once per week, but sensibly.
6- Skip 3 once per week but never after skipping 1.
7- Repeat 2 once a month.
8- Repeat 1 through 7 forever.

Stay Ahead of Winter

2010-09-01T07:48:00.000-07:00

Now is the time to stay ahead of winter blues. The body will begin to adjust to the seasonal change, so you have to allow for its shift. It will grab onto a couple of pounds but that's ok. You can manage it by grazing and not eating full heavy meals (which tend to absorb a lot of energy, including body heat). Stay focused on your trips to the gym, and join one if you are used to training outside so that you can maintain your rhythm when the weather sucks. If you want to join Golds or Equinox here in Los Angeles, let me know--I have a good contact. Also, stay hydrated, as we often drop our water intake in the cooler temperatures. Keep your calorie intake steady, but less as you near sleep. Watch your processed foods, especially sugars and salt. And be mindful of "Empty Hand" eating, which is snacking at parties. These calories are always bad and add up big time. Instead, fold a tissue into your strong hand and hold onto it until you have convinced yourself too many folks have dug into the chips! Who knows who's been washing their hands thoroughly? :)

GET RIPPED!!!!

2010-08-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

Time to get RIPPED! Au' naturaaaal. No drugs. No supplements. No crazy starvation nor outrageous 3hr cardio sessions. Just grazin', more movement, deeper breathing and/or all of the above in what Austin Powers calls "Shaggin'!"

Tip #1 (For Couples): You are more efficient when u dine out by ordering one dish and sharing it.

Tip #2: You will easily burn this off AND have high energy since you didn't over consume calories.

Tip #3: One who is on top burns the most.

The Push-Up

2010-08-30T17:28:00.000-07:00

The push up is more versatile than u think and is the single best way to train the upper body/core. There are countless variations to target everybody part as well as your cardio-vascular health.

Purge

2010-08-27T19:19:00.001-07:00

No meat this weekend. Try it. I'll do it with u. Laugh alot even if u have to look at one of my goofy pix to do it. And kiss more than ever, even if its just the back of your own hand. Time to end the summer with a sweet purge. Create ur own innervision.

The "emergency shield"

2010-08-24T06:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, I haven't had a cold or flu since 1997. How am I able to avoid such debilitating ailments in a world of hand sanitizers, flu shots and Benadryl? It is because I can see the germ force before it infiltrates. And when I do, I turn on the "emergency shield". I'll tell you what that is...

The mirror is your coach.

2010-08-24T06:36:00.000-07:00

Use the mirror to not only check the status of your clothes, hair, or face, but also as a guide to align your body from top to bottom. You will notice slight discrepancies in shoulder height, hips, foot positioning, etc. that are the bodies' way of telling you you may be a candidate for future injury if not corrected. You can also use the mirror as a way to get out of the box, totally stepping outside of yourself to assess yourself objectively. Finally, your inner spirit can be adjusted just by looking and saying, "What a ____ person." And you can fill in the blank how you see fit or make some changes so that you may fill the blank in with what you desire it to be. The mirror is your coach.

Wall Squat to pump up your legs!!!!!

2010-08-22T10:53:00.000-07:00

Stomach tight, arms up or down!

Strengthen your legs with this basic exercise:

Start with 30 seconds on, 10 seconds off.

Then:

40 seconds on, 10 seconds off

50 seconds on, 10 seconds off

60 seconds on, 10 seconds off

90 seconds on, 10 seconds off

60 seconds on, 10 seconds off

120 seconds on, shake it off!!!!!!!!

Keep abs tight, pressing lumbar and shoulders firmly into wall.

Let me know what happens.

Peace!!!!!

Arranging Music When You Workout.

2010-08-12T12:44:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, just a change in your music playlist can do wonders for your workout. And, isn't it interesting that you are creating the energy in your future when you sit to create a workout music list? You are actually doing what many successful athletes do when they imagine themselves in competition. You are visualizing. Buy arranging a song in a certain position already dictates what you will be doing when it plays. So, if you want to amp it up--amp it up. Zone away--then zone away. Put some thought into your arrangements. Create the atmosphere for your training moments.

One thing about a true Alpha

2010-08-11T06:21:00.000-07:00

The one thing about a true Alpha is: When he's feeling you, he's feeling you. And he won't lie about it. He won't give you smoke signals. He won't spend his time trying to dazzle another because his mantra is the most important thing to him. He's not wanting to prove his integrity, but he wants to prove his power. And his power is in being true to his soulful calling. If a true Alpha tells you that he's into you, no matter what you think you see, or what you think you hear, know that you are the one he wants to empower with all that he is. If he shows you what challenges him, then you are closer to him than you will ever understand. Yes, he will oft times be infiltrated by other callings because he can handle many things, and he will oft times cushion the fall of all that crashes into him, but you he will handle like King Kong protected Faye Raye. To the death. What will kill this in him is one thing...your belief in the external forces more than his internal fortitude. So, when a true Alpha tells you he's into you... know that its truer than you will ever know, but know that you will never know how true it is if you doubt it.

Looking Back

2010-08-11T06:08:00.000-07:00

Every time you look back, you stumble on some bull crap. But looking back is what separates humans from other species. Probably even separates us from interplanetary species. The best way to look back is to sit still when you're looking back. Give the looking back ample time and space so that it doesn't interfere with the moment. Take a pause and reflect. Its a good thing. What happened is just as much a part of the present as it is the future and it wants its due attention. When the looking back start tugging on you like a child while you're in the present stream of the moment, pull it aside and tell it, "Unless what you have to say is very relevant to me going forward, I will sit with you when the time's right."

My Scientific Decision On Gay Marriage

2010-08-09T14:16:00.000-07:00

Molecularly speaking, the environment is duly impressed with the energy of which it is comprised. This energy, quantum in fact, creates a dazzling array of vibrations which are felt light years away. Thus, if there is love in the air, then love can fill the air. So, I am always touched when I see people loving one another. I don't care what color combination, sex combination, culture combination, size combination, nor whatever seemingly incomprehensible combinations there are just as long as there is...love. Marriage is merely a byproduct, or an award for their commitment to promote this love for as long as their love energy is in effect. Do you feel this way?

Some of what I’ve learned so far

2010-08-06T10:25:00.000-07:00

-Love is conditional
-Poverty is a choice, and the battle to escape it is a tremendous challenge
-Obesity is a “heavy” burden to overcome
-You’re not going to be close to everyone in your family, and the ones you are close to probably won’t be close to many others in your family either.
-Getting to the cellular level within the body is the best way to handle Father Time
-Traveling around the world eliminates prejudice
-I am a mental grand master martial artist.
-Stretch marks are merely the body’s expression of change
-The government often comforts me enough to drop my guard
-Homosexuals and heterosexuals all have dreams.
-Dogs don’t really hate cats.
-A woman can get a man to bore through a mountain with a spoon.
-There will always be germs.
-Actors and comedians are pretty smart.
-Success is sexier than ambition.
-Gossip at least keeps us interested in each other.
-Sex is often better with someone you think you lost.
-That not everyone will like me no matter what I do or say.
-The truth is boring only because it eliminates the drama behind peeling away lies.
-That there’s rarely more than one black person in a group of white folks.
-God ain’t religious.
-Water tastes better when you’re thirsty.
-Women deserve very large closets.
-I can defend myself against any man with a soul because he is apt to be rational.
-Guns suck.
-The more you’re into someone, the less TV you watch.
-Freedom can be hard to manage.
-That fish can never see each other when they kiss.
-That my computer replicates my brain and probably my soul.
-Food saves lives and food takes lives.
-Money may not buy happiness, but it sure makes you feel terrible when it departs.
-Friends are earned.
-Nature is an extension of my mood.
-The sky is far away, yet it always appears it wants to be touched.
-Convenience is the genesis of science.
-Wisdom does not curtail a man’s true nature.
-I love ice cream and cheese and bread and collard greens and yams and beans and pancakes and fruit and often fried chicken with biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy with mushrooms and sweet peas. I love apple pie and cookies and coconut cake from Urth café, plus sushi and pasta and damnnnn I can drink French Press coffee all day.
-That I can rarely eat the things I love to eat.
-Sharing a bottle of wine is like holding hands in a temple, church or mosque.
-Training my body eliminates physical and mental toxins.
-God is Love.
-That this list can be infinite and it feels good knowing that in this lifetime, I can go on and on and on about the wonders of such a short time span on this earth.

Self vs self defense

2010-08-04T00:45:00.000-07:00

Training for self-defense isn't necessarily for an outside attacker. Self-defense can also mean defending oneself against attacking oneself. In this video, we don't train to defend, nor for competition, but for release...to release the energy we all have inside to wanna EXPLODE!

The one is coming

2010-08-03T21:09:00.000-07:00

Most people who are against marriage or monogamy are speaking from a state of heartbreak. But as we all attempt to reform the romantic in us, rest assured we will find the "last" one. It will come to fruition and strike when you least expect it... Just make sure you are ready, mind, body and soul, when the time comes.

Making Love, Brooklyn Style

2010-08-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

How to make love, Brooklyn style:

1- Its twilight and a warm 82 degrees.
2- Miles is followed by Coltrane then Maxwell and Sade.
3- The fan rotates and whistles on their backs every twelve seconds.
4- Cocktails barely touched yet.
5- Clothing is mixed within unravelled sheets.
6- Her oil takes over the pillows.
7- His scent compels her to dig her face into his neck.
8- Faint sounds of kids chasing each other before being summoned inside.
9- The sounds of intense breathing drown out the traffic noise.
10- Perspiration feels soothing, even tasty.
11- The sun sets slower than usual, held just high enough to create sweet silhouettes.
12- They enjoy rapture until their minds are emptied of all thought.
13- At 8:45p, just as the sun gives up her final light, they gaze at each other with food on their minds.
14- Twenty minutes later, they're at the corner Chinese Restaurant losing their fight against fried food and colas.

...Brooklyn is missed. It was where I was created.

What I know About You

2010-07-28T06:06:00.000-07:00

You are perfect, no matter what you think.
Trust me, I haven't seen anything like you.
Now keep being you while I enjoy you.
I mean this not as a Hallmark verse
But as a strong mutha' who knows the difference.
Now go look into the mirror.
See what I see.
The scars. The color.
The pores. The hum that surrounds your hair follicles.
Sure, there is a symmetry issue in your stance.
But its because you always try to look cool when looking at yourself.
I can dig it 'cause I tend to do that too.
I mean, try to look cool when I'm looking at you.
Even your thoughts, zany, alive, intense, foolish and sweet
They all seem to revolve around a loving energy
For you are a child of romance
And one thing I know for sure
The Gods are definitely, undoubtedly in love with you.

Dance

2010-07-25T12:30:00.000-07:00

Dance
I grew up being teased about a lot of things. I also did a lot of teasing. But being teased when I tried to dance seemed to sting the most. Being of color, where movement is known to be part of our molecular structure made it that much more frustrating. Sure, I was athletic, but fluidity that erupted from the core and manifested itself into wonderful patterns of steps and moves eluded me. Seems like it got lost in translation.

Still, to watch dance without dancing is more torturous than never dancing. So I choose to be free, and hope that my love for movement overwhelms the challenge of finding fluidity. Excuse me while I dance!

TrainingWithG: Coach's cabinet

2010-07-22T08:04:00.000-07:00

TrainingWithG: Coach's cabinet: "What's in my cabinet are supplements that offer me 'extra' fuel and aid in my recovery process on intense training days. This includes W..."

TrainingWithG: Power Cereal

2010-07-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

TrainingWithG: Power Cereal: "Try this as a power breakfast. Blueberries or any berry/fruit, topped with a blended mixture of yogurt (plain, unsweetened--I like Fag..."

Women Getback

2010-07-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, training like this alleviates chaotic thought patterns by allowing fluidity and rhythm to wash into the mind and body. Both trainer and client dance away impurities to discover that success is in synchronicity. Success is in oneness. When you train, you are a science. You are the project. You are the remedy. You are the result. So, stay with it, but don't just half-ass it. Get involved with your true DNA and what works for you and what doesn't.

Mike Wright

2010-07-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

He told me never to cross him, but as a 15 year old hustler, it was my duty to pay him no mind. My heart was driven by way of the empty soldier, not the samurai. The only code I had was to fulfill my "now." So, I crossed him. He was my aunt's boyfriend who let me run his gambling shop back in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn in the early eighties--1980 to be exact. He was Mike Wright. The coolest motherfucker I had known ever to walk the earth.

Mike's voice was pulled out of an african spiritual song. It was deep and resonant and could lift you from your chair. He was more powerful than the strongest of men, yet lean as a long distance runner. Mike's eyes could read through vaults and between any line. He dressed everyday as though he shopped in the morning and discarded the outfit before bed. You could tell he had women everywhere, and my aunt seemed to love her place in his system. Mike was a bad dude.

He afforded me a lot of trust, and I fucked him over. With that said, he told me he never wanted to see my face again and it was the last time I would ever betray a man; the pain of his disappointment rides my shoulders even to this day. I stayed as far away from my aunt as possible because I was ashamed of myself, and that I really let her down. A few months before she passed, and a couple of years after Mike had passed, I asked her about him and told her I was sorry for what I had done. She looked at me, perplexed, saying he had never told her what I did to him. This matter of honor only made what I did more crushing and him that much more powerful. So, I just want to say to you Mike, again, I'm sorry that I hurt you and I hope that in my days of being as righteous as can be, you know it is through your soulful, karmic fist.

People

2010-07-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

I've seen many things. And had I been more open, more aware and less self-centered, I would've seen so much more. Now, as I find myself involved in the nuances of life, I discover that self-exploration requires relating to others. And I find that being alone a lot teaches me one thing: that people are necessary.

Routine ain't always boring.

2010-07-13T00:39:00.001-07:00

What sends me inside

2010-07-09T14:25:00.000-07:00

This note, pulls me from the trash.
Water to Jesus' parched tongue.
Shelter to a runaway slave.
This note, proves my existence.
Removes guilt from my soul
Peels the clouds away
This note, sends me inside
To dig and dig and dig
Hoping I can discover more life
More love
More and more and more and so much more
Of God

Bring Out Your Best

2010-07-07T21:43:00.000-07:00

OUAT (Once Upon A Time):

We were hanging. I was interested. Told her she was my woman. But I had reservations. I returned from a trip to hear her tell me she cheated. I said I kind'a knew. She was a thrill-seeker so I wasn't surprised.

"So was it thrilling?" I asked, chewing down hard on my angst.
"No."
"No? Why not?"
"Because I knew you didn't give a shit."
"So if I slapped you, would that make it thrilling?"
"Kind'a."

I left and never looked back. She was looking for the buttons that weren't going to send me into the penthouse, but into the cellar. If someone ain't looking to bring out the best in you, and you don't bring out the best in them...keep moving. There's enough challenges out in the world than to have it coming from the one you're with.

2010-07-07T21:16:00.001-07:00

Your Body Is A Corporation
Your Product Is You
All Of Which You Are Made Of Works To Put Out The Best Product
Every Molecule Of Your Being Is Your Employee
Make Certain They Are Performing Their Tasks Optimally
Check On Them As You Would Your Employees
Periodic Reviews on Their Performance
Treat Them Well With Vacations and Celebrations
Honor Them With A Sound Work Environment
Reward Them With Gratitude And Love
For Their Performance Is A Direct Result Of Your Leadership Skills
Run You, Your Corporation Well
And No Stock Shall Be Valued Higher

Training

2010-06-12T08:54:00.000-07:00

Afraid of her

2010-06-07T23:04:00.000-07:00

It was clear to me as it is today
When she arose like a flame
Spilling light into my soul
And I forgot her name
The clock kept moving
But she never came to me
Holding another’s hand
While I wondered if we would meet
In the same delta
Upon a land of lavender
Below friends
Aside wishes and desires
I saw her again
And again and again and every time I did
I wanted to see her again
And again and again
I was too afraid to pray for her
Coveting her while she loved another
Seemed like a restless affair
Even felt mean to want her to fail
But oh did I know of the next level
And its colors, its joys, its depth
And I wanted her to know, I saw that place
With her at my side, night after night
Sight after sight, height above height
Ah, yes I am aware
With this fight, my prayer’s more complicated than I dare
Merely fighting this desire only intensifies the demand
To be with her as only a man can
Where I crawled across deserts, ran through peaks,
Trembled before God and swept the shores with my feet
So I sit in a corner beyond a glass window
Like a dusty piano waiting for Beethoven
Or an old dog waiting for a martyr
And I wonder if she will ever come home
To discover that she could play melodies
And that her past died for her
Just as my fear to pray for her
Left the very first moment I saw her

So I sit here, playing posse with words.
Writing rhythms and soulful
monologues of what could be if I made it be.
I tame wild rivers and forest fires
with the sighs that pour from my
breath. I move in time, along with my desire.
I tell tomorrow
That I will be there with a great big smile, and love in my palms.
A love I learn to emit, because I fought hard to learn what it meant.
I move, am dazzled, rule the ways that make me know I will feel true and truth.
I am honored to be able to choose the flow that releases tranquility
upon that which is around me.
I can taste the sweetness of a mellow melon in which I allowed to sit on my window sill,
Ripening beneath the rays of my very own evolution.
I am the power of my destiny, and I be it so.
So be it I. So be it you.
To sip from the winds that were left for you to ride.
The winds that sweep you over yourself,
Straighten your hair above a happy smile and gleaming eyes.
You may know the life that is simple and sweet and tender
Where love is merely an offering without expectation
Where peace is the result of being in the know
and choosing to make choices that set that very wind free.
Love knows no pain. Love knows no advantage. Love knows.
It is absolute. It holds no loopholes. No doors. No detours.
Love is direct and never misses. Know love. Understand love. Be love.
Let it turn your unrest into fuel for a deeper love.
A deeper understanding. In turn, a simpler way.
A peaceful togetherness where you hold hands
Linking yourselves unto the moment bliss strikes.
Bliss, will strike.
Be open.
Wide open.

Ganious
(July 25th, 2005)

A Man and Abortion

2010-05-27T09:16:00.000-07:00

She told him she was pregnant and then said she was going to abort. Said she had a budding career and wasn't prepared to have him in her life as a father to her child. He threw his hands up and said there's nothing left to do.

"She made her choice, bro."

I asked him if he wanted the child and he shrugged. I knew he didn't want the responsibility either way, and I also knew he would regret not taking a stand, either way.

"Man, you got to tell her how you feel about it--for you." She will never respect you if you leave it up in the air."

"But she made her choice already."

"I know, but she's making an important life decision for you too. Hell, she's aborting your child without even asking you how you feel about it. Man, you have to empower yourself, you have to be involved in that process."

I've been through what he's going through, avoiding telling the woman how I really felt about it--relieved or embittered. Yet, there was one instance where I took a stand on it and that holds dear to my soul as a powerful moment in my evolution.

Still, to this day, I feel like I cheated mankind out of some precious jewels.

Ladies, we men are hit hard by that decision more than you realize.

Why I Don't Use the N Word

2010-05-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

(From my book, "The Third Rail")

...I remember Pop's glance so vividly because it was the same confused and pissed off look that I had after that white dude called me a Nigger.

So I did what any normal peace loving dude would do. I chased that car for three blocks and caught up to them at the red light. I stuck my head inside the window like an idiot who wants to see a Klansman’s face. I thought I’d embarrass them. Smell the funk of racism. Instead I sniffed the soothing sensation of weed as they laughed and laughed and laughed while the window rolled up towards my neck. I snatched my head out just in time to catch my reflection and noticed how silly and unbelievable I appeared. I knew I would retain that moment in my head forever while they were off memorizing the Fugees and Wu Tang. They drove off and I stood there with the same frustrated look my father had on his face. Both of us caught in limbo. In between history.

Shit. I didn’t know what to do. Punch them? Yell? Spit? Call the cop that sat on his cycle and watched? What should you do when you're called something you don’t like? I remember Pop choked over a plate of pinto beans as he told me his friend killed a man for calling him a bastard although Pop called his friend a bastard every time he talked about him. Pop once told me that he had to kill a man when he caught the bad boy stealing his car battery. Said he ran over the trunk onto the roof and leaped onto the hood. Then he grit his teeth.

Boy don’t you know I snapped that motherfucka’s neck in mid thought?

Thinking back I’ve never heard Pop call a man Nigger. I remember Punk. Sucker. Jive turkey. Motherfucka’. Shitty. Skank. Son of a gun. And oh yeah once he called Momma a bitch when he yelled out the window that he was going to kick her stupid ass because she primped his hair with rollers and his face with blush then surrounded his eyes with shadow while he slept. She told us to run right before she poured mentholated salve down the crack of his ass.

I was called many things as a kid but I only liked to hear Pop called me Booby. That ended when I met Eric who we met after his mother passed away.

Where are we going James?

Boy don’t ask me where we’re going. I told y’all you’re going to meet your half brother.

What’s a half brother?

Where does he live?

He lives in my place.

Oh. Where do you live?

Cross town and y’all stop asking me so many damned questions.

We went to Pop’s crib. The mystery was over. He had trees on his block and a working buzzer. His building had a great big lobby and the steps were carpeted. Pop’s door had four locks and yet all he did was turn the knob to open it.

Booby didn’t I tell you to lock the door?

Huh?

Booby. Hey Boooobaaaay.

What?

Oh I’m talking to Eric baby.

Pop called Eric Booby again. It felt like he was pissing in my ears.

Hey Boooooobaaaaaayyy come out here and meet your half brother.

Huh?

I said come out here.

Okay dad.

Dad? Dad? Ahhhh. Weird. Okay Dad? He called my father Dad and I called my father James. Damn Niggah.

Spoonin'

2010-05-14T12:44:00.000-07:00

She's on her side. Back to you. Her energy is warm. Soft. She edges closer and your legs begins to tingle. You move a bit towards her and she folds her body into a soulful position, perfectly in place for you to mesh into her like the final piece of a puzzle that may solve the purpose of life. You embrace her and hold her. You can feel that she is at her most vulnerable and yet she has never felt safer. You put your arm around her and fasten her snugly into your torso. You both sigh deeply and fall into a soothing daze. At some point in the night, you feel her putting the covers back over your shoulder, and somehow she is behind you. Holding you, floating in the clouds.

The morning sun awakens you. You turn and there she is, asleep to the left. You slip out, silently shutting the door behind you. Head to the kitchen to prepare coffee. And there is this vapor of manhood overwhelming your body. It was merely from the spoon. There's is no greater feeling than spooning.

Little Latina and Nana

2010-04-25T22:20:00.000-07:00

I drive, most times in the car alone. And I pass folks at the bus stop I'd love to offer a ride to. Tried it and got turned away mostly except for a couple of times. Yesterday, after snapping a picture, I paused and asked the lady if she wanted a ride and she actually accepted. She and the little girl jumped in the back and all of a sudden I was a limo. Two hours later, as I waited for Grandma and Little Sarah to exit a school performance, Sarah's dad came to the car. He said, "My mother told me you brought them here. Thanks, bro." He then told me I was invited for a Cinco De Mayo feast at their home. In Beverly Hills.

This is why we can't racial profile.

Care Giver

2010-04-22T17:50:00.000-07:00

Was just talkin' to my boy, Ron. He's in New York, dealing with his ill mother who is now suffering through the onset of dementia. He told me how he was cleaning her, from head to toe and honestly, I was hit by an immense feeling of guilt. When my mom was ill and near death, it took an excruciating amount of strength for me to wipe her. I mean, if I could've worn the Hurt Locker outfit on, I would've. If I could've hosed her down, I would've. I just could not muster the energy to perform those tasks. Hell, I could run for miles, lift hundreds of pounds, work sixteen hours a day then dance all night, but I couldn't wipe my mom's butt for the life of me. What a sucker I was. I'm sorry ma.

Poetry, No...Fragments Of Moments, Yes

2010-04-19T17:24:00.000-07:00

Folks, I haven't written poetry since my mother passed (1997). The last time I completed a chapbook of poetry was to pay for my mother's funeral. These are some of the poems that were in that book:

Mid-Note

Alas!
A suitable haven for a thought
Embraces itself
Upon a feather’s descent
Towards swaggering Mediterranean waves
That till the merry keys
Of her sweet little feet
This creates a moment of bliss
With all sense of time lost
Lying in her arms again

On stage

This is a mighty forum-a mighty place to be
A mighty way to say what I want
Oh, such a mighty forum up here
A good place to shout at you
All the reasons I’m mad at you
When—truth is—I really don’t know you

Oh yeah, up here I can revisit history
Threaten like I’m a revolutionary
Merely to please thee
Whereas my pop would say, “Aw boy, you ain’t shit.”

Yeah, a mighty way to say the past sucked
Get some pity from y’all
And maybe some respect ‘cause I’m still standing
Of course, you’d shake your head
Talkin’ ‘bout how bad that brother’s had it
Whereas my pop would haul off and say, “Aw boy, that ain’t shit.”

Yeah, a mighty forum indeed
When I’m down there like you
Listening to the preachers on soapboxes
Sometimes wincing away from the images
Shaking my head, then awakened by italicized binges
I exit only thinking, “Sho’ can talk shit.’

Yet, on the flip-side—rather—outside
Plenty of you snarled at me when I came in peace
Held your horses the times I asked for directions
Painted me with your conditional memories
Made me fight for my right to be an individual
Got me up here being mad at shit

Yeah, up here with spunk—talkin’ my ass off
Watchin’ y’all from above;
I am the human skyline at the end of your long drive
Arms pointing to God, wanting to be God
When I should be planning what I’m gonna do down there
Because what matters is what I do down there

What matters is what I do down there
What matters is what I do to you
And how I hope in some way to complete you
And maybe I’ll answer the question,
“When was the last time I did something for the first time
For you?”

Open (with a woman)
Hey you—take a blue cherry
Wish for three things
Is it possible to know where you belong?
Will you show me the way—take me to that place silent?
(Except for my thoughts)
A place where the waves cradle me and I am weightless in it’s wake?

My goodness, I am thoroughly struck
By the gravity of your whisper
Certainly I expected you to settle upon a breeze
‘Stead, you soared on what I now understand is a gasp

Here dear, a blissing spree; a sigh
A silent sigh with freedom its destination
It is in this place
Between duty and consciousness that we meet
Taking me down a path where
You are the guide
…If only I could listen

Well, allow me
To take you to this lake
One deep as a blade of grass
But only for us
We shall stroll above drenched souls
With moist feet and sunshine
I’ll move for your hand and find you’ve offered it
How dear it is to share the moisture
In our shivering palms
Alas! A tender breeze pushes us forward
Do you see what I see?
Eternity, found on the left dot of a ladybug

You remember her—don’t you?
‘Twas four lifetimes ago
She’d watch you dress in the mirror
And tied an evergreen ribbon around your waist
Reminded you with a tip of her chin
That I was near; I was ready
The third horse on your chariot
Who stood tall and calm because
You rubbed my belly first

We would visit all things necessary
Aware of the future together
Then—eternity again—
As I laugh at the guppies and goldfish
Upon my toes
Which one are you?
Teasing me that you are my sanctity
A sweet gentle roll of cotton
A pillow—my pillow
That I have kept until this life
And onto the next as we have met again

How did you know to say
What I mean to feel?
I only know because we are a braid
Untangling as we grow
In this day filled with beautiful rays
Out in the
Open

Song of Solomon

Moving with no recourse
And by God I shouted at You
Challenged You to reveal Yourself
For I had heard of You forever
Spoke loudly and more clear than ever:
“If You want me to want You,
Then satisfy this superficial condition
Appease my three dimensional mentality
What I sense doesn’t make sense
And if You are the Supreme of my way
Then step up and offer me something
A fact that I won’t need to figure out
Say something—do something
Yes, I am shallow—rather, frustrated
All this rhetoric, God if You want me to want You
Then, don’t walk with me in my life as a door ahead of me
Why can’t I be of You?”

And I ducked

Farther

I will be deeper than that
Farther than an anticipated kiss
More profound than thrashing the walls of your womb
Graver than the happiest of times
I will be much deeper than that
Piercing the source of gravity
Closing in on the finite of infinity
Hanging onto the galaxy’s lowest memory
About to plunge
Much deeper than that
On the third crow
I will penetrate the core with a force
Complete
As it penetrates me
And I shall be a vapor, taking over
Your mind, body, and soul
Being nothing ever so deep
As the truth

Ooooooh, you kiss so well

You kisss me so well
Sometimes I presss my face upon a mirror
To see what you see in me
When you kisss me that way

It was a bit embarrassing—you know?
In the men’s room
Trying to explain why I’m
Breathing fog
Meshing my lips to the glass and
Running my tongue over itself
Squeezing my eyes closed
As you do

But I can’t
I’m never able to keep my eyes closed
When kissing you
Because you kisss me so well

Before Love

Violins
Chimes
Dark lights—this is a subway
You in the corner
Afraid
No—I am
Of those perfect moments we let slip away
Strings
Windows
The universe’s energy is so dedicated
Yet we are bound in fear
Of the final frontier
Which are the moments
Before love

Madame Historia

What is this shanty attitude I’ve reaped?
My reckless darling of knots
You render me hopeless
Shall we find the carcass that has coerced you
To turn me into a stitch on a scarf you never wear?
Never mind the freeze?

Must I once again refrain from kissing you
In duty of your poisonous wrath?
Madame Historia
It is he who owns your rage—not I
My light seems to be fading upon this bitter river
And the reflection’s getting dull dear, dearly dull

You, Madame
May rest with me
Shed the distance you’ve become
A star so faraway from the rain
You hate me for the light that remains
And the light that has gone to fade
But, should I love you until you slay me with fury
Of the rage in a jealousy
That I may love you even more than you love yourself?

It’s soromantic

That a seed can fall to the ground
And leap up into an orchard
It’s soromantic
Let a bud rest assure
If she’ll try to endure
That her limbs will spread out
Into a daisy
It’s soromantic
Life’s process
Evolution is the cure
And I will become me

Egypt

Soulmates?
Yet she gets furious when I get foolish
Slaps me when I stare away
It burdens me
Where are the signs of my burnt offerings?
Are they not the all of me she secretly claims?
Just to control the fears of losing herself in me
And me in her? Aw hell, woman
Even that part of me which surfaces is a mystery
I move to venture beyond all that is here
Behind the frown of a desperado
Facing tremors in hiding places and—
Okay, so she wants to tag along
Maybe she’s the Madhatter
Laughing at my past life of slavery
Then when I was a tree
Or the one where I was a rope
It tickles her you know—
My tremors, her pushing
A hoax or a whisk from God’s wand

Boy, how unaware she is
Of the flame that warms my soldered pores
The wings that are taped to my carcass
She has no knowledge of this baby blue task
Bestowed upon me
To fill peace in the body of this life
For a greater search in the next

Be aware, this body and all that I am
Is an embodiment of my entire existence
All from one drip into little boy onto man and ash
Carrying the ripples of righteousness that tear through new world odor
Stunted without a dancing technique
Yet, I am the epitome of movement
And she will see that my flow began
Way before motion began
Though the time prior is immeasurable
Because time was it’s own embryo without time

Me?
Stuck in that place where Nothing was
A galaxy the size of size
When creation wasn’t even a baby’s hard-on
I can remember being trapped in that egg of Nothing
Trying to figure out the tremors
Without a mind to move or die
There wasn’t suckling from hunger until I was fed that first time
Making a race for that pleasure ever since
Milk and blood spilling into my belly
Causing reactions in the chasms of my soul
A place I discovered to be a haven for a solar system
Planets that are of words, pictures and sunshine
But nothing that felt like motion until I was moved, somehow

Yes, I joined the galaxy angry with the one who awakened me—misplaced me
Shoved me into a time zone where everything moves
And if it doesn’t, time will surely move it
I should have remained fixed in the embryo, but
She wanted me to search with her when she has no clue of what she’s doing

Woman, I was where time wasn’t
My body remembers when there was nothing to remember
Remembers when nothing was everything
I didn’t complain of my existence for I didn’t exist
Years later I’d sit in the lecture halls
Staring beyond ears of professors who spoke of Black walls
And I never uttered a word
Sat there just as the sky never speaks
Sat there just as the sky never moves—or does she?
Perpetually raped by the curiosity of those who will never reach her G-spot
Placed in her original state of nothingness
Where I once was up until I was plucked from a genius
Whose hard-on would lead to my hard-on for understanding his existence
Was he aware that he could stir the galaxy with one shot?
Was he inebriated that one time when he smacked me out of oblivion?

The Superior handpicked him
Hiding Itself within beliefs and signs in the limbo of It’s own power
Unable to reveal Itself as Itself
Settling on the revelations in the real
Of what we can acknowledge as real
Sweet Superior who wonders what I may find within this entire existence
That is my total being—yet He already knows quite a bit
So much so that He’s forgotten my ingredients
Yet left markers in the dark trails, yellow glitches and
Orange dots upon weathered barks and brown leaves
That never existed until I was smacked from the wall of oblivion

Now I make haste in this life for others to bare
Fighting the conditions and educating the wonders
That began in one little puff
Carrying the tremors and blood that I know now
Tells me that she must know him who has done this
Because she faces me to Him directly
In a way to reveal all of life
As a kitten nibbling on the beak of an eagle
Thinking she wants understanding
When the revelation may be all there is to it
This could be the longest period of motion ever
She may be the only movement in her entire existence
Out from oblivion as she was pounced into the real
From the butter of a hard-on
Which—to her—doesn’t seem like enough to all there is to being here

To her, this is not enough
Being here where visions are usurped through the belly
After the motion when she was unaware of motion
And of the existence which flows like fodder from a maternal past
And so on and so on
Telling Life, “Life flows through the umbilical cord of the female,
Merely sparked, merely agitated by the male,
With all control belonging to timelessness
That may be recognized as the sky

Above.”

Frederick Douglass

Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, don’t show the pain
My father had a holler and it burned through his eyes
He never ever bothered to get checked for his cries
Holler holler holler, he was so full of pride
But no one at his wake spoke of how he survived
Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, don’t show the pain
He could’ve checked that prostate a long time ago
Momma tol’ him to get it, but remember it was the ghetto
You’d rather bare the pain then the SRO
So Poppa limped through town like you wouldn’t know
Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, don’t show the pain
Back and head pains, teeth danglin’ on a string
ER’s full of injured souls at three in the morning
Time’s the only thing that peeks through the screen
Then it’s three in the afternoon, un-suddenly
Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, don’t show the pain
A letter’s in your drawer, never opened before
It’s a bill from the last time you showed a sore
The collectors are aware you trashed many more
And that you only use them now to line a litter’s floor
Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, don’t show the pain
Your endurance is high, credit to capitalism
Can’t afford descent care lest you own a kingdom
Doctors say they joined the field to aid the sick ones
But tell them you’ve no coverage and your ass will really need ‘em
Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, don’t show the pain
Now your body aches from head chest knee to toe
But the pain is more bearable than the SRO
Made poppa limp ‘til he died and we all should know
That the threshold of pain is a dangerous road
Threshold of pain
The mighty threshold of pain
Take it man, take it man, die—get out of the way

Reverend King, Close Your Eyes

Went hiking today
Looking for the Promised Land
When my day began on top
Not the mountain top—but the zenith of her screams
Every time I climbed—I thought of Dr. King
But, now that she’s here
The only struggle going on is the branch holding my pants
And squeezing more sunblock from the tube
For my back and her inner thighs
Lovemaking is the ultimate freedom fighter

Advice to the advised and advisors

Sitting up on a panel is too far away
As four syllable words are hard to say
And by the time we’ve looked it up
The fire is annihilated by its own garrote

A pointing finger goes the wrong way
As the waves in the ocean pour over places to stay
Testifying for its own acquittal
Being the last of a pebble that crashed onto a calm sea

Doing good to get some good’s a selfish way
As karmic retribution creates the sweet things to say
Heaven’s their ultimate gift in the end
Though the bible expectorates bitterness for its own salvation
It reminds even itself that life be “On earth, as it is in heaven”

Evoking the belief in God then nail-biting days away
As the truth is the ultimate wise man who tests faith
Merely the inkling of God is enough power
To put oneself in the path of the knowing of Nothingness
Where being is being and feeling is feeling

Relate without question for the answer will beg to stay
Limiting the essence of the moment to the boundaries of the day
To be or not to be, verily the same question
With the answer moving within the spaces between the lines

Promise to love honor and obey
Who, what, where, how, and why dare say
For the morrow shall take care of itself
Feeling the domino effect of the actions of right now

One

Lover left me
A little colder
A little greener
A little bolder
Lover left me
A little colder
A little meaner
So much older
Ooh wee sugar
It’s hurting me
This pain in me
Sweet misery
Ooh dear sugar
It’s haunting me
This thing in me
It’s like a phone
And my heart keeps callin’
Your lovin’
Your squeezin’
And the reasons
I’m in love with you
So in love with
On my own

UCONN'S MAYA MOORE drafted to NBA

2010-04-06T20:16:00.000-07:00

She dribbled twice, stopped and pulled up for a twenty-two foot shot. Swish. She zipped a pass to a cutting Tina Charles the led her straight to an easy lay-up. She takes over games like Jordan and Kobe. She is silky smooth. She is captivating. She is Maya Moore. And I am promoting her as an NBA draft pick. Yes I said NBA, not WNBA.

The Difference, A commentary from my Sensei, Mentor, and Soul Brother

2010-04-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

The now message for large numbers of folks here and around the world is that we are NOT all the same biochemically. The wonder of that is displayed all around us in all media. The human genome project, having finally decoded the genome, found that humankind worldwide is supposedly 98 or 99% the same. By implication then 1% or less accounts for all the differences observed between humans globally. You believe that?

I ask you, how likely is it you think that humans were genome sampled and decoded on all continents, in all countries, even in off the grid areas (so called primitive cultures) by some organized army of scientists who then shared their data? Stand on a street corner in NYC, Boston, Miami, Dallas, Denver, LA, London, Paris, Amsterdam, etc., then leave there and hit outback Australia, New Zealand, Africa, South America, far flung Russian break away republics, Mongolia....and let's not forget 1.3 billion Chinese, Japan, the Koreas, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Laos, Iraq, Iran, UAE, Saudia Arabia, Bulgaria, the entire Caribbean. etc. etc. wow!

This genomic world view may in fact NOT be the truth. If it is, who can prove it with sampling? Where is this published?
Standing on those street corners at busy times, what do you think of what you would, and have seen? If we're all so genetically the same, why has world medicine struggled to find cures for well documented diseases that have been around many years, impacting millions of people? If we are so genetically the same, why are there NFL, NBA, Major League Baseball, World Soccer, World Track and Field, etc. so dominated by the high melanin crew. Cold weather sports, like winter Olympics are dominated by low melanin crew folks from places where altitude, low temperatures, and lots of snow have been the rule for how many years?

Once you leave that cold weather environ, where is there any evidence of dominance in any other sport? Tennis?
A warm weather activity cultivated in exclusionary private clubs, where expensive equipment, lessons, and court clothing further restrict who gets to develop their skills. Yet Althea Gibson, Arthur Ash, Yannick Noah, The Williams sisters, and others from the high melanin crew have dominated, and dominate, there as well.

Civilization may well be the systemic, institutionalized imposition of controls designed to disrupt Darwin's observed phenomena. Get back to the laws of the jungle, literally, and this world population mosaic would assuredly show an entirely different face.

Could it be that the future belongs to the strongest AND the smartest?

Given that thought, reflect then on the strategic importance of NOT being stuck on stupid, or on muscular development and use, but rather being focused on optimizing BOTH.

Are not "keeping women barefoot, uneducated, and pregnant", and keeping the high melanin crew woefully stupid and focused on carnal delights (music, muscles, dancing, cheap fast food, etc.) related strategies effecting critical control of stunningly large numbers of people worldwide???

What say you?

Ricky Martin Has Emerged

2010-03-31T04:42:00.000-07:00

So, he's come out of the closet. Must be liberating for him. I have a client who suffered so much staying inside that he literally paralyzed himself. After years of therapy, he emerged to tell his wife and kids his struggle. He would soon become sole parent of his kids and despised by his wife. And to me he happens to be one of the best parents I have ever met.

I've been homophobic at times and I know I cannot comprehend that which makes one sex desire the same sex, whether its preordained, in their DNA, or created by external forces. I had a friend come out, and when he told me, all I could think about was whether or not we ever wrestled? I distanced myself from him, not only because he was gay, but because I didn't want to be associated with his "kind". I didn't ponder what his days and nights had been like and I never had the chance to apologize to him for my conditional friendship. Yes, I used to let society imprison me because I worried about what the world thinks of me.

But, in the end, its sad to have to live enslaved to your true self because the world around you is too lazy to have compassion for your soul.

Live and let live.

Health Bill Shall Not Us Divide

2010-03-23T05:48:00.000-07:00

Lets not make this health care division divide us even more by being sore winners and jumping on Republicans and others against the bill. This is not about one winning over the other, this is about us ALL. Compassion for all opinions will bridge the gap between our differences.

(This is reprinted from MoveOn.com, so it will not have the points against the bill, but I thought I should present it anyhow.)

10 Things Every American Should Know About Health Care Reform

1. Once reform is fully implemented, over 95% of Americans will have health insurance coverage, including 32 million who are currently uninsured.

2. Health insurance companies will no longer be allowed to deny people coverage because of preexisting conditions—or to drop coverage when people become sick.

3. Just like members of Congress, individuals and small businesses who can't afford to purchase insurance on their own will be able to pool together and choose from a variety of competing plans with lower premiums.

4. Reform will cut the federal budget deficit by $138 billion over the next ten years, and a whopping $1.2 trillion in the following ten years.

5. Health care will be more affordable for families and small businesses thanks to new tax credits, subsidies, and other assistance—paid for largely by taxing insurance companies, drug companies, and the very wealthiest Americans.

6. Seniors on Medicare will pay less for their prescription drugs because the legislation closes the "donut hole" gap in existing coverage.

7. By reducing health care costs for employers, reform will create or save more than 2.5 million jobs over the next decade.

8. Medicaid will be expanded to offer health insurance coverage to an additional 16 million low-income people.

9. Instead of losing coverage after they leave home or graduate from college, young adults will be able to remain on their families' insurance plans until age 26.

10. Community health centers would receive an additional $11 billion, doubling the number of patients who can be treated regardless of their insurance or ability to pay.

Train Properly

2010-03-17T06:58:00.001-07:00

No matter what, unless you are a contortionist or some other whacky acrobatic soul, your body and all of its components move in a certain way. And there are limitations to these movements, not to mention whether you are tight, have suffered trauma, or were born with physical challenges. When you approach your training, understand how your body moves, and learn how to make functional training a part of your everyday methods. A shoulder press may increase the size in your deltoids and traps, but to do these properly, you must release tension in your upper body, allowing you to extend far above your head, relaxed and stress free. When you perform a shoulder press, make sure you can extend your hands straight up first, with your biceps clamped to your ear. If not, there's some work to be done to allow more flexibility thus better range of motion. Then, your press will flow in a balanced state. Always seek symmetry in your body. Use the mirror for adjustments for, glamour later.

The Writer In Us

2010-03-16T15:49:00.001-07:00

I remember the day my son and I wrote his first song. He was about six and his topic was girls and school buses. He danced and sang a lot, played Michael Jackson and Levert's "Casanova" a little too much for me, but kids seem to go in a trance when they enjoy something, so the repetition was easy to deal with. He just sent me a link to his new video:

The Loss

2010-03-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

(In memory of Judy Seigler, a young lady hit by a car in the Palisades late Feb, 2010)

Heartbreak
What's a parent to do to get over this?
Time, it heals all wounds,
But wounds of the heart take a toll greater than the cosmos
A step forward is aggravated by the gravity of pain
Still, forward we must go lest whither away into the dust of our sorrow
A sorrow of a child excused from the tolls of this life
Will soon discover that they were too advanced for our mortal lessons
So, to move ahead with the agony, instead anticipate when we catch up
To the brightness that went not away-but ahead
Becoming our north star

Meditation For The Addicted One

2010-03-10T12:58:00.001-08:00

To anyone addicted to anything: Here is a notion from me that I know in my heart to be true. That whatever you're addicted to, it is not of your doing. That substance, that craving, that sip, that bet, that urge has been created with ingredients that influence your brain cells. And it targets that part of you most vulnerable to attack. So first, understand that you are powerful enough to know that you are in a battle. Know that you are not destined to be addicted, but to be beautiful. Know that you don't have to abstain because what entices you is addicted to you. You are it's feed. Prozac needs you. Valium needs you. Crack needs you. Whiskey needs you. A bet needs you. And the hands behind each shall not be strong without you. Your power shall be in the removal of that which does not promote your evolution. Your power shall be in the removal of that which does not promote your evolution. Your power shall be in the removal of that which does not promote your evolution. Your power shall be in the removal of that which does not promote your evolution. Evolution requests your presence. Evolution requests your presence. Evolution requests your presence. The moment is yours to behold. Plant a seed with this second and sow it with your life. Love exists and it tastes better than any vice, for even a vice seeks its attention. Be free. Be free. Be free.

Women's Basketball Is Finally Sexy To Me

2010-03-09T23:49:00.000-08:00

They flooded the ball handler with a trap that seemed to say, "You ain't goin' nowhere. You will not hurt my family." A couple seconds later, Carolina Doty was zipping down the court the other way, dribbling the ball ahead as fluid as a river. She bounce passed it to Kalana Greene who turned and shot a chest pass to Tina Charles in stride for a sweet Earl The Pearl layup. Charles was fouled in the act and ended up tumbling onto a cameraman. Every teammate ran to her and grabbed her. They snatched her up, shouted like warriors, then went on to dominate a heartfelt Notre Dame team.

But this isn't about UConn's Women's Basketball. This is about Women's Basketball. They drive with passion unlike I've seen in a while. They battle. They give up their bodies. I've watched them expend energy as though it was their last game on earth. I've watched them crash into each other. Bang elbows. Throw punches. Cry after a hard foul. Fix their hair tie before shooting a free throw. I've caught glimpse of them gossiping on the bench and cursing opponents as they dribble by. They shoot with excellent form, flicking their wrists at the peak of their jump, and their ball handling skills compare to the best in the world. They fight from tip-off to the final buzzer and I am astonished at how much fuel they expend, whether on or off the court.

When one shows so much passion for what they do, expending one hundred percent whether on or off the court, they are sexy. Women's basketball has finally become sexy to me.

My Brother Could've Been My Friend

2010-03-09T12:47:00.001-08:00

I met him when I was fourteen. He was my half brother. A brother my father kept from me for a long time. Don't really know why Pop thought it was time we met, but I never asked. It would be the first time I visited my father's house across town.

When we got there, I saw that Pop lived in a better spot than we did. He had a doorbell. Trees on his block. Even a trash chute. At the time, compared to our ghetto dwelling, it seemed like he lived in Trump Plaza. I remember the smell when I first entered. The plastic slipcovers and the bleach clean countertops.

"Hey boy. Go in there and meet your brother." Pop wanted me to go into Eric's room. It seemed like the door weighed three hundred pounds. I couldn't budge it.

"Turn the knob and go in." Pop said. "Don't be shy." I thought Pop was being pretty nonchalant about a dire situation. But I knew he was as nervous as I was, yet trying to ease the situation. Eric's mother had just died from a heart attack, and Pop saw it as a good opportunity to show Eric he had other connections.

I turned the knob and opened the door. Eric's room was filled with stuff. Racing sets. Games. Posters of the Knicks and Yankees. He had a fish tank and he had a turtle. He had his own bed with sheets that matched the curtains, and he had his own dresser. The only thing he had that I had was a skateboard. But his board has these strange rubber wheels while mine had metal casters. I was in awe. I turned to my left and there he was, leaning out the window yelling at his friends.

"I can't! My brother's here!" He turned, came to me then shook my hand. "What's up bro?"
"Uhm what's up?" He was the same age as I was. Yet he outweighed me by about fifty pounds and stood about four inches taller. He was a giant and I was at a lost for words or anything that I should do next.

"Hey, Pop says you play baseball."
"Uhm yeah."
"Let's go play."

We went down the block to the park. A real park with trees, grass, benches, freshly painted lines and even real bases unlike the stuff we used in my neighborhood to mark bases like concrete chunks or cereal boxes. Eric strolled up to a bunch of kids and they treated him like a king. He was a star. He got to choose the sides and he picked me first.

"Hey y'all, I got my brother." Man, he was real happy and proud. I was envious of his joy because inside all I felt was anguish and despise for him and my Pop. He threw me a glove and said, "What position you play?"

"Centerfield."
"Centerfield. Man you must be fast!"
"Eric you know I play center!" A Spanish kid yelled as we took the field.
"Robert, get left." Robert went to left without a second glance. We played for over three hours. Eric was not only the best hitter, but he could run, catch and throw. Even at his size. He seemed like he had been through organizations from Little League to Pee Wee League while my skills were just raw talent. I could tell his game was polished whereas I needed coaching.

When we finished, we went to a store and Eric bought all of us ice cream sandwiches. He gave me two and didn't eat any. He had instant love for me whereas I battled the entire situation in my mind. And when Pop took me back home, Eric said, "Hey, come back next week. You can be on our team. We're good--but you'll make us great!"

I spent the next few years in a cloudy state when it came to my half brother. I was bitter that he had my Pop, and that he had things I fantasized about. That he was taught how to play baseball and football whereas I learned by watching TV. I didn't care too much that he was so cool with me, and wanted to spend time with me. I wanted no part of him. As time passed, Eric grew bigger and bigger. At seventeen, he was six feet four and weighed over three hundred and fifty pounds. It was obvious my father stopped disciplining him and more obvious that Pop didn't discipline Eric because Pop felt bad about Eric's mom's passing away. The last time I saw Eric, he was watching a Knicks game, eating a Blimpie Super Submarine Hero Sandwich and sipping on a can of Slimfast Chocolate Shake.

"Hey dude, he said. Wanna piece?"
"Nah I'm cool, bro." I was deep into sports at that point, and being conditioned had become important. I knew he was headed the wrong way.

Eric died of a heart attack four days later. He was barely eighteen years old. He died loving me and not knowing if his brother loved him. It hurt me that I didn't take the time to help him get in shape. To understand how he could love a stranger so fast and so strong? And how he could hit a curveball so far? Eric is why I dedicate much of my life to helping folks understand the paths towards optimum health and honestly, it never feels like I'm getting anywhere. Still...I'm here if you need me.

I Stalked Spike Lee For 30 Days!

2010-03-08T11:44:00.000-08:00

"She's Gotta Have It" was a hit. Brooklyn got on the map. And I discovered a bona fide way to play god: Be a film director. I'd been strugglin' as a mail room clerk for a Donald Trump wanna be, while I figured out my calling. So, I threw caution to the wind, quit my job, moved to Fort Green, Brooklyn and decided I was going to work with Spike Lee and his Forty Acres and a Mule Filmworks company. I knew that once I got in, there would be nobody who would out work me, and soon I would be yellin', "Action!"

Back in the late eighties and early nineties, Fort Green was still an untapped zone of brownstones, and it had a dark--yet soulful edge to it. From my window overlooking Fort Green Park, I saw beautiful trees, shrubs, bushes, picnics, hookers and dope dealers. It was perfect.

One morning, right as I prepped for an early morning workout, I checked the conditions outside only to discover a jackpot heading down my block--Spike Lee was scurrying pass my door! The next day, I saw him again. Then again the next morning. This was his morning path to work. Everyday at 4:55am. Perfect. The next morning, I waited for him at my building entry. He arrived right on time. I stepped out and bumped into him on purpose.

"Sorry bro" I said.
"Its cool."
"Oh hey ain't you Spike Lee?"
"Yep."
"Cool, bro. Hey can I work with you on your next project?" I boldly asked.
"Uhm you wanna be an intern?" He suggested.
"Sure. How much does that pay?" I asked.
"Don't pay shit." He said. "Intern."
"Uhm damn, I got a son man, I can't be workin' for free."
He shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

Damn. That sucka wanted me to work for free. Yeah, that would've been cute if I was nineteen, but I was twenty-four and trying to help raise a boy. Couldn't do it.

The next morning, I perched at the window sill again, waiting for the little man to slip down the block. And like clockwork, he strolled towards my building. I ran outside and up to him.

"Hey Spike."
"Yo."
"Hey man, you got a job for me on your next picture?" I literally treated it as though everyday was a restart. Funny thing, he did too.
"Nah man--you wanna be an intern?"
"Uhm, how much does it pay?"
"Pays you experience. You got experience?"
"Yeah, I do." I lied.
"Drop your resume at the office."
"Cool, man! Peace."
"Peace, two fingers," he said, then walked away, looking like he was on that dolly shot he uses in every film.

I went home and made up the most bogus resume in the history of resumes. Took it to the office and waited for a response. All day, I waited. Nothing.

The next morning, I stood alert for Spike again. Upon sight, I rushed downstairs and approached him.

"Hey Spike!"
"Yo."
"Did you get my resume?"
"You brought it over?"
"Yep."
"What's your name?"
"Ganious."
"Uhm nah, maybe I'll get it today. Peace two fingers."
"Uhm, okay."

And for the next twenty seven days in a row, I asked him the same question, and he replied to me the same way. I would drop off countless resumes, each one more bogus than the last. It got to the point that some of my resumes literally looked like this:

OBJECTIVE: To own my own film company

EXPERIENCE:

1985-1986 CEO Warner Brothers Entertainment
1984-1985 CEO Capitol Records
1983-1984 On Assignment in Kenya
1881-1883 Personal travel advisor for Harriet Tubman
1492-1496 Battled Columbus for Brooklyn

On the thirtieth exasperating morning of me waiting for Spike, I stood outside and watched him cross the street before he got to my building. I watched him try to sneak by and almost let him. Finally I yelled,

"Yo Spike, you got a job?"
"You wanna intern?"
"No. I need to get paid."
"Bring your resume by the office. Peace, two fingers."

Yeah, I wanted to break his jaw with two fingers, but I let him go. I was done. Later on that day, I went to play ball to let off some steam. While I was choosing my side, I saw a brother peeking through the fence. I recognized him from an interview. He was Spike's partner, Monty Ross. As I picked my normal crew, I had one slot open for my good buddy Chris. Chris wasn't that good, but he was cool so I always picked him. And he was always confident when I picked the squad that he would get to play. But...

"Hey man, you wanna play?" I yelled at Monty.
"Who me? Uhm yeah, I do."
"Come on, I got you." I motioned for him to come in. My buddy Chris was pissed.
"Chris, listen, this is a fork in the road, bro. I got to let this brother play."

We proceeded to get slaughtered. Bad. Real bad. But I was determined to make Monty have a good time. Gave him the ball every chance I could. I even passed him the ball while he was bending to tie his shoe! As we left the court, I told him--

"Man you did good. You should come out more often."
"Yeah, but I just snuck away. Working down the block."
"I hear you. Gotta keep a gig man. Don't get busted." I joked, trying to get him to focus on me just for one second.
"I'm actually trying to find a gig too. Trying to get into the film business--bad. But nobody I know seems to have any juice."
"Well I work down at Forty Acres. I'll hire you." He said, almost as though something was putting words in his mouth.
"Oh yeah? You will? Man that would be fantastic!"
He begrudgingly added, "Uhm yeah what department you in?"
"Department?"
"You ever worked on a film?"
"Uhm, no."
"Ahh cool, then I can bring you on as an intern."
"Uhm--what's your name?"
"Monty--"
"Uhm Monty, I have a family. I can't afford to do things for free right now."

He paused a second, then added, "Well I can hire you for craft service. Come down tomorrow and we'll get started. Ooh, bring a resume."
"Uhm, great man. I'll be there. What time?"
"Tomorrow's a special morning screening. Can you get there at 5:30 am?"
"Man I can get there at 4:30."
"Nah, 5 is good." He walked off and I was ecstatic to the ultimate degree. I went to the library and spent six hours studying arts and crafts techniques, to help me understand a bit of what my new position entailed. Later on that day, I met up with my girlfriend, an actress at the time. Told her the exciting news. She was beautifully excited for me until--

"What department are you gonna work in?"
"Craft service!" I said excitingly.
"Oh really? Hmmm." She dropped in energy.
"Hmm what?"
"Nothing baby. I'm excited for you. You've got your foot in the door!"
"That's right and I'm gonna take full advantage of it."

The next morning, I get to the office at 4:45am. I wanted to get there before Spike would. An old dude opened the door for me.

"Can I help you?" He said, wiping his eyes.
"Oh, I'm here to start my first day."
"Who told you you were starting?" His attempt at being a security guard was weak, but I respected him.
"Monty told me to come here this morning."
"Monty ain't here."
"Okay. Where can I wait for him?"
"You wait your ass outside."
"Uhm really sir? Outside? Ain't there something I can do inside to help you?"
"Uhmm yeah, come on in." He handed me a broom and told me to, "Sweep like there's no tomorrow."
"Sweep like there's no tomorrow? Sir, would you be sweeping if there's no tomorrow?"
"Nah son, that's why I'm tellin' you to!" He walked away, feeling as smart as he'd ever felt in his life.

And I swept the hell out of that place. Lifted chairs. Lifted desks. Lifted sofas. Moved boxes. I had gathered up so much dirt that it looked like I was sweeping the beach. Finally, as I swept around a large desk in what seemed to be the biggest office, the door bursts open. There's Spike standing there shocked--

"Hey man, what are you doing in here?"
"I'm sweeping, Spike."
"Sweepin'? Who told you to sweep? What are you doin' in my office?"
"Uhm I work here?"
"What? Who hired you?"
"Monty hired me yesterday."
"What? What department?"
"Craft service!" I said proudly.
"Craft service?" He seemed to calm down after hearing that for some reason.
"Yeah, craft service."
"Oh. In that case, get me a Yoohoo!"

A Yoohoo?

2010-03-04T13:16:00.001-08:00

The essence of MJ is what sticks with us. The essence. Not that he was a child star. Not that he was a pop star. Not that he was weird nor whatever we may call him. But that he was an instrument. He was a piano. A guitar. A violin. And there were sounds coming from this instrument that only a God could play. If you listen to the voice, which to me sounds more mature as a child--more soulful as a child, then as he aged, became "popular" because that's what the body does when it needs to appease time and the mass who always need more, you can hear and feel the notes reconfigure your molecular structure. Just one note from any musical instrument, struck at a precise and timely moment, creating a sound wave that is in sync with your being, can send energy which reverberates throughout your body. This perfect note--perfect moment not only shifts you, but weaves itself into a pattern that is your life. Beautiful music beautifies us--and with each perfect note, a connection to a greater source in turn makes us better. MJ was an instrument providing us with...the perfect note.

Eat 6 small meals per day????? Are You Crazy???

2010-03-02T18:37:00.000-08:00

Kristen tells me she's just joined a gym for the first time in her life. Her health is good, body is good, but she wants to tone up, get stronger, and be in better condition. She speaks to a trainer at the gym who tells her to:

1: Train to get bigger.
2: Eat 6 times per day.

Now, of course, looking at her, her muscular structure, with a powerful lower body and a strong gait, she would definitely put on serious muscle if she trained that way. But she told him she wanted to tone up, not bulk up.

It's easy to tell folks the same formula without really assessing their molecular/historical structure. To really understand what will work for one over the other, a trainer needs to conduct a thorough investigation of the prospective client's tendencies, history, and present state of being. Sure, I can look at someone overweight and say, "Hey, don't eat carbs and don't eat anything after 7p." He can then inform me that he works a graveyard shift, and is allergic to wheat and flour. Although we are all the same when it comes to human rights, we are definitely all different when it comes to molecular structure and the nuances that make us tick.

So, Kristen contacted me after speaking to the trainer and asked me what I thought. Since I knew her for years, I had a better profile to pull from my mind in what I thought may work for her. She's a cerebral Virgo with some fire and her Q angles (term for women with hips) are pronounced. This to me says initially she would be a great candidate for endurance, and long steady sessions--not sporadic hopping around and crazy plyometrics which could be added on after a few weeks of getting her body in training rhythm. She should stay with light weights, but increased reps.

A set of bicep curls for her would be:

5-8lb dumbbells. 15 reps. 20 reps. 30 reps. 25 reps. 20 reps. 15 reps.

A cardio session on the treadmill may be:

-Speed walking for 60 mins, on a slight incline if necessary but not too much or her legs will really get big.
-Spin class but cheat on the resistance by not turning up the knob when instructed.
-Elliptical with low resistance but increased speed.

As for her eating six times per day. This formula is basically prescribed to keep the body churning, and when the body knows that you are going to feed it, it will burn more. I feel that this really means (especially in these rough economic times):

Eat THREE times per day, but SPLIT each meal up into two, decreasing the simple carbs as the day goes by, with little to none to night. She would eat live foods and good proteins. A teaspoon of Raw Almond Butter to kill the sugar craving. She should make certain to drink a lot of water. If she wants to train as a fitness competitor, this changes to practically no carbs after the morning (if any).

She should try this suggestion for two weeks and see if it feels right in her being. If there is a block, then something has to be altered so her body and mind can find a synergy.

Don't get caught in the cookie cutter means to get healthy. You are different. Dig in to what works and scrap what doesn't. Then find a health and wellness consultant who will dig deep with you to help you get that formula, and utilize it to the max!
Most every fitness program or system out works if you use it exactly the way its prescribed, especially when the small print tells you that your chance of success is high if you maintain a certain diet. Flat abs are made in the kitchen, not in the gym. Ah, I digress...but I didn't go too far--right?

Feel Great!

Example of My Initial Health And Wellness Assessment

2010-03-02T05:24:00.000-08:00

This is an actual correspondence between myself and a woman who is digging into the issues involving her health and plotting a road towards optimum wellness. What will follow is a plan of action that will direct her to create a network of care that would possibly include physical training from me, nutritionist, chinese doctor, Ayurvedics, specialized yoga, etc. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

D. Anson: Well, I already blew your 8 Day challenge. Mondays are hard and trying to not raise my voice unless cheering was impossible. But I am doing everything else!

Ganious: Then Reboot and go at it tomorrow!

D. Anson: I need to know...what can I do to boost my immune system? I've been sick for over a year now with everything from colds and digestive issues to hypoglycemia and worse. I feel like my diet is never right and have been trying to find something that works. Holistically, of course.

Ganious: The first is to de-stress. Eliminate or manage the stress. Hard being mom, wife and with job and all but it begins there. I can't speak on the hypoglycemia because I don't know if you have insulin resistance or diabetes. Since I don't know what you eat, I would say you need more live/raw foods. More salads, less processed foods. More water, less mixtures. More probiotics like acidophilus, less wheat and less simple carbs like bread. You just may not be eating enough. An entire assessment would need to be done to actually go deeper into directing you towards the right path in your overall wellness. But you at least got a heads up by being aware that you need to really delve into it.

D. Anson: Wow. You're good. I payed a lot of doctors over the last two years to tell me some of this. I stopped eating meat last year and my health improved, but then i was told this year that my low blood sugar, night sweats, fainting spells were hypogyclemia. I have wheat and gluten allergies, so I have weeded out processed foods. But you have confirmed a lot of other stuff that I wondered about but wasn't sure. The last doctor said I was not eating enough.

You're right. Mom, grandma, career woman and all around super hero definitely is taking it's toll.

Ganious: I'm cheaper than a doctor but worth more, unless brain surgery is needed.

D. Anson: Brain surgery? That's a whole 'nother conversation!

Ganious: I take that back! Sorry MDs. I'm cheaper than a doc but can provide valuable insight into health and wellness as well as any doc...unless surgery is required.

D. Anson: I think a lot of people are discovering that doctors rely too much on the quick fix and not long term. I think your knowledge is far more valuable and honestly, I trust it coming from someone who is speaking from experience, rather than text book. I have self diagnosed and treated a lot of things myself from the internet (hence the vegetarian diet) only to get the same advice from a doctor months or years later.

D. Anson: But this last doctor said pretty much what you did. I could be right up there borderline diabetic, but right now it's just my blood sugar. So, please don't sell yourself short. He didn't figure it out until after 2 years!!

Ganious: Well said. Said well. We can get into more details and charting a course of action soon!

Excerpt from: "The Third Rail"

2010-02-28T16:03:00.000-08:00

Damn. I need some dough. How can I get some cash? Nobody to borrow it from. Shit. Cash. Quick cash. Legally. Pawn shop is closed. Eight thirty. Wait a minute. Music. Discomat buys used cds. Yeah. I’ll trade in some music. Santana. Aw man I hate to do this but you have to go. You too Stevie. Hendricks. Miles. Coltrane. James Brown. Bush. Fugees. Aretha. Labelle. Chaka. Pink Floyd. Genesis. Run DMC. Marley. Peter Gabriel aw man not my Passion cd. Bird. Dreamgirls. Sammy D. New Edition. Bjork. Michael. Bee Gees. Cameo. Gershwin. Ani Difranco and all eighty one two three four five six seven eight no all eighty nine of you.

Okay. Don’t have cash for the subway. Damn I gave Momma all my dough. Oh well. The good thing about this city is that I can walk it.

One hundred and seventh. Curb. Asphalt. Curb. Concrete. Grills. Panels of lights.

Ninety sixth. Walk. Puppy. Doorman’s flagging a cab. Don’t walk. Green.

Eighty second. Runners ahhh did that already. Walk. Van. Museum. Statue out front. It’s warm out. Look up.

Sixty sixth. Walk. Concrete. Tavern on the Green. Yuck. Curb. Asphalt. Curb. Concrete. Walk. Walk. Walk.

Fifty first. Walk. Cats Marquis. People. Cameras. Africans selling shit. Walk. This bag’s kind of heavy. Walk. Lights. Lights. Look up. Keep your head up.

Thirty second. The Garden. Knicks Jazz. Furs. Walk. Don’t walk.

Twenty third and Seventh. Burritoville. The best Border Burritos on the planet.

Twelfth. Gay flags. Cozy shops. Two Boots pizza. St. Vincent’s. Walk. Walk.

Oh shit. Christopher Street. Made it. Look north. Made it all the way from Four seventy two Central Park West Apartment Four Cee. Wow one hundred and three blocks. Wasn’t so bad.

Okay. Discomat. Buy and sell new and used CDs. Right.

Hey man I got some discs.

I guess his nod meant sit them up on the counter. Okay you guys. Come on out and show your stuff. Santana Stevie Hendricks Miles Coltrane James Brown Bush Fugees Aretha Labelle Chaka Pink Floyd Genesis Run DMC Marley Peter Gabriel Bird Dreamgirls Sammy D New Edition Bjork Michael Bee Gees Cameo Gershwin Ani Difranco and all eighty nine discs in the duffel. What? Wait. He’s not amused. Unfazed. He’s zipping through them much too fast for my pleasure. I spent years collecting the music of my mind and he’s going to flip through it like that? Just like that? Shit. He doesn’t give a flying fuck. Can’t he see how eclectic I am? Can’t he see the vast palatial array of my innermost soul? Doesn’t he know that it began in the ghetto where Momma went from James Brown to Aretha to Al Green to Johnnie Taylor to Joe Tex and back to James Brown? Can’t he see the journey that now contains international vibes from around the earth? Maybe I should’ve threw in Maxwell or Jamiroqui or maybe D’Angelo? I could thrash his face in with my knuckle but damned if being broke hasn’t tied my hands again. Shoot. Tomorrow I’m gonna cash in that water jug filled with pennies. Or ehh maybe Wednesday.

The Malcolm X soundtrack ends the scrutiny and did I well I think I heard him coldly mash I’ll give you seventy in my face. Look at my children. They’re whimpering like the stray dogs Pop found. Look at my babies. All the moments we shared. All the moods they put me in and out of. All the kisses in the foreground and the menage a’ trois or should I say menage a’ deux and a half to the music from The Last Temptation of Christ. All the tears when Stevie fingered the piano solo at the end of Ribbon In The Sky and every beat Mantronix threw down that had me slobbering for the next. The chants from Olatungi when I rounded Central Park downhill at the north tip with my shirt off and my life engaged in superiority. All the breaths Sting sung about which pulled every note from my soul. The hard fight in LL’s Mama Said Knock You out and aw damn. Damn.

Uh that’s cool man. Seventy bucks’ cool.

I’m struggling I’m really struggling not to show how pitiful this feels.

Here you go.

Thanks.

Three twenties and a ten. Walk out. Walk out. Shit. He’s sliding my cds off the counter like nothing. They’re crashing in the bag like a rudely uprooted village. Ahhh. Ahhh. But you guys will be okay. I’m certain you won’t end up in the racks for long. I’m just afraid that I can’t stop the freedom I feel ooh that feeling of letting you all go.

Ah the freedom. It’s washing me north. I feel slippery. Loose. My hands feel like water. Don’t seem to want anything. These clothes are enough. These boots. This concrete. This ability to walk. I feel dazed. Can I be seen? Held? Felt? This feels like rapture. A rapturous coma. I feel like an interrogation bulb surrounded by moths and suspects. I feel unnoticed yet all encompassing. A rapturous coma. Yeah.

I’m here. How in the hell did I get home so fast?

Stairs stairs stairs. But I don’t feel them. I don’t. I don’t. Not one. I don’t. Ah shoot the phone the phone the phone damn keys ahhh don’t hang up because I ain’t callin’ you back ahhh don’t hang up ‘cause I’m in a mood to answer the phone ahh don’t hang up.

Hello?

Hey.

Uh hey.

The voice. It’s crawling inside my ears. Blowing dreams in my head.

Allison?

It’s me.

How are you?

My heart just went from my stomach to my shoulders. Her voice spins me like a spoon in coffee. Strange.

I’m doing well. I got your number from your mother.

I know yeah she told me you called and I heard your message but I had to run out for a second.

Ohh that’s okay.

She sounds like a cosmic whistle. I could see myself foolishly praying for her again.

I called you because I had a dream about you.

Oh yeah?

Yeah.

And?

And it said that I had to contact you because you needed my help.

Oh yeah Allison?

Yeah. I woke up with a rush. I got your mother’s number from four one one.

Yeah?

How’s your kids?

Muhammed’s fine and Sena’s great. How’s your son?

He’s good. Getting big.

I bet. Hey the last time I saw you she had just been born.

Yep that was the last time. How old are they now?

Well he’s nine and she’s six.

She’s talking but my mind’s too busy calculating back to the letter I wrote to her at the abortion clinic. The letter begged her to have my child. Uhmmm it adds up to eleven years.

Muhammed will be ten soon.

Blah blah blah. She’s going on and on but all I’m thinking is I still don’t feel too good about that boy deep down in my gut.

Yeah Allison? Hey how’s your husband?

Oh he’s fine. We’ve separated.

Separated? Y’all getting divorced?

Yep.

Blah blah blah. Sounds like she needs me to need her so she can resolve the brunt of her blasted ego. But I ain’t got shit so what would that prove?

Hey man what are you doing tomorrow?

Uhhhm.

I would tell her the truth but that was the reason she left me in the first place. Allison cried for stability and made her choice to get it. As for me shiiiiit I’ll just keep trying to hold on to the wind.

What am I doing tomorrow? Damn I don’t know what I’m doing right now.

Uhhmm can we meet soon?

Yeah Allison let’s do it.

How about we meet the day after tomorrow?

Yeah that’s cool.

Okay. How about on Houston Street Allison? Yeah Houston in front of the Angelika.

Where’s that ummm man don’t worry I’ll find it. What time?

Eight. Is that cool Allison?

Eight’s cool. I look forward to seeing you boy.

She called me boy. Ooh that felt sexy. I can still hear her giggle the way she did when we made love. Laying under me. Laughing and saying how good it felt to have me in and out of her. Damn I loved her. For a minute. Blah bleh bluh. I feel weird about this. Butterfly weird. Maybe I shouldn’t see her. I’m not stable enough for all of this shit. Don’t have much to show for the years gone by. And what I do have is about to decrease tenfold. Shit. Maybe I should stop this before it blows up in my face. Did I really want her Pop? Or is it the ego principal again? Oooooohmm bed bed bed bed.

Sleep is good.

I smell Nienna’s hair conditioner on my pillow.

Gravity is pulling me into oblivion. Going deeper and deeper. Fading. Fading away. What’s that sound? Oh. Window’s open. Shade’s banging against the sill. Air. I feel air. Fatigue here comes your foe. Sleep oh wonderful sleep. I want a theme song. I wish I could remember the one I wrote. Uhmm come come liberation. Come wash over me. Come come liberation. Come and set me free.

Come and set me free.

Come and set me free.

Women Rule The Earth

2010-02-24T11:44:00.000-08:00

My sensei tells me that my being Alpha male renders certain actions I take as natural as breathing. He says that there are parameters set before me that I must endure and excel. I must lead by experience and by example. I must protect and honor. And I must utilize my ego as a force to drive me into positive action, not as an emotion that forces me into negative response. During this conversation, the most powerful man I ever met received a phone call. His mother had taken ill.

The next time I spoke to him, his voice dropped a few octaves. His energy flat. He had swallowed a tub a Kryptonite. His heart was dim and his outlook was vague. His lifeforce went to another dimension. His mother was gone. It was then that I knew--even though my mom had passed too--that women ruled the universe. It was then that I realized the only reason men are leading nations is because women put them there, knowing that this world would be a world filled with punks if they didn't give men the reasons to lead. Most men who are successful can point to a woman who inspired him. The woman who fed him. The woman who didn't want him. The woman who loved him. Man's actions are the result of a woman's actions.

So, the more powerful the woman--the more she feels like gold--the more she is revered. Thus, the more we as men will do to dig and dig and dig, mining to find her.

The Scent That Attracts A Tiger

2010-02-23T09:25:00.000-08:00

Wow, Tiger got a 15 Rating (Neilsen) at 11am Eastern Time! Folks, that huge! If he would've had it during prime time, they say he'd have surpassed the Superbowl's ratings. So, let me dig into this a bit.

A little black/asian boy learns to hit a little white ball better than most. This boy becomes one of the greatest at his sport, even before he hits his prime (in a sport where "prime" is sort of indecipherable). The boy soars so high that he becomes a brand, and everyone wants to get on board. He can sell anything. The boy, whose father led him throughout this path, loses his dad before he would even have manhood questions. The boy continues in the path and becomes the Man With The Golden Touch.

But, the boy towards man trip had its flaws. The boy was on a pedestal, and he earned his position there. He belonged there. Yet, being on the pedestal is a lonely spot, and if he wanted to experiment with the common man, well--he'd have to come down. And when he came down, the temptation that normal folks present can be overwhelming. Especially (for many of us) the scent of a woman.

(Infidelity, I believe, is due to the inability to communicate your feelings. If we can express ourselves fully, sans judgement and criticism--hell we'd all speak our minds. If I am married, and there's things I'm missing that my wife doesn't have in her wherewithal--be it not in her physical makeup or mental capabilities--then eventually I will seek to satisfy these things. Of course, we can say, "What about love, honor and discipline?" Well, to love and honor your spouse, there absolutely has to be unfettered communication; complete trust and compassion for the human spirit. I wouldn't expect my wife to not be attracted to another being, and as a matter of fact, cherish the fact that she would be attractive. What would spare me the bad vibes and mistrust would be her communicating these connections to me as though I am not only a partner in her existence, but also a fan of HER journey. That goes both ways. And, if we have this open channel between us, there would be no need for discipline.)

Indeed, the boy broke down and sowed his wild oats. And he did that while he was married with kids. Yes, not in the proper order, but it happened/happens nevertheless. Do I feel Tiger has issues with sex? Personally I don't, but it looks better to him and the sponsors if it was an issue out of his control. Yes, the responsibility goes to the supernatural, past-life or personal history causes of our self-destruction. Dig? Yeah, to me, he was led by his jock because even Tiger Woods needs constant reassurance (therapists can take that and run with it--too).

Yes, champions are as frail as those striving to succeed and even those who have failed. Being at the top needs just about as much replenishing as it does trying to get there. And to a man on this planet, there is only one aroma that can set a man's sail and that is the scent of a woman.

Part Of My Good People Snippets

2010-02-19T12:07:00.000-08:00

I remember sitting on the train one day with my seven year old son. We were both a bit tired from one of my long New York excursions. It was a good day. A day in which we laughed and shopped a little. I never had too much to shop with, and he never seemed to ask for too much. He just accepted anything I offered him without hesitation.

We kind of dozed off a bit until a woman I knew got on at Dekalb Avenue. It was Sybil!, and Lord knows everyone could tell I was glad to see her. Maybe a bit too glad. After some conversation, she got up to get off, then wrote her number for me. My son peeped up from his nap and said, "Dang dad you gonna get her number--too?"

For the next few stops I tried to figure out how to deal with this little cockblockin' act in the future. So, I started to restrict what I allowed him to see, and to always show him that I had respect for 'da ladies. Was it too late by that time? Well, he's 25, college graduate, a hip hop artist and producer and...I am not a grandfather. So, what does that say?

Part Of My Good People Snippets

2010-02-19T11:53:00.000-08:00

She is probably floating in her own depth. Her mind taking her far and wide, even though the answers are at the base of her lips. Kristen is what I call a human "plug" and every molecule that surrounds her is the socket with life and God as the current. She is one of the "Super Sensitive" ones. There is no way to turn it off and she knows it.

The first time I went to her house, way back in the early 90's, I discovered that I had better start caring more about myself, and where I was from. Her pad had so much life and respect for Black History, that I immediately began to seek answers to who really got us here. Kristen Johnson-Phifer was and is one of my Heroines!!!!

My Client and Friend, Patricia Crosby-Tawfik

2010-02-19T11:41:00.000-08:00

Now, here's a real super woman. She not only trains folks from 32 through 90 years old, but also finds time to volunteer for various organizations, always seeks the good spot in her conscious, and still continues to evolve in mind, body and spirit at the raw age of only 60 (don't tell her I told you). Not to mention she is diligent in fine tuning her relationship with her husband Jack, and she has turned her quest to achieve harmony in all of these things into a life science. What I call, "Spacekata."

(I told her, if the woman I am with guarantees she will be like Patricia at 60, I will sign up for the infinite plan immediately!!!!)

Don't Hate

2010-02-18T11:21:00.000-08:00

Left the gym this morning feelin' good. At the light, a middle aged normal looking white dude was yelling at the traffic signal. "You nigger! You stupid nigger!"

Of course I thought he was referring to Garrett Morgan (inventor of the traffic signal)--indeed the light was unbearably long. I expected him to turn his attention to me so I focused my chi energy on acceptance and in a mental aki-jujitsu tactic, deflected even the possibility. It takes a lot of energy to find peace, maintain peace and to share peace.

The man turned his attention down from the signal, towards me and I asked him, "How come you're feeling so mean this morning, dude?"

He looked at me and said with a scratched voice, "I hate you."
'Why do you hate me, man?"
"Because I hate me." He looked down and walked off as the light changed.

Funny thing was, I didn't hate him at all.

Train Properly

2010-02-17T06:31:00.000-08:00

The best way to make the most of your gym workout is to understand the relationship between the equipment and your body. There is so much misuse in gyms that I often find myself wincing expecting someone to strain their ligament or pull a muscle. I've been to gyms all over this world, from the high end health spas to the bare bone brick rooms, and the lack of proper technique is the most prominent thing in them all.

There are instructions on most of the machines. Take time to read them, and don't worry abut your ego. A bicep curl machine will show you how to position your body, and what muscles are/should be affected. If you position yourself as advised, you should feel the targeted muscles working. Always adjust yourself to the correct position.

But, more than just lifting and resetting, firmly grip, and squeeze the targeted muscle at the peak of the movement, with a full exhalation to maximize the rep. Breathe in on reset, breathe out on the push or pull.

A Seated Chest Press Rep Rotation:

1-Set to desired weight.
2-Position properly. Feet flat. Back and lumbar held tight to the bench as though you are pushing against the seat.
3-Keep stomach tight, transverse abdominals (core muscles) held taut as though you are bracing for a punch.
4-Grip the handles to create a solid bond and stability in wrist and forearms.
5-Inhale deeply, then exhale as you push the handles away.
6-At maximum extension, squeeze the targeted muscles and exhale fully.
7-Reset.

Try to utilize the muscle and not momentum to build the muscle. Use momentum to work high reps and toning, but maintain the same techniques mentioned before.

Know the equipment. Know what part of your body you're targeting. If you don't, ask someone who's technique looks impeccable or the gym's trainer to give you a tip. Or, just ask me.

Train right. Train properly.

Be Identified

2010-02-16T20:08:00.000-08:00

Check out the Road ID bracelets and shoe pockets. These are extremely important items to have in your training gear. Don't take your safety for granted. Most people carry no identification when training, either in the gym or on the road. These items are durable and makes a lot of sense. Click on the Road ID button to the right for more info.

My First Recognizable Feats Of Strength

2010-02-15T10:30:00.000-08:00

Growing up, the hardest thing to do was to be picked on a pick-up team. There was nothing worse than watching two dudes select guys around you, mostly because of their friendship. Its probably why I hate going to clubs and waiting to be selected while your self worth diminishes with each pass over. God I hated that feeling, and it didn't feel much better being the last man picked either. But when I was picked, I made it my mission to not only get the most out of every moment on the court, but to prove that they made the right selection. So, I became "Spiderman." I was known for leaping and diving and climbing walls--anything to win. Then I learned that to be this active, I had to be in better shape. So I started running around the court, doing push ups, sit-ups, pull-ups--everything Jack Lalanne told us to do. I'd soon become one of the strongest dudes on the court, and was being selected higher and higher. It got to the point that I didn't even stand in the group as they selected the teams because I knew I was going to get run.

There were two defining moments when I actually felt like I stepped into another dimension strength wise. The first, (age 14) during a B-ball game I sprinted full court and leaped up to pin a dunk by a highly scouted baller in front of a jam packed park. A defensive feat that almost got me shot by the dude's brother, Little Napoleon. The second (age 15) defining moment was the day my inebriated father grabbed a ten-inch butcher knife off the table and tried to stick it through my momma's heart. I leaped up, got in between and grabbed my father's wrist. He pressed with all his might--the tip about two inches from her breast. I held him and resisted him for what was a good thirty seconds. Then I took a deep breath and shoved him clean across the room. As he fell away, the knife sliced through my forearm. My father saw that he cut me and he ran to me, grabbed me and cried for at least an hour.

He looked at me and said, "Booby, I didn't know you were so strong."

I responded, "Pop, I didn't know you were so weak."

Some facebook posts to share

2010-02-15T10:28:00.001-08:00

I-Am Ganious I know some of you feel always being alert means you're living in a life of paranoia. Look at it like this, if you are alert, then you keep the criminals and the punks honest. Martial Arts is about mastering the ART of WAR, and a master is one who NEVER finds him/herself in battle, having won the moment he became in the "Know."

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I-Am Ganious Jamie told me she was runnin' the other day. Noticed a dude in an SUV following her--blatantly. Of course I asked her did she run her usual path, have ID or phone, note his license plate # etc... People, do I have to go over this again? Yes, my safety tips will be back tomorrow! Meanwhile, be alert!

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I-Am Ganious If u manage your time properly, you won't have to hurry. You can relax on the roads. On the bus. On the subway. And stop thinking you are so talented that you can text, have a (heated or not) conversation or even tune the radio when your car's in motion. Being skillful requires NOT taking silly risks. Our lives depend on it.

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I-Am Ganious Was in Deniro's restaurant AGO the other day. Upon sitting, realized I was next to Lionel Ritchie. He and his party got up to leave and he turned to me, grabbed my hand and hugged me like he had just survived a plane crash. Saw Wesley Snipes the other morn and (although we had a bit of history) he did the same thing... There's no moral to the story only that it feels good knowing, "Brotha's gonna work it out!"

The Only Man I ever Saw My Momma Kiss (An excerpt from "The Third Rail")

2010-02-14T07:17:00.000-08:00

Every time Pop showed up he’d have either pizza or Chinese food plus a stray dog. Damn I remember that pizza. The slices folded in half as the sauce seeped through the bags. It was always cold by the time we got it. Still that pizza was the best pizza in the world. Pop also had a knack for ordering Chinese food. Shrimp Fried Rice and Egg Foo Young. Egg Rolls and Fortune Cookies. I’d stick my head in the bag to smell the steam coming off the onions and gravy and you’d think I was the hungriestmostluckiest kid on earth.

Mmmmmm that smells good.

That’s right baby. Y’all come on and eat.

Sabrina and I mauled that food while Momma sat disinterested in the window.

He’d usually visit after twelve on a school night and would be slightly drunk. Always looking to start a party. Always. It took about three minutes for him to enter and turn the music on. Unfortunately my bed was behind the stereo situated in a four by six foot alcove that was separated by draperies. I had to make a quick escape before he blasted Al Green because that was not the place to be dreaming about Coney Island when Pop showed up.

He’d enter the same way every time. Talked shit. Threw the food on the table. Teased and tormented Momma. Tapped into the booze she kept in the cabinet. Turned on the stereo and searched for Tighten Up. The guitar riff intro alerted me to get ready.

Hey Booby.

Huh?

I’m playing your record.

James don’t wake them kids up.

Aw woman they’re already up. Nobody sleeps when daddy’s home. Hey y’all want some Chinese food?

Yeah.

Here we go again. We’d get up and run to smell the food.

Y’all eat now. But first I want you to do your thang and play the drums for daddy. Booby you ready?

Yeah.

Pop would pick me up and stand me on the kitchen sink where I could bang on the cabinets.

Aw sha’ now. Here’s my shit baby.

I loved the sound he made when he said aw sha’ now baby and the way the walls seemed to expand when he said it to Momma. I’d bang and bang and bop my head and syncopate and tiss with my lips and cup my hands to heighten the pitch then thrust my palms forcefully into the cabinet on the bass line. I watched him peripherally as he wrestled his torso in Momma’s face while she tried to ignore that bulge in the front of his slacks. She was more interested in the bulge his wallet made in his back pocket. He’d spin and scream out words that only Scooby Doo understood. Pop would stare at his feet. Watched them as though they were in competition with each other. His hands would push on the air from his waist then rise above his head. And I’d bang and bang and bang because the more I got into it the more he’d grin and chant and do that dance in front of Momma. I banged because I loved the way his slacks moved over his shoes. I loved his printed shirt with the fly away collar and I loved the way he rolled his sleeves up to the end of his forearms. He’d stick his tongue out just as he did when he tightened the nut on my bike and when he danced with Christine. His grunts came from way down in his stomach. Then he’d grab Momma and she’d shove him away.

Boy go’head.

Woman who you callin’ boy?

And I’d keep banging and banging and banging.

Woman you know Boy plays with Tarzan and I play with Jane.

Then Pop would reach for Momma’s crotch and she’d shove him with less force. I banged and banged and banged to the drum beat in Tighten Up while Pop loosened Momma up. She’d start giggling and chuckling. Then he’d tickle her and they’d laugh. I’d continue banging and banging and banging as he roamed around her until she surrendered and once Momma decided to open up Pop knew he had the green light to do and say just about anything. That routine always lead them into her bedroom.

The next morning he’d run to the door as though he left something in the hall.

Where the hell did he go?

Who?

That damned dog.

What dog?

I had a dog with me when I got here.

Aw shit James not another dog.

No baby. He was a good dog. I just brought him up so I could pull the tail out of his ass.

What?

Yeah woman those fools out there stuck his tail inside his ass and taped it up.

Man get the hell out of here.

Ain’t that a shame? Shit.

Pop always gave us a hug before he left. Said he was heading across town and it’s weird knowing that he was off to be Eric’s father. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was good that I didn’t know where he was going. That day I watched him from Momma’s spot in the window. Momma loved to watch him walk especially after they’d spent the night in her bedroom. I wanted to see why she fussed over the way he walked? He stepped down the stoop and tipped off like he was on a conveyor belt. His back was proper and his eyes went straight ahead. Confident. Sure. A purpose. Yeah it was good that I didn’t know he had another son.

Got Motivation? (How I Damn Near Killed A Runner)

2010-02-09T21:43:00.000-08:00

Nike sponsored "One Hit Wonder" community races that pulled in a lot of folks for 5k and 10k runs, along with those who chose to walk the 5k distance instead. The events were festive and attracted all types, and the run course was easy, interspersed with One-Hit wonder bands (such as Tone-Loc and uhmmm, I can't remember the rest) at several mile points. I signed for the 10k and because I don't run at an Olympic qualifying pace, find myself behind the men and women I'd love to challenge to something other than running a 4:30 minute mile. If they really want to prove their greatness, put the world class runners in the back. Maybe I would run a better race if I didn't have to fight through an obstacle course of people whose only advantage was that they found parking before me.

I began this race with a friend, Ron who likes to start together then be alone, which which was fine for me on that day; I was feeling a bit sluggish. As I ended the first mile at a 7 minute mile pace, I realized I wasn't into it. I chugged a few yards and saw an older man leaning onto his knees. He was crashing badly. He would be my motivation I decided, so I went to aid him.

You okay?

Ah si. Si. No. Cansado. Cansado. He panted.

I know. But you can make it. Come on. let's do it.

After a bit of resistance and a lot of Spanish I couldn't understand, I finally got him to start jogging at a slow pace. Really slow. And I stayed with him. Pushed him. Grabbed water at hydrating stations for him. Pep talked. Pushed and pushed. Mile two. Two and a half. At Mile three he found the wind to tell me his name again, Cansado. Mile four. He was in his late 50's, and outside of a large belly and really battered hands, he seemed relatively healthy for his age. He wore a Budweiser cap and I noticed at mile 4 that he was wearing cut off jeans and walking sneakers. Reaching mile 5, he slowed almost to an in-place jog, but I encouraged him to fight and keep moving. He found energy at the next hydration spot a bit past mile 6 and his pace picked up. He revived and it gave me a nice instant bit of energy. He was off and running--a pace beyond what I felt he was capable of. He began to sprint and I kept pace trying to slow him down. Then again, I felt he may have hit a zone, knowing the finish line at the Coliseum was barely a quarter of a mile away. As I aligned myself beside him, he turned to me, said, No mas! then burst towards the gates. Right before he went through the tunnel, a group erupted from hundreds of by-standers and he rushed towards him, almost collapsing in an older woman's arms. They console him and after a few words, he points to me. They all look at me like I tried to rob him, and they started yelling at me in heavy Mexican Spanish. Then, a younger girl yells,

You fucking idiot. You made my grandpa run 6 miles when we came out here to walk the 5k!

I yelled No comprende! as I kept running, through the tunnel, past the finish line and into the Coliseum. I walked around, looked at the thousands of finishers, their friends and loved ones, and let the sunshine bake my skin while I struggled with my biggest weakness of the day--my Spanish sucked.

And, after all of that, I hope they at least walked him through the finish line.

The Day I Stopped My Mother From Killing Me

2010-02-04T10:09:00.000-08:00

Homeless. Walking around. Nowhere to go. Family not so helpful but who knows why? Momma's friends gave my sister and I a good six hours on the couch while my mom and pop searched for shelter. It was a long six hours, filled with nothing but anticipation for that buzzer to ring. Finally my mom returned and took us to a shelter in Downtown Brooklyn. My father disappeared for a few days and during this time my mother became extremely downtrodden. Back then I couldn't understand the despair she was feeling, and now if I think about it I wince in agony.

After the seventh night at the shelter, my mother awakened us with sweet whispers, telling us to take a shower. My sister, two years old at the time, hated showers, and me at five hated anything that had to do with soap. We showered together and momma helped us out. She dried us then dressed us. She was real sullen and empty inside.

Momma grabbed and led us to the window. She stood us on the ledge and said, "I love y'all." She then climbed upon the ledge and we held there as though a chariot was picking us up. I looked at the sky. The birds. A couple racing towards a cab. Down at my mother's feet and then at her hand embracing mine. Holding on tight. Real tight. She was shaking like a leaf.

I looked up to her and said. "Ma, I don't wanna die."

A deep rush overwhelmed her and I could feel a jolt in her body. She gasped, exhaled then fell backwards, pulling us all down onto the edge of the bed. Momma cried for hours and hours.

We'd eventually find a place, and my mother poured her heart and soul into our well being until the day she died. She was not the wisest, smartest, most ambitious mom, but she was perfect for our existence. She was perfect.

So, give your mother a hug for me, and don't wait till mother's day. If she's passed away, hug her anyway.

Why Sex Is The Ultimate Sport? PART 1, The Initiative

2010-01-25T12:26:00.000-08:00

The Game: Sex

The Players: Male and Female

(other possibilities not discussed in this article)

The Objective: To feel good

The Trophy: Love

We see each other. She dips her head then brings her eyes back to mine. There is a sensation that rides up my torso and spreads over my chest. In my brain, I can sense continuity and in my mind, both satisfaction and hunger simultaneously. Suddenly, my entire existence is filled with hope.

I move towards her, because with this energy, the Universe has created a perfect path to her. Walking towards her is as a warrior, walking towards the gates of his Kingdom after a long battle to save the children from peril. The huge doors made of logs are drawn open and the people are silent, wanting to hear the footsteps of one who leads them, yet is lead by them. She holds steady waiting for my first words, knowing that she's made up her mind and with baited breath, expects me to say the right things to keep her feeling that way.

I get within two feet of her and say softly yet formidably, "Hello." Her response to this action tells me immediately the type of lover she is and the type of lover she can be. But knowing whether or not we make love is up to me at this point. She has started the game way before I began my approach.

We chat, memorizing everything because newness creates such interest. Our body language is in sync. We are floating pieces of this jigsaw puzzle called, "Life". We fit. I know that one day when we walk along a cobblestone road, arm in arm, her shoulders will sink into the nook beneath my armpit and our steps will flow like a dance that only subsides because the musicians are weary.

This part of the game is called: The initiative.

Part II: Trusting the unknown.

Colts -Vs- Saints

2010-01-25T11:35:00.000-08:00

Hmmm, this is gonna be good. A Madden-esque live action game with all the bells and whistles. Precision and beat-downs. Diving catches and fumbles. Finally, a harsh ending for... my prediction in a few days.

But, as I said, the Colts and Saints will advance. The Colts due to their timing rarely being disrupted, and the Saints due to prayer. The Vikings donated the Superbowl to New Orleans just as I knew they would. They've become the worst finishing team in sports--well--the Buffalo Bills still remain sole proprietors of that claim. Favre didn't realize he was signing up for the "Purple Demise." Didn't he review Fran Tarkenton's reel? Watching him get beat down like that was bad as watching Ali in his last fight. Wincing and wishing they'd let up. I've been hit by 285lb men and I tell you, when they come at you full speed, ram into you, grasp you and fall on you, the only thing on your mind is, "Where's the bathroom?" Today I hear analyst comparing him to Otto Graham and other throw back QBs and I laugh when I envision Graham's helmet crumble if he were ever hit by a 2010 blitzing NFL linebacker. Hell, even a 2010 blitzing high school linebacker under the Friday Night Lights would rattle his skull. So, props to Favre for leaving the Roman Coliseum with his head, although not using it at that one crucial moment.

As for the Jets, well, I don't want to say they over achieved because they're a solid team. Great and charming personality. But a great and charming personality doesn't always get a real woman's number. Show her that you've got some pressing circumstances requiring immediate attention--yet you'll meet her at the ball as she steps through the door, she will feed you berries and caviar like the King you are. Yes, I compare the Colts to James Bond. And James Bond always gets the girl. What he does with her is another issue!!! Sanchez can try to grunge up his image with a beard, but green still comes through his pores. Fortunately for the Jets, yesterday's loss seasoned them a bit and revealed to them a pressing issue for 2010/2011: they need a few more playmakers to get pass Indy and the other upper echelon teams in the league. The NFL is speeding up, folks!

I'll be back for more in a few...gotta work on my Superbowl tix!!!

Should You Joe Jackson Your Kid?

2010-01-20T00:35:00.000-08:00

Joe Jackson (ad/verb): to (without democracy) enforce a tedious regimen on one's kid(s) in order to achieve maximum effort and undeniable precision hoping to reach the apex of the chosen path.

...My estranged father was headed to the Atlanta Black Crackers in the Negro Leagues before booze and a fight with a scout ended his career. Oft-times when he'd visit us, Pop would play pitch and swing with me. He tried to pulverize everything I threw. Once, he bet me that if I could strike him out, he'd give my mother his entire paycheck. However, if I lost, I'd have to tell her that he gave it to me and I lost it. The first two pitches he swung for the fences and missed terribly. The last pitch, I threw a fastball and hit him dead in the nuts.

Years later, as he lay in the hospital with prostate cancer, I gazed at him wondering if that pitch put him there. Out of the blue, he looked at me and said, "Boy you know you hurt my nuts for a loooong time that day you hit me. Bet you did it on purpose--too!" He then stared at his frail hands, once courted by eleven different teams, pondering the days he threw one and two hitters against some of the best ball players around. "How come you didn't give me any tips, Pop?" "It was in your blood. I didn't have to." "So Pop, how come I didn't make it to the pros?" "Me neither, boy. Like I said, it's in your blood..."

No, Pop didn't have it in him to do a Joe Jackson.

(Actually, the closest I got to having a Joe Jackson was Pam, my first baseball coach who was a lesbian (she preferred, "butch"). She showed me how to hold a bat, and how to grip a ball. Pam was a cool dude. I went on to play for several teams, get looked at by a bunch of Majors, and ended up fizzling after a head first collision at the base of an ivy-covered wall. And I did all of that from one summer of support by a butch who died in a fight with her girlfriend's boyfriend. Yeah, Pam was my only Joe Jackson...)

How hard should you push your kid? I would guess if it's something he or she loves to do--push 'em real hard. But if it's something you love...be mindful.

Is Brett Favre really making us 40 year olds look good?

2010-01-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

Dropped back, scanned the field and threw a laser spiral five feet ahead of my receiver, who ran in stride and caught the pass for an eleven yard touchdown. Our team ran into the end zone, leaping in congratulatory chest bumps. As we walked to the sidelines, a teammate slapped me on my ass and yelled, "Brett Favre, baby!" Now personally, I don't get the ass slap. Never have. Never will. How did the hand slap go from a pat on the upper back to a spanking on the ass? And to avoid looking like a sweet man tap, dudes haul off a hard core mixed martial art hammer down ass smack. I turned, shoved the dude, and warned him not to do that again. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. I never thought I would look like a punk for not wanting a dude to slap me on my ass. "What dude, just givin' you props." "Man, a fist bump is enough."

Later that day I saw a montage on ESPN of Favre, enjoying locker room antics, all culminating with severe ass slaps. One player said that before the Viking-Dallas playoff game, Favre slapped his ass so hard that he lost feeling in his left butt cheek the entire first quarter. Then I watched Favre perform feats fit for a twenty-five year old: scrambling to throw a scoring strike to Rice; get leveled by a 290 pound Defensive End and jump up faster than I get out of bed; and race into the end zone to chest bump Shankoe after tossing a meaningless touchdown. As he walked into the melee of photographers, the camera zoomed in on his sheepish, rough chin grin, and I tried to find what part of him looked like a forty year old. I stared hard, just as I gaze in the mirror, searching for clues to what makes me look over forty? Grey hair? Pronounced jawbone? Receding hairline? But I saw it beyond his face. Deep in his system. It was a certain calm. He just looked smarter than everyone else, and he knew it.

Yes, that's the true forty year old sensation: knowing that you are smarter than you've ever been, and if you've somehow managed to salvage your sanity and physical abilities, then being over forty is the perfect time zone for a man. You actually have a voice and experience to back up what you say and do. You discover another layer of life that feels tailored to your style, and everything is in complete synergy. Yep, and when you watch Favre scramble, ass slap, chest bump, reminisce, chuckle, ponder, and everything else that goes with a satisfying forty year old life, you know he's at that peaceful state of Although I've been here before, I have finally arrived.

I know exactly how he feels. You can feel the essence of your existence. You can feel dimensions that you navigate through with the blink of an eye. You feel like the sun and the moon and the stars are your stomping grounds. You feel a natural high. You feel like...Superman.

Yes, Brett Favre is making us forty year olds look good. Enjoy it, because it goes real fast.

Social Media

2010-01-19T15:36:00.000-08:00

Social Media

Why Are The Lakers Sooo Irritating

2010-01-18T22:55:00.000-08:00

I feel good when the Los Angeles Lakers are losing. Why? What have they done to me? I'm a brother who dislikes haters so why do I find myself irked when they win?

Okay. I'm going to do a little psycho-analysis of what bothers me about the Lakers. Whatever pops off the top off my head. And--

The Fans! Yes, that's it in a nutshell, and coming from a native New Yorker, former fan of the Knicks, whose history is basically Willis Reed limping out of the bathroom and playing two minutes, Spike Lee yelling at Reggie Miller like a jack russell barking at a doberman, and Jordan using Ewing and Oakley as obstacle course cones, I have a lot of nerve. The Lakers' history is deep, and rich, with images of players holding their index fingers up. Sometimes one, two and three fingers at a time. The franchise owners are sharp and do a magnificent job of putting a high caliber product on the court. Funny, if you look at the top salaries of teams in the NBA, the Lakers are at number one. Guess which team is second? If you said the Knicks, then you should be writing blogs!

Still, Laker fans are irritating. They're some of the most unreasonable fans out there. On Christmas Day, 2009, Cleveland rolled into town and jumped ahead in the first quarter by double digit points. The fans booed the Lakers like they were dead beat dads. Oh don't let the Lakers lose two in a row--oh my--they start ranting that coach Phil Jackson needs to shake things up and zen them back. Statistics pour over the Los Angeles air waves dissecting the team's imminent disaster. Hell, congress used less statistics to conjure up their bailout plan. Should any Laker get into a mild slump, his name better be Kobe, and if his name is Kobe, he'd better have a bad back and a broken finger as an excuse. If not, they'd be booing him to.

Court side is the worse--worse than Spike Lee in his high chair at the Garden. At Staples, everyone in superstar row is donning shades. How bright is it down there? The only one court side allowed to wear shades should be Adam Morrison. Check him out every time he's called into the game. He looks like a wino that just got tapped on the kneecap by a transit officer after falling asleep on the J train in Brooklyn. "Huh, oh I'm in, uhh okay." Then he stumbles on the court, shoes untied, pillow hair, Fu Man Chu whiskers and shorts twisted to the left. And guess what: in 2010/2011 he stands to make about $82,000 per game before taxes! Like Odom says on the ESPN commercial when he discovers guacamole in the trophy--"Crazy." Yes, I've been to a Lakers game, and yes, I've sat within three rows of the hardwood. And yes, being down there is fabulous. And yes, you do feel like a celebrity down there because everyone down there believes in the hype of the seat number, and believes that if you're down there, you must be somebody. And yes, if they believe you're somebody, then you believe it, and yes, if you believe you're somebody, then you definitely have to learn how to act like you're somebody. And if you're acting like you're somebody, then you need to know how to act like you get all the attention a "somebody" gets. So yes, I wore shades too.

Okay, I admit, its cool to be cool, and to be cool you have to be successful. So, I guess not being a Laker fan sort of feels uncool. Especially living in Los Angeles. Hell, even Spike had to jump on with a film called, "Kobe Doing Work." A film on Kobe watching himself play a game, giving commentary on what he's thinking while he's playing. Damn, I'd rather Spike film his wife and let her do the commentary on what she's thinking sitting next to Spike as he's being punked day in and day out by three point shooters hitting their career highs on the Knicks.

You know what, I'm going to get a Lakers tee-shirt and walk around town. I'm going to see what reaction I get and I'll get back to you guys. I'm going undercover, as a Laker fan.

oooh Jets Vs Colts

2010-01-18T14:57:00.000-08:00

When I was thirteen, a dude in my hood back in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn took me to a secret spot under a tenement building. It was dark, moldy, damp, and hard to navigate due to the plumbing. When we got through the long channel, we stopped at an orange door. He gave it a weird knock, and we entered. Inside, about thirty teenagers sat in prayer position, all dressed in martial arts uniforms. And standing to the side was a burly brother, dark, intense, and about as scary as an ugly dude could be. He wore a dingy black belt over a worn black uniform. My friend introduced me to him and said I wanted to learn the arts. I was surprised, but I went with it. "Do you?" "Yes, sir!" I said. "Its yes, Sensei" my friend corrected. "Yes, Sansei." "Sensei. Sensei." My friend harshly whispered. "Sensei." "Okay. First you must show me what you got," the master said. I was confused. "Show you what I got?" I began to dig in my pockets, and everyone laughed. "No man, show me what you got. Do you have any skills? Can you fight?" "I'm...uhmm..Can I fight?" "Yes. Can you fight?" "Uhm, I guess." The last fight I had was with my younger sister, who grabbed my hair and spun me like a top. "Uhm, I guess Sensei." "Okay. Then show me. Spar with me." "Spar?" I asked. "Yes, spar. Fight me." "Fight you?" "Yes." I moved to the middle of the circle and paused. "What do you want me to do?" "Man, just do whatever you want--" I spun and did a 360 degree roundhouse kick to his jaw that knocked him cold, just the way I practiced it while watching Bruce Lee do it. I was pumped! I jumped over him and was about to pounce on him when my friend grabbed me and told me I'd better leave before he comes to--but noooo, I was amped. The Sensei came to, and proceeded to whoop my ass so bad that he got arrested for battery. (I didn't squeal on him!) The next time I saw him, I dropped my head in humility, knowing that ignorance of his power was a mistake. This is what is about to happen with the Jets--unfortunately, when they play the Colts on Sunday for the AFC Championship. Not to mention that the Colts just played the Jets on Saturday--oh that was Baltimore. And the Colts rocked Baltimore! The only way the Jets will beat the Colts is if the Defensive Ends can force Manning into lateral movement to his left, covering the left side of the field and inducing him to try and throw right. His need to pivot will equalize the timing for the Jets secondary and neutralize the passing game. And on offense, the Jets must average over 3 yards on 1st down. The Colts have two coaches on the field in Manning (offense) and Brackett (defense) that are great at keeping their teams steady and panic-free. The Jets swagger has turned the Colts into underdogs, and gives the Colts added incentives. Plus, have the Jets exceeded expectations? I like both teams, and wouldn't mind either in the Superbowl, but my job is to pick a side and so my prediction: Colts 24 Jets 10.