STREET WRITER

Day 14

I’ve been having the same dream since I ranaway from home when I was fifteen years old. I used to say I moved out, but the truth is, I ran away. I woke up at 5 in the morning, I packed my stuff and I left. I never looked back. I was supposed to get a beating that day. one of my relatives found my diary and in it were some very descriptive shit about how much I hated each and every last one of them. I was supposed to get a beating that day. and it was going to be a public beating. it wasn’t one of those wait until your father gets home. it was one of those wait until everyone showed up at the house around noon. it was let’s put you on pubic display. let’s make your suffering entertainment. that's how they did the kicked dog. so I left.

and in my dream, it always ends there. my grandmother or somebody is always try to beat on me or ruin my life. I’ve been having that damn dream for the last fifteen years. why won’t it go away or is that I’m supposed to use it. it has changed. at least i'm fighing back now. sometimes it’s mild. but last night it was really violent. my grandmother was trying to cane me, but when I wouldn’t let her all my relatives went ballastic. I told her she wasn’t going to beat on me like that and my uncle jumped in the picture. he grabbed a shovel and commence to try to beat me with it. I grabbed the cane from my grandmother. and then my uncle and I went at it. And then a cousin jumped in and tried to hold me down. I remember just screaming until the police came. and then I remember running. it’s always that same scenario. I’m always trying to get away from the hurt. it’s like escaping with my life. what does it mean? I haven’t spoken to those people since I left. what does it mean?

am I still running? am I still escaping with my life?

day 13

it was funny, the first night I had to sleep alone, I kept tossing and turning, my body felt it was missing something, it was missing that touch. I could’ve gotten up and gone into the room and got in bed with him, but my body needed to get use to being lonely. the second night wasn’t so bad. I look forward to the first month.

I think I pretty much have gone through all the phases of “lost” in my life at the moment. at first their was shock which quickly became denial. I knew what was I was told, I knew the relationship was over, but I refused to let go. I figured I could fix it somehow, cheat, make another spell. and then there was embarrassment which lead to my anger. I was embarrassed that I could be such a fool. I was embarrassed to be single again. I was embarrassed to be sick. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. I didn’t want to be like those sad depressing people always looking for themselves. even if I talked a good game, I didn’t want to go back. it felt good to be healthy. it felt good to not be alone. it felt good when you think you’re in control. it made me feel safe. but I was in denial. I couldn’t see I was fucking up. I wasn’t safe. my life was crashing down all around me. what I was doing was trying to hold on to the illusion. and finally there was depression. the thoughts of suicide again. the thoughts of failure again. The crimpling fear that I couldn’t make it on my own. the laying in bed for days. the not eating. the over drinking. the running. the mindset that if I kept running I would have to deal with it. and then there’s the wall. there’s that voice in your head that screams stop. I had to stop harassing him. I had to stop drinking long enough to put my life back together. I was only heading to a very dark place that I might not be able to get out of. and then finally acceptance. my best friend is dead and never coming back. I got a problem with alcohol. I’ve done some things I’m going to have to pay. I’m broke. I’ve burn bridges. Tom and Charles are no longer under my spell. I have a front missing tooth with no dental insurance. And the world was unfair. the illusion had unraveled. and now everyday for the rest of my life I was going to have to get up and fight my unhappiness. and then there comes the question can I truly be happy again. it’s a scary question because the first time it didn’t work out. I don’t want that hurt again, even if it was mostly my fault. I don’t want to fail again. and I think maybe I should play it safe again. just for a little while. just enough time to give myself space from the heartbreak. I guess the real last phase of “lost” is retreat and surrender. to go back to the sobriety. to go back to the agoraphobia. to not trust for a little while. to avoid all intimacy and let my soul heal. and maybe one day I will get bored again, and not want to be lonely. but right now, all I want is to be alone. all by myself, I just want to be all by myself. hehehe.

a niggas revenge

tupac said it best, never ignorant getting goals accomplished. I see the black kids who grew up in a white neighborhoods and us black kids from the ghetto we talk about them behind their back. they are weak. they watch too many television shows. he can’t be a man. they have no identity. they don't know about jump rope or double rope. they don’t know about now or laters. their entire life has been based on a life with no soul. that they don't know about being free. they don't know why hip hop exists. they don’t know we keep reinventing ourselves. They want to be their textbooks. they don’t know how to be a nigga. they just know what they were told. they don't know about salt and pepper. they don't know. they don't know how we are constantly reinventing ourselves. they don't know. I got to be free. and I need to thank my mama for that. I need to know the pressing comb. the first time I realize I was black, I went to a interview, and I didn’t get that job as a busboy, and when I asked the white man for the time, he ran to his car and locked his doors. And I went home, and it disturbed me, and my aunt bought me a sundae cone and she said your life is beginning. She said white people hate what they created. White people need to be white. And ate my ice cream I knew I was black. I was black. thank you mama. thank you grandma. thank you daddy, you didn't send me to a white school. thank you, I got to be a whole person. you allowed me form personality on my own without the politics. that’s why black kids are successful. black kids who grow up in a white neighborhood don't know how to be a nigga. they don't know how to be confrontational. they don't know their live mean something. all they know is the advertisement. all they know is the history books mean something. it's sad. be a nigga. Be a nigga. Be a nigga. There are the Tobeys. he gave in. but I am kute kinta, the real spelling of his name. I am my father. I am my mother. I am the struggle. and nobody lied to me.

I don't need to speak perfect English, every nigga I know is either in jail or still fighting. as my uncle would say, they see martin Luther king, and they think those were niggas who are not still in jail, they still think there are niggas who didn’t get killed, they still think the revolution is built on the leader. What happened to those who didn’t get a name.

a black person is to be a determined person. the drugs don't get sold on lazy niggas, we didn't pick cotton without the whip. every time I’m at club some white person is hitting me up for his high. some white person is telling me a donkey, that's the black dick, he's an animal. don't let he or her have a soul. but black people we say to each other, listen to Ralph Ellison, carver wood son, Harriet Tubman, Fredrick Douglas, listen to you, we are saying be free, don't be a slave.

black people are determined and with Mexicans that are coming up, we need to be more determined. I love being black. I love it. I love blues music before it became popular. but black people now are getting money. so I need to do that. and martin Luther king didn't die for no reason. listen. understand. Malcolm ex was killed for a reason. he went to

Mecca

. he decided not to be a slave. he told the truth. my uncle was a black panther and he was there when he died. He was making sex to his girl. and they used it again in "colors" with Sean Penn. black people speak to black people. a dead black nigga is telling you something. we have to die. this entire country was made on us. take it back. have a nigga revenge. we waited. do not trust them.

day 12

mama’s boy

my mama was the most beautiful woman in the world. and I loved her. I fell in love with her when she would buy me my German chocolate cake. most boys say their mamas are beautiful but my mama got paid to whore. and I loved her. and I had so many uncles. She had so many friends. and she always needed her medicine. and I thought she was sick but she was an addict. but mama it’s so hard to let you go because I’ve become an addict. I’m giving up on you. and I know it hurts me. I waited and I waited but I’m giving up on you. I gave up on your flesh a long time ago. Which means I don’t think the world is kind anymore. You never said you loved me. So I decided to love myself.

For my molested kids

Every time I have sex I feel like she’s there, watching

Everytime i want to give it, nutt, I feel like she’s there laughing.

I will never understand why she chose. I don’t get it. I was only three years old. My dick couldn’t get hard. And she would hit me so hard. And she would twist my arm around my back. And every time I cried when my mother and family left me with the babysitter they just thought I was just crying. And then there would be the darkness. And then there would be the suffocation. And then there would be the confusion. Why my body. Why my soul. And I tried to please her. And I tried to make myself think that I liked it. But the truth, I did like the touch. The truth I did like how she sucked on my dick. But it was the feeling we were doing something wrong that I couldn’t shake. It was the feeling it wasn’t my time that I couldn’t shake. It’s like dying at three years old, you feel some resentment. I didn’t know sex. I wasn’t ready for sex. I wasn’t getting anything out of it. And maybe that what pissed me off the most. I didn’t have knowledge. I didn’t have biology. She was cheating. I knew she was cheating. She was using me like toilet paper. And maybe that’s how I learned to hate my body.

Every time I’m having sex, I feel her. I feel her slimy hand. I feel her fucked up intentions. I can’t let go because I feel as if I do, she’s there, waiting. She’s there screaming why can’t your dick get hard. She’s there cumming on those dingy gray sheets. She’s there. And I hate her. And I hate her. And I hate her. Why me?

But my friend Sha says we must never ask the why, because life happens like it happens. I was just convenient. I just want my body back.

Sha was saying if she had a girl, because she was molested, she would never allow that to happen to her kinds. But what is she preventing. What is it that we molesting kids are not saying? If I had a kid, I would know the signs. What I am protecting he or she from is being sexualized before they own their body. When you’re sexualized as a kid, at three or four or five years old, it detaches you from your soul. You don’t think of yourself as a whole person, but a compartmentalized person. You stop feeling. Your soul stops owning your body. It’s like someone robbed you. And your entire life quest is to get your body back. It’s to get your pleasure back. It’s to forgive.

But she never took my body. It was always doctrine by God. Even with rape, they can never take you body, they can just fuck up your mind for a little bit.

I keep asking myself when I’m having sex why can’t I give in. why can’t I let go. Why can’t I enjoy the experience without manipulation? It’s because I don’t think I own my body. I think if I let go, I will hold on to the anger

In my head, every time I have sex she is watching me, but let the nasty bitch watch. Maybe that’s why I became a freak. Let her watch. But she doesn't control my dick. Or the next mouth sucking on it controls it. Or maybe it is why I’m not letting go because I’m still confused. I’m not confused anymore. I didn’t understand then. Now I get it and she’s probably just a sad little girl now. I get it now. I get it. Maybe that’s why I’m holding back. She sexualized me before my time. And now I have to take control of my sexuality. And now that I’m grown I see her as a weak bitch. I see her as a pathetic predator.

I am a man now. I want her to watch. I want to deny her. I want to freak other men and women. I want her to watch. I want her to know she was pathetic. And every nut I give to the next soul, I want her to see. She doesn’t own me. Bitch, you don’t own me. I stole me back.

Day 11

I know some days i say i wanted this, but some days i have regrets. I'm still fighting the shyness.

If I am nothing more, I am my energy. I am my ambition. But some days I almost feel guilty for being so driving. It’s not always a good thing. When I was a sex addict, I was the best sex addict. I could stay up for days looking for sex, but I never felt guilty. When I abused alcohol I was at the liquor store at ten o’clock in the morning waiting for it to open. I knew the liquor store hours whatever place I visited. I would feel ashamed but not guilty. But now that I want to be a writer, it’s the same energy just transformed. So course not only am I going to try to be the best writer I can be, but I’m going to promote the hell out of myself. But I feel guilty. I just sent out my press kit again and all can hear in my head is “Michael is always trying to do something.” or my best friend saying, he’s just being “consistently Michael.”

I know I am good in bed because I decided to be better than the bitches on the porn. I know I am good at what I do at my job because I can never get fired, I always quit. I know I am a good hustler because people I’ve burned still believe I can change. I need to stop punishing myself. I want it just as much as the next person. Fucked that, I want it MORE!

And nothing is going to stop me, because one thing I do have is patience. I can wait. I can wait. I can start over. And I can wait. It only hurts more when you fight it.

Day 10

Well the website and weblog is coming along surely but steadily. It’s a lot of fucking work re-doing another site and then I also have to figure out how to advertise again. It gets harder and harder every year. The internet has changed. It’s not as open as it used to be. It’s become very corporate. It used to a place for savvy gorilla marketing, but anti-spam for good reasons put a stop to that. Now only the big companies can annoy you.

But anyways, I don’t feel like bitching. My old weblog, www.whatitfeelslike.typepad.com
Got frozen. Typepad can sometimes be very unreliable. And I thought since I was getting a new website, that I might as well get a new weblog that matched. Make things convenient. But the down process to that is that I lost all my old readers. So it’s starting over. And that’s always a pain in the ass. But at least this time I own me.

Day 9

omg, did I leave the planet yesterday. that’s what scares me. I let go again. and I keep telling myself not to let go, but I went far last night where I didn’t give a damn about nothing or anybody. I must admit I like that Justin timberlake song. I just watched the janet Jackson star wars inspired video, but she looks so masculine. it’s sexy and disturbing. it’s still janet, pushing the envelope but I’m old, so I don’t know how the young kids interpret it. but I hate the video.

I need to go to a AA meeting again.

Day 8

Day 8

It’s the one year anniversary of my comic. They don’t get it. And it makes me feel like when I was really successful in corporate America, nobody really cared. They just wanted to borrow money. It kind of makes me feel like whatever trophy I’ve won don’t mean shit. You know when you are that kid that everyone knows always win, but sometimes I like to lose.

And it don’t mean shit. Nobody is celebrating me. So I’ve decided to celebrate myself. And I’m not going to over drink today because I’m too strong for the world. I am that kid who learned to play by himself. Yes, I want friends who think I’m worth it. I want the world to think I’m worth it. But I am worth it. So when they come to the realization, let them come, it don’t meant shit, because I’m so cool with being lonely.

Day 6

this guy last night tried to give me a compliment, he said I looked sexy. I couldn’t process the compliment. processing the compliment meant that I would have to trust the world. I didn’t want to trust the world. so I went drinking last night. I said I was only going to have five drinks, which is a lot for a normal person. I ended up having 8 drinks and that’s only because I ran out of money. and I haven’t stopped drinking since yesterday.

Hi, I am Michael Whitley and I am an alcoholic. every time I say that out loud or type it, it hurts me. it’s like one more thing in my life that I fucked up.

so I quit my job. It’s so fucking hard to hold on to reality and fantasy. it’s so hard to be sober and drunk. but last night I went to an AA meeting at 2 o’clock in the morning. it was depressing as usual. didn’t learn much. I just knew I needed a drink afterwards. but what it is: the trapping

I’m so tired of the pain. it’s overwhelming. so tired of crying, it’s depleting. so tired of the destruction, why does the world have to end for me every weekend. been thinking about killing myself again, for real this time. I just can’t see a way out. and I know what they are going to say, hold on. HOLD ON TO WHAT!!!

I am nothing. my life means nothing. everything I do, means nothing, to nobody. why am I here! I just want to mean something. I just want to mean something. I just want to mean something. but how is that going to happen if I don’t trust the world. if I don’t trust anybody. if I keep livingin these block walls I can’t get out. if I keep my heart in a fist. how am I going to get out? damn I’m fucked up. this guy said on my last blog (www.whatitfeelslike.typepad.com), damn I fear for the person who falls for you. and I wanted to say, at least I’m honest. the person who falls for me don’t get an illusion, he gets the truth. I trust tom. he is the only person i trust in the world, but i'm always afraid he is going to leave me. i'm always afraid people are going to leave me.