A Toast

So here I am sitting here on my second cup of Crown, two and a half hours until the forty-third anniversary of my birth and the only thing I can think is I can't believe I made it this far. Never in my wildest dreams did I see myself living to actually turn forty-three. I always figured my time would have ended long ago but no. It seems that this world has use for me still. I don't mean to sound down about the whole situation, I'm really not. I'm very happy with how things have turned out for me. I have an amazing son who thinks the world of me and I him (did not see that coming). I'm happy at my job (really would have liked the promotion but oh well). I have great friends and family that support me in all my endeavors (still working on DHC😄 TBA). It's been an amazing ride and I hope it continues for many, many years still. So to myself I want to say Happy Birthday, Mr. Freeman and may you be blessed with many more. Tener buena salud

Hiatus

I have never told anyone about a very significant incident that happened to me several months ago. I say significant because it changed my life. Even those close to me have no idea about what took place on that summer evening. But part of me feels it may be time to relay the events that transpired. It happened one night after work. I'd been working extremely long hours for a very lengthy amount of time and the word exhaustion barely scratched the surface of what I was feeling. I'd finally made it home after doing another twelve hours and I was dead tired. After dragging my weary body up the stairs to my apartment, I felt something was off, even before I put the key in the lock. You know that feeling you get when you're used to things being a certain way but deep down, you feel a change in the air, that's what I felt. I currently live alone, so when I get home, it’s usually pretty late and this evening, my apartment was as dark as a crypt. 

As I stepped through the doorway from the bright light of my hallway into the blackness, I immediately became aware of a presence in my living room. My eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness so everything was blanketed in shadows.

I went for the nearest light switch, which is along the wall leading into my bedroom, but something froze me to the spot. I became aware of a familiar scent, one I had not smelled in a very long time: Egyptian sandalwood.

Instantaneous recollection of who the aroma belonged to sent a chill down my spine. It had been nearly ten years since the last time I’d been around that smell and every nerve ending in my body was cranked to eleven. I lowered my hand from the switch without turning it on and spoke the only words that came to my lips: “Hello, Hyde.”

My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness and I saw a plume of smoke rise from the figure sitting on my sofa. The red-orange glow from a lit cigarette cut through the shadows and came to rest on the arm of the couch almost seeming to float within the darkness.

“Hey, Lil Pup. What’s good?” replied the man-shaped shadow. His voice was a little gruffer than I remembered but it was definitely the same one that had spoken to me all those years prior.

My paralysis finally broke and I was able to hit the switch chasing the shadows out of the room like scurrying roaches. The figure sitting on the couch was slightly smaller and I noticed the hair around the temples had gone much grayer over the years since the last time we were together but there was no mistaking who the figure was. As I stood near the wall, Mr. Hyde got up from the sofa and turned to finally face me. He had definitely changed, it would seem. He was no longer the towering giant I once knew but merely a man of regular proportions. His clothes hung off him like a drape, almost several sizes too big for the frame underneath. There were dark half-moons under both of his eyes and his skin was ashen. He looked as if he hadn’t slept or had a decent meal in quite some time. Yet the form that stood before me still had that same swagger as if no time had passed at all.

“What, no love for a long lost friend?” he said, a sly, devilish smile touched the corners of his mouth exposing teeth that appeared to end in points like those of a cannibal. As frail as he looked, I knew, given the right incentive, this man would attack leaving nothing but ruin in his wake. He held his arms out to his sides like an acquaintance awaiting the embrace of a forgotten comrade. Another chill raced along the length of my back.

When he saw that I wasn’t going to move any closer to him, he simply lowered his arms and let out a little chuckle.

“I see you ain’t changed a bit, Lil Pup,” he stated, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Don’t call me that,” I replied coldly as I began to remove the random items from my pockets and placed them on the desk opposite the wall with the light switch.

“What? Lil Pup? It’s what I’ve always called you. Although you ain’t so ‘Lil’ anymore.” This brought a raspy fit of laughter from him as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he started once the laughter was over, “I helped myself to a tasty beverage from the fridge while I was waiting on ya.” He emphasized this by holding up a bottle of beer he’d been sipping on, placed it to his lips and swallowed the remainder in two loud gulps. When he finished, he smacked his lips and let out a tremendous belch. I saw several dead soldiers around the base of the sofa, so it was clear that he’d helped himself to quite a few.

“Why are you here, Hyde?” I stated trying to mask the slight tremble I felt in my voice knowing full well that he heard it none the less. Another smile creased his lips

“C’mon Lil… oops, sorry, I done forgot my manners. C’mon, Fam, don’t be that way. You and me, we go waaaaay back, don’t we? We used to be tight as virgin booty in a prison.”

“I can see you ain’t changed all that much either. Still just as vulgar as ever.”

He feigned as if I’d said something that truly wounded him, then in an instant, the smile returned.

“C’mon in, have a seat. We ain’t seen each other in a grip. Let’s have ourselves a lil chin waggin’.” He walked over to me and placed his arm around my shoulders. I could feel the body within the clothes was even more fragile than they first appeared. The smell of Egyptian sandalwood grew even more as we walked into the living room. Although I would have sworn that there was another odor lingering right below the surface. Something I couldn’t quite make out at the time.

We made our way over to the sofa, me taking a position on the love seat, him returning to the spot he was in when I’d first arrived. The cigarette he’d been smoking had burned down to the filter leaving a long length of ash dangling at it’s tip that threatened to fall to the floor but miraculously it never did. He gently slid what remained into the opening of the beer bottle he’d been holding and let it drop inside.

Every tendon in my body was wound like a bunch of rubber bands, each ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of trouble. The bad part about it was I knew that it would all be for nothing. Mr. Hyde may have dwindled in stature but he was still an animal unleashed.

He reached down between his legs and produced two bottles of Yeunglings, holding them by the necks between his bony fingers in my direction. I noticed his fingernails had grown quite long over the years and resembled the talons of a predator. Looking further along his hands, I noticed the skin had drawn tightly around his gaunt knuckles, bringing to mind an image of the Crypt Keeper from the old Tales From The Crypt series.

“No thanks,” I declined not wanting my hands anywhere near his.

“Take the damn beer, man,” he nearly growled as he stood and shoved the bottle into my hands. “I ain’t bout to be drinkin’ alone.”

I fumbled with the twist off cap briefly and once I got it open, took a tentative swig of the frothy brew. I don’t know how long he had been sitting in my apartment in the dark, but the drinks still had a nice icy chill to them. He unscrewed his own drink and downed half of it in a couple of audible gulps.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I repeated my previous query. “What are you doing here?”

He was about to take another swig of the beer but stopped with the bottle inches from his lips. He stared at me out of the corner of his eyes then proceeded to lower the beer from his mouth. Placing his hands between his scrawny legs and lowered his head as if he were in deep thought. Seconds later, a sign slipped between his lips, then he sat back against the rear of the couch.

“Why?” he asked not looking in my direction.

“Why, what?”

“Why’d you leave me?”

The question caught me off-guard and I wasn’t prepared in the slightest. I knew it was coming but it still caught me unaware. My mouth sated to feel somewhat dry so I took another hit from my own drink.

“We was partners once. Ace boons and all that. But you just took off like I wasn’t shit. No ‘Hey it’s been real but I gotta jet’. Nothin’”

“It wasn’t like that,” I tried to defend myself but he quickly cut me off.

“Bullshit, Fam. You was out like the light at closing time.”

I could since that familiar spark building behind his eyes and knew from experience, he was on the verge of an outburst. But my tongue lay limply on the floor of my mouth. What he’d said was for the most part factual and I had no comeback.

Finally, my mind began to recall all that had occurred since our last get together.

“Look, some shit happened,” I began. “I had a kid and that took all my time.”

This seemed to calm him some, not much, but enough to keep the beast at bay. He eased back onto the sofa but continued to glare at me none the less.

“So where Lil Dude at then?” he asked suspiciously. Disbelief was written all over his face.

“With his mom,” I quickly replied

“No shit? Man I’d love to meet him...”

“Hell no, you ain’t getting anywhere near him!” I snapped nearly jumping from my seat.

That look of feigned agony briefly drew across his face again, and once more was replaced by the horrid cannibalistic grin.

“Do you think I’d ever let you get near him?” I asked, an unexpected chuckle rose to my lips. “Why? So you can do to him what you did to me, you sick fuck?”

“What did I do to you? Huh?” he countered. “I showed you worlds beyond your imagination.”

“You showed me some of the most horrendous shit I’d ever seen in my life.”

“Oh, please,” he flapped one of his scrawny hands towards me. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I. Was. Ten. What ten year old needs to see those things?” I nearly yelled. “Why would any sane person want to see what I saw? Those images, man, I still have nightmares about some of that shit.”

He leaned forward in his seat, that sinister smile nearly splitting the upper portion of his face away from the lower. “But you had fun though, right?”

“I…,” How could anyone enjoy something like that, is what I wanted to say but what escaped my lips was “Yes.”

“Fuckin’-A right, Pup,” he exclaimed as he was overtaken by another fit of laughter.

I felt horribly ashamed as the realization dawned on me. I did enjoy those things he’d shown me. I even found pleasure in writing some of them down and re-reading them later. I even went so far as showing others what I’d written and hearing them tell me how it would make them feel. Oh God, I’m a psycho.

As these thoughts ran through my mind, I began to take notice of a change in the creature that was sitting across from me. He seemed to grow slightly larger right before my eyes. The clothes that sagged from his gaunt shoulders a few moment ago, slowly began to fill out. His hands, only seconds before, mere skin and bones started to thicken like Ball Park franks.

All the while, that laugh seemed to echo throughout the entire apartment.

I felt like screaming until my head exploded, yet all I was capable of was sitting there silently. I could feel the pulse in my temples thrumming rapidly beneath the skin. A dull ache began to spring up behind my eyes. Not a true headache, but still, after so long, quite recognizable. I used to get them whenever the stories and images would take shape in my mind and I knew the only way to make them go away was to get them out. To put them onto paper where they would fully take their true form.

I glanced down at my hands and saw that my phone had suddenly appeared. I was sure I’d left it on the desk when I came home but had no recollection of retrieving it. On the screen was a blank word document just begging for the stories in my head. Before I knew what I was doing, my thumbs were sliding across the glass face quickly tapping the small keyboard.

All of the trials and tribulations I’d gone through over the past decade – the car accident, losing my job and my home, even the loss of my last computer – faded to distant memories all but forgotten once the words began to roll across that tiny screen.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hyde stood over me, once again the brutish figure he used to be. The gray gone from his locks as if they never existed. The dark rings from under his eyes: gone.

And yet, that carnivorous smile remained.

For someone his size, he moved silently around behind me and leaned over my shoulder. The odor of stale beer, cigarettes and musk enveloped me like a blanket. And when he spoke, it was like the whisper of a lover.

“Welcome back, Lil Pup.”

South Bend, In.

2019

DHC Foreword

I grew up on the Southside of Chicago in the early '80's. I know you see the stories nowadays on FB and Twitter about people being killed on a regular basis now but back then, it wasn't anywhere near as bad. I mean yeah there were a few every now and then but most never made the front page of the Sun-Times or the Tribune or if they were mentioned at all. No, Chicago in the '80's was paradise to us. In the summer, almost all the hydrants were open on nearly every block. The older kids would hangout at the park playing ball and any other devilment they could get away with as my Bigma used to say. And when them street lights came on, you had your ass either in the house or close enough to be seen out the window. There were so many things that could keep a young kid like me out of trouble and even more that would land me in some seriously deep shit. The latter being one of the main factors that prompted my mom to move us to Ohio when I was about 10 or so. She figured I was about that age when gangs would try to recruit a dumbass like me and I'd end up on the wrong path. And she was probably right (most parents are but don't tell her I said that). So in the late 80’s, my mom remarried and moved the family onto “greener pastures”. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me now that I'm older and have had some years to think about it. But back then, it was the worst decision in my honest opinion. I had to leave all my friends, start up at a new school. It was torture. And to make matters worse, the one person who I knew in the whole city of Columbus, my sister, jumped ship and moved back to Chicago and left me all by myself. I mean by the time she left, I'd managed to make a few friends but still I was pretty much alone in a house full of adults. So basically, it was school during the day and at home watching TV with my Bigma in the afternoons. I know you're thinking that sounds pretty damned boring and you'd be right. Luckily for me, my moms saw this and came to the same conclusion. I remember her calling me from work one day and she said “Grab your bike and meet me at the library after I get off work.” I didn't think anything of it at the time so I was like okay. So I rode my bike the couple of miles to the library around four or so and when I got there, I saw she'd beat me there. When she saw me walk in, she waved me over to the counter where she was talking to the librarian. Sitting here now, years and years later, I couldn't tell you anything about that woman other than just that, she was a woman. I don't remember the conversation at all, probably too many knocks to the head (more on that another time) combined with that lovely little gift of old age we all receive, but I do remember when she handed me that thin laminated library card. I mean, I'd had a library card before but at that time, I was still getting books from the kid's section. But I'd come to the conclusion that it was time to move on from Horton hears a Who and start reading some more adult literature. Now it was around this time, the movie adaptation of Pet Sematary was on cable and my mom was one of them people that if there was a movie she wanted to see, whether it was R-rated or whatever, she was going to see it and if no one wanted to babysit, you were going to see it too (I still remember going to see Friday the 13th part 3 when I was about 8). Anyway, I remember we watched Pet Sematary and I absolutely loved it! When I found out it was based on a book, I was like I am so going to read that when I get a chance. This was my chance. I went to the section with the Stephen King books and was ready to grab up as many as my arms could lug. I had Pet Sematary, Christine and The Shining but was also mad because I couldn't get Carrie and several others that I was dieing to read. But nevertheless, I was quite content with my little haul. And the rest as they say is history. Well I guess not completely. See being an only child back then in a house full of grown folks, you tend to rely on the old imagination a lot. A lot. I mean, mine kicked it into ludicrous speed. The only problem was I didn't know what to do with it. I tried my hand at drawing and was okay with it, not great but okay. But it just wasn't enough for me. As luck would have it, my teacher at the time, gave us a homework assignment where we had to write a short story involving transformation. Let's just say, Mr. Hyde (my term of endearment for my imagination) took the wheel and drove the tires off that bitch. My “short” story wound up being about fourteen pages long. Handwritten to boot because we didn't have a home computer back then. Needless to say, I got an A for the assignment with the sidenote to trim it down a bit next time. I was over the moon as the saying goes. And good old Mr. Hyde seemed sated, for a very brief minute anyway. Time marched on, as time is want to do, and my family found ourselves moving back to Chicago, back into the same house I'd called home just a few years prior. I was going into my freshman year of high school and I was terrified. I was forced to go to one of the worst public schools in Chicago and had heard so many horrible things about it. Again, bad decision at the time, years later, a blessing. It was here that I met the woman who would put me on the path it's taken me so many years to travel. Mrs. Deidre Henry. She was my literature teacher that year. One day after the class turned in an assignment, Mrs. Henry asked me to stay after for minute, there was something she wanted to discuss. Me being the person I am, I thought for sure I was in trouble. Turned out, I couldn't have been further from the truth. We had a brief conversation about the work I'd turned in. She complimented me on my writing and asked if I'd ever thought about becoming an author. In my fourteen year old ignorance, I told her no, ain't no good writers ever come from the hood. Again, fourteen and ignorant were pretty synonymous for me. Needless to say, she schooled me pretty damned quick. I walked away from that classroom that day with a nice little list of “hood” authors and a touch wiser. It was a short while after that conversation that Mr. Hyde started stomping around my head again, tossing furniture, punching holes in the drywall and just being a straight menace until finally, something snapped into place: an idea for a short story. Once again, Mr. Hyde took over and after several drafts, the story was written. This story to be exact. That's right, this story that you are about to dive into was written almost thirty years ago. Granted, back then, it was a hell of a lot shorter and several things have been edited and revised to match the times but in essence, it is the same. So now that I've hopefully warmed you up, dear reader and I pray I haven't bored you with my life story. I want to welcome you to this world that Mr. Hyde has so painstakingly crafted for you. Pull up a chair, kick your shoes off and make yourself at home. But don't get to comfortable because Mr. Hyde likes to make people very uncomfortable.

South Bend, In

2018

Sex... Now that I have you attention

I'm gone say this right off the bat, I fucking love sex! I love every aspect of it. Foreplay, oral, and especially insertion. It's like there's so much more to it but trying to put all of it in this one blog just ain't happening. Hell, I could do a four part series on just foreplay alone. But anyway, back to the main reason I'm writing this, my insatiable love affair with the act of intercourse. And I'm not just talking about penal to vaginal penetration, I'm talking about everything that leads up to that final act. In my 36 years on this earth, I've learned many things about sex that just wouldn't fit into this minor blog. I've learned a lot about myself that I had no clue about when I lost my virginity at 17. The most basic being that I'm easily turned on when a women kisses my neck or ear lobes. But to get back on track everyone has that one thing that pushes them over the edge and just has them clawing at the walls or biting the bed sheets. The fun is finding those buttons to hit that gets you ready for the climax. Remember it's not the destination but the journey. There is one thing that gets me tho, even as people are reading this blog, there is one in every ten people that is saying "Oh my goodness, did he just post that?" and I answer with a resounding "You damned skippy". It amazes me how in this day and age some people could be so stuck up about sex that they wouldn't even dream of saying the word masturbate let alone admit the fact that they've actually done such a thing. Those in my age group I find particularly disheartening for the simple fact that our parents grew up in the 60's and 70's a decade that had pretty much been dubbed the era of free love. Not saying that all of our parents were hippies but folks were sleeping around with wild abandon like it was an everyday phenomenon. So for my peers to be so restrained when it comes to sex just boggles my mind. I'm not saying just run out in the street butt-ass naked humping the very 1st person that crosses your path (unless your into that sort of thing)but be honest with yourself and your partner(s) so that everyone can enjoy. The very 1st rule of sexual relations is communication because as so many people are fond of saying "A closed mouth don't get fed". If you want your partner to go down on you, say so. If you're into anal, call me. Just kidding, but seriously if you aren't up front with your partner then they'll find someone who will do the things you won't. I'd never say that I'm a sex addict cause frankly that's horse shit. But I'd be the first to admit if the average male thinks about sex every seven seconds then I'm well above average. To bring this thing to a close, I just wanna say that humans are physical creatures, we enjoy the touch of another person more than anything. Hell I used to feel pleasure when I used to get my hair braided. But no matter what it is your into, find someone who can get on your level. You'd be amazed at some of the things that'll turn you on. #KoolAidManSays

Ebony Queen: A Bedtime Story

            Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a small kingdom ruled by a very beautiful queen. This queen ruled her land with joy and grace, which made everyone in the land love her deeply. Each day, the queen would greet her followers with a big smile and wish that they would have a terrific day as they went about their everyday business.

            One day, the Queen awoke as she did everyday and prepared to greet her followers, but discovered that one of her followers had done something unthinkable within the kingdom. This follower, who was one of the Queen’s favorite subjects, had fallen for someone in another village and was moving away without saying goodbye.

            The Queen’s heart was broken and she fell into a deep depression for several days. All the Queen’s friends and family did all they could to break her dreadful sadness without any luck. This saddened all of the Queen’s followers within the kingdom because they couldn’t see her beautiful smile as they went to work and school.

            So one day, when things were looking completely grim, a stranger rode into the small kingdom upon a black stallion. This stranger rode through the center of the kingdom and was astounded to see that no one looked up from their chores or even smiled as he passed.

            He came across three people standing in the market, each looking more depressed than the first.

            “Excuse me,” the stranger called towards the three people as he dismounted. The young woman in the trio stepped forward silently as the stranger approached.

            “Why does everyone in town look so sad?” he asked once she was close to him.

            “It's our Queen, sir,” the woman replied, tears rising in the corners of her eyes. “She has grown sad and no one can break her from it.”

            The stranger listened to the woman’s tale intently; he could feel himself starting to become quite sad like everyone else. He knew he had to do something quickly before he fell victim to the sadness in the kingdom.

            Without delay, the stranger hopped onto his horse and rode swiftly to the Queen’s castle. He entered the throne room to find the Queen silently weeping.

            “I beg your pardon, my Queen,” he said as he approached. The Queen looked up at the stranger tears falling softly from her lovely cheeks.

            “Who might you be, stranger?” she asked.

            “I am a traveling bard, my Queen. I wander these lands of yours bringing joy and cheer to those I meet.”

            “Well you are much too late, for there is no joy within these lands anymore I’m afraid,” she responded.

            The stranger reached into his knapsack and produced a small book, which he then held out to the Queen to examine. She felt the weight of the book upon her fingertips, and then stared at the image upon its leathery cover. On it was a beautiful little blue bird with its wings fully extended in flight.

            “Why do you show me this?” the Queen asked as she handed the book back to the stranger.

            “It is where I write my stories, each one guaranteed to bring joy and happiness to anyone I tell them to.”

            The Queen looked at the stranger not wanting to believe the man’s boastings.

            “Very well, stranger,” the Queen spoke as she wiped away her tears. “You have one chance. If you succeed in returning joy to my heart, I shall bestow upon you the title of my personal storyteller. However, if you should fail, I shall banish you to the farthest reaches of the land never to return.”

            The stranger nodded his head confidently. He opened his book to a tale and immediately began to read aloud what was written in the pages. He read for several long moments, pausing briefly to see if the Queen’s demeanor had changed. Unfortunately, there was nothing new in her look.

            He continued to read the tale, but the next time he looked up into the Queen’s eyes, he was amazed to see that the tears had stopped falling down her lovely cheeks.  He read more and this time when he took a glance from the pages, he saw that the frown, which had been frozen on the Queen’s lips had been replaced by the most amazing smile he had ever seen.

            By the time he finished the story, the Queen was outright bursting with laughter. It was so loud that it echoed off the walls of the castle and floated on the breeze throughout the entire kingdom.

            When the followers heard the Queen’s laughter, slowly the terrible sadness that had plagued them for days was starting to lift. People everywhere began to smile at the joyous sound that came from the castle.

            Once she was able to speak again, the Queen looked at the stranger, overjoyed that she was once again filled with happiness.

            “Congratulations, stranger,” the Queen proclaimed, “you have fulfilled your promise and have returned my kingdom to its former glory. As promised, you will now be my personal storyteller from this day forward.”

            Outside, there came a tremendous uproar of cheers and applauds as the news flowed throughout the streets to everyone.

            Everyday from that first day, the Stranger meets with The Queen and he tells her funny stories and puts a smile on her face that is felt by all of her followers. And they lived happily ever after. 

The End

My Blog: The Sequel to The Remake of the Reboot

There's a topic that has been weighing on my mind for some time now and it kind of hits close to home for me. I have had a serious issue with the whole movie industry in recent years. As an amateur writer (amateur in the sense that I don't get paid yet) I find that the entire movie business has become so lazy in it's approach to what used to be a multi-billion dollar industry. The tripe that they put out each month to make a few bucks is beyond comprehension. For the life of me, I just don't get it. It's seems as though they shun anything new that falls away from their "formula" of making the big bucks. Everything that comes out nowadays is either a remake of a movie from years prior or a sequel to a movie that was successful last year. Movies have become so predictable that its almost sickening. For example, when the Adam Sandler movie "Click" was advertised a few years ago, I predicted the entire film from beginning to end without ever having heard anything about it. I'm not saying this is the case with all movies that come out but the vast majority of films fall into this category. The thing that really bugs me is the rash of movies that are remakes or as they call them "reboots" of movies that were just out a couple years ago. Perfect example, the first "Spiderman" movie was released in theaters back in 2002 with the final film in the series debuting in 2007. Here it is 2011 almost 2012 and they have decided that the entire series needed to be redone. The same can be said for the "Fantastic Four" films that came out even later (2005 for the first one followed by "Rise of the Silver Surfer" in 2007). There have been reports of a reboot in the making starring an entirely different cast due to be released here shortly in the next few months. It appears that original script ideas have become a thing of the past and making films from comic books and novels seems to be the norm. It wouldn't a really big deal if, oh I don't know, if they were actually good. the "Green Lantern" movie was terrible, "Thor" was passable at best but with that you can tell they just wanted to make another "The Avengers" tie-in film. I understand this post has become an outright rant but it just angers me that these movies continue to make money even though they're damn near the same film. I won't even mention the "Scarface" remake they're talkin about doing based on the 1980's movie (which was a remake of a 1930's movie of the same name). Personally, I haven't gone to the show to see a movie since the last "Transformers" movie (my son really wanted to see that one) and will continue to do so until a movie comes along that I feel is worth my time and money. Please don't get me wrong, there are a few movies on my radar I'm holding out hope for: Sherlock Holmes, Mission: Impossible just to name a couple. I'm gonna say one more thing and then I'll end this, How many more "Twilight" and "Harry Potter" sequels do we need before we finally decide enough is enough? Hell I think Dr. Suess had a couple more books they haven't made into movies yet. #HeyKoolAid :D

Return of the King

Okay so the whole idea of having a blog is to actually write in it. That aspect has kind of eluded me for a while I guess.but I've had a lot of things on my mind recently and felt that now would be a good time to return to my second love. Those that know me know my son is #1 but I'm getting off point.
I was listening to some music this morning like I do sometimes before work and I listened to a group I knew absolutely nothing about named The Heavy. Great group if you haven't heard them before give them a listen. But it got me to thinking about how there are so many great musicians and artist out there that won't get the recognition they so rightly deserve because they don't fit the "cookie-cutter" style that is so prevalent within the industry now. It's a shame that if you don't have your finger on the pulse of the Underground artist, you'll find yourself missing out on a lot of fantastic music.
It's for this very reason that I have not listened to the radio in nearly 2 years. It's because they replay the same garbage every hour to make you believe it's a hit. These record company execs are the main reason real artists are passed by the wayside and labeled "Underground" or "Unsigned". For a time, we had true musicians falling prey to the fads of the industry just as an attempt to maintain a foothold amongst current day artist (read: Autotune). I completely understand you have to keep up with what the people like but at the same time as a musician or artist you have to do more than just follow the pack.
Please believe I know it all boils down to one thing: M-O-N-E-Y. The execs want more money so they want the artist to sell to a broader audience meaning they'll need to follow trends that have made cash in the past to achieve these goals. Far be it for me to knock someone and how they feed their family but damn, the music (and the listeners) shouldn't have to suffer. Not every song that gets airplay needs to have Lil Wayne, T-Pain or Ludacris on the track in order for it to reach the masses. If you want you can call this the rantings of an old school cat, but know this, I'm an old school cat that knows good music growing up with moms playing The Temptations or The Four Tops on the weekends.
I'll end this little outburst on one final note. We as consumers have the final say as to what we are subjected to on a daily basis whether it be music, movies or television. If we believe that something is bad and not worth our hard earned money then don't buy it. Let's let these record company tycoons know that that isn't what we want anymore or support the things we want to hear more of. And on that note, the King has left the building. #2fangahs.