VERSE: World VS Everyone

*Please feel free to make a comment, criticisms, suggestions or make your presence known. I was just inspired to write this, for everyone. We have moments in life whereas we cannot change things or that we don’t fit in. This world is a very big place to get lost in, at times. Hope this brings some comfort. * 06/20/2019

We say

We want to make our dreams come true

World says

You take what I give, follow this line

These signs that lead to a box

We say

Happiness is none of anyone’s business

We own the right through our birthright

World says

Your life is ours

You must believe you are everything else in the world but yourself

Be open they say, like a book

Be cautious and watch where you look

Watch how you talk and walk

Write and inspite of all the fences and barricades

Watch how you are perceived

While the world distracts and deceives

While creating deeper rabbit holes to conceive

Birthing depression and anxiety

The remedy is close at hand and head and heart

We can heal and gather answers

Deep within our own universe

Seek within

SHORT SERIES: The Funny Business of Suite 305 and other Tales of Infamy (Episode 5)

Disclaimer: This is a Short Series of stories that are either of true or loosely based college experiences. Please read previous episodes first before reading this one. Thanks so much for your support.

To read Episode 1: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/03/02/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy/
To read Episode 2: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/03/13/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy-part-2/  

To read Episode 3: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/06/17/brief-narrative-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy-episode-3/

To read Episode 4: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/06/19/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy-episode-4/

Short Series: Episode 5

                “Bad to dah bone…(dah-nah-nahnah-nah) bad to dah bone…” I stuck a lollipop into my mouth, while that rhythm played in my head repeatedly. My ‘fro was intimidating. I noticed that as I walked along the road into the open eyes of all on campus. I also noticed the sky…the gray clouds that hid some aspects of the dying horizon, the sheer radiance of a sunset. One French teacher (I don’t make it a habit to name names but Dr. Jules’ wife, Dr. Pauline Jules.) walked by stiffly, tagging along a briefcase behind her. Yeah, I should be studying right now for my Introduction to the Exceptional Child test, but I was just being…” Bad to dah bone…” Talking about bones, Shanelle Thompson just passed by, talking about “I see your ‘fro!” I know sista! You want one, don’t you? I thought and narrowed my eyes at her direction. As I said so, I gently patted my soft curly ‘fro. Suddenly, this one guy, tapped my ‘fro with his pencil! I span on him and raised my hand to issue a pimp slap and he flinched. I turned back around and continued to pat my ‘fro down to perfection as I strolled to class. I stepped into the class and closed the door behind me, gently, gently. Holding my breath, I released the knob and exhaled softly. Yes, I’m n the “I don’t give a fudge, don’t you dare touch my ‘fro mode and being totally, incredibly, and understandably, “bad to dah bone.” My lollipop was now bits and pieces of candy in my mouth. I just woke up, see, not totally awake, but only awake enough for the world to believe that I was awake. And when I was asleep, my mind would be awake. Huh? Nevermind that, I still silently sung “bad to dah bone” in my mind and would continue to croon that tune for the entire evening. My instructor announced that she would be giving a “written activity.” No…It’s a damn test!

                Tonight, Thursday night, had been slow for some. May went to a house party without me, I didn’t mind because house parties are just not my style. Too risky, if something was to happen, well the responsibility would be on the individual to make sure they keep safe. So May left the suite dressed in some stone washed jeans…right, stone washed jeans and a baby blue t-shirt with a unicorn’s head on the front. I bid her good luck since the party was also in an off campus location and I don’t know who owned the house. May told me she got the flyer in her Educational Psychology class and one of her female classmates will be attending with her. Later, I came from the library, yes at two in the morning. The security guard was nice enough to let me out after I realized I was the only one left in the library and no one bothered to tell me it was closing. When I entered the dormitory building, as usual, I took the stairs instead of the elevator for fear that I might get stuck in it and catch a case of claustrophobia. In my mind the fantasy was playing of how I will jump in the sack (bed) and dream of home, the beach, the warm sun, the calm breeze and…oh my God! I walked into my room to see May keeled over on her bed, in what looked like slime or throw-up. What was May’s problem? She withered on the bed, as though she was having slight seizures. For the first time in my life, I panicked! What was going on with her? Was she on something or was she hurt? “May, May…” I was moved to shake her, but I feared retaliation.  She was incoherent, even when I tried to read her lips as she mouthed something to me, but her eyes were closed and sometimes half-mast. I simply had no idea what to do for a moment then, Plan B. Call security! I rushed to the phone shaking from simple fear…fear!
 To be continued….

**All Stories in this Short Series: The Funny Business of Suite 305…is of true, actual with a touch of fantasy events I encountered in my college experiences.

SHORT SERIES: The Funny Business of Suite 305 and other Tales of Infamy (Episode 4)

Disclaimer: This is a Short Series of college stories that are either of true events. Please read episodes 1 and 2 first before reading. Thanks so much for your support.

To read Episode 1: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/03/02/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy/
To read Episode 2: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/03/13/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy-part-2/   To read Episode 3: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/06/17/brief-narrative-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy-episode-3/

Short Series: Episode 4

                My suitemate, Rebecca Lopez, was already acting crazy as well. I also wondered if she’s on medication half of the time.

                Rebecca Lopez lived in the room across from May and I, within the same suite. You see, her sanity was also in question, regularly. One night, I stepped out of my room and saw Rebecca standing butt-naked, totally nude, in a dark corner of the small lobby between our rooms! This was buck wild and outrageous! This is a woman’s dormitory building, but no one would have liked to walk in on this scene. In astonishment, I said, “I’m sorry” and she replied cheerfully, “that’s okay!” No, it was not okay, it was terrifying! “Okay” people didn’t stand in their birthday suit’s in dark corners waiting to surprise a person whom just needed to pee in the middle of the night. I mean, I got crazy sometimes and got buck-naked in the privacy of my room, when my roommate went home every weekend. But I would do that privately, without giving someone a heart attack or a mild stroke. After I went into the bathroom, cautiously closing the door behind me, I heard her make sounds that crossed between a hyena-like laughing and hysterical crying. Frankly, I was really scared, and I couldn’t tell the difference between the two. Once I used the bathroom, I ran into my room, closed the door behind me and dared not to look back to see if she’s in the corner.

                Before Rebecca’s surprising debut, I was talking about her with my friend Malcolm. He was a junior, but we became friends after bumping into each other at the library. I felt that everyone should have a friend named Malcolm. Someone to gossip with and helped pick out cute clothes to wear. Anyway, I was expressing to Malcolm how bloody bitchy Rebecca could be sometimes. You know she would put on the air conditioner when it’s hot and the air came out hot, so it got even hotter! It won’t change! He was also telling me how cool she “used” to be her freshman year (she was also in her junior year), especially when she used to have “sexual relations” with Tyson “Panamanian god” Delgado. Well, she is bitchy now, that was all that mattered to me. There had been rumors (Malcolm told me) about Rebecca’s current boyfriend, Jorge Mateo, beating her. I didn’t know the truth, but sometimes I heard her in her room crying. I hadn’t seen her in three months until tonight. Malcolm and I also touched about her inappropriate clothing. She wore tight clothes all the time. I felt a lot of remorse for her because of the abuse she may have experienced. Maybe she would have been a different woman if those things did not occur.

                In the middle of my thoughts, my roommate dropped in talking about a party some fraternity was throwing tomorrow night. Partying was not my cup of tea, but hey, why not? It’s going to be club night tomorrow night, so all the girls down the dormitory hall pumped up their stereos and went buck wild in the hallways as they dressed in their “next to nothing” skintight outfits. I, on the other hand, stayed in my room with earplugs in my ears while reading knowledgeable books such as the “Isis Papers” and “The Miseducation of the Negro” or sometimes, I braided my afro, so that it would be fresh and clean the next day. By this time, tomorrow night, it would be my night to shine, so you know I had to hook up my ‘fro tonight. May and I planned to go along with some male friends of hers. I have no idea where she met up with these two. One of the guys, he said his name was Danny, drove the car while the other guy, Avery sat in the back seat next to me. May sat up front with Danny. They both chatted and laughed mostly with each other while Avery and I sat quietly in the back seat. After a few minutes during the ride he quickly introduced himself and asked my name and major. I took my time to answer and said, “My name is Jana and my major is in English”. I had not wanted to add much more information being that I may never see him again…maybe.

                We arrived at the party after ten-thirty in the night and the music was heard before we got there. Students stood outside the frat house, drunk from red and blue cups dancing or mingling or both.  Danny, May, Avery and I made the walk up to the frat house passing classmates some known and unknown. May and I walked side by side and was apparently nervous, she even curved her pinky finger to clasp my pinky finger as we walked in sync. Without speaking, I obliged and hung on with my pinky to hers and we glanced at each other not knowing what to expect when the door opened. This was both our first experience being in a frat house. Danny and Avery have been here before being that they both would like to pledge for this same fraternity one day. Throughout the night, the music blasted and thumped while May and I tasted our first sip of the spiked “punch”. That sip took us to cups and cups of punch, which had hidden ingredients we had no knowledge of even now. Danny came for May to dance a slow song and Avery attempted to ask me for a dance, I accepted after he asked three times. Third times the charm.

                Morning comes about quickly, and I sat up in bed to survey the small clustered room. May sat at the desk writing or something. The writing seemed intense, so I assumed that it was a letter or something. I greeted her and quickly entered the daily ritual of brushing my teeth and took a shower.

                My nine-thirty class was mad boring and irritating as well. Everyone in this class acted as though they wanted to throw rotten apples at the professor. He just stood there and blah blah blah for an hour and a half. Half of the time I sat there and wrote poetry or passed notes to the person next to me asking for gum. It’s senseless, I knew. It made my brain numb my limbs. But I was also…I blanked out for a second there. I couldn’t help it, but I needed my sinus medicine this morning, so now I was drowsy and irritable. All last night’s activities and drinking the “punch” concoction at the frat party. A fantasy came into mind…after this class; I would crawl into my warm soft comforting bed. It was calling out my name…I blanked out again! “If you let your emotions control you…” Dr. Solomon blabbed on and on, creating a web of boredom. If I was to let my emotions control me at this moment, I would conquer him and set the class free from this torment. Then, I would become the heroine of the day, standing on his desk with my left arm raised high into the air, my right arm fixed on my waist and my left leg bent and on the top of his bald head! But that’s just a fantasy…man, would I stop blanking out!

To be continued….

**All Stories in this Short Series: The Funny Business of Suite 305…is of true, actual with a touch of fantasy events I encountered in my college experiences.

VERSE: Pain, Flowers & Honey

06/18/2019 journal in prose of my day…to encourage myself and anyone else who has loved hard and have had their heart broken. There is hope that someone can love us just as hard for as long as we live. (Featured photo is of me when I was 11 months old.)

I’m beginning to feel that pain and love

Are the same emotions

Because to sometimes have one

Love

Is to sometimes have the other

Pain

Both hold hands and play but can be joined

By

Inspiration and epiphany

Anger

Extreme bliss

Hurt

Transparency and openness

Regret

Loss

HOPE

The only way to cope

When that person has powers to maim

The worst is that their intentions was not to aim

Yet still, they leave the subject of their love to blame

I have only truly had a broken heart 3 times

From that same individual of all my affections

Those 3 wounds

Have me displaced and ghosted my heart

Left in a state of wandering

Faced with the task to recover

My strength notwithstanding

I will survive the blows that have befallen me

Because there is someone out here in this desert

That can appreciate the flower that I offer

Deeming themselves worthy of my perpetual attentions

Honey intentions without a regret or resent

VERSE: Concept of Love Thought

*This poem is dedicated to someone, my Love, because they are the truth.

Another sleepless night

You, the only thoughts

The remaining thoughts

everlasting thoughts

First thought on my mind as I wake

Last thought on my mind as I sleep

In between still riddled thoughts of you

The riddle in the sky so blue

The riddle in the stream that flows through you

The riddle to the glow of the moon

The riddle of how you manifest

While your essence remains

Like the scent of frankincense

Unforgettable, irreplaceable

Concieved by my mind

Penetrated my thoughts and sublime

Convinced you were perceived by my mind

Thoughts carried throughout time

Our coincidence, no coincidence

Star crossed, Star crashed

Same path

Same past

VERSE: The Wishing Well

*Dedicated to someone that is more important to me than they realize. 06/17/2019

Looking into the darkness of the well

Which was so full of life and love and…

Now a void with infinite space

With infinite universes

With infinite realities that can transpire

When then I realize

There is no coming back from moving forward

And hurt inevitable

To see the crash and understand there are casualties

But still want to see it through to

The fizzles and the sparks that burn out

With heart shaped machines slows to quiet

The wishing well becomes the destination

for discoveries of dreams

or realities

Where shame, anger and grief mix to become one

and they become a color of mixed red and black and blue

So eager to learn the risk

So eager to see it through to its end

The wishing well becomes the destination

The light weight of the universe intermingling

So eager to learn the risk

So eager to see it through to its end

SHORT SERIES: The Funny Business of Suite 305 and other Tales of Infamy (Episode 3)

Disclaimer: This is a Short Series of college stories that are either of true events. Please read episodes 1 and 2 first before reading. Thanks so much for your support.

To read Episode 1: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/03/02/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy/

To read Episode 2: https://fruitionsfictionfactory.home.blog/2019/03/13/short-series-the-funny-business-of-suite-305-and-other-tales-of-infamy-part-2/

Short Series: Episode 3

                May. That’s the name of the girl that slept in the bed adjacent to mine. She acted as though the world would end when the toilet clogged. No. The world would end if the toilet exploded in the result of a huge number! But, of course, I wouldn’t know…it may or may not have happened to me before. Anyway, changing the subject quickly…I know she’s a sweet kid and all. She said “hi” when she entered the room and “bye, see you later” when she left. Except for last night, she was a pretty neat person. She took messages well, too. Really, did I even know her? I just realized that I knew nothing about her. Well, I know she’s a freshman like me and she might be eighteen, also.

            Her mother, Helen, called about twice a week and boy did she have mouth on her! The first time her mother called, and I answered the phone, I was almost deafened! Her voice was high pitched and almost to a squeal.

                “Hello, is May there? This is her mother!” She sounded like she was playing a game by the name of “holler as loud as you can.” I answered, of course, after I was finally able to put the phone to my ear.

                “She isn’t in right now; would you like to leave a message?” I offered.

                She in return, answered, “Yes, could you tell May, that I, her mother called to see if she took her medication, and oh…I hope she’s wearing the glasses I bought her? Well, is she?” Lady, why you asked me?!? I only noticed glasses in the picture on May’s desk, but I hadn’t seen her wearing them in real-life. The picture was of May and her mother standing side by side, but they never touched in the picture just stood with their hands clasped in front of them. May wore a yellow plaid and white dress with sleeves up to her elbows and the length of the dress was below her knees. Her hair was combed back in one, delicately, with the ends of her ponytail flowing over her shoulder. As they stood there in the photo, they both smiled, smiling without showing their teeth, their lips seem pursed and tight.

                I snapped back to the present moment and so, I lied to Helen pertaining to her questions. “Yes, she’s been wearing her glasses why? Isn’t she supposed to?”

                “Of course, I’m just making sure everything is in order. Please, let her know I called and to return my phone calls, immediately. Thank you.”

                Later, my roommate thanked me for lying for her, but she chickened out. “I didn’t know you lied for me, so I told her everything! I even told her that…”

                “What?” That what? I was suspicious now.

                “Oh, I can’t remember!” She blurted out while throwing her arms in the air, avoiding eye contact.

                Now I remember! Suddenly, it became clear to me. “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,” was the song that now played in my head. I just remembered when her mother asked about May taking medication. What kind of medication I wonder? Maybe that is “what” May was not able to remember or what she didn’t want me to know…That girl was crazy as hell!

                The next time her mother called I was going to ask “So, what type of medication, for what kind of mental disorder is she taking medication for?” It’s got to be a mental disorder! Definitely, she wasn’t right in the head, especially after last night, putting poop in bags and bringing it into our room was insane. Besides, when that clogged toilet thing happened to most people, they just walked away and pretended the next guy or gal did it. But again, I didn’t know anything about that either…humph. I needed to know if she’s psychotic, so no funny business occurred while I slept.

To be continued….

**All Stories in this Short Series: The Funny Business of Suite 305…is of true or actual events I encountered in my college experiences.

Journal: A WRITER’S NEMESIS – WRITER’S BLOCK “Help”

I must apologize for my lack of content lately. Somehow, I have been hit with “The Wall” or some may call it, the writer’s block. My writer’s block manifests itself in two ways, I have noticed. One, I will write a story and it would be so good and juicy with content and flow. So good, I’d lick my lips and eagerly type every line and then…thought lost. Nothing. I can’t finish the story for some odd reason because it feels like my thoughts has fallen off a deep dark cliff. That is one instance of my writer’s block. The second instance is that I can’t think of anything to begin with, body content or even an ending. This is frustrating and I would applaud any writer that can tell me confidently that they have created or found a cure for such a thing that plagues writers. The writer’s block…it is an author killer, is it?

Currently, I do have a few projects that I am working on, mainly subjects in folklore and childhood actual events. Please bare with me.

Please let me know if you have any cure or know of one from a friend for this frustrating condition. Can anyone relate? I need HELP.

Thank you. Stuggling Author. Hetheru Mer Djehuty

Brief Narrative: Mother, May I?

Some people can experience their entire lives without ever encountering anything supernatural. Many may have one instance in their lives to experience a supernatural being, such as a ghost or demon. While there are others that experience supernatural occurrences on a regular basis or almost daily. In my lifetime, I have experienced demons and ghosts regularly. A stigma. No one wants a curse visited upon them, because you constantly ask why. Why me? Especially if you were born into it.

One night, I looked into the eyes of a real Jumbie. This was not my first encounter with a Jumbie, this was just the first time I can recall looking a Jumbie in the eyes. Jumbies or Jumbees originate from Caribbean mythical. They are creatures or supernatural entities, ghosts and demon manifestations that can appear to an individual as any being in any form it choses.

Late one night, I was roused by a light touch under my right foot at the bottom of the bed. Before I became conscious to the touches, I rubbed my eyes from sleep and half sat up. At the bottom of my feet was my mother. Now, I was not confused in my child’s mind this was my mother, though there were suspicious clues that alluded to something amiss. To describe what squatted at the bottom of my bed, which squatted and had not sat upright as my mother would if she entered my room through my bedroom door. Though the face was familiar, the bulging, watery eyes of this entity was wide and strange, almost too amused at the sight of me. It had all the soft features of my mother’s face and yet, was not my mother. The large teeth shone from what moonlight mixed with streetlights outside my window. But that grimace of a smile, held something wicked and sinister. Much more than I could comprehend at the time.

The creature, which I am convinced now was a Jumbie, began to engage with me as I asked it questions. I asked it, “Mammy, why are you here.” It replied, with it’s bright wide eyes and ominous white teeth grin, “I came to give you this.” Then, it turned to look in it’s left hand, which had a blue plastic hair comb. I turned and looked at that left hand and saw that my blood was on the hair comb. I had not felt a thing! There was a scratch on my toe, it seemed as though the entity gashed my big toe with the hair comb and it drew blood. I cannot remember what happened after looking at the blood on my feet. Not sure what happened directly after I realized that I was harmed in any way, but I must have fallen back into a slumber, one which was deep and wonderous. I did not fight against this being nor did I protest.

When I woke up that morning, I was eager to ask my mother about the encounter I thought we had. First thing though, I examined my right foot and saw that there was a visible gash on my big toe from the hair comb. The blood was dried but from a fresh cut. In seeing this, I got a chill down the narrows of my back to think that this was all true. Was it? The Jumbie can be a trickster. Why would it need my blood though? All of those thoughts fell away, as I asked my mother in my childlike sing song voice, “Mammy, were you at the bottom of my bed last night?” She stopped what she was doing immediately and answered confused, “Well, no…I had not been in your room at all last night.” As I suspected, it wasn’t my mother at all! But was it a dream or nightmare or spectral of my imagination? I suppose I will never know…

VERSE: Scribe of Inspiration

*This poem is for a very special person, though they may not feel that they are, they are fantastic to me.*

Djehuty

Don’t you see the moon shines bright for you

Don’t dismiss your beauty and embrace your wisdom you have ancient within you

You who

Have guided this Earth to it’s means

You can

Awaken your power

That I see you commit too silently in contemplation

But never question your completeness for which you have evolved

Evolution a powerful tool you subscribe

And are a god of scribes

I am in awe of you

Though I am also a goddess

You nourish me

Providing knowledge with your very scripts that have come to be and are known.