#MNR: MY LIFE

#MNR: MY LIFE
 
“You don’t know how little you matter until you’re all alone.”
Frank Ocean
 
“My ‘fit cost a condo. My hip tote a Rondo. I ball like Lonzo and always stay Melo.”
Really Jaewon
 
“Staring at the world through my rearview. Go ‘head baby scream to God, he can’t hear you. I can feel your heart beating fast cuz it’s time to die. Getting high, watching time fly.”
Makaveli the Don
 
LONG LIVE RICH HOMIE QUAN
 
MY HEART AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU RICH AND KIM
 
In an instant, it became apparent how little I matter in this beautiful life. It came upon me suddenly around the midnight hour Saturday. A couple days prior, someone I love asked me what my plans were for my birthday weekend. I replied that I had no plans. She or he was incredulous. I insisted that I hadn’t any, and she or he simply replied “ok”. In the moment, it was no big deal. I don’t usually have people beating my door down to treat me to a good time. But Saturday night, in the solitude of Attica, I pondered it all amidst a by-myself meeting. And suddenly, after years of it not mattering, it mattered. Shit, I’m used to not having people hit my line to get up. I don’t worry about it; I spent so many years running the streets and gallivanting with friends and associates (some of whom are now in the essence) that I’m cool with retirement. But the reality of the question is that I don’t get offers to kick it. I’m a semi-loner, so I can’t sit back and cry when I feel like no one likes me. It’s just that it’s my earth day. But that’s just how it is. C’est la vie. I’ve done a lot of work on self lately. I’m trying to stay in good head spaces when I feel anxiety gently rapping upon the windowpane of my soul. I remind myself that I am blessed. I remind myself that I’m loved, although most of my loved ones are either long distance or on the other side. And, thanks to a talk I had with a colleague, I remind myself that I am a King, even if my reality is that I am a mad king. A solitary king. My right hand is Sgt. Pepper. If no one wants to rock with me, I’m cool with me, myself, and I. And the Sarge. Having said as much, some days are tougher than others. Gloria Gaynor birthed the concept but I’m a fan of Chantay Savage’s interpolation. Translation: I will survive.
 
Thank you Brandi and Marcus for being exceptions to the above paragraph. You both are loved and appreciated.
 
There are generally two trains of thought pertaining to suicide. The first is the traditional Christian belief. For those unlearned, it’s the ONLY thing one can do to eternally damn oneself. God gave you life; who are you to take it? In addition, it’s seen as a selfish act. There are people who will forever be affected by your choice. What about them? And honestly, I could never argue that point. I came up with a pal who took his own life. I would’ve never guessed in a million years that he was going through what he was going through. I wish I would have known.
 
In contrast, I’m not mad about taking autonomy like Anthony Bourdain or Kate Spade chose to do. I have no clue why they chose to do what they did, but I have my theories. For me, it's the beauty of being able to write your own conclusion. It’s the calm of knowing that I’ll never be taken for granted or underappreciated ever again. People say all the cute shit. They babble on about how you’re loved and important. But do they really mean it? They don’t check in out the blue to see if you’ve been able to maintain your sanity for the day or week. They don’t hit you with a random “let’s go out and have a drink” or a let’s go do anything. But they don’t have to. It’s whether they choose to. That’s where the beauty of autonomy comes into play. Don’t e’en worry about it. There’s no need for the superficial “how are you” or once-in-a-blue check-in. It’s all good, coach. I’m calling my own game today. Willie Beamon.
 
I was in a low place, fully amidst an anxiety attack and staring crisis in the eyes. But then I paused for a moment, took a couple of deep breaths, lit a J, and grabbed my Mac. I decided it was better to type my way through it and put it on display to be interpreted and scrutinized. Being able to create is cathartic for me. Perhaps I’m just a petulant neurotic. I’m often caught in the paradox of trying to be a man who has finally embraced the emotions that come with being beautifully human while simultaneously attempting to continually suffocate my emotions because that’s what a man is supposed to do. I’m just glad I didn’t lose my way. I didn’t have anyone to speak with, so I had to land that 757 jumbo jet by my lonely. All the landing gear is in-tact. I pulled up to our spot on the Tarmac blowing kush smoke out the pilot-side window – with tears in my eyes.
 
I thank Andrell for agreeing to take this cross-country journey and see all the spots they told us were beautiful in those geography and history lessons. We’re going to end up in L.A., my spirit origin. Drell wants to see Old Faithful. I want to see those old white men whose visages are etched into a mountain. We both want to drive that highway from Vegas to Los Scandalous, but not before I step into MGM Grand (MY place) and bet it all on Black...or get my driver’s license. Literally. One good spin of the roulette shall determine my fate. If I lose it all, fuck it. Onward to the city of angels.
 
Pass me the chopstick, CEO. Time to catch a few bodies.
 
Allow me to introduce first – Ty Monday, the Don. I drank a fifth of straight Henny, pissed it out, and I yawned. Fuck the Feds and fuck the five-O, [I] was 45, now you can go and add one mo’. Me? A born leader, never leave the block without my reefa. Two, three shades, my eyes you’re not allowed to meet and greet them. I’m on the la until I’m gone. It’s Crew life running through my pen, so I’m strong. Bye, bye, bye, let’s get high and ride. Oh, how we do these lames? Fuck it, not gon cry. I’m a slave master killer, Jesse Waters die, too. Looking for Tamir’s killer, devil when I find you. Bigot motherfuckers don’t deserve to breathe. How many down to freedom ride with me, yay yayee! Eastside rider, the scope on your mata, should a never fucked with T. I want equality and true serenity. I won’t rest until Albert Bradley’s free. Bomb first. We – bomb first when we ride. Please – reconsider ‘fore you die. We ain’t even come to clip a wing tonight. But it’s my life or your life, and I’m a bomb first.
 
Long live Makaveli the Don.
 
Got nothing to lose. I gots nowhere to go. I only got one home, see me stranded on Death Row. I always thought that was one of the illest lines of my lifetime. E.D.I. Mean’s flow was unorthodox yet perfect. Long live Killa Kadafi and Fatal Hussein. Peace to all the Outlaw Immortalz. That’s word to the OUTLAW tatt on my left forearm.
 
Thanks Todd for randomly checking in and sending an early earth day token of love. It blew holes in my theory – somewhat. I just wish the people I speak to everyday had the vision my pal Todd does. But I’m not complaining anymore. It is what it is.
 
Hand me the world on a silver platter, and what good would it be? With no one to share, with no one who truly cares for me. Some people want it all, but I don’t want nothing at all...
 
If it seems like this blog was all over the place it’s because it was. I wrote this #MNR over the course of three days, with this portion being written last. I know I gave a wonderful narrative about how my Mac saved me from the clutches of despair as if it were some mythical healing agent. Yes, it does work wonders. But even those wonders are fleeting. After sleeping it all off, I woke up Sunday, again immersed in a sunken place. Yadda, yadda, yadda – today, 9.9, was a tough day in the life of Ty. I woke up (late AF) with self-checkout all through my mind. I couldn’t shake it. I’m thankful for Brandi, Ju, Lynn, Joji, Marcus, and Drell for keeping me afloat throughout the day.
 
When I reflect on my mother’s last couple of years on this planet, I’m forced to realize that she inevitably threw in the towel. She had her reasons, and I’m not nor was ever upset. My grief came from a selfish albeit genuine place. I didn’t want to lose the most important person in my life – the very one who gave me life. Watching her suffer for the last couple years of her life was devastating. Prayerfully, she prepared me for the end before I even knew the end was imminent. When I was able to set my grief aside, I admired her for finishing the way she did. She had enough of the bullshit. She shut down. But I know why she shut down. She felt that she’d given her all. She gave her all to the Lord and New Arbor Baptist Church. She gave her all to her husband. She gave her all to her son (I’ll include the plural for Sam Jr. tonight). She gave her all to her family. She gave her all to Halifax County Middle School. She gave her all to anyone she felt deserved her all. And for what? For an adulterous, drug addicted husband? A career underachieving son? Unappreciative (at times) family? A school that forced her into early retirement, leaving her short of Social Security by a full year? She had E-fucking-nough. Mama, I too know how it feels to be vastly underappreciated. That, ultimately, is the reason for my pain. I give my all in everything I do. I give my all for everyone I love. There will never be a moment when I half-ass the effort. And, even as an altruist, it hurts because it makes me wonder if I even fucking matter. There’s no glory in this. Only death. Such a sweet reward. There’s no more pain in death.
 
Alright, Sarge, it’s time for us to keep it moving. We pulled up, said what we had to say, and they paid us for our time. Round up the Lonely Hearts Club Band so we can get ready to hit the road. It’s off to the next stop on our Infinity Tour. It’s a shitty gig, but it’s the only one they left us to play. Good night, folks. We’ll visit your amazing city again next Monday night, Lord willing. Until then, I’ll most likely be thuggin inside a project building, smoking that fire weed with them ghetto children. Plotting on a way that we can make a million. Lawd... (Juvy voice)
 
Happy earth day to me.