About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Monday, March 21, 2011


You know, a long time ago, I made a decision to take a step towards an uncertain light.

I was going to a place where I was a little scared to venture, because I was so used to being on an island where I never got any "mail" to be part of the coolness of the world. I had a few folks who took the time to see the newspaper I was printing on a regular basis, but on the most part, my "own" thought I was a traitor, and the "majority" thought I was a charlatan, a joke, a wannabe.

That is an interesting dichotomy to deal with on a regular basis, especially over the first 25 years of my musicology. The beats had a lot of base, but the notes were rather muddy, and nothing didn't hit the top 40 on anyone's list.

Now focusing on the present tune, where the mp3's are old hat and now we can float life's music over the air, I am sort of where I was when I took that first step. But now I have extra sheets of music that I have to write for my offspring, and that same, muddy beat is now louder, because I am like some drunk conductor trying to lead the symphony that is my family unit.

Not to say that I am a leader...hell, I can't even get anyone to read my flotsam when I get the urge to type it on my now smaller notebook screen.

(Note, Apple, I apologize. If you weren't the elitist company that didn't allow me to capture music without looking for music tags, you'd be the perfect computer and multimedia organization. But, I digress).

I told a dear friend who I call a brother that I don't care about the loud tunes thrown at me because I jump into the land of crudeness, gangsta rap (a metaphor; I tend to dip into the crass and controversial, and only say what I feel needs to be said) and the absurd. I guess in my own skewed way, I thought that I wanted to help let people forget their lives for a moment, and take a ride on each note of my pretend insanity and twisted curled view of the world.

I partially lied.

I hear something.

The tones of silence.

Now, I stand by what I do, because malice was never the intent.

However, I bleed, too.

Apology after apology, backstepping and kowtowing.

Stephen Fetchit would of been proud.

You see, I have a problem with not getting respect, since I always, even before I took that first step towards the flawed statue I am today, and I knew that by doing what I do (or did, as that the good man muzzled the beast, as that my dear "brother" was right, and the wrong station was tuned and no one wanted to see the commercials), made it a point to always give people what I always wanted.

When I string a twisted tune, I want people to dance, to think, to laugh, to enjoy this short spot in time that we have before we become like a old, dead, blown-away leaf when our season ends.

I also wanted to fill the emptiness that consumes me daily.

Don't get me wrong.

My wife....man, my wife, who each day sheds a tear on the inside or out, is the true "Beeyatch." Not insulting...a woman has to be one of those to survive in this world. And the 2 sheets of song we created, while at time so out of tune I need earplugs for my sanity, are my greatest work.

But my friend, I do hear the silence from the lack of applause from my symphonies.


I can't apologize anymore.

While I knew the risks (and the present realities) of being spat out from the circle, where I don't calls to Rock Band, or even a drink at a bar, I shouldn't regret my mistakes, because it all was to better my fellow humans (man is too friggin' sexist, and the only sexist part of me is that I think a man's woman need to get her porn on ever so often to keep things parked at home; we males suck when it comes to willpower). And while the emptiness is something that is between me and my God, that only respect I ask from folks is to disagree with me if u wish, but at least listen; think that I am a horse's ass, but take a little look and see beyond the bullshit.

Also know, that I hate no one, I could give a rat's penis spurt if you are white, black, purple with a Kung Fu grip, who you believe in, or if u dig a hairy ass and find love. I laugh at myself, and I simply try to hopefully let people do the same.

In short, I am writing this because I am at a spot where my future is cloudy at best. My options are few, and my time is dwindling to fix things. I get up, I try to laugh, and I try to be the best dad I can be. I stand behind my wife, who has been a superhero w/o the tights (even tho I have tried to talk her into Wonder Woman's outfit, but she isn't feelin' me on that idea, damn it). This post is providing me therapy, as that my outlook on life has caused me to, well, perhaps choose poorly in where I express myself.

However, for the few who actually dig me, I tip my hat, and I hope that you know that I am, well, am.

And beyond my demons, I'm alright with that.

For those who think I am a tactless, uneducated, foolish, immature ass, well...

...u may be right.

But I am also alright with that, too.

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