Absolutely Nothing (Freestyle)

Books I read teach how to release grief. Got strength in my knees so I'm standing on my feet. Walking for Miles as if I'm Aaron, not Langford, Keith. And these brothas are wanting beef. Got the alarm by my head in case my bed falls asleep. Your time I'm buying and these poems are your receipt. I kind of repeat. My time I'm bidding with these poems. Only pens and your receipt. I like shots to the rim when I'm listening to the beat.
And I can't stop writing freestyles. Stick to my ribs like decals. The lights are dim. I see the rim. I'm on the rebound. And I'm doing things never seen. You're wondering how. Absent-minded brotha. 27 and going senile. Annoyed by the people. Avoiding all these hoes. My girl's from Florida. Told her I'd be her Tim Tebow. The admission. The experience. A three-word sentence. Inherit a gift of value if you're willing to pay the price. Aforementioned eight words. Great moments. Your love life.
Precise flights place me in state like Tennesse with my friend Genevieve . Thoughts like women. It Depends if the center bleeds. My pen is deep, like my voice when I speak. Exercise to write all night when the sinners creep. The truth amongst all lies. So deaf when the pretenders preach. Follow the footsteps. Finger prints. Identities is what the pen'll leave.
Stopped in the street. I greet KCPD when I speed. Common sense intercedes, speaks to me when I sleep. Words and speech run with legs like the centipede. I'll sell you things. Ship them off like Ebay. Sport dreams like Eastbay. Run it back. Instant replay. Arrogance is a trap. Forget to send it back, sort of like your rebate. We play the game, like Keno. Heroes impersonate zeroes. I'm black like Nino--or Brown. Find me like Nemo on the steeple, watching Steve-O on the TiVo. We know colors. Blue. Black. Purple. Green. I'm writing. I'm boxing. Punches like toxic. I'm an animal with the mandible. Your obnoxious esophogus. Minutes beyond the 31st. Expired tags. I ride in that dirty hearse. I might die of thirst, for wanting to be the best. Command respect. Nothing less than the first. When worse becomes worst, I put in work. The pay back like tithes and offering in the church. My girl wears the skirt. Eat the sight up like dessert. I warn her like Kurt. Priceless is her worth. My job has the perks. I observe and converse. I've stolen your time. Money in a purse. So many words devoid of definitively saying something. The pen is the ventriloquist. It does the talking. I'm saying absolutely nothing.
--EOB.

Just When You Think It's Over...

The Words (Freestyle)

Freestyles stick like decals, puts hair on your chest. The word's light shines bright, beating on the forehead like snares when you sweat. Suspended animation. Serpents and Rainbows. A voodoo hex. To who do you confess? Unless it's pressure and suspension. Pays at the finish like the pension. When the mission is to find yourself rinsing your hands of their blood. Scenes. Reflections in the eyes of Caesar's dove. We need that love. And she's that drug. Release that thug. And free your heart. She's the one with cancer and I'm feeling like I'm dying when we are apart. And she's my heart. Feeling like we've come so far. Need to feel her presence. Thinking of She when that songs on repeat in my car. Day dreams treat me like Christopher and Marty Mcfly. I'm another guy when I'm traveling through time. Holding on to my past, in hopes of molding my future. I'm battling with rhymes. If loving her is wrong, then I've gone Soprano. Let me handle the crime. I need to hear her on the other end of the line. She's the one who saw the talent when I sat on the pine. Loyalty meets fate. With that I'll pray she'll be back when she's fine. And my friends say forget her. It's something she never did. So why would I quit on her? Those words I've heard seem so absurd. You don't know what I go through or see what I do. You've never walked in my shoes. I feel like life's a public execution. Release me from my noose. Crucified. A thin line between you and I. Even though it seems wide, like Duke U. and high school. Holding America's promises, like Badu.

And I'm fooled by interpretations of my fate. Changing every day. Portrayed as Two-Face. 1999 and 2k. Wish I could see it clearly. DVD and Blue Ray. From the top to the bottom. The 94 Blue Jays. Every move is a gamble, rules inspired by Teddy Dupay. The masks you wear to hide imperfections of Self, like toupees. The truth's a new day. No time to waste time. My new phrase.

My defensive is offensive. Take my place in the line. Dark passages. Words that send chills down your spine. And I'm reaching a new phase. I'd rather read books and pray. Less time spent on the MySpace page. Gray lines create haze.

And some things don't make cents, like fighting the violence. An intense sequence. Too much noise in my head for silence. Menningitis inflicts the body, like my kindness is a virus. Wish I could leave it all behind. See the Caribbean and be with the pirates. Total package like Jessica Rabbit. Infidelity's ravaged the mind. Inhabitted by a lavish savage. It's words. The very fabric of our emotions.

Words master our lives.

----EOB.

A Place I Call...

That feeling. Saying what’s on my mind, while knowing everything in life can’t and won’t be said. Energy. Unexpected laughter. Memories. Knowing God hasn’t given up on an extremely flawed human being. This moment, right now. A word of wisdom. Opening every morning with a celebratory dance. Ending every day with the same dance. Dry jokes. My Scarface impresssion. The "Funny Guy" scene in Goodfellas. Learning about love. Going backward in order to travel forward. Knowing words do speak louder than actions. Any time someone uses the word "misremembered" in a sentence. Wanting to add that word to my vocabulary. The business.


Tiny Dancer. Downtown Kansas City. Eighty-third street. The Great State of Kansas. Arizona. Freedom. Dennis Green’s "They are who we thought they were" rant. Almost Famous. Reflection Eternal. The David Stein Show. People who surprise me. Her country accent. When He says: "She’ll be OK." Anything worth fighting for. Anything worth crying over. The old-school 1991 Camry. My jump shot. Looking back on how far I’ve come. Calling my friends by their full names. Engaging conversations. One-sentence paragraphs. Beginning my sentences with "At the end of the day" or "At some point in time." The No. 8. July 13th. The year 2005. Drives at 3 a.m. The special people who stay when I try to push them away. Saying "I love you." Saying "I’m sorry." My left arm. My imperfections. Screaming at the top of my lungs. Rappers who say they aren’t rappers. Singers who can’t really sing. Actors who really act. Thinking "crazy" is a compliment. My mom’s decision not to name me Darryl. Struggle. Getting older. The "Golden God" scene. The word "Yo." The journey. The stuff you haven’t seen. Playing dumb. A game-winning shot. Watching a game with my dad. Those moments you can’t get back. Words that rhyme. New people. Old people. Winning. Patience. Ambition. Dreams. My skully. A good speech. Miracles. Poems. All the things I’ve left out. Getting excited for no reason at all. My dad’s work ethic. My mom’s strength. My sister’s sense of humor. Jayden’s smile. Granny’s unconditional love. All of these things being passed down to me.


Six-foot tall women. Sunny days. Cold nights. A good dream. Inspiration. Quiet. Haters. My dream of kicking it on Crenshaw Boulevard. Using 70s slang. My other dream of taking just one jump shot at Rucker Park. Baseball’s lessons in life. The things you already know. Humility. When people ask what I do for a living, telling them: "I’m a drug dealer." Lyrics. Finding the comedy in anything. Telling stories. I’m really not always angry or sad---only when I stand still. Inside jokes. Romancing the thought of falling off of the face of the earth. A fresh hair cut. Realizing I’ve been alive for 27 years. Slowing down. A good book. Columnists. Knowing I know nothing. Ralph Wiley quotes. Nathan McCall’s anger. Talent. That "Something" that burns within me. This change within me. An epiphany. Desire. This piece can never really end. A beat. Creativity. Metaphors. Double entendres. Leaders. Followers. Fading into the background. Sharing. Knowledge.


These things make me. They’re the reason I breathe. Can’t you see it in my face? These things take me to a place.


A place I call home.

---EOB.

In case You Missed It

A Celebration Of Life

1964 - Present

“In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”--Don Cheadle

W.W.J.D? (What Would Julian Do)

The ball is in your hands. You're racing down the court. All eyes are watching as 15,000 people release a collective gasp. They know something special is about to happen. And then...it happens. Yeah, Julian Wright. We still love you. Place yourself in JuJu's shoes. If this happened to you what would you do?

---EOB.

Poetic Graffiti (Freestyle)

The ending is the beginning. It's easier to finish, or lose it before you win it. My mind is an apartment. And you're the tennant. The currency you pay is your attention when you rent it.
We're pretending that this pen's secreting black magic. Call it voodoo.
God said: "It beehoves you to let me choose you. I'll move you to do everything right. Versatile like JuJu Wright."
My ceiling is as high as the sky.
Believe the hype.
Thieves in the night pose as elitists, defeatists and non-believers. Toss you to the side when they believe they no longer need us. Stomping on your dreams with their Adidas. And bitter cold makes one scratch as if you're attacked by winter's chiggers. The rigors. A clerk checks my $50 bill. Made me feel like Mr. Nigga. Reality hits you with enough force to kill your sister. I review ways to find a way, listening to Blu who signed a deal with Arista. I'm your every man. Ambridextrous. I'll write with either hand. I'll be Ret(tro) like Eric or Perriman. And my cousin rocks the dreads. Likes to make his head rock. Plays music to make your head bob, grab your chest, calling for Beth. Randy or Redd Foxx. We're boys of nature, like Flair and the leg-lock or Fred in Bedrock. I stay up all night to write. I am so nocturnal. Angry flames make me hungry. Never pop the kernels when I burn them. I wear it on my sleeve. I bleed. My heart is external.

Focus on this, like the wall, when you're pausing at the urinal. Life is about so much more than just the booty. To dig deeper should your a duty. I know you're trying to screw me. But I'm not answering your calls. Sue me. There's no ugly found in beauty. Ugly is a trap. And the only beauty is in leaving ugly and never going back. I feel so proud. Legs tired, as if I've been running for miles. Scowls replaced with smiles. Yesterday ain't tomorrow and my time is now. Nobody ever said life was easy. It's never been a breeze. Forgive me for not crying. Can't feel sorry for you. They've never felt sorry me.
And it's been so hard for me. On the verge of rescue. No longer riding the pine. Mountains of doubt emerge and I'm trying to climb. Even my vocabulary's fallen behind. I won't look back, only forward, I have no time to rewind. Something's happening inside. Twenty-seven different ways. The right one I've been trying to find. It's the art. The love. It's yours and it's mine.
It is poetic graffiti.

---EOB.

Lesson In Logic No.24

He left him standing still. Blew by him as if he were the wind and his defender helplessly played the role of the stick in the mud. I reached for my cell phone and sent a quick text to a friend.

It read: "Kobe just killed J.Kidd."

Late in the fourth quarter, in a tight game, against the Dallas Mavericks, a Western Conference foe, Kobe Bryant was isolated against Jason Kidd on the right wing of the court. One-on-one, Kidd shifted his shoulders to the left, giving Bryant an opening. It was all Kobe needed. He took off straight for the basket and blew by Kidd. No cross-over, stutter-step or fake of any sort. He just blew by him---and scored.

But don't blame Kidd. His teammates couldn't do anything with Kobe, either. The Mavericks played him man-to-man, double-teamed him, triple-teamed him and mixed in a zone defense. And Kobe still scored, clutch basket after clutch basket.

The National Basketball Association is full of them. Fake super stars. False basketball prophets. They're up and down just about every roster in the NBA. They're the classic good-stats-on-a-bad-team type of player. Twenty meaningless points and 10 meaningless rebounds a game. Results without production. Style without substance. Their stats look great but their won-loss record fails in comparison. They're a piece, but not the piece. And it's not their fault. Being special isn't just a talent. It's a mentality. And either you have it or you don't.

I've always believed Kobe was the latter.

Not anymore.

Over the last few weeks, something has happened--something profound. And we're all eating our words.

We've heard it before. Many of us have believed it. He's a horrible teammate and an even worse person. He shoots too much and doesn't pass enough. He's selfish. Arrogant. A coward. Heartless. Great player-- easily the most talented in the NBA--but you don't want Kobe on your team.

He doesn't want to win.

For years he's heard the whispers and tried to emerge from the shadows. He's been running from his past. They still haven't forgotten about Colorado, his quarrels with Shaq and public persona. We all saw the three straight championships, the talent which seemed to come natural and the gaudy stats. The bar was set. For 12 long seasons, he's been trying to find his way and live up to what's been expected of him. And for 12 seasons he didn't know how. And we crucified him for it. He's supposed to be a leader. Leaders are supposed to shoot. So Kobe averaged 35 points per a game in 2005-2006 and 31 a season ago.

He shoots too much, is what we said.

Leaders are supposed to get their teammates involved. Leaders are supposed to share. In Game 7 of the first round of the 2006 Western Conference Playoffs, Kobe deferred to his teammates and attempted just three shots in the second half of a loss to the Phoenix Suns.

Now he doesn't shoot enough, we thought.

Kobe allowed himself to get caught in the trap. It's one many of us fall victim to. The trap of trying to please others. And in his attempts to prove them wrong, he became what they said he'd always be. He threw his teammates under the bus, asked for trades and sulked when it didn't happen. He was confused. Sometimes the noise--the voices of others--can be so loud in your head that it's hard to concentrate on what you're supposed to be, who you're supposed to be. And it's easy to forget what you were looking for.

He could have been traded, maybe should have. He could have had a fresh start. But sometimes the most progressive move is remaining still. Sometimes you just have to wait.

And the moment he's waited for is here. Standing at the free throw line with 9.4 seconds remaining in overtime, and the Lakers ahead 105-104, Kobe calmly sank two free throws to ice the game. He had scored 30 of his 52 points in the second half. He was balanced and determined. Kobe had done everything right. He became the deciding factor. No. 24 became the reason. This game had become a microcosm of his life. The team is winning and Kobe's finally at the controls. Dallas called a timeout and as he walked to the bench, you could see it in his eyes. Kobe's got a different walk. He even has a different number. He never knew what he was. He's fought to distance himself from what we've perceived him to be.

Maybe Kobe's figuring it out. Maybe Kobe's refusing to lose. Maybe No. 24's refusing to give in.

Maybe Bryant's become the leader many wanted him to be.

Maybe Kobe no longer cares what you think.

Maybe Kobe finally has IT. Perhaps, right has always been wrong, closing your eyes has become the only way to see and holding your breath is the proper way to breath.

Like the witches in Shakespeare's "Macbeth", life has its own twisted logic, a backwards way of thinking.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

--EOB.