11.01.2004
Crazy...Deranged...
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." ~Jules, as portrayed by Samuel Jackson in Pulp Fiction
Here is something you can’t understand, how I can just kill a man...
I hadn’t heard or thought about that song in like uh-deen years. I remember when Cypress Hill first hit the scene with that single, it was amazing to see how many people felt their angst and desire to just rip a mugs heart out. Saturday morning I relived those days.
Halloween since ’96 has been about my Adult Trick or Treat | Get Your Freak jam-a-rama. It’s all about dressing up and allowing your alter-ego its opportunity to show its true colors. I lapsed a few years ago and went two straight years without getting dressed, but last year I decided to bring Pinky out of retirement. Besides, he needed to check on some of his hoes, if you know what I mean. Anyway, anyone who has ever thrown a party knows the work one must put in many hours before the first guest arrives bottle in hand, ready to get crunked. I’m a clean freak, but still before company comes over I get in those corners and quite literally spit shine my house. Then there’s the food, the bar, the re-arrangement of furniture and various precious objects I don’t want some drunk fool to accidentally break and a whole host of unmentionables I won’t bother to bore you with.
So I’m up 8:30 am Saturday morning prepping my list of must haves before the nights festivities are scheduled to begin (this mind you, having only slept three hours the night before). I complete the list, tell Sdot I’ll catch up with him later and hit the road. By 9:45 I had already crossed four items off my list and if the traffic held up I was looking to be back home by 12:30 the latest.
[Enter Stress stage door right.]
I’m not one of those weirdo’s that believes everything happens for a reason (please), or one of the ones that believes some people are just out to get you—--oh hell, who am I fooling, I believe in all of that shit! Some people spend their whole lives waiting for the right moment to fuck with you, and if you give them that opportunity they will gladly ruin your day.
So I’m on the phone with Sdot bragging about having finished my party chores way before the allotted time when I happened across quite a bit of traffic heading towards the Holland Tunnel on 7th Avenue south. Mind you it’s not even 11:30 a.m. and already the traffic is getting out of control. Oh but wait, I see an opening! If I can just get up there make a quick left and shoot over to Broadway I can still make it home before 12:00. So I creep up until finally I can make a left and bam! The police have the street blocked off with those blue fucking barriers—----fuck! Now I’m going to have to wait two more blocks before I can attempt another left.
I report this news to Sdot who has been keeping entertained as I make my way through the growing traffic when from my peripheral vision I spot this guy waving his arms at me. When I look I can see the rage in his eyes [a typical New York response to unexpected traffic], I wave him off and continue talking to my boy. But this guy keeps going however, and has now decided to lower his window to fully let me have it. In kind I lower mine and the first thing I hear is: “Move your piece of shit car! Your car is shit!”, in a deep middle eastern voice. Ah-ight so my feelings are hurt, since I like to think I have quite a nice looking car—---I mean cause---I bought it right! With my hard earned money right?! So how fucking dare this mercedes benz driving motherfucker diss my shit while sitting pretty in what some would call a much better vehicle! Now you know ego ain’t taking that shit! So I proceed to tell him to go fuck himself, which apparently angers him and his wife/girlfriend/bitch or whatever the fuck you want to call her to no apparent end! They are hopping mad! How dare this common car driving fool raise his voice at us! I see the hate growing, and growing and growing until finally he threatens to hurl his latte at my car! Hold up what?!! Ego is registering all of this and is slowing begging that I release some tension—--that I do what’s expected (yeah I'm from the hood) and act a fool! REPRESENT he’s yelling in my ear! Niggah you BETTA represent!
So I bite my lower lip and give one ole niggah I wish you would stare. Man this shit goes on for about sixty seconds or so, he acting like he wanna start something, and me ready, willing and able to finish it. His wife his yelling some shit in the background like fuck you, or go ahead and leave us alone, instead of controlling her fucking man who from my perspective has chosen to start a war with me. The traffic is growing and swelling around us, and people on the street have stopped to take in this (in retrospect) amusing spectacle. Then he did it, the motherfucker did it! He took his nasty fucking half drunken $8.75 latte and threw-eth it upon my chariot! Needless to say I lost it, and from here the story gets a little murky.
I jump out of my car run to his and proceed to kick the shit out of that pearl white Mercedes, quickly prompting him to exit. When he goes I realize damn! This mofo’s big! So I run back to my car retrieve my security device [a big chrome contraption that locks the break] and swing it at my approaching enemy. He stops, eyes the metal amusingly and begins taunting me—--which instantly brings to mind the hip-hop phrase don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head! I hold onto this lock ready to swing at any moment realizing that if I do, my whole life would change. All that I had worked to accomplish, all that I had done up until that point to keep from traveling the same road my two older brothers had traveled recklessly is staring me dead in the eye. I see it, but I don’t see it. I know I’m acting outside of love but I don’t give a fuck. I know people are watching me staring [especially the big apple double decker tourist bus whose patrons are leaning over the top to fully embrace a new york moment they’ve waited all of there lives and have paid countless dollars to see] but I don’t care—--all that matters is this mother fucker standing in front of me, with his fist balled tight and his eyes locked to mine. Then the siren sounds. Someone yells police and orders us to back up. I hold my stance and continue to eye my predator. I do not trust him or his intentions. Hearing the police he retreats, walks to my car and stomps my hood with his right foot. My heart sinks. It’s the first time my baby has felt pain—--I walk towards him but I’m stopped by the police. His wife who has been yelling and yelling and yelling finally spits the truth. She looks at me curls her lips and says clearly: fuck you, you fucking black fuck!
And there it was, the truth. All I could do was look at the cop and say: but did you hear what she just said? And hope he'd have the decency to let me go. Luckily, he didn't.
I said I wasn’t going to post this story, that I was going to let it go. That I wasn’t going to let this occurrence fuck with me like it has all weekend. I said they were the ignorant ones, the strangers who entered my life and within a single moment transformed it completely. I reasoned that this could have happened to anyone, and the outcome would have probably been the same, or with the right one, even worse. Minutes later while crossing the BK bridge the anger began to wane and I felt the tears but choked them back, I would not give them the satisfaction; I would not weaken because of them.
Even now I could go on and on about my feelings during that moment and throughout the rest of the weekend, but just writing this is making me sick. But it just goes to prove that everything does happen for a reason. I know now more than ever that there is a God...because he kept whispering over and over in my ear, “you are not going to swing this lock, this is not where your story will end...”
And, I listened. Thanks man, I always knew you had my back.
|
Here is something you can’t understand, how I can just kill a man...I hadn’t heard or thought about that song in like uh-deen years. I remember when Cypress Hill first hit the scene with that single, it was amazing to see how many people felt their angst and desire to just rip a mugs heart out. Saturday morning I relived those days.
Halloween since ’96 has been about my Adult Trick or Treat | Get Your Freak jam-a-rama. It’s all about dressing up and allowing your alter-ego its opportunity to show its true colors. I lapsed a few years ago and went two straight years without getting dressed, but last year I decided to bring Pinky out of retirement. Besides, he needed to check on some of his hoes, if you know what I mean. Anyway, anyone who has ever thrown a party knows the work one must put in many hours before the first guest arrives bottle in hand, ready to get crunked. I’m a clean freak, but still before company comes over I get in those corners and quite literally spit shine my house. Then there’s the food, the bar, the re-arrangement of furniture and various precious objects I don’t want some drunk fool to accidentally break and a whole host of unmentionables I won’t bother to bore you with.
So I’m up 8:30 am Saturday morning prepping my list of must haves before the nights festivities are scheduled to begin (this mind you, having only slept three hours the night before). I complete the list, tell Sdot I’ll catch up with him later and hit the road. By 9:45 I had already crossed four items off my list and if the traffic held up I was looking to be back home by 12:30 the latest.
[Enter Stress stage door right.]
I’m not one of those weirdo’s that believes everything happens for a reason (please), or one of the ones that believes some people are just out to get you—--oh hell, who am I fooling, I believe in all of that shit! Some people spend their whole lives waiting for the right moment to fuck with you, and if you give them that opportunity they will gladly ruin your day.
So I’m on the phone with Sdot bragging about having finished my party chores way before the allotted time when I happened across quite a bit of traffic heading towards the Holland Tunnel on 7th Avenue south. Mind you it’s not even 11:30 a.m. and already the traffic is getting out of control. Oh but wait, I see an opening! If I can just get up there make a quick left and shoot over to Broadway I can still make it home before 12:00. So I creep up until finally I can make a left and bam! The police have the street blocked off with those blue fucking barriers—----fuck! Now I’m going to have to wait two more blocks before I can attempt another left.
I report this news to Sdot who has been keeping entertained as I make my way through the growing traffic when from my peripheral vision I spot this guy waving his arms at me. When I look I can see the rage in his eyes [a typical New York response to unexpected traffic], I wave him off and continue talking to my boy. But this guy keeps going however, and has now decided to lower his window to fully let me have it. In kind I lower mine and the first thing I hear is: “Move your piece of shit car! Your car is shit!”, in a deep middle eastern voice. Ah-ight so my feelings are hurt, since I like to think I have quite a nice looking car—---I mean cause---I bought it right! With my hard earned money right?! So how fucking dare this mercedes benz driving motherfucker diss my shit while sitting pretty in what some would call a much better vehicle! Now you know ego ain’t taking that shit! So I proceed to tell him to go fuck himself, which apparently angers him and his wife/girlfriend/bitch or whatever the fuck you want to call her to no apparent end! They are hopping mad! How dare this common car driving fool raise his voice at us! I see the hate growing, and growing and growing until finally he threatens to hurl his latte at my car! Hold up what?!! Ego is registering all of this and is slowing begging that I release some tension—--that I do what’s expected (yeah I'm from the hood) and act a fool! REPRESENT he’s yelling in my ear! Niggah you BETTA represent!
So I bite my lower lip and give one ole niggah I wish you would stare. Man this shit goes on for about sixty seconds or so, he acting like he wanna start something, and me ready, willing and able to finish it. His wife his yelling some shit in the background like fuck you, or go ahead and leave us alone, instead of controlling her fucking man who from my perspective has chosen to start a war with me. The traffic is growing and swelling around us, and people on the street have stopped to take in this (in retrospect) amusing spectacle. Then he did it, the motherfucker did it! He took his nasty fucking half drunken $8.75 latte and threw-eth it upon my chariot! Needless to say I lost it, and from here the story gets a little murky.
I jump out of my car run to his and proceed to kick the shit out of that pearl white Mercedes, quickly prompting him to exit. When he goes I realize damn! This mofo’s big! So I run back to my car retrieve my security device [a big chrome contraption that locks the break] and swing it at my approaching enemy. He stops, eyes the metal amusingly and begins taunting me—--which instantly brings to mind the hip-hop phrase don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head! I hold onto this lock ready to swing at any moment realizing that if I do, my whole life would change. All that I had worked to accomplish, all that I had done up until that point to keep from traveling the same road my two older brothers had traveled recklessly is staring me dead in the eye. I see it, but I don’t see it. I know I’m acting outside of love but I don’t give a fuck. I know people are watching me staring [especially the big apple double decker tourist bus whose patrons are leaning over the top to fully embrace a new york moment they’ve waited all of there lives and have paid countless dollars to see] but I don’t care—--all that matters is this mother fucker standing in front of me, with his fist balled tight and his eyes locked to mine. Then the siren sounds. Someone yells police and orders us to back up. I hold my stance and continue to eye my predator. I do not trust him or his intentions. Hearing the police he retreats, walks to my car and stomps my hood with his right foot. My heart sinks. It’s the first time my baby has felt pain—--I walk towards him but I’m stopped by the police. His wife who has been yelling and yelling and yelling finally spits the truth. She looks at me curls her lips and says clearly: fuck you, you fucking black fuck!
And there it was, the truth. All I could do was look at the cop and say: but did you hear what she just said? And hope he'd have the decency to let me go. Luckily, he didn't.
I said I wasn’t going to post this story, that I was going to let it go. That I wasn’t going to let this occurrence fuck with me like it has all weekend. I said they were the ignorant ones, the strangers who entered my life and within a single moment transformed it completely. I reasoned that this could have happened to anyone, and the outcome would have probably been the same, or with the right one, even worse. Minutes later while crossing the BK bridge the anger began to wane and I felt the tears but choked them back, I would not give them the satisfaction; I would not weaken because of them.
Even now I could go on and on about my feelings during that moment and throughout the rest of the weekend, but just writing this is making me sick. But it just goes to prove that everything does happen for a reason. I know now more than ever that there is a God...because he kept whispering over and over in my ear, “you are not going to swing this lock, this is not where your story will end...”
And, I listened. Thanks man, I always knew you had my back.
