agape… (A poem by Jack)

It’s a bit erroneous and fallacious to say..But you see me as a man of yesterday year.. I keep telling you… I am not that man.. He is not me.. Our likeness not the same.. Our origins unique..

But no matter what.. You keep drawing on our similarities..

I am not, He…

The love you kept reserved for him, you restrain from me…

But.. I am not, He..

The recalcitrance you bestow upon me… Was never meant for me at all.. But disappointment bleeding through from  time before…

A time precious… A time that never goes away.. No you don’t reside in the past but some past do their best to keep pace with the future..

But.. I am not, He…

You weep tears that were never meant for me… Curse the very breath I breathe.. I stand in disbelief because by your conviction you swear they were meant for me..

But.. I am not, He…

Now the suffering I endure.. The vitriol I deflect.. All because the love I chose…and the man I choose to be..

But I am not him…

Maybe he crafted how you see me… And all the other Me’s you’ve ever saw who just happened to be his mini-Me’s in your eyes..

But… I am not, he..

All I seek is to get my face back…

When will you see me and me alone….

When will you see that I am not him?

And how are you so different… (A blog inspired by Lamar Odom)


The impetus of this Blog all started off from a question proposed by my current life partner.  I informed her that I started reading a Lamar Odom interview and I saw a lot of myself in who he was.

She then proposed a question to me that resonated: How are you so different?

It sparked some thought within my mind. I live by the philosophy that there is an existence beyond our five senses: ideals, concepts, and things seemingly imperceivable and not so much verifiable by conventional scientific means. I believe the majority of individuals have an intuition of the same inclination but struggle to reconcile this belief with their everyday existence. Most, I presume, live there life by certainty. Bills are cut and dry and are certainly due. Food is tangible and you certainly need to eat. Sexual desire is certainly real and we seek outlets for the expression. But there are so many nebulous concepts and motivations out there that inspire people, and I believe these intangible desires begin many of the psychological rifts within a person. For instance, love: how can you define love? Can it simply be reduced to chemical reactions and a genetic desire to promulgate a phenotype or is there something more to it, something other worldly about it. The soul: do we all have one, or maybe it’s a subsection of the mind or a construct of such?

And so the question remains…

What makes me any different than Mr. Lamar Odom? Initially I was a bit affronted by the question, because she subsequently stated I often think you have issues. As I began to reflect more upon the question I realized he and I were not so different. No matter how much I attempted to rationalize the truth, there is a part of Lamar that links him to me and that part is the yearning for truth.  The yearning for an understanding of who we are and what we are, and the reconciliation of both ideals.

Lamar stated in an interview: “Wherever my heart is and I can have peace of mind (is home). Life can seem nomadic because I don’t know if I’m embracing it or running from it. I can go anywhere, but I don’t know where I want to be.”

This is a very telling statement. I see a lot within this statement. I see a man attempting to reconcile the thoughts in his head with the life that’s been presented to him. I see a man struggling to quiet the voice that’s telling him that there is more truth to life than the common eye can discern. A man who has suffered much but has no true solace for his suffering only the thoughts within his head.  Those thoughts provide his only console and so he self-medicates. Perhaps as an attempt to drown out the reality of it all, because maybe the reality that he can doesn’t feel so real after all.  And the reality he can sense isn’t evident enough.

Of course I could be projecting all this on to Lamar. I’ve only seen the man once in passing at an AAU tournament I played in when I was younger an Loyola Marymount University..

Lamar: “I’m searching,” he says. “I’m searching, but I don’t know for what. I can’t see what I’m looking for. I just, like, reach out and hope I grab something. But I don’t know what it will be because I don’t know what I’m searching for.”

I see a man who derives no fulfillment from fame and money. He enjoys its fruits but it does nothing for his soul. A man beginning to understand the fact that who is isn’t necessarily all that is to him and his existence.  The money fame is never enough and was never enough, it only created a buffer between him and others.  It only further entrapped him into a prison of his own thoughts and his own means of self-actualization.  Which can make a man feel alone, it’s hard to make your self vulnerable when you live most of your waking life being the image you portray yourself as.

Lamar: “I think about a lot. I think all the time–about everything… There’s so much going on. So many thoughts. I think about this life. About me. Who I could be. Who I was. Who I am. Who am I?”

These seem to be self reflective questions that any person would ask themselves. The “issues “arise when the answers you receive become irreconcilable with your truth.  Some people find these answers through religion, others through societies standards and still others seek to derive their own answers. Although our circumstances are vastly different and the manner in which I choose to go about seeking those answers differ. Maybe there are less differences between us as I would have liked to presume– Lamar and I.

So then the question truly becomes…

How are YOU so different?


“I’m a dying breed…There are no more Lamar Odoms. I’m the last one”

Here is a link to the Chris Palmer, Bleacher Report interview from which the quotes were pulled: http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2580319-finding-lamar-odom-tracking-down-the-elusive-and-recently-embattled-former-star

Rested eye… (A poem by Jack)

Prone..

I lay supine.. As the voices chattered among themselves..

And Taunting me in the same notion..

A single tear struggled to find it’s way out of the crevice of my left eye..

“You’re a kingless man.. You’ll never get what you want…”

Was it the truth… Was it a truth.. Was it my truth.. At that moment it didn’t so much matter..
You see, because they are quite keen.. They know exactly when I’m convinceable..

Vulnerability is every man’s downfall…

And that’s what this is about.. Me and my convincing nature… So a man thinketh and so is he..

And at that very moment.. The tear trapped in my eye could tell you exactly who I was…

Who I am..

And who I was meant to be.. 

All converging at a crossroads…

While I lay supine… Lost in a gaze… 

mud is bond (a poem by Jack)

I am not bonded by word but by choice…
Don’t need symbols because my flesh communicates everything on my behalf..

Child of the stars… My genetics run deep… We never worshipped the sun but saw it since it’s infancy and encouraged it’s growth with jubilation…

We mourned the moon, but now nature grieves for us…

Mud born we reigned….

Jacob fooled Essau… But that was supposedly just a warning.. Only an allegory… But I see my siblings giving away birthrights as though they have no idea what a birthright is…

It’s death or liberty.. But death is liberty… So why trade freedom for comfort.. Why trade freedom for convenience.. What is freedom in reality, when reality is nothing more than Jacob’s lie…

Fucc Jacob and his words… Do not be bounded by them.. But know each choice reverberates for infinity… Bound by choice we are…
Your flesh was never coincidence…
The mud runs deeper than the blood could ever….

I am Child (a poem by Jack)

Like the little boy… Who yearns for mommy…

He is me…

Mood..

This is the current inundation that has flooded my lungs and has suffocated my spirit..

I miss something.. But I don’t know what…

I feel alone.. But don’t know quite why..

I want to cry.. But the tears refuse to flow..

It’s like life.. Has sewn my tear ducts shut..

A jaded mule I’ve become..

Some nights ago I heard the spirit of lovers past.. They were screams of anguish.. Begging heavens gate to send a new me.. I saw the irony and truly sympathized but felt no pity…

I guess I’m in a frozen place… A state of mind trapped somewhere between freedom and remorse… I’m somewhere between moving on and I’m already passed that..I’m running in place in a hurry to get nowhere..

I’m somewhere.. In some Galaxy.. In the fetal position with mommy rubbing my back..

I’m somewhere being replenished by the fathomless tears that this life would not let me shed..

I am child…

Kettle Black (a poem by Jack)

Maybe it’s you, you’ve feared all along..

All those unknown sounds in the night that gave you such a scare..perhaps it was you who went bump all along…

Projecting your revoltish of actions on to others.. When in actuality you are everything that you’ve ever feared…

Look in the mirror and tell me what I see…

Steel sharpens steel… 

But what increases your doubt?

 Obviously whatever it is is also the impetus of your frustrations..

She put up a wall immediately..
A bulwark thwarting off my every question.. My every attempt to crack the surface.. A code that was never meant to be cracked.. At least not by the likes of a spurned lover such as myself..

Perhaps a code meant for another, a lock with a key that’s as broken as her unmended heart..

So ask yourself… “What am I meant to do.. When I’m devil I was always warned about?”

The curse that was never meant to be spoken…

Beyond the paradox.. (A poem by Jack)

Too preoccupied with positioning themselves within a paradigm..When ironically they are the paragon..

Coincidentally enough.. This has created quite the paradox..

For the potential is there.. Whether it’s realized or not..

The others see.. 

Pardon me ma’am but your regal bearing is being withheld.. Is what they murmur..

As they look upon in contempt and disgust as their dignitary doesn’t act so dignified..

But she still be so..

So they can’t withdraw their gaze..

She has their attention and always will..

For beyond the paradox they feel the truth..

But beyond their sight.. They can’t see.. They refuse to see.. Eyes not shut.. This is voluntary blindness..

But within the paradox she feels stifled but has found a vagabonds nestling.. Is she refugee… Is she vagabond.. Is she slave..is she captive(a civilization’s battery)..  Is she gipsy..

As it may be she still and will always be Queen..