6/5/11
Give Thanks to the Most High, for it is only through That Spirit, that all things are possible. Today, was a good day. The end of last week was pretty damn hard, a part of me might even say it was shitty, but I’ll stick with hard for now. Wednesday and Thursday, got to me pretty tough. Its hell when you’re homeless, and the only job you have is literally holding a sign on the side of the road, for someone else…now that is the definition of ironic.
Now Friday (6/3/11) was a kinda 50/50 day. On one hand, I had my morning routine, of going to McDonald's down the street around 7am (they wake us up at 5:30), then I head to Bayaurd, around 8am, talked to Mary, and then headed up the road 15 miles to the job site. I was a little late, but they didn’t trip. I was doing my routine, when I got a call from a lady at Vista. Now Vista is a program similar to AmeriCorps, so I thought cool—this might work out to be in my favor.
As the lady explained the program in detail, I got more excited, and at the same time, more disappointed. Now I knew that the salary was only 420/every other week, what I did not know was I would be having “indirect” contact with the youth I was serving. What this meant was that I would be assisting in creating programming for the youth, but I would not be “directly” delivering it. Now that sounds all well and good, and I can deal with that aspect, but as I thought about it, that’s a higher level position. So in my viewpoint, it should be paying a little bit more. Then I thought about it a little bit more, and what didn’t make sense to me was, how could I help create programming for people I had never met. I am used to tailor making programming for certain type students. I adjusted my poetry workshop twice for different type students—one in a group home, the others in a maximum security prison. Next I learned that they would not allow me to have a second job. Now that stung, it stung like hell, because when I was in AmeriCorps, I worked two 10 hour shifts at IKON on Saturday and Sunday. It was the only way I was making it through. Next I considered the money. It dawned on me—shit, I forgot about the garnishment that the IRS has on my wages from any job. After the taxes and the garnishment, I would probably only come out with about 200 every other week, about 400 a month—that I couldn’t do, that is like the darn impossible. So I had to pass on the job.
So all this happened around my lunch hour. Now also during this time, I was texting with the God-send/Queen my Oklahoma pat’na had put me in contact with. She reminded me of First Friday in the Arts District and I could probably hustle some cd’s. The only issue was I didn’t get off until 7, and the function would be crackin’ around 6. So I had to make a decision. The crazy part was that I actually was debating whether to stay on that corner and make money for the company, or take a chance, and hustle for myself. It took me about 2 minuets to say fuck it, and jet from that corner. I did tell the people a half ass truth—told them I had a show I forgot about—it wasn’t exactly a lie.
So I leave about 5:30ish close to 6—and wouldn’t you know it, I get caught in traffic. Now I was nervous, because it was warm, I wasn’t moving and was praying to The Most High that the radiator wouldn’t over-heat. Praise to the Most High, I made it down to First Friday with no overheating—Praise to the about a week ago. So it was mad cool!!! Now I get there, and there’s like hella people there, which is great, but the bad thing was it was a visual art show—great paintings, bad spot for a poet. L But I did get to meet my God-send in person which was hella cool, because she looks great!! Also she reminded me that Art from the Ashes might be doing an open mic for First Fridays which would be da bomb; and since it was only a few blocks up, I headed there with a bag of cd’s full of hope, but feeling shy as sin.
So I get over to Art from the Ashes and wouldn’t you know, they had a band setting up. Now this was bomb, because I had already made some contacts there about a week ago when I went in to perform my way to a independent contractor position. So the mic was really open for their youth, but they said it would be cool if I performed. They told me the band was going to perform first and then they’d do the open mic, so it was peace. I muddled about inside where there was like some upscale developer doing a show with some wine, beer, and snootie-tootie types. However, there was a visual artist also there, who was mad cool and she had a spread of cheese, dips, chips, and lemonade available for free—so I was in heaven! I spoke with her and found out that she does therapy paintings for youth…which again, is bomb. I wish I remembered the lady’s name; I’ll have to go back and update the blog. So I bounce between her and outside, where there are some Art from the Ashes people setting up, playing, chillin’ and what-not. I told them I would be back, and decided to go back around the corner until they got ready to do the open mic and stuff. Plus I was feeling really nervous for some reason around all these cool, artist-poet types.
So I hit the corner and go back to the studio where my God-send is. They got the DJ going, and the place is deep. I decide to go outside to find Woogie, the dj, who like co-runs the studio and artist space. He’s outside with this brotha, a Native chick, and her boyfriend. Now Woogie, is a straight character, a good brotha, with the gift for gab, and he’s on one tellin’ this story and gettin’ these people hyped. So I get the introductions—the brotha, that’s there, is a hip hop producer, the Native chick helps runs this pro-weed, education video site, and her boyfriend, I believe helped her with it, along with some other people. Now at this point, I’m kinda trippin’ because I am like in complete shy mode, and I’m not tellin’ anyone that I’m a poet or have cd’s or nothing. So I enter into the conversation and ask the folks what they do and what-not. So of course I’m sittin’ by the cute Native chick and ask her, do they ever feature poets, or spoken word artist on her channel. And she says yea, but the artist has to pay for the air time. (I’m thinkin’ wow, that sounds like an Atlanta hustle, but it’s cool, I already know that game.) So the Native chick asks me to spit, since I’m a poet, and I was more than happy to oblige, because that’s what I been wanting to do all night—showcase the skills to a captive audience. So I hit them with Verse, and they dug the shit!! A brotha was pretty relieved…..lol. So I let her know I had cd’s and whatnot, but since she was in the same industry, I didn’t make a sale, but it was cool. I also told them I was about to split because I was going to perform down the street. They said they would come through since it was so close, we all exchanged numbers, and I hit the corner again to go down to Art from the Ashes.
So I get back to Art from the Ashes and this short lady is performing, I thought she was a kid at first, but listening to her piece, found out she’s 22. Cool. I’m listening to some good poetry, and ask the host would it be cool if I performed, he said yea, it’s cool. So there’s like a small crowd, but they’re into it, so I’m cool. Before I go on, this youth, don’t know how old he was, or remember his name, but he gets up there…..and BOY, HE SPIT HIS SOUL!! The cat was hot, no joke….and I dig all types of poetry, but this brotha was mad nice. Found out later that he was visiting from New Mexico, and he comes to Denver every now and then. So I get up and spit….was hella nervous, and feelin’ shy, so I didn’t even let the small crowd know I had cds…yea, dummy move but cool. I hit them with Verse because the people from the art studio wasn’t there, and I felt like doing that one. I felt like the crowd felt that one….it was good! I had finally done what I was suppose to do. I got a couple compliments and told one person I had cd’s, but they didn’t get one; told me maybe next time….it was cool, I’m not trippin’. But the good thing that happened was I chopped it up with the youngsta from New Mexico, and we connected on that old grizzly poet, young choppa poet kinda level, and that was PEACE. Later I did see the Native chick and her boyfriend, they missed me, but it was cool, I was able to bring some people through “indirectly”….lol So the host was dope, and he performed some great pieces as well. So like the open mic had wound down, but the band had geared up and was inviting people to spit while they played. They were trying like hell to pull me up, but I mean these cats were spittin’ like a hip hop cyper, and my poetry stuff, sometimes, just don’t measure up, so I played the backround. Then one of the Art from the Ashes cats pulled out a trumpet….that was it….I hit that mic. I did Writer’s Block, kinda butchered it, but did it anyway….it was fun and cool. The only thing was, I was broke, didn’t sell any cd’s and was getting’ down on myself.
This is where things got a bit crazy on the night. So I’m tired, it’s past curfew for the shelter, and I’m worried that I may have to spend the night in the car—even though I didn’t smoke or drink—givin’ myself 30 days to clear the mind, body, and spirit. I give thanks to my peoples from Art from the Ashes, and head back to the studio to tell my God-send and Woogie goodnight. Now by this time the streets are FULL. There’s cars everywhere, people all in the street, people performing in the street….it’s like a mini-festival, with maximum people. And I’m buggin’ out, one because my shyness hit me in the head for the night, and I didn’t even ask people if they wanted a cd, second it’s like late as hell, and the curfew thing got me going, third I wanted to stay and get some courage about myself, and fouth, I was hopin’ that my car would be able to get me home—radiator issue. I get back to the studio, which is full, of course, tell Woogie, I gotta jet (there was a slight chance that if I stayed I could of gotten on the mic, but whateva), then I give Thanks and Blessings to my God-send and head out the door.
Now at this time I’m gettin’ frazzled. During the whole time, I’d been texting my ex (I know, I know mistake, but I’m learnin’)…..anyway…..she had been wishin’ me well, sendin’ me positive energy, the whole nine. So she textes me, and ask if I made contacts—I said some good ones. I get another text and she asks, did I sell any cd’s—I’m like no. Now some people who know me, and I mean really know me, that my biggest stressor is Money…if I ain’t got it, I’m stressed the hell out….and at that point I was stressed the hell out!! Therefore, by her askin’ me if I had sold anything just increased my stress, because I knew I could have done better, but didn’t. So I’m driving back, stressed, half ass lost, almost out of squares, and on the verge of flippin’ the hell out, and throwin’ that damn cell phone out the window. By the time I get back to the area where the shelter is, I’m in full blown stressed mode. Folks are downtown drinkin’, partying, having a good time, etc. I’m watchin’, stressed, ready to pop my top, but giving Thanks to the Most High for delivering me safely back to the spot with a faulty radiator—Give Thanks Most High! So I park the car and walk down to the 7/11 because I feel it would be safer to walk. All the while I’m textin’ my ex, and tellin’ her all this crazy shit because that’s where I was at that moment. She’s like tellin’ me all the wrong stuff, and getting’ stressed out over me and my bullshit.
I get into 7/11 and see that they have shots—I came in for a pack of squares, but they had shots—I got a pack of squares, and left, in a hurry.
We argue so much I just say fuck it, and stopped answering her texts and looking at them—I was hotter than a fire-cracker on the 4th of July. I get back to the shelter, and Thank the Most High, they didn’t trip. I was cool on the night—no consequence, no problem—Most High blessed me again. Mad stressed out, I smoke a few squares, give Thanks to the Most High, and crash out—I was done.
Pics from 1st Friday @ Art from the Ashes:
By the way, if you know any of these people, please let them know that I have posted their likeness....lol
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