Post IV (Job, Life, Issue, Art from Ashes, & Pics!)

So around the 27th of May, things were bad, but they were on an up-swing.  I was living in a shelter, but I had also met and connected with this great Afrocentric community who was spiritually supporting me greatly.  My car was running ok, did not have any issues with police, or my car breaking down.  I had done two open mics, one profitable, the other a loss with the slam.  So poetically things were not looking good, but life-wise, things were ok.  I was going to Bayaud in the mornings with my laptop and applying for jobs.  On the 27th of May, which was a Friday, I got a call and job offer.  It wasn't much money, but it was more than nothing, so I had to take it.  I would be holding a sign for a sale that was happening in a strip mall...so I was homeless holding a sign for money.  It was ironic as hell, but I had to do what I had to do, lol

I was making mad connections.  Mary, the lady who was working with me at Bayaud was great and including me in a lot of stuff.  The people at the temp agency and job were cool too. (Shout out to Go-Lite clothing--my temp employer...lol!)  I was also working on getting better jobs, so my cellphone stayed by me like my skin.  And I was sticking close to my new community-family at 5 Points.  So this entry is dated 6/5, and it's long, so I'll break it down into separate posts, and lookout because there will be pictures!!...yaaaa

                                                                                                                                                                                                   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 4^th 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

Post IIIa (Supplement on Homelessness)

I wanted to pause and put some supplemental writing here.  Homelessness is a huge issue.  I never understood it until I became homeless.  And it felt like my situation was more by choice then situation, because I decided to quit my job, leave Omaha, and start new with no plan.  

However, I wanted to pause here and just say that being homeless was one of the most positive experiences that I have had.  It was also degrading, and depressing, but the people who were around me gave upliftment by the minete.  For instance, when I went to Bayaud Enterprises and met Mary; not only was she helpful, but she reassured me that I would not be homeless forever, and that it was a temporary situation.  Not once was she negative, or told me that I could not do something.  And I wasn't her only client, Mary is like that with everyone!!

The other experience that I had was with the shelter.  Now granted, it was not the greatest of places to stay, but it was a place to stay.  Sure it was two rooms in the basement of a church with 60 bunk-beds housing like 130 men, but the men I came in contact were positive, hard-working men.  And yes, there were some stereotypical homeless types there, but I didn't engage them.  There was a certain level of brother-hood, and honor there.  The biggest thing though was work--with those of us who were working, enjoyed working, it made us feel like men, like we were a positive part of society and not just some leech in the street begging for change.

That brings me my final point, of the way that mainstream society treats homeless people.  Society can do a whole lot more, and show a whole lot more compassion.  As a homeless person, my day went like this:  Wake up call at 5:30 am; had to be out of shelter by 7:00 am.  I didn't have to be to work until 11am.  However, if I had to use the bathroom, I either had to buy something, or I was refused the key, because there was a high homeless population in the area.  That sucked.  The other thing was just trying to find somewhere to chill and just be until I went to work.  Most people have never had to kill like four hours in a day--its damn hard with no money, and no where to go unless you have money to spend.  There needs to be somewhere for homeless people to go, during the day, for their off day, or times when they are not working, (if they are employed).

I understand that there are homeless people who sleep in parks, beg for change, and disrupt the regular schedule of greater society--but we are people as well.  I've chilled in the park, sat in the shadows just waiting, waiting on the time to report to work--and it's a hard thing to do when you have no place to call home.  I challenge anyone who calls themselves a up-standing and productive member of society to be homeless for a week.  Check into a shelter, get up, go to work, then check back in the shelter, eat dinner, shower, and go to bed.  And try to live like a homeless person for a week--I dare you!  It's a damn hard thing to do and still remain positive, and sober.

So I tip my hat to the homeless, and tell them: keep ya head up, I know it ain't easy, but you are still human, you are still a part of society, and there is love and respect out there for you.

Post III (May 28, 2011-Timeline)

So that last post was a bit rough, I'll admit it, I was in a bad place.  This next post gives background details as to how and why I went so "crazy".  It too starts off real rough, but it's where I was.  For all the readers I hope this post will give you some kind of hope when you read through it.  We all go through times, hard situations, and deal with some bad people, the trick is to learn the best way of dealing with it.  Now I do not suggest doing what I did, but it worked for me, but others are not so lucky....So here's the post from May 28, 2011

Written on 5-28-11

This will be my third night in a shelter.  Denver, CO, was never in my master plan as a teen, but neither were a lot of things.   I have not used names of the people I have recently met to maintain and respect their privacy.

I believe I began to go crazy (literally) around the summer of 2010.  I had been back in Omaha for about 2 years, because my sister needed help.  I did my damnest to help her, but to no avail.  The house and car my father left us will be sold at auction, about a year from now, because of back taxes.  I couldn’t take it; depression, working two jobs, and a strained relationship with my now deceased mother, had taken its toll. 

From 2008 till the summer of 2010, I worked at Blackburn under Scott English, he was principal.  The job was peace; I worked with the teacher and kids, he gave me space to do it.  I was motivated and inspired.  I thought I could work two jobs, save money and pay the back taxes.  As time went on, I realized it couldn’t happen.  I began to become devastated. 

In September of 2010, Mr. English left, and Blackburn received a new principal, a Mr. Marisett.  Upon meeting him that summer, I was not impressed, I wasn’t inspired.  For the first week of that school year, I was on time; then things began to fall apart.  I didn’t want to work at Blackburn under this new principal—Mr. Marisett.   To me he was a pompous ass, two-faced, and very closed minded.  More and more I was taking time off work, or going in late.  By the time Christmas break had come, I had already used all my vacation days, sick time, and emergency leave.

The atmosphere at the school was depressing.  The staff morale was lower than a snake’s belly and there wasn’t a cohesive senior class.  It felt like the kids didn’t want it, the teachers didn’t want it, and the only thing the new administrator did was alienate and separate the administration from the staff.

In late March, I received a letter from Human Resources.  It said that if I was late one more time, I would be fired.  Only a small part of me cared; I turned in my two week notice on April 15^th.

Between my personal, financial issues with the house, my sister being unable to help herself and losing custody of her children, and me being helpless to help, I just started losing it.  I was drinking every day, smoking a lot more weed than normally, and the lady I had in my life was not helpful.

In March of 2011, the lease on my apartment was up and I was ready to go; but I had no destination, and had quit my part time job.  I had very little savings, bad tags, and no license.  I went month to month with my apartment until May.  In May I didn’t pay my rent or my light bill, and decided to buy a gun. 

My insanity had reached critical.  I didn’t want to kill myself immediately, but I wanted to be prepared if I really got into a jam. 

So the day I go to get the permit for the gun, the lady I was dating shows up at the police station.  She’s freakin’ out because she’s scared I’m going to harm myself—like immediately.  I’m pissed because she’s trying to control me and my life.  I got the permit, and went back to my apartment, but I didn’t allow her in my apartment, but I began to throw things out.  She was sitting in her truck watching me.  This went on for about 20 minutes, and then she left.  I figured, hell, this is my chance to go get the gun with no drama.  So I got the gun, some bullets and went back to the apartment.  About 45 minutes later, the police burst through the door, in full body armor, with shields, and pointed guns, then force me to the floor, in my own apartment.  This was not because I didn’t pay the rent.  Apparently, anyone who knows you, or knows of you, in the state of Nebraska, can petition to have you declared insane or suicidal, and the police will come and take you to the county hospital.

It was Thursday, May 5^th (Cinco de Mayo), and I was in a state of shock.  I was cool with the police, I was cool with the nurse who did the hospital admittance on me, hell, I was even cool with the staff on the psych-ward floor.  I couldn’t figure out whether I was madder, shocked, or over-ran.    But I made it through the night, with no sleep aid (drugs) or any medications.

Friday came and I spoke with the doctor.  After speaking with her, and some very nice ladies from social services, I believed, that they believed, that I was not suicidal.  However, they did need verification from another friend of mine, to offset the petition—so I told them to call my best friend.  Because I had bought the gun, and it was out of character for me, he couldn’t and wouldn’t co-sign with me.  Therefore, I had to spend the weekend there until a meeting could be held with myself, the doctors, my best friend, and my so-called lady, who petitioned to have me placed there.

The weekend was cool, except no cigarettes, I did get to witness a person with several personalities who was entertaining, and I watched the NBA playoffs.  It wasn’t the worst weekend, but hell, it was FAR from the best.

So Monday finally came, and we (doctors, best friend, so called girlfriend) all sat down for this “is he, or ain’t he crazy” conversation.  My so called girl-friend, had her say and tried to bully the doctors into making me stay.  I attempted to retort, but was cut off, so I sat back patiently and allowed the doctors to witness the interaction.  The doctors asked my homie if I was suicidal, he said he didn’t really think so, but wasn’t sure.  And of course everyone knew my position at the table.  To make a long story short; since I had no past suicide attempts, or record of being psycho, they had to release me.  The only thing was the cops had my gun.

It was the 9^th when I got out, and I told myself I wouldn’t drink or smoke—I’d just pack my shit, and bounce outta Omaha.  However, there were problems.  One, my funds were very limited, two, my car situation (bad tags, no license, old car), and three, the cops had my gun, which I spent $260 on.  Now peep this, my so-called girlfriend went through the few Facebook friends I have and told them I went crazy, and to pray for me.  She even went so far as to call my ex-girlfriend and homie in Atlanta, where I spent 12 years!  That, was….just….hey, it left me speechless.  So I had to call people and let them know I was safe and all that stuff.  I just hate looking like a fool, because someone thinks that I’m crazy…ok, back to the story.

I tried to get my gun back, and spent a week jumping through hoops and shit, but in the end, it was too much to go through.  So I said fuck it.  The night before I left I went to the bar across the street from my apartment, because I had had it with Omaha Police, the Sheriff Department, and the Courthouse—no one was going to give me that gun back.  And so I was out of money that I needed, or my last option.  So I go to the bar, and got drunk as hell.  There were some friends there I had met a few weeks back, so we decided to go to my spot after the bar closed.  We played some dominoes, had a good time, etc.  To make a long story short, I ended up giving my year old futon away, and the next morning I was on I-29 headed to Kansas.

…on 5/18

I don’t remember the name of the town in Kansas I stopped at, but the hotel was cool and cheap.  I was pretty clear minded, was doing ok on money, not superb, but gas wasn’t kickin’ my ass.  I had made it all the way to Kansas with no police interference, and no car issue, thanks to The Most High.  I was scared, nervous, kind of like a new child feeling, but I had gone too far to go back.  When I was in the motel in Kansas, for the first time in years I actually got on my knees and prayed.  I had begun to feel safe again, watched over.  I spoke and prayed to the Most High throughout the trip and currently till this moment—Give Thanks!  The Most High keeps me, protects me, and keeps the devil and demons from harming me—this I don’t believe, this I Know. 

So I arrive in Denver on May 19^th, and try to find a hotel when my car begins to smoke—my radiator was bone dry.  But again, the Most High watched over me and blessed me.  I was able to get it to a near hotel.  The hotel was expensive though—it was like $60 a night.  I stayed there for three nights (from the 18^th to the 20^th) I then found another hotel that I thought was $30 a night, but ended up being $40 a night, and stayed there for five days.  I spent about $240—I was busted. 

Now during all this, I had contacted a homie I knew in Oklahoma, who put me down with some peeps in Denver who could help me out.  Now this Denver contact has been a God-send.  Although we have never met in person, to date (5/28/11), I consider her, my God-send, and my sista.  She has given me contacts on poetry spots in Denver and hooked me up with a real community of people—I give thanks for this sista, and the brotha king she’s connected me with, who in turn has connected me with this great community of people who stay in the 5 Points area of Denver!

So since then I been livin….I been prayin’, I been givin’ thanks, and been gettin’ many many blessings.  I give thanks for the time you’ve spent reading this entry, and give thanks

To kind of give you a time-line of what happened before I ended up in the shelter this is what happened.  I stopped in Denver because they have poets, and I thought I could sell some cd's and maybe make it as a working poet/writer.  So I checked out the scene, and went to a couple places....

May 20th--Open Mic @Mercury Cafe--Performed, and met Ted V.,  very good dude.  He gave me his card because at that point I was leaning toward sticking and staying.  Also the crowd gave me hella luv, and I did get some funds.  

May 22nd--Slam @ Mercury Cafe--Performed, but didn't sell any cd's.  Mood was real low, because my funds were getting lower--needed money that I did not get.

May 23rd--Went to Bayaud Enterprises--Met a great lady named Mary who helped me get into a shelter.  If it was not for Mary and Bayaud Ent. I may not be here right now!

May 26th--1st night in homeless shelter in Denver, CO; 16th and Sherman 

May 27th--While searching jobs online at Bayaud Ent., Kelly Services called and offered job for $8/hr--I took it immediately!--***Attended block party at 5 Points--found loving, supportive Afrocentric community--Positive and Powerful energy***

May was a roller-coaster month for me, and by the end of it, I may had been homeless, but I wasn't jobless.  The end of May was important because I found a community that I love; the people are fantastic, the energy is overwhelmingly positive, and it was the beginning of great things.  The other fantastic fact about this month is that I traveled close to 700 miles without being pulled over--The Most High Blessed me!!!

Post II (May 22, 2011)

So since I'm not really sure how to do this thang, we'll wing it.  These post are in chronological order.  Because the first one is from my old blog, I'll give you a bit of background.  The early morning hours of May 18th I firmly decided to leave Omaha because my mentality had literally broken down, and the only thought I had was to leave immediately.  I had been drinking heavily the night before, and around noon on May 18th, I put a box of poetry, my clothes, and a box of ceramics in my car, and headed for I-29 to Kansas.  I ended up in Denver two days later, which is where the re-birth happens, but the 1st post is Sunday May 22nd.  We'll back-track with post III to give you a better understanding, but I want to try to keep this in chronological order as much as possible.  So here is the post from www.brasblog.blogspot.com

Sunday, May 22, 2011

So I've just opened the blind from my extended stay hotel, that I can barely afford, and let the day in. It's almost noon, in Aurora, and part of me feels like a fool for grabbing what I could, not paying my rent, and hopping in my car to try and find a new life, west of where I was living. Omaha, was done with me, and I was done with Omaha.

Now in Aurora, stressing until I can get some stability. And I understand that money ain't everything, but I'm quickly running out of what I had. This was not the reality check that I had expected, but it's what I got, so a brotha is tryin' to stay positive and let The Most High do his work. I know that I'm a work in progress, and The Most High has been helping me out, but patience is not one of my strong points.

I will go out tonight and perform at the slam, hopefully make some good connections, and find somewhere to stay past Wednesday. I have cd's to sell, and having good product is good, but I would feel safer with an actual job. I've never been a believer in myself, enough to start my own business, or hit the road to do this poetry thing. Even now I am feeling like all this was a mistake, but I have no other choice.

Monday I will go to Art from Ashes and speak with the people there, then hit up Ted at Argonaut, and probably call someone at the Catholic charities for some assistance. Also I'm debating about going to sell some plasma--probably will do that too. I also realized that while I have two forms of picture ID, I do not have my birth certificate, or ssn card, I feel like I'll be homeless come Wednesday.

So this is my blog, this is where I am; Aurora, jobless, running out of money, short on patience, faith in The Most High, preparing for a open mic, and scared. Having faith in The Most High, I go forth with my day experiencing what comes next.

Post I

What's good people?  I'm glad you've decided to come through and check out what this new thang is all about.  Some of you know me as C.B. (using initials for privacy issues), Omaha native, teacher, para-professional, poet, or all around good guy.  Some of you may know me as nabraska, the poet who spent 12 years in Atlanta, and was known for good drinkin', smokin' (weed), and a "in your face performance", also former co-host of Word On Tha Move.  Others may know me as combination of both.  And even some may know me from twitter (former402poet), or through facebook (poetfourzerotwo).  However you know me, I'm glad you're here, and welcome!!

So this is the new blog, New Brotha's Chronicle.  I named it that because I feel re-born. (don't trip it's not a Christian thang...lol)  From 2008-May 2011, I had a whole lot of issues.  I'm doin' this blog to release--lettin' the world know, I went crazy, temporary insanity, but I'm comin' back.  I'm chronicling the last few months here, to let everybody know, it's cool to go crazy, just have a plan, or some deep faith, and a road-map on how to get back to "so-called" sanity.

This blog will contain past blog issues from my old blog: www.brasblog.blogspot.com It was there when much of the background story begins, so I'll be incorporating posts from there into here.  Because my life is hectic, and I don't take note like I should some post will be put up, and an explanation will follow.

I hope that you will follow me, keep up with me and all that good jazz, and hopefully you will find something in this to help you in life, with life, or know that you are not alone out in this vast existence we call living.  Give Thanks....let's get it in!!!