think this was written early am of the 3rd but i'm not sure cuz this is a direct copy from my notebook. the date is crossed off a mill, theres a time between night and morning where its hard to keep shit straight.. and yea sorry for errors if theres any, i'm not a great typist either or w/e

my first time in this city tho, was probably about 19 or 20 but no older, and man the realization hit me-- that some people in NYC still have to mix water in their cornflakes too.

i didn't leave georgia state lines or see the us until that time, for tour, but when the 1st check came in and all of the ones after, i went back to ATL and tried to get as many homies out the alley crack house fire-escape stoops and corners as i could but they all remained, only asked for my voice, didnt have hands out, nothin. "just speak for us" and "pray for us nigga"-- i try everday.

nyc? age 19, 20, 21, 22?? 'makin it' but they're in government housing? while i write from a tour bus?? my heart is still with the gutter and it's people, or whats left of it. "blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled." matthew 5:6? do i believe you, grandmama? well i want to. i will still pray for them

but nyc?? yea i saw her for what she was.

nyc is like this girl thats hella fuckin enticin, sensual n electric, so pretty from afar to the point that you imagined n fabricated her finer details yourself becuz it's -that- hard to catch up to her to get a good look. pretty eyes, pretty thighs, but you get close up and it's a bunch of pretty fuckin lies. and that face is as old as the brick on randall avenue in the bronx. still, nyc, she's a pretty thought. her lights are still skimmin the window actually

then too, man, half my life i told myself deep inside, i swore i truly hated women. loved to hate them, hated to love them. my uh 'hatelove' was so strong.. whats a better word?? it was maybe unrequited??? some shit, i dunno.

i've laid my hands on a woman before. too many women, too many times. i don't say this because i'm proud of myself or the fact of it. i'm a sick, wicked, ugly kind of man for the things that i have done in my life. i think about this specifically, a lot, and always come to the thought that that i oughta ask the lil boy in me what it was like to see hands put to my mama. more than that, i should make myself remember what she looked like after it was over... but i can't? i can't remember, cuz all picture memory is gone. is that the brain's way of avoidin trauma? so you don't get too fucked up?? or 25 years later, and i've sipped smoked poppped snorted it all gone? nah, i don't remember much on mom getting beat, but i can't forget what those girls looked like after i got at them

i used to front, push the excuse that i didn't have much of a father around me, so i didn't know none better, that i had to teach myself to be a man n had no one to mimic or w/e. like, before, at the end of the day... i " hated " women, even said she had it comin to her, too. i'm ashamed. now tho, now i know hitting meant i got her when she was vulnerable to me. i got to touch her when she was like that, when she was the softest

i didn't have it in me to ask if i could take her hand n squeeze it when i was sad, pissed, scared, negative at all---and be fuckin vulnerable too. instead i just took out my fuckin inability to process on her... and her, her, her too. all of em

so strive, reach somewhere, challenge yourself n draw whether it's a feeling you got, someone/something you love, a nightmare you had recently, your favorite place, your damn dog whatever. if i can do it you can too.

imma try to get better at this drawin thing.... idk. maybe i should stick to rhymes and beat drops so be honest af with me people. cuz you know i'll always be honest with yall. 8-)

peace, bless you and keep doin it up,

- f.h.