Fridays. Fridays? Yes...Fridays! Why do I always feel the same way each and every Friday. One would think after a thousand years (yes, sarcasm) your nostalgic or reminiscent feelings regarding life, people, folks, culture would certainly change to something else. Not the same thing again and again,
Well it is. Here we go. The same longing. The same void. The same pain. That same sense of longing.
And with so much going on in my world, one could even wonder who in the hell had time to think, let alone feel like this!
I do. Here, listening to Clarence Carter's, "The Feeling Is Right" and wondering where is the community of people who think and feel like that? Where are the ones who appreciate the rhythm, the words, the feel, the guts of what he's belting out in the tendrils of horns and heavy bass?
Where are the establishments that blast the music from the half-broken yet powerfully broadcasting jukeboxes? Where are the people who are ordering the fish plates, w/extra sides and extra hush puppies? Where are the establishments where the doors slam shut, the tables and chairs are rickety, and the tea is so sweet and cold it chills your teeth on first sip?
Where's the boulevard that's home to the beautiful, lavish cars that the men drive, yes men...I ain't trying to hear women right now...after checking in from a long work week and either headed to the streets or to the 'shack' to grab something to eat?
They all know they gonna meet up with Freddie, Joe or Eddie...Cause 9 times out ot 10, one of them owe him or them some money.
Where are the little brothers out there hustling for a dime or two; Selling bootleg DVD's, CD's, and knock-off Nike shoes and Coach bags too. Hoping and waiting to meet up wit Shanisha and maybe even go skating. Aay holla at me a l'il bit later as he slams shut his 'crackberry.' How dis li'l dude get a phone mo better than mine? Anyhow.
Where the mothers at, tired, draggin, just trying to get to the house because eventhough it's the weekend, Saturday still holds a day of laundry, dishes, and whatever else.
No guessing involved...it ain't hrere! And it never will be. Not where I still hear the words 'Cinco de Mayo' being song by neighbors on both sides.
It won't happen where the culture badly missed is seen as something of yesteryear, or something that the new fangled spohisticated folks don't engage in...Oh no, it's too ghetto. You know we don't get down like that. We too busy tryin to eat at the Red Lobster. Joes Crab Shack or that wasteful place called Pappadeaux's. Naw, naw y'all. We can't go up in Mrs. White's to eat...That ain't where we can be seen.
I'm going somewhere in life. I'm going where there ain't no blacks. Honey they far and few in between. Where I'm moving, they ain't coming because first, you hav to be able to afford where I'm going, then second, you don't want to be seen fellowshipping with them kind, you know, the ones you tryin to get ghost from.
But ain't the Internet wonderful. Because after you move to your exclusive subdivision, you can always log onto Pandora, Limewire or Napster only to locate and find, Clarence Carter so he can help soothe the longing in your soul for the blackness you tryin to refute.
The feeling is right and the time is right now...Um hmmmm. um hmmm, um hmmm.
Well it is. Here we go. The same longing. The same void. The same pain. That same sense of longing.
And with so much going on in my world, one could even wonder who in the hell had time to think, let alone feel like this!
I do. Here, listening to Clarence Carter's, "The Feeling Is Right" and wondering where is the community of people who think and feel like that? Where are the ones who appreciate the rhythm, the words, the feel, the guts of what he's belting out in the tendrils of horns and heavy bass?
Where are the establishments that blast the music from the half-broken yet powerfully broadcasting jukeboxes? Where are the people who are ordering the fish plates, w/extra sides and extra hush puppies? Where are the establishments where the doors slam shut, the tables and chairs are rickety, and the tea is so sweet and cold it chills your teeth on first sip?
Where's the boulevard that's home to the beautiful, lavish cars that the men drive, yes men...I ain't trying to hear women right now...after checking in from a long work week and either headed to the streets or to the 'shack' to grab something to eat?
They all know they gonna meet up with Freddie, Joe or Eddie...Cause 9 times out ot 10, one of them owe him or them some money.
Where are the little brothers out there hustling for a dime or two; Selling bootleg DVD's, CD's, and knock-off Nike shoes and Coach bags too. Hoping and waiting to meet up wit Shanisha and maybe even go skating. Aay holla at me a l'il bit later as he slams shut his 'crackberry.' How dis li'l dude get a phone mo better than mine? Anyhow.
Where the mothers at, tired, draggin, just trying to get to the house because eventhough it's the weekend, Saturday still holds a day of laundry, dishes, and whatever else.
No guessing involved...it ain't hrere! And it never will be. Not where I still hear the words 'Cinco de Mayo' being song by neighbors on both sides.
It won't happen where the culture badly missed is seen as something of yesteryear, or something that the new fangled spohisticated folks don't engage in...Oh no, it's too ghetto. You know we don't get down like that. We too busy tryin to eat at the Red Lobster. Joes Crab Shack or that wasteful place called Pappadeaux's. Naw, naw y'all. We can't go up in Mrs. White's to eat...That ain't where we can be seen.
I'm going somewhere in life. I'm going where there ain't no blacks. Honey they far and few in between. Where I'm moving, they ain't coming because first, you hav to be able to afford where I'm going, then second, you don't want to be seen fellowshipping with them kind, you know, the ones you tryin to get ghost from.
But ain't the Internet wonderful. Because after you move to your exclusive subdivision, you can always log onto Pandora, Limewire or Napster only to locate and find, Clarence Carter so he can help soothe the longing in your soul for the blackness you tryin to refute.
The feeling is right and the time is right now...Um hmmmm. um hmmm, um hmmm.
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