The Rose or The Rifle

Don't get it twisted just because my smile is nice
I signed up for the war not once but twice

When I went to Iraq I dodged death and it's stunts
but when I got home I smoked blunts and stayed drunk.

Now I can't sleep and I'm messed up in the head
I wake up having nightmares and I keep pissing the bed.

I talk in my sleep and I walk in my sleep
instead of counting the sheep I think of killing the sheep.

People tap me on the shoulder, I think I'm being attacked
So I a ball up my fist because I don't know how else to react.

I get really depressed, I never used to be this way
It's a struggle for a brotha to live day by day

Don't say you love me because you think you know me
if you got love for the troops then you better show me

I am 35 and I at least want to see 35
I don't want to be popping pills for the rest of my life.

I want to win in this game of survival
Will I live for the rose or will I die by the rifle?

The Closure Prt 2

This is the part where we finally get it settled
Baby gurl, with the curls, nothing in the world
will make it better.

The love letters were heavenly
but I don't understand how my love
could turn you into my enemy.

The first time you put your hands in mine
remember the walk that we took in New York
and the subway rides.
You said our love was magnificent
You said "let me keep your shirt and your hat"
Because you liked the smell of them.

The Christmas gifts from Iraq
Became the source of my broken back
I gave you my heart and you threw it back.
You said that you were with friends

that's why you couldn't talk to me
But then your friends called me
and I found out that you lied to me

El Sol,
La Luna,
y Los Estrellas
This is what I gave to you
and you gave it away to other fellas.

The way we kissed was like spring time
the way we loved made a brother commit
to one day give you "Ring Time"
"Walking lonely and I'm finally done"
you weren't the one
"Now my new journey is to find the sun"

The fresh start is much brighter girl
I don't hate you...I can't
I am a lover not a fighter girl.

Let's take a chance at ammends
I got my closure
so let's hug, or shake hands and be friends

You can't got through life being mad
at the ones who hurt you
even though they hurt you bad

Is the lesson that I had to learn
I got my heart stomped
ripped to shreds and finally burned

And I still have more love to give
I can have another chance at love
But only one life to live........

You can do what you want when you read this
Because the day will come when you yourself will need this

After all this time, I just want to say
Thank you for making my heart stronger
and producing the man that people see today.

I'll keep smiling today and after the next
because nice guys don't finish last
They finish the best.

The Closure Prt. 1

It's about that time to write again
Return of the main attraction, Put the S back on the chest again
It's been a long hyatus
The summer break goes down as the greatest
Now back to the up to date-ist

You know who you are
my highschool and shining star
after all this time I got to see who you really are
Your still the chick that I dig and I miss
especially how we kissed, girl I like to reminiss
But what's in the past is dead
Now it's time for my love and my smiley face to move ahead
"Starlight starbright may the first star that I see tonight"
Keep shining in those earings I gave you that night. (Your smile is beautiful)

Hopefully these words will give me closure
After eight years of marriage, 4 good and 4 years of torture
Damn
Our little girl is beautiful,
But I got's to get on and find a woman that's more suitable
Not that the house wasn't clean
You just kept it dirty, while I kept being the man of your dreams
Between the bombs and the Islam
I just wanted to come home from war and find my home calm
It's all good cause my word is bond
You used to be wifey now your just my baby's mom.

This last verse is the one that hurts the worst
Some say love is a cure
but in this case it was the curse
You kept it friendly when we first met at Denny's
You like how I did my thing
But you loved "Doing Many"
You told me to write you
you never wrote me back
You told me to call you
you never called me back
You couldn't pick up a pen or a phone
when you were just prone to living life on your back.

You see ladies, you say you want a good man
but what good is a man if you are not good to your man.
That grass that you think is green on the other side
It's not really green, it's just the green that's in your eyes
You like my smile cause it's great
You like my style and my shape
But that's not what it takes
To get a man like me
I need a woman that Really needs a man like me
I know that you all are listening
So to the honest honeys for you my smile is glistening.

Theme Week 16 "Closure"

This course has presented me with situations that provoked much inward reflection. There were moments when the assignments asked me to do more than write; the assignments asked me to look at myself and accept the image that I see.

The image that I would see was not perfect, but was continuously being perfected by accepting the sum total of painful parts that would make me whole.

This creative writing course guided me through being exposed, naked and vulnerable as my past and imperfections provided a platform for me to be introduced to Marlon P. Weaver. I now have the stregnth to deal with the things that have haunted me, since being divorced, deployed, and displaced by life. Writing provides the opportunity for me to get closure on these issues.

The next three post for week 16 will be my closure, the best way that I know how, from a situation that I almost allowed to take my life.

Theme Week 15 "Juxtification"

johngoldfine said...

I like the little subtle variations here from version to version, but what jumps out at me is that you have a project, a goal, something you really want to write about. That's excellent--my assignments are mostly blank pages the student fills in with his own material, and that's what I want you to do if you want to do it--figure out ways to write about your experiences that also fit my assignment.

Hey Marlon, I hate poetry (usually) but I have to confess to liking this very considerably. I can't do justice to all that I like tonight 'cause I'm nearly asleep, but I'll try tomorrow. Aw hell, I'll finish this tonight. Back in a few minutes. There's a place for this piece outside just a course blog. When you're rich and famous, don't forget to tell them about your great teacher at EM who taught you everything you know by the middle of week 2.

Neat for me to read all three at once and see the spin you decided to put on the assignment--I originally saw it as a movement from truth to enhanced truth to fact/fiction--but you've done something just as good, maybe better, which is to go from minimal to maximal, from barebones skeleton to totally fleshed out and alive. The last piece is a knockout with all its ministories, memories, details, visuals, and the progression of all three is instructive. Can I use this as a future sample or model of one way to approach the assignment?

I'm really appreciating the unpredictableness of what you're doing in the course--trying different kinds of things.

Nice for its seemingly effortless ability to glide through long stretches of time so gracefully. For its seemingly effortlessly ability to incorporate two lives into the setting. For its seemingly effortless ability to have the junkyard reflect the larger setting. For its paradoxical but completely satisfying ending. And, of course, for its fine straightforward descriptive passages.

It's strong, it's in your face, it can't be denied, and it is what it is without argument or qualification. Nothing I or anyone else could do or would want to do with it except read it a few times and enjoy it where it can be enjoyed for the sheer writing power of it and then not enjoy it when that same power makes you feel like shit for just the way of things.I mean I'd hate to offer Engteach type remarks--I have no standing to offer them. By 'no standing,' I don't mean: "Ooh, Marlon's in that other world, not my world, I can't comment." Not that at all--something else. It's the writing. Sometimes the best thing I do is not dream of touching or picking over or messing with or even commenting specifically on someone else's vision, passion, and strength. This is one of those cases.It pleases me more than you will ever know when a student uses my assignment to do something much better than I could ever dream up. This still isn't a character study, and thank god for that because it's something better, and something I don't have an easy name for.It humbles me, makes me ashamed a little, to see my assignment next to your self-assignment.

Quite a piece, strong narrative style, no words wasted but nothing we want to know not here. I'm reading a memoir right now by a man who fought in Burma during WW2 and his and your piece have the same quality of being hyper-photographic in detail. You both ace the kind of detail that creates a scene--the foggy lenses, the trmbling sergeant, the sardine line, and so on. (I just grabbed those randomly--the fact that it's so easy to grab them is the point; they're woven tightly through the piece.)When I get something as clean (meaning I have no suggestions) and muscular (no flab) as this, I hate to see it just sit on a course website without any further literary life...but I think I've said that to you before about other pieces.

That sting in the tail works for me--opens the door, really, to all sorts of speculation and burrows right into the reader's mind, which is part of the point of any kind of good writing. And despite all the different shifts and tricks, it all hangs together which is a trick I can't explain but it's there.

Hey Marlon--glad you're back.Thinking about your totality as a writer at this point in your writing career: I often use 'slick' as a compliment. I don't think I've ever said 'too slick' though, but now I'm going to.You really know what you're doing here, but is it what you really want to do? This is slick like a greeting card--it's professionally slick, it's very insinuating, it slips right past your guard. But I get the feeling it's just too darned easy for you, something you can always depend on, but--just a little too slick.So, yeah, even the good has its bad side. Thoughts for the Thought Book maybe.

I'm afraid to say a thing because I have no idea how seriously to take you.

Aw, marlon, 70 is one of those pieces that goes to places I can't follow, and since that's quite intentional here, I'd say you're meeting week 14 in style--taking risks.

This is one of those cases. It pleases me more than you will ever know when a student uses one o my assignment to do much better than I could ever dream up.

Theme Week 15 "Juxt-asksing"

You start the semester with a journal. Keep your journal online on your own blog.
How did you get here?
what's really happening?

I'd love to save and use this in the future as a sample or model. Yes, no?

Sometimes--in fact, lots of times--writing comes alive when people are trotted out to speak and act. Writers have to listen to themselves; writers ought to always be talking to themselves.
Try...Just watch...what's going on.
Set that scene.

Wishing? Lying? Dreaming? Dancing? Boxing? Cooking? What is writing like for you?

Many a good story was told around a cavemens' campfire, or as medieval pilgrims wandered footsore, or in a cowboys' line shack with blizzards raging outside—without giving a thought, which is where you come in in Creative Nonfiction.

When you finally arrived, it was nothing like you imagined....

You're going to write about people a lot this semester: real people, people you know, people who worry you or make you laugh and cry, people who piss you off, people who are the reason you live. My fear with this theme is that in trying to write, you'll over-perform. A lot of time writing works as a piece of artistry (maybe even art!) because there is more there than meets the eye. A writer makes a point by not explicitly making a point.

It is a truth universally acknowledged.

Here's an example: Baseball legend Ty Cobb used to say, "Hit 'em where they ain't!"

Instead of twisting your mind into a pretzel, try something extremely straightforward and extremely useful.
"I am an English teacher. All English teachers lie. But I am telling you the truth."

If you juxtapose, and remember there are risky topics (Sex, drugs, rock and roll!), one can work successfully with and breathe life into something which seems DOA.

Is there irony in these?

Theme Week 14 "The Bullying Stopped"

April 26, 1991 has gone down in Kaynor Tech High history. That was the day that the bullying stopped. Playing the memory back in my mind, I could remember the scene as vividly as it was just two seconds ago.

It was 2:45 in the afternoon and the school buses haven't pulled into the parking lot yet. Everyone was either hanging around the tree, by the exit doors, or in the gym playing ball. The girls were double dutching and braiding hair, the geeks were doing homework. The situation was very typical for that Friday afternoon.

LL cool J just had his new album released and so Hollis had the tape bumpin nice and loud on that 4 speaker box of his. All of sudden people started moving towards the lobby, a trickle at first, then it was just an all out stampede.

"Fight! Fight!" somebody yelled out.

There was a circle gathered, next to the trophy case, in the lobby. The circle seemed to move as one unit, out the exit doors and right outside to the tree. I pushed my way through to see what was going on. I was a little scared because just last week somebody got into a fight and ended up getting shot at Hamilton Park later. I was able to make it through the crowding and get myself a front row view of the action.

"Oh no!" I thought to myself, as I saw who was getting in to it.

Melcom Robinson and Lamont Copefield were squared up and you could tell it was serious. Melcom was the school bully, always picking on everybody; teachers, students, substitutes, it didn't matter he was just bad and probably would end up in jail or getting shot. Lamont was real tall, quiet and kind of clumsy. He tried out for the basketball team but made a better mascot than a center. You could hear Melcom shouting, "What the fuck! YO! you just stepped on my Jordans. These shits cost a hundred dollars!"

"Whoa!" the crowd said.

Lamont was just quiet. Melcom jeered, "What's the matter bitch, you mad because I am going to make you lick the shits clean in front of everybody?" "Say something punk."

Lamont was just standing there, quiet, taking it.

Melcom was pissed and started shrugging his shoulders at Lamont to make him jump back. That's when it was all over. Melcom said, "Naw fuck that, I am going to have your mother come down here and clean my sneakers for you. I'll give her some money for it too, with her broke ass. She's so poor that she can't even afford the "o-r" she is just PO."

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHH." everbody in the crowd said; some people squinting and putting hands to their mouths like they just ate a sour "now and later".

Lamont lifted his head and just came to life. I realized that nobody was getting shot today, just shot down. What happened next couldn't even be scripted. Lamont busted out with something that would shut Melcom up for good.

"My mother isn't poor, your mother is...She's so poor that she had to put FOOD STAMPS on layaway.

Your mother is so nasty that everybody knows when she is having her period, BECAUSE SHE IS ONLY WEARING ONE SOCK!

Your mother's ass is so big that when she farts it won't clear up until NEXT WEEK.

Your mother is so stupid that when you told her that you came out the closet, she said well go back in there and get my slippers."

Everybody was laughing and snickering by this time and you could tell Melcom was stunned. He had that look of surprise and embarrassment mixed with anger and shame. Lamont was relentless and didn't let up.

"Your mother is country that she makes you BIRTHDAY CHITTLINS.

Your house is so small that your welcome mat just spells WEL.

YOUR MOMS IS SO FAT THAT WHEN SHE JUMPED IN THE AIR SHE GOT STUCK!"

OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!

Everybody, including me, was in the parking lot running around, holding our stomachs cracking up. Melcom just stood there looking stupid.

The buses had pulled up by then and we all got on and to our seats, still laughing. Lamont just went his way like usual, as if nothing happened.

Melcom went through the rest of the school year like a little punk, trying to run his mouth but nobody listened. Eventually he just gave up and went into obscurity.

When any of us get together, we still talk about that day. The day the bullying stopped.

Theme Week 13 "armying"

I am glad to finally be back in my own house, especially after three weeks of "armying." All of that waking up at three in the morning and going to bed in the evening at ten was getting played out. The base that we trained at was old and in need of some government funded help. The barracks had that WWII, John Wayne, Classic Movie Network, look. All of the bunks were lined up with the pillows at opposite ends of the bunk next to it. The mattresses were stained and covered in plastic, army green mold and spider webs all over the place. I had fabreeze and pine scented car fresheners at my bunk, but the smell of gunpowder and feet overpowered both. There was something a little cool though about looking up and down the bay and seeing the brothers in arms cleaning weapons, playing cards, and having some beers. We all have different backgrounds, different problems at home, and different ways of doing things, but when we get together for training we are unified by this calling as a soldier. I don't know....I still racked out, shaking my head thinking that if I ever stayed at hotel and this is what my room was like, someone would be getting fired. That reminds me, I have some laundry to do and I really need to mop my floors.

The scene in the chow hall was like watching re-runs of M*A*S*H. You can hear everyone complaining about the powdered eggs; there are only so many ways you can ruin them. The coffee had flakes in it, whether it was the grounds or the gnats I couldn't tell the difference. Eventually it all settled to the bottom of the dixie cup or our guts. The bananas were brown, spotted like cheetahs, and the milk still had ice chunks in it from being frozen past the expiration date. Still though the line for food was out the door and around the building. You would think that this place was a 5 star restaurant. I was thinking to myself, "WHY OH WHY do I put myself through this?" Who am I kidding, as much as I complain, I either love it or accept that boot camp brainwashing to love it.

Hahahaha I can't help but laugh at the fact that I am so anal about cleaning my house and eating healthy and while I am in training it is somehow acceptable for me to live like an animal. I have got to check all of my email, get my school work finished, have a bowl of cereal and try to get some sleep. I know I will be waking up at 3am for the next couple of weeks. That's the downside of going away for training; all of the conditioning messes up my sleep cycle and my attitude. I have to be mindful that I will probably cuss a whole lot for a while.

At least I am in my own house, with my own toilet, and the facilities to scrub my ass. Who am I kidding, I love that shit.

Theme Week 12 "A Mirror's Wisdom"

Make sure that the ground is even when climbing the ladder of success.

Nice guys don’t finish last, they finish the best.

Check for room on both sides before deciding to spread your wings.

“I’m sorry” is two words away from winning or losing an argument.

For: The best way to give and get. (for-give and for-get)

If you walk by faith with your eyes closed you will miss the show.

Those that ran for office would have lasted longer if they walked instead.

Remember when dirt used to be your favorite toy.

Courage is fear with a cape.

Poetry is a song ahead of the music.

Music is waiting to give a ride to poetry.

If you lay down with the dogs you will wake up with fleas.

A smile is sign language at its best.

Boot Camp is an all expenses paid vacation to a nightmare.

You don’t have to prove the truth.

The world was discovered to be round by men who were not afraid to go over the edge if it was flat.

If a person could not reach the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow they could still admire the beauty of the rainbow.

Theme Week 12 "Come to Understand"

A woman needs love, romance, and she needs tenderness. The romance that a woman so desperately needs, one that she has dreamed of for so long is simply just not in some men to give.

Desire a woman with a woman’s love to give, a woman that needs someone reaching out for it.

Love is not something that blindly affects the innocent. Love is what two people choose to share that can make them guilty of so many things.

A woman can always find something in a man that is worth having.

The butterflies that you feel should be allowed to fly, to escape through your touch and through your kiss. Though the butterflies don’t stay, they never leave you. There are always some to take their place.

What inspires the most is the one desire to be completely happy

Be whom she loves.

Watching her dance, the beauty in the way she moves, is reminiscent of a good conversation.

What to realize is that she already knows what will be said and she will be more happy for it to be said and prove her right.

Love can be one sided if the two are on the same side.

Do not settle for him, especially if you know that you will not remain happy.

Do not pursue her especially if you know that she will not stop for you.

Souls are eternal, as real love should be. So why does age matter?

It is possible for two people to be in love with what they can be together, but better to be in love with who they are together.

It is easier to change the relationship than to change the person.

Love can parallel a drug addiction.

Telling her what you would like to do can turn her on; talking her through what you are doing will turn her out.

Love is not enough until it is all that you have.

A woman’s main goal may include being happy and to have a meaningful life.

The difference between sexuality and sensuality is you can have too much sex but never enough sense.

Don’t ask her what she likes. Do what she loves.

Watch her shoot a basketball for the first time. Watch her shoot it every time after that. Put that kind of effort into your relationship with her.

Theme Week 11 "The Waterfall"

Today he stood alone to gaze at a waterfall. It was beautiful to see such a wonder as this; nature so expressive in simplicity. If only she was there to see this with him. The scenery around the waterfall seemed to move backward and fade so that this outpouring of water can have a voice.

He would listen and gaze with an intent to understand what message that voice would say to him. His eyes traced the waterfall to it's beginning. There were two pools that would fill with what seemed to be the purest of water. As these pools would rise they would form two streams that ran side by side, as if they were having a conversation. When the streams converged, there was a surge of water that was powerful, intense, and breathtaking.

As strong as this surge was, it was unusually non-destructive, almost cleansing to the landscape. The surge, so fierce, was uniquely very quiet. That's when he heard the waterfall speaking these words:

"I am natures messenger who travels from the depths. To gaze at my pools is to gaze at an unspeakable happiness, also to understand the expression of sorrows. My streams are the voice of the truth to all those who see. My surge is the companion to emotions whatever they may be."

He watched as the water would fell, seemingly to no destination. The scenery was coming back into view as the waterfall finished it's message. There was a familiarity about this place. He has been here before. The pools, the streams, the surge, and the reason for being here were the same.

If only you were here to see this with me. Today I stood to gaze at a waterfall because I could not turn away from my reflection, in the mirror, as I cried.

Theme Week 10 " A Recipe for Happiness"

Live your life like you are writing a love song for her.

Love her like you are writing a song about your life together.

Love her like she was the best of three wishes.

Don't give someone another chance; Give someone all the chances that you can.

Don't try to make her what you want; Accept her for being just what you need.

The anniversary is a milestone in celebrating "everyday".

When she says that her heart beats for you, say that she is the beat of your heart.

Everything stops when she starts.

Tell her that you love her, just like you are counting stars in the sky.

Give her the universe...not the outerspace, but everything that is within you.

When you can't say anything, be happy because there are no words to describe how much you appreciate her.

Tell her Thank You.

Tell her Your Welcome.

Say Please.

Please her.

Be a Gentle-Man

Let your smile be sunshine to her smile.

Your kiss should be her favorite flavor.

Cook the dinner for two.

Your relationship is your romantic movie.

Flowers should come from the garden that you grow for her.


Fact:
(Written by Marlon Weaver after his divorce)

Theme Week 9

From Cover to Cover

From being forced to cross the Atlantic Ocean under the cover of stars
to volunteering for a mission above every ocean to the stars.

From being stared at on an auction block and having the family sold and separated
to ten years running, in the most watched block, as a priceless model of the family unit.

From working for peanuts and fertilizing somebody's land with the blood that runs off of the back
to owning the land, working the peanut, and transfusing the blood back.

From being robbed of a spoken language, losing a religion, a culture, a god
to influencing: the language spoken in cultures, songs in religion, and the pathway to God.

From losing a hand and a foot or a leg for not being fast enough to get far enough away from “the man”
to using the hands, legs and the feet in running farther and faster than the average man.

From the king, of a nation, beaten into a personal slave and called names like coon, spook, and “Boy”
to a boy named King who would grow up to “win over” a nation for the equal freedoms of every person.

From generations that had to take the last names of past presidents
to being the name that can give a future generation its first president.

Theme Week 8 Impact

Sgt Jordan volunteered to be the "A" driver today and I would assume the "B" driver role on the mission.
"This is going to be an easy one today."
"Fa real" I said, "One trip up and one trip back, piece of cake. I can't wait to get this drive over with and get out of this heat."
The mission was easy, Our platoon was scheduled to convoy in Kuwait. We had orders to move to Camp Doha and load concrete barriers on our flatbed M931 tractor trailers. After securing the load of barriers we would travel back to base camp, Camp Arifjan.

Sitting in the passenger seat of that truck was very uncomfortable, especially in 135 degree heat. I was strapped into position tighter than the shoelace on my army boots. My uniform that day was a 3ft machine gun, Kevlar Helmet on my head, tinted desert goggles that would fog up with every breath of my nostrils, and a 45lb protective vest that couldn't stop a staple at point blank range. I could see myself in the truck side-view mirror, I looked like a ghetto ninja turtle. I hated having to wear all of that gear everytime that we had to convoy. It's true that we were in the middle of war during Operation Iraqi Freedom and wearing that equipment was essential to keeping a soldier alive should we become engaged in combat. That was the problem though, It was September and our unit has been in Kuwait since April. There was a better chance of someone seeing their shadow in the shade then there was of our platoon seeing any action. I looked over at Sgt Jordan as he was driving and could tell that he was equally uncomfortable, his mustache and chin strap soaked with sweat.

Our vehicles travel 8 deep in a tight convoy on the "7 Ring Road Highway" in Kuwait. We were moving at snail's pace because two lanes over to the left was a convoy of marine vehicles. In the middle lanes and on our right there was a tremendous amount of local traffic. From a bird's eye view the scenery must have looked like an assembly line of sardines heading to the cannery. The way that the locals of that country drove seemed almost insane. There was a posted speed limit that nobody observed. Those folks were in a hurry, you could see their children playing around unbuckled as the cars would speed past our convoy. Some of the Kuwaitie teenagers, on motorcycles, would cruise by the convoys giving us the finger, and at times coming so close to the trucks that they were in jeopardy of being shot. I hated that place, I just wanted to do the mission and get back to the tent so I could complain to my journal about being in a country where we are fighting for people that hate the United States.

I asked Sgt. Jordan, "Who's that ahead of us?"
"I think it's Michaud and Ruebeck, " he responded.
"Well when they get back, they need to inspect their vehicle" I said.

I had noticed, during the stop and go traffic, that the brake lights on the truck in front of us were not working properly. I would look to the left to see if the marine convoy was having better traveling mercy than we were; I also did my job by looking in front and to the right at the local traffic. I wanted to go to sleep on the ride but my integrity wouldn't let me so I just kept getting pissed at that country for all of my uncomfortability.

"WHAT WAS THAT!?"
"OH SNAP! I THINK THERE SOMETHING IN THE ROAD," I shouted back.
Something seemed to have been tossed in the road next to the marine convoy. Cars and military vehicles were swerving and stopping suddenly. There was a lot of screeching and I postured myself with my weapon ready for anything. I looked at Sgt Jordan and then in front and at that moment time seemed to stop. I was in an adrenaline induced state of alertness that made everything appear to be in slow motion. It was the same effect that was used in "The Six Million Dollar Man," to show him running fast the video was slowed down. In that state, I noticed that truck, with the faulty brake lights, in front of us was not moving and my truck still was. I could see Sgt Jordan mouthing cuss words and the words "HOLD ON" but the sound did not make it as fast as the visuals did. We were going to crash into the vehicle ahead of us, at a high rate of speed. With everything in slow motion I thought to myself, "there is no way that we are going to survive." I had settled within me that these are my last moments of time. In my head, I played out the scenario that I would probably be thrown through the windshield and crushed to death, or ejected from the seat to land in the traffic on the right of me and ran over by the local traffic. My family and friends faces were all I could see next. I braced for the impact by grabbing a thin bar in front me, while trying to get in the best fetal position possible in all of that gear. I was going to die.

Then there was just noise. CRAAAAASH!!!!!!! The sound of two army trucks, 10 tons apiece, colliding. Everything sped back up, I heard noise and felt my head hit the windshield at the same time that the seatbelt snapped. I was bounced back into my seat and thrown, knees first, into the steel dashboard. I was thinking to myself, "that's it, my knees have to be broke." There was more noise, screeching and metal, and cuss words. Just that quick, the noise stopped, the rattling stopped and I could here breathing. It was my breathing, and my goggles were foggy.
"Weav! Are you alright buddy?"
"Yeah, what about you Dale...you o.k.?"
I was alive, I couldn't believe it. How was that possible? "Oh my goodness," I said as I hopped out of the truck. Sgt Jordan was trembling and I noticed the soldiers in my platoon gathered around the truck in front of us. The fifth wheel was sheered off. The impact of the vehicles was so strong that the steel bolts holding the fifth wheel, of the truck in front, were sliced clean. Were Michaud and Ruebeck injured or worse, were they killed? Some of our soldiers were in position pulling security as the team leaders and convoy commanders got together to assess the damage and the situation. Miraculously, Michaud and Ruebeck, Sgt Jordan and I were alive. I had the right sense about me and thanked God at that moment.

We did finish the mission that day. Dale and I switched roles and I drove on the way back to base. My knees were hurting so the next day I went to the medical tent. I didn't recieve an x-ray or a physical, just 800 mg of motrin.

Four years after that accident I still suffer from knee pain. When we got back to U.S. a year later, x-rays revealed that my knee caps were shattered and some of the pieces did not grow back together. I had surgery and am looking towards more surgery. I am thankful for surviving that accident, but there is a part of me that feels guilty. It is as if death is trying to make me feel conviction for avoiding it. I thought that I was going to die, my life didn't flash before my eyes, it went in slow motion. I continue to have nightmares about that day, that moment in Kuwait.

I know I am home now, but my pain and my dreams are keeping me in Kuwait.

Theme Week 7 Bruh Man

Bruh Man

Who is it that driving what appears to be a miniature mobile home or what most of us call a grocery cart? The appearance of him is reminiscent of what's chasing people in their childhood dreams; a shadowy figure that just keeps on moving seemingly in slow motion. No matter how slow he moves, he can be seen all over the city. This is that old dude sitting in the back of the project hallway. He is going through the trash, past the food and the empty crack vials just to find something to wrap up in; perhaps some clothes scraps of little children. Nobody walks past him to get to their apartment, they would rather take the fire escape because it is unclear whether he can be trusted.

This is the same dude with the scraggly beard in the back of the bus. “It's Fraaayesh...They sho is” He says, as he is observed talking to the remaining pieces of someones grinder sandwhich. It doesn't matter whether he has food stamps, bottles and cans or one hundred dollars; He is getting kicked out of the store. Just to eat he crashed the cookouts, family reunions and even funerals. Brotha is just sitting there telling a story in his own language. It sounds like he is speaking E-Z Wider dipped in Heineken and when that starts to make sense he puts a quayloode accent to it.

He can be spotted from far away just by looking for the military surplus jacket that he wears over some of the clothes that get “borrowed” from the Goodwill Store dumpster. Is that jacket really green or is so dirty that it is beginning to seed. He has arthritis, a lazy eye, slipped discs in his back.

Open toe shoes are in style for many but for brotha man they are all that is left his once spit shined general issue. Underneath that do-rag/ winter wool hat is there hair or not? Is it just stuffed with the thoughts of life's wisdom like the scarecrow that Michael Jackson played in “The Wiz”?

One earing or shining wax in his ear; He's musty and apparently he don't care about staying in the warmth of a shelter because he won't wash for any agency. He's always hollering at the police, “YAW AIN'T SHIT!” The cops won't touch him, they can't touch him because they know him. Everyone in this city knows who he is. Some would say that he is an angel in disguise and some with a guilty conscience would fear that he is Jesus come to earth. He is not an angel or Jesus, but he is a messenger from the almighty sent to weigh the hearts of humanity. He at one time was a savior, in a sense, for the world.

This is “Bruh Man” and this is his song:

He tries to GET MONEY and the VA won't fund him

He came back from overseas and society shunned him.

You support your troops but get mad when he poops in public

He joined the army after 9-11 when everyone loved it.

Living off the land and dining in garbage cans

Who ever thought their little boy would grow up to be that kind of man.

Enjoy your day and please don't feel bad

But think about the US citizens whose mind is still in Baghdad.

Theme Week 7 Thinking about Gwen

Thinking About Gwen

It's 2a.m and I am lying awake not able to sleep because I am thinking about Gwen. I realize that I would rather stay awake thinking of her than go to sleep and dream about anything else. When I close my eyes my memory's light illuminates the pictures, that she causes my heartbeats to create.

We were introduced to each other during a telephone conversation between mutual friends. The plan was for Gwen and I to get to know each other so that our friends could be alone that weekend, without catering to the tag-a-long best friend. Her telephone voice was amazing. She sounded like the music in the beginning of a love song. Listening to hear was hypnotizing. I was reaching for anything that would keep the conversation going. That Wednesday night phone call went so well that we agreed to meet the next day at the Library Park. On Thursday, as I was waiting to meet Gwen, I chose to sit on the bench in Library Park that overlooks downtown. You could see all of downtown with the Naugatuck River in the background. The view was postcard perfect, but what my eyes would experience next would leave me breathless.

As I turned my head to the left to see the the Library clock I saw Gwen for the first time; A beautiful black woman, a queen. Everything seemed to slow down, like a scene from the movies, as she walked towards me. Her hair was long and naturally curly; It bounced softly with her every step. She had beautiful eyebrows, and her hazel eyes reminded me of the start of something new. She seemed to be looking at me and in me at the same time. Gwen was smiling as the distance between us decreased. Seeing her smile like that made me want to always be the reason for it. The sun dress that she was wearing had flower prints and flowed with her movements perfectly. At that moment she became the Planet's greatest decoration. I thought to myself that the Earth rotates to show Gwen's beauty to the rest of the universe. I stood up as she approached. Her arms opened, her smile widened and in a step that could have been choreographed we hugged each other. Time actually stopped as my senses came alive to her touch. Her complexion was mahogany and her skin was soft to the touch. Oh my goodness she smelled so good just like cocoa butter. While we were hugging my eyes were closed and I could hear that song, “This must be Heaven” by Brainstorm, playing in my head. Just like the transition from the verse to the chorus, our hug flowed into to the kind of kiss that seasoned couples share. I could taste her peach lip gloss. There were so many unspoken promises that we made while we kissed that day.

Gwen and I held hands as we walked into the future. She became the girl of my life's purpose. My heart not only belongs to her but it was designed specifically to receive the love that only she can give. She is the first and the last real love that I will ever know. I am awake and her 8 X 10 is on the stand by the bed. I love looking at that picture of her, but I am so glad that I get to be with the real thing. I'll be a good husband and let her sleep.

Theme Week 6 Place Setting "Back to Harry's"

Today my wife Evelyn and I dropped the little ones of at my brother's so that they can play with their cousins. After visiting for a bit, and saying goodbye to the kids, She and I drove to one of our favorite playgrounds. It was an opportunity for us to go and visit that place where we shared our first kiss. We arrived at our destination and looked at each other with gleaming eyes and a grin that only best friends can interpret.

(snickering)"Would you just look at this place; it's disgusting. How long do we have to be here Marlon?",My wife said.
I replied, "Hahaha, Oh, just for a minute Evelyn. Can you believe this is where met; at the junkyard?"
Harry's Junkyard is a dump. It has a look to make the projects seem like Disneyland. The smell is just awful here, like the inside of a doghouse, the bathroom after Uncle Ivan walked out of it, and it has that old tool box scent. There will be no postcards of Waterbury, CT. with a picture of this place on it.

Looking around at Harry's Junkyard, it's hard to imagine this was the safest place in the 80's that a kid growing up on Laurel St. could go. No crackhouses there, Nobody getting shot or hustled. There was just lot's of junk; rusty nails,rat bones, old car parts, and soggy furniture. This was a true bio-hazard but the perfect playground for a kid. Just like an episode from "Fat Albert", all of us neighborhood kids would come to this place, this stage and act out every cartoon and movie that was popular at the time. We built transformers from old carriages and bike parts. My cousin Sidney, who is a carpenter now, learned his trade here by building buggies from discarded wood and big wheel pieces. Those buggies had collard green cans for head lights. When I looked to the left and the right I could see some of the same heaps of trash that was there when we were little. My mom's old broom handle is still propped up inside of that Chevy Nova car frame. Evelyn, my wife, was the prettiest girl in school back then. She still is foxy but everyone remembers her as that tomboy, who would snatch her dad's tools and bring them to the junkyard. One tool would always end up getting left there and she would beat up the person that forgot to give it back.

Oh yes, Harry's Junkyard was the only amusement park that we could afford to visit. I would pass this place everyday for fifteen years; on my way to middle school, high school and on my way to work. It really is an eyesore on the route but I have thought often about coming back and just looking...just looking around. I have children of my own and I would never let them play anywhere close to this place. As much as everyone avoids Harry's Junkyard now, it was easy to convince Evelyn to come where with me and reminisce. I did think that showing up here was going to be a mistake, because I didn't want the smell to get on my clothes or in my car. I figured I was having a mid life crisis moment and that the whole idea was just silly. All of that changed as Evelyn and I stood together holding hands and laughing our heads off because of the memories of this old theater, playground, disgusting old junkyard.

Theme Week 5 Enlightenment.

The summer of 1993 was a typical summer for me. I had planned to spend a week in Waterbury, CT. to visit with my relatives, see some friends that I haven't been in touch with for a while, and see my girlfriend who lived 10 minutes away in Derby. I was traveling like most first class college students; on the greyhound bus. The greyhound bus is certainly the limo of the hood, complete with live improvisational theater. There is "The Mime": the person that sits across from you and assumes that they are silently working out their issues by gesturing and creating the scenarios with both hands, when in reality they are talking aloud oblivious to the audience. You have the soap opera "As the Bus Runs": The couple in back of you that is well aware of the audience and creates the love scene, conflict, and triumph in the span of a trip. Up in the front seats was the "Family Channel": Today's episode included the single parent with children. Parent was equipped with pocket board games and snack crackers to keep the children busy. The ride to CT. was going to be 10 hours long so the shows were going to be my only source of entertainment.

During the ride down 95 south I had time to reflect upon my experiences in Maine over the course of the year. The first day that I stepped foot in Bangor there was a blizzard that was followed by another blizzard the next day on April fool's day. I had enrolled at Penobscot Job Corps and learned quickly to appreciate the values that Mom had placed in me as this was my first time being on my own. It was in Maine that I had become involved in church. I had become quite religious, attending all services and prayer meetings. My life was changing for the good. I was very religious but had a lesson to learn about being a christian.

Looking out of the window of the bus, watching the highway rails and scenary go by provided a flickering effect almost like movie film. It was then that I thought about the last time I was in Waterbury. I was downtown on the green waiting for my girlfriend to come and hang out for the day. A local church was having an outreach service on the green that afternoon. The preacher was young and speaking with enthusiasm and conviction. Looking into his eyes you could see the pain of a past worth running away from and at the same time see the thankfulness of being able to help his neighbors instead of hurting them. There was quite a crowd gathered that day to hear him speak. Everything that he was saying I could identify with. He knew his scripture, but he did not know as much as I did. It seemed like his interpretation was all wrong. I was planning on showing him "The Light" after the service. When the service was over and everyone started to go their own direction, I remained on the park bench and asked one of the church members a bible question. There was an answer that I returned with an answer of my own to contradict them. After a couple more exchanges like this, someone asked the preacher to come and speak with me. The young preacher would answer my questions and I would use more scripture to contradict his scripture. We were having a sword fight with the word of God.

I wanted to show this young man that he was like the blind leading the blind with his misinterpretation of bible scripture. I thought I was playing the devil's advocated, but I was being a jack ass. During our sword fight, a man in a motorized wheelchair was going to make his way between us and almost as if it were written in a script, the wheelchair had stopped right in the middle of the young preacher and I. The man in the wheelchair looked at us and asked if we could help him get moving again. The preacher and I worked together to adjust the chair and set the motor in position to operate again. He on one side and me on the other. The wheelchair was fixed and the man thanked us and went on his way. The preacher and I looked at each other knowing the importance of what just transpired. It was that moment that I learned that the word of God does not need me to deffend it and that the principles that are presented in it are greater than me in that self righteous state. I was wrong and I apologized to the preacher.

I learned that day that doing the word outweighed knowing the word. My religous attitude was set aside to give way for a Christian attribute. I had made up my mind that I was not going to use the bible as a source for arguing but instead to be a recipe book to help me become a better person.

I thought about that moment while refocusing my eyes from the flickering highway scenary, riding on the greyhound bus. I looked around again at the passengers on that trip and wondered to myself what was it that I could "do" to help them. I was looking forward to seeing all of the people that I usually see in CT. that summer. I was especially looking forward to seeing that young preacher again when I attend his church for the summer.

Theme Week 5 Flat Bear

Flat Bear


There is a village in the woods of a far away place. The village is called Wilbery and is the home to some friendly and very special little bears.

The bears are special because although they are little, they have big jobs to do in Wilbery Village .

There are baker bears who bake the sweet breads that all the bears love to eat. There are builder bears that make the homes and other things that the village needs. There are farmer bears that grow the fruits and vegetables for the village of Wilbery . Every bear likes to have a job that helps Wibery Village , especially Flat Bear.

Flat Bear is a very happy bear. He loves to eat pancakes with honey, made by his mummy, that are soooo yummy, and fit in his tummy.


Flat Bear loves to play with his best friend Tawny bear. They have lots of fun playing with Tawnys jump rope. Tawny and Flat Bear love to run and play in the meadow that is next to the village. The meadow has some trees, but one tree is too tall to climb, so Flat Bear and Tawny are happy to dance around the tall tree in the meadow.

Flat Bear is a happy bear, but one thing makes him sad. Flat Bear can not work like the other bears because he is so flat. Sometimes the other bears laugh at him. Flat Bears mummy tells Flat Bear not to worry because he is her most special bear in the village and one day he will have a big and special job to help Wilbery Village . That makes Flat Bear happy.

One day Flat Bear went to Tawnys house to play. Tawnys mom said that Tawny was not felling well and could not play. Flat Bear asked when Tawny will feel well again. Tawnys mom said she did not know because she did not have the medicine to make Tawny feel better.

The medicine comes from the flowers on the tall tree in the meadow, next to the village.


The farmer bears said they could grow a giant pumpkin to stand on and reach the flowers, but that would take too long. The baker bears said they could bake a giant loaf of sweet bread to help reach the flowers. The other bears said yeah!!! They would be able to eat the sweet bread. That was a tasty but not so good of an idea. The builder bears made a ladder to climb up and reach the flowers. The wind was blowing so every time a bear reached the top, the wind blew them gently to the ground.

Flat Bear wanted to help but didnt know how. What could he do to help his best friend Tawny? Then Flat Bear had an idea and ran quickly to his mummys clothesline and grabbed the clothespins. Flat Bear ran to Tawnys house to get her jump rope and then ran to the meadow.

The other bears were still trying to reach the flowers on the tall tree. When they saw Flat Bear coming with a jump rope and clothes pins they started to laugh at Flat Bear.

Flat Bear did not listen to them, he wanted to help Tawny. Flat Bear clipped the clothespins and jump rope to his flat paws and asked one of the laughing bears to hold the other end of the jump rope and run.

The laughing bear started to run with the jump rope in his hand and Flat Bear on the other end. The wind carried Flat Bear high in the air, high enough to reach the flowers for Tawnys medicine. Flat Bear was a kite and the bears cheered and shouted Hooray, Hooray, for Flat Bear.

Flat Bear gave the flowers to Tawnys mom. Tawnys mom made the medicine and gave some to Tawny. Tawny was feeling much better. (The medicine made Tawny feel better.)

The bears of Wilbery Village were happy because whenever there was a job that was too high for them to do, they could call on Flat Bear for help.

Flat Bears mummy was so proud of her most special bear in the village. She was very happy.

Flat Bear was happiest of all because He and Tawny could play again. He was happy that he had big job that helps Wilbery Village . Flat Bear was also very happy because he got to eat pancakes with honey, made by his mummy, that are sooo yummy, and fit in his tummy.

THE END

Theme Week 4 the rest of the truth.

I went to CT. for the weekend so that I could visit with my family in Waterbury. I was looking forward to going home and seriously recharging my inner-city battery. Living in Maine can drain that battery very quickly. While I was in Waterbury I decided to drive around and check out the old neighborhoods and see what's changed since the last time I was there. I was driving on Long Hill Rd., the street where I grew up, and decided to drive through the Berkely Projects and reminss about growing up there.

Driving through Berkely I was transported to riding in Dad's 1979 brown Cadillac, listening to Curtis Mayfield. I looked out the windows and remember seeing afro picks with the black fist on it, also how we used to nail milk crates and bike rims to the telephone poles. We used to shoot hoops by throwing crumpled paperbags, balled up socks, and the invisible, "real basketball" through those crates and rims. The manhole cover in the middle of the street was always homeplate for kickball and baseball. So many kids in those projects got to college from using those poles and that manhole cover.

The red bricked apartment buildings of Berkely were run-down then and have not changed at all. It seems like the city put poor black people there and forgot about it. The roaches were like roomates to the tenants and the graffiti served as the only cartoons to watch for the people that couldn't afford television sets. The broken windows were state of the art air conditioning. I was home though, even if it was the projects. We were poor in money, but our culture was rich with black pride.

I drove past bldg. 32, thats where my gramma lived. I looked at the stoop and could remember gramma out there slicing watermelon. All the kids would call out, "Mrs Weaver! can we have a slice, can we have an Icee." You didn't need an Ice Cream Truck when you were equipped with some red Kool Aide and a good freezer. We would sit on that stoop and turn the Icee's upside down in the dixie cup to get the sugary part. We would sit on that stoop and have watermelon seed spitting contests.

I drove around Berkely for a bit and found myself on the infamous "School Road." Nothing good ever happened on that road. That area was not safe back in the day. It always smelled like dead dogs and weed smoke. The police would take people down school road instead of to jail and beat people. A person could count on being robbed there and at times killed. School Road was a place where black people were scared to be around other black people.

The tour through the projects was ending as I came to the exit. Before I left Berkely Projects I stopped and just looked around. My memories of that place were good and bad. I thought about growing up there on Long Hill and my life now, living in Maine. I do miss my culture, my people, and the city experience. The culture is different here in Maine and so are the experiences, but I am just glad to have two places now instead of one to call home.

Theme Week 4 a little more true

I was on Long Hill Rd., in Waterbury CT. and decided to drive through the Berkely Project to reminiss about growing there. Driving around, I remembered how we used to nail milk crates, and bike rims to the telephone pole so that we could play basketball in the street. The manhole cover was always home plate when we played kickball.

The red brick buildings are still run-down with graffiti and broken windows. It was home though even if it was the projects. I was driving past the apartment building where my gramma lived. I looked at the stoop where we used to sit and remembered eating our Icees and spitting out our watermelon seeds.

I drove around the corner to the other side of the complex and found myself on school road. There was a lot of bad stuff that happened there. It was not a safe area back in the day. There was a lot of drugs, getting robbed, and getting beat up that happened on school road.

I was driving toward the exit of the Berkely Projects and before leaving I stopped to think. I thought about growing up on Long Hill Rd. then and living in Maine now. I thought about how different the culture is in Maine.

Theme Week 4 black and white

I took a drive through Berkely Projects, in Waterbury, CT., just to reminiss a little. I started to think about the days when people played sports in the street. The buildings are still run-down just like they used to be, but it was home to me. I drove past the apartment building where my gramma lived and looked at the stoop where we used to sit and eat. I drove around the corner and down the school road. I remember a lot of bad stuff used to happen on that road. When I was reached the exit of the projects I just stopped for a bit and remembered my culture a little bit.

Theme Week 3

I just came home from a long weekend in Calais, working for the Maine Army National Guard. It feels so good to see that the house is still in good shape; life goes on whether I am here at home or away.

I get right to the computer to catch up on my creative writing class.Jenna, my daughter is leaving the table in the living room after doing her homework. She has her papers and coloring pencils stretched out over the table.

Lisa calls to Jenna, "C'mon baby gurl, let's get your hair done."
"Can I watch cartoons while you do it mom?"
Of Course.

I can hear Spongebob Squarepants on the T.V. I look over my right shoulder to check it out and see that Spongebob is having surgery done on his butt. Jenna is laughing.

Jenna laughs, "Heh Heh Heh, Spongebob is getting duct tape on his butt mom!"
Yes he is, now hold still.
Ow! OK mom. That hurts!
Lisa says, "I'm sorry, but that is why you have to sit still."

Jenna does comply as best as she can, but watching Spongebob provides too much temptation to wiggle and chuckle. Lisa continues to braid Jenna's hair to get ready for bedtime.

I can only chuckle as I watch this exchange and just keep typing so that I can get this assignment finished.

Theme Week 3

I just came home from a long weekend in Calais, working for the Maine Army National Guard. It feels so good to see that the house is still in good shape; life goes on whether I am here at home or away. I get right to the computer to catch up on my creative writing class.

Jenna, my daughter is leaving the table in the living room after doing her homework. She has her papers and coloring pencils stretched out over the table. Lisa calls to Jenna, "C'mon baby gurl, let's get your hair done."
"Can I watch cartoons while you do it mom?"
Of Course.

I can hear Spongebob Squarepants on the T.V. I look over my right shoulder to check it out and see that Spongebob is having surgery done on his butt. Jenna is laughing.

Jenna laughs, "Heh Heh Heh, Spongebob is getting duct tape on his butt mom!"
Yes he is, now hold still.
Ow! OK mom. That hurts!
Lisa says, "I'm sorry, but that is why you have to sit still."

I just keep typing away with a chuckle so that I can get this assignment finished.

Theme Week 2

The memory of my history is all about my culture. I miss it the most while I am up here in Maine. Donald Byrd, Ronnie Laws, Confunction, Parliment..........anyways

I'm Black Like:

Playing dominoes and a game of spades
it's night time and I still wear shades
Eatin' watermelon with a fork and some salt
drag my feet every where that I walk

Cook my bacon and I save the grease
even my baggy jeans gotta have a crease
Lettin' the phone ring when somebody's calling
sleepin in and never seeing the morning

Wearing slippers and I bent the heal
seasoning salt, paprika, and a box of cornmeal
Pancakes with a side of scrapple
fried bologna, fried bananas, and fried apples

Ashey skin and my lips get all chapped
my uncle's outta jail, next week he's going back
You think I'm good at every sport
you think that all I smoke is weed or Newports

I'm Black Like:

Saturdays and the Kung Fu flicks
grandad using scissors to get the toe nails clipped
Do rags, hair grease, and straightening combs
pigs feet, cornbread, black eyed peas and neckbones

My Kool-Aide is always to sweet
always wearing socks and never showing my feet
Whiskey and honey makes everything feel better
my corns are singing and I can smell the weather

Never knowing how to end a song
being in church on Sunday and staying too long
Baked macaroni and eatin' a sammich
saying I'm getting money because my hands itch

At the movies always running my mouth
all my cousins live somewhere down south
I'm black like...You can't say that word but I still can
I'm black like..."Who dis?" and saying words like
Daaayyyeeeem!!!!

Sunday through Tuesday

What a ride these days have been for me. Being a student and a college security guard definitely has its challenges.

This weekend was very tiring with trying to finish my homework and woking overnights to keep the peace at EMCC. It's all good though because I know how to suck it up and just get stuff done.

The best part is that, to my knowledge, there is some good respect coming from the other students. On my shift the comotion seems to be very minimal. If anyone reading this is a school resident, you have my sincere gratitude.

My Dream Journalized

Last night was a very restless night for me. Sometimes it is just that way and I wish that I never sleep at all.

I had a strange dream. In the dream I was a model and I was singing on American Idol. Everything was so vivid; the colors, the lights, the song. I am journalizing it so that if anyone has any insight they can share it with me.

I'm going through some changes at this time.
I'm human, poetry in motion and I find
that my verses don't even rhyme.
I ask so many questions of myself.
Is this reality? Can I wish on another shooting star?
Maybe this time it will shine on someone else.
If I walk in or stumble through the door,
If I fall down and end up on the floor,
or if I wake up as make up on the face of Madonna or Demi Moore;
I am a model; does anyone care about the real me anymore?
Am I alive or am I a victim of myself.

I wear my high heels on the inside of my feet and
my skeleton is on the outside of my skin.
You can see me looking out at you,
but is there ever anybody looking in.
My life was a new album and every song has already been overplayed.
I used to feel like an ocean and now I am like
a lakebed whose waters have all been washed away.
If I walk in or stumble through the door,
If I fall down and end up on the floor,
or if I wake up as make up on the face of Madonna or Demi Moore;
I am a model; does anyone care about the real me anymore?
Am I alive or am I a victim of myself?

Him

He is Marlon P. Weaver and is originally from Waterbury, CT. Marlon came to Maine in 1992 as an enrollee in the Penobscot Job Corps program. Being in this state for the past 16 years has given him the opportunity to make some positive strides in life.

Marlon started to write down his thoughts in 2003 while overseas in Kuwait and Iraq. Writing down those thoughts was a way to keep his mind off of the war.

When Marlon returned home to the United States he just continued to write as a theraputive outlet whenever frustrated or drunk.

He chose this course with the expectations that it will help with expressing himself better through writing. Marlon wants to pen the experiences he had overseas and ultimately write a book about them.

About You

Your name is Marlon P. Weaver and your are originally from Waterbury, CT.

You came to Maine in 1992 as an enrollee in the Penobscot Job Corps program.Being in this state for the past 16 years has helped you to make some positive strides in your life.

You began writing your thoughts down in 2003 while overseas in Kuwait and Iraq. Writing down those thoughts was a way to keep your mind off of the war. When you returned home you just continued to write as a positive outlet whenever frustrated or drunk.

You chose this course with the expectations that it will help to express yourself better through writing.

You would love to be able to pen the experiences had overseas and ultimately write a book about them.

Me First.

My name is Marlon P. Weaver. I am originally from Waterbury, CT. I arrived in Maine in 1992 as an enrollee in the Penobscot Job Corps program.

Being in this state for the past 16 years has helped me to progress in my life. I began writing my thoughts down in 2003 while I was overseas in Kuwait and Iraq. Writing down my thoughts was a way to keep my mind off of the war. When I returned home I just continued to write as a positive outlet whenever I was frustrated or drunk.

I chose this course with the expectations that I will learn to express myself better through writing. I would love to be able to pen the experiences that I had overseas and ultimately write a book about them.

3rD dAy

Yeah, Yeah, It's Friday. Sleeping in and having one class to attend. THAT'S WHAT'S UP!
I definitely did not burn the candle on both ends last night.

I was watching some program that was counting down the ten laziest animal; After number nine I was out. hahahaha.

Sall good though, today is a good day and I am looking forward to the weekend. I really have to be careful not to get upset at all the institutions that WON'T be celebrating Martin Luther King day. After 15 years of being in this state one would think that I could be assimilated to the culture already, but I am not.

Ok that is another monster, the ranting is over for now. The good news is that I get to do my show on the radio tonight and I could run my mouth all I want.

Cia fa now

The Lemonade

WoW! Today was definitely a lot more involving that yesterday was. It is funny, I wanted to write back last night but found too little time to do it.

All that I could think about today was missing my appointment to write last night. Today though was something else. I only had two classes to attend, but all the extra running around to pay bills and tighten this or that up made the day seem so rushed.

The good point is that at this particular time everything except the dishes is complete. I can finish my homework for this writing class and reach for the Lemonade one more time.

I might be up later and if I am I will expound some more.

A First

It is already too early in the morning to start writing anything, and if I don't get started now it will be too late in the evening for me to want to write anything. Writing like this feels awkward, I am not used to sitting down and having to journal my day. Usually I am at this desk penning my experiences; good and bad.

The truth is I usually write while I am drunk, since it is too early to be intoxicated I will challenge myself to completing this task. I will open my fridge and grab the lemonade this time, head off to classes then come home frustrated by the day.

When I get home tonight I will open this page again and see if anything makes sense.