The Bridge Haunts Me: My Biggie Wars


Its been a month since I have been out of BK.

It hurts.

But not in the obvious ways.

See I was walking in ‘Frisco on Wednesday, and right there
in a plain sight was a 2 by 4 poster of the BK bridge
and it was like I saw a ghost.

See. For a long time I had issues with living in my old neighborhood.

Class mobility hurts.

Fitting into new environs.

Being mistaken for a cleaning lady or a nanny. You know.

Typical model minority bullsh*t.

Well.


When I got into running the bridge, I finally began to accept that
I would always have a foot in my past in East Oakland
and a foot in my future whether it be on the bridge, the SEC,
the NBA’s players union or Goldmans.

I began to claim mines!
I began to accept the uncomfortable as a part of the process.
I began to feel that I had earned it and would earn more.


So seeing it.
Reminds me of how I have succeded.
Where I have come short. Where I haven’t met my expectations
and trust, you don’t expect to be walking down the street
minding your own business and have
a f*cking photographs trigger all that.

But.

Last August, my father told me I was a soul looker, and I should be
careful about telling
people about what I saw. He is right. And I listened.

But peep, if I can look into others, I shouldn’t be so surprised when
the mirror is on me. Right?

With regard to running, there is some deliciousness in the Bay.

There are some mind altering trails near Stanford in the Redwoods and some
others in the Berkeley Hills w/ fly Bay views.

However, it wasn’t until I saw that flick of The Bridge in the Crate and Barrel
window did I realize how much I missed those concrete slabs, the sound of the cars,
motorcycles and tourists, and just the majestic sight of it.

I ran it in the pouring ran.

I ran it at night.

I yelled at tourists to move they sh*t.
Pedestrians and Walkers on the left, bikes skates on the right.

I ran that b*tch in bikini’s when it got hot.

In many ways the bridge became a sign of my both my strength
my weaknesses, and ultimately my endurance.

I remember the first time I ran it from end to end, w/o stopping.

What I will never forget about that sh*t is that I wasn’t trying.

I was listening to 50.

Listen to Memph.

Listening to Freeway.

And it happened.

Before I knew it, I made it to the other end, non stop.

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So. I think I have blogged away my wiggles, and ghosts.

Off to kick it on my first Bay Labor Day w/ fam in ages.

Will get at ‘chall tomorrow night.

yours,

~m.dot

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When was the last time something startled you?

Made you feel like you saw a ghost?

Took you back to the past when you weren’t ready?

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Don’t Just Act Grown, Be Grown.

I don’t read movie reviews or book reviews. I simply go to movies based on the actor, director or the buzz from homies.

Easy.

Granted, some reviews slip through the cracks from the village voice or the news, but them sh*ts aren’t a deciding factor for me.

Critics are haters.

LOL.

I go Barnes and Nobles to browse books, one of my FAV-O-RITE dates conmigo, I pick up a book, turn to a random page and read.

Or I check the t.o.c. and pick a chapter based on the title and read. This has had interesting affects.

I recently did this w/ the Art of Loving by Eric Fromm.

During spring break I re-read, The Art of War and I Read the Art of Loving.<<<**Tells you a lot about baby gurl hunh!?!??!?!?

Chapter 3
Theory of Love
page 41
“Eventually the mature person has to come to the point where he is his own mother and father. He has, as it were, a motherly and fatherly conscious. Motherly conscious says: “There is no misdeed, no crime which could deprive you of my love, of my wish for your life and happiness.” Fatherly conscious says” You did wrong, you cannot avoid accepting certain consequences of your wrong doing, and most of all you must change your ways if I am to like you.”

The mature person has become free from the outside mother and father figures, and has built them up inside.

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Ummm. Biggie War Management.

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You Don’t Know About My Biggie Wars…

I been running the streets since that last post
yall.

Bouncing around the city.

I started counting, and I realized that I changed my life substantially in ’07.

1.) I missed 6 birthday parties.

2.) I missed A Clipse concert (I had free tix).

3.) I missed A wedding.

4.) I missed all of the recent Sopranos episodes.

5.) Had no brunch in the last 9 weeks.

6.) Had no Sunday Times in the last 9 weeks.



7.) AND. NO new boyfriends. <<greasy!

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I kicked it with some White classmates yesterday.

Got into a fight. Dude gon’ try and tell me that
it was a COOK OUT and not a Bar b que.


I was like.

They got a pit?

They got coals?

Then its a bar b q.

He. Gon’ say it’s a cook out cuz there ain’t no bb q sauce.

^^Silly non-negro.

Speaking of non negros, I noticed something about white men.

The normal defense mechanism that I see that some Black men have isn’t present in white men, to the same extent. [I will conceed that Black men can and do say the same thing about White women in comparison to Black women].

Its almost as if they would cap on each other, but they ain’t get hostile or annoyed by it.

It was like, they just weren’t pressed by the ‘lil snide comments
that they made towards one another.

Based on behavior I saw in school, I thought there would be more
antagonistic towards each other.

But it was more like just, gentle clowning of one another.


Texas Truth posited that white men, especially professional jawns,
know that there is very little that they can do to “ruin” their lives. In turn
this gives them the privilage, a sense the world is waiting for ’em.

Interesting right?

Have yall seen this before?

And.

I had a good time. <<<*** turns over a new leaf. ========
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Happy MUMS day.

I miss my MOOOOMMMMMMAAAAA.

She in Oakland, SMOKING a ham, LOL.

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