stop. chill. *Beanie Sigel voice*

“oh wateva” tho? lmfao. [not that the rest makes sense, but son, you need to fall back w your lil pretty in pink attitude.]

since a good nu…

since a good number of people have been stressing me to write more, i promise at least one post a day from the Big Apple. & my only preface is fuck your grammar & spell check (/auto correct).

5 days (27th)

5 days until my home coming…

even though i’ma be flying in towards the end of cold ass February, i couldn’t be any more excited to get back home. i need a break from VT (SACS – the elementary school in which i work); i honestly think this place is making me stupid, which is evident in everything i post to text. [don't get it confused - ever since i got my MFA, i haven't capitalized in the traditional sense - that & this vernacular that i sometimes choose to write in are no way a reflection of ignorance. to say so would be some ole cracker shit.) just ask my big sis Candace; poor girl proof read a recent cover letter...

all i've done since moving to VT (besides cleaning up after my grandparents) is box & workout [/certified personal trainer & kickbox instructor]. really isn’t much more to it. when it comes to engaging professional work, or having to write well constructed sentences even, i haven’t been keeping up to the point where i should be. the academic portion of my brain has been getting very little use. i feel stagnated.

& this is the reason my high yellow ass can’t wait to touch down in NYC/Brooklyn next Monday night.

far as partying & all that goes, i still have every intention of going full retard but i’m on my grown shit now & really have toned things down a bit. tbc

hoffa,
/jb

Niggas in Vermont

instead of work, i’ma write… fuck it. [not like i'm appreciated anyway by the big boss lady Anny-J]. & besides, i’m always going “above & beyond”… so i rightfully deserve any down time that i’m able to get in this b*tch.

came to a realization yesterday when i was politickin w coach T; i’ve been substituting boxing for writing. like, the last few months, i’ve been escaping through my fists (sometimes training up to 3x’s a day – usually just two though – last week or so, only once) instead of through my pen. working out in the gym has always been my thing, but lately i brought this whole fitness thing to another level. & by fitness, i mean wrapping up my knuckles & putting gloves on

/”as of late” fighting is the only thing on my mind. [love leaves me - /with no replacement/ - i bob, weave, & counter punch, all while off balance, sometimes hyper extending/over straining... w swollen knuckles /stiff hand.]

in NYC i did my thing up on stage… lately, i’ve been looking to regain that glory in the ring. prolly not the best look when i’m only 30yrs old & depending on my brain to keep functioning in order to make a living. there’s times i think, i really should have been a professional boxer, or a rapper, but unfortunately i didn’t take either of those paths so i’m stuck out here grinding with this MFA.

MotherFuckingAsshole.

all i ask is that i don’t get stuck living a “normal life” and that i can not only provide, but live comfortably, with the woman i love. i don’t care if we middle class, long as she‘s happy. guess what i’m trying to say is that it’s prolly time i pick my pen back up.

[on an entirely different note - it being black history month n all - LOL i was reading over for color'ds only & yo, the kid really ain't no joke. pay attention to his foot work /the Elephant is coming in due time.]

mr. B & his UNO buddies

came back to my office one day & this note (from a couple of my 6th grade fans) was on my desk. obviously my teeth don’t look like that but i thought it was funny how they colored in my eyes & called me a “tired man” lmao.

#Joey

had a lot of typos in that last one. thanks for pointing them out [the end didn't even make sense/must have been pretty "tired" when i wrote it]. nah, really. next time lemme know. hollerrr.

you’re missing the metaphor

not talking to you hater (lol) but another hater (& clarifying a few things for the rest of you). first things first; yes, there’s a good chance i might be strapped sometimes but it’s for a very specific reason, over a very specific reason, with a very specific mf’er who wouldn’t ever dare fight me (specifically speaking, lmfao). i don’t say this bc i think i’m tough, i’m saying this bc i’m in the gym at 5am every morning working to per-fect that Zeus slap /& conditioning myself to completely demolish mf’ers. that’s word.

& far as toting a pistol goes – “i’m one w my gun/i love it like my first son/it protects me & makes sure the law respects me” *M1 voice* – it has nothing to do with some tough guy image. i’d much rather knuckle up. i will, however, let it be known, that if somebody run up on me like niggas ran up on “cousin Harold” (in Menace), i will go for mines.

far as the pic goes, it’s a metaphor. there’s a very specific reason that XD’s placed next to a composition notebook, a notepad, & just the bottom of a…

certainly making a statement, but “look at me… i won’t hesitate to pop off” isn’t it. hater.

this relationship thing…

ok, so during our last get together (lol), me & Coach T (<— my therapist [obviously)] pieced together why i’m not married yet; & it’s really pretty simple. the short being – having a wife & kids aren’t as important to me as having a career. fuck any type of education or terminal Master’s degree, i’m talking career – or more so, stability & that long (long) paper. simple enough, right? & when i’m talking that long paper i’m not talking about the type of money these whiteboys get working (/selling foreign cars) for they pops [we self made over here you cracker jack].

it’s not that i’m against love (i can’t help being in love when i’m in love, & i can’t help loving who i love – shit sucks) – i really can commit, it’s just if i go & rock the perfect woman’s finger, i want her to have the type of rock that’ll make any other female that she comes into contact with salty. and i wanna make sure that she’s able to go out & buy that Burberry whatever WHENEVER she pleases. & if i ever do have children [which at this point i still highly doubt], i especially don’t want money to be an issue – LOL, if lil mans is getting some new Jordan’s so is his daddy. and i bet his momma prolly getting some boots.

so as far as answering this questions it seems far too many people have asked… bedee, bedee, bedee… that’s all folks.

in the words of Big Ghostfase…

i can’t… [the syntax, phrasing, /brilliance... ALL of it]. Ghost is on some other shit:

… I got cowardly ass niggas tryin to test the gods hand skills ey’day. I wanna send a personal fuckouttahere to those niggas rite there. Niggas want that fade nahmean. They can have that shit b. I dont make threats I destroy lives son. Yall dont wanna catch that Zeus slap nigga. Son Imma make sure ya future kids would feel that shit n cease to muthafuckin be born due to that slap b. Your ceased to even exist future children’s children would feel that shit b. No matter what dimension they exist in. The friends n family members of those children that dont exist except in another dimension’s children who will never exist whose kids also dont exist’s children would feel that slap vicariously thru YOUR face b. I been told niggas that shit n where they at now son? Niggas gon crawl out another niggas ass to say some disrespectful shit to the god but dont in actuality want that shit to escalate par. Imma slap you niggas so hard that you gon wake up lookin up at dinosaurs son. Im gon slap you niggas into prehistoric times namsayin. You gon feel the mighty hand of god on your face you disrespectful ass niggas. Im gon slap protons n neutrons n shit outta you. Other niggas gon innocently be walkin by n seein the god smackin mathematical equations out ya head you nerd ass niggas. Imma smack the algebras outta you. I dont care where I bump into you niggas at. I catch you at a Footlocker waitin to pay for ya little Reebok ZigTechs n Imma knock the shit out ya hands n emasculate you niggas. Imma take offf my belt n whip you in front of ya kids n ya lady or ya moms…whoever you wit son. Imma lacerate you niggas. Thats the best case scenario. I might catch you in that Footlocker n jus put hands on you n smack you thru that walll n have you flyin thru 3 different stores before you stop flyin thru walls nigga. You gon start off in a Footlocker n get slapped thru a Baby Gap n a Gizmobies before you land on a sofa in Victorias Secret nigga.

that new Anthony Hamilton Back to Love tho…