I know I haven't been around for a little while, and I hope those of you who look forward to reading what I have to say, aren't disgruntled, but I've been very busy with the most recent reading at El Meson this past Sunday, and have just now found the time to blog a little bit. I believe I've found the love of my life. Her name is writing. There is nothing in this world that makes me feel the way this creative craft does. Getting out in the world and reading my work is one of the most exhilarating experiences I can have. I feel blessed to posses this gift and will never take it for granted. Spreading the written word is a very important mission in these days of techno literature. All I want to say is, hey everyone, keep on bookin!
So, people, please, will someone tell me where and when all of the sudden folks are ordering medium-rare eggs, or medium-well eggs. I implore you people, just order normally. Why is society suddenly, or maybe not to suddenly, so desperate to feel the need for this trivial attention. Because isn't that what it really is. Hey, look at me, I'm unique because I'm ordering my eggs like no other, or I'm asking for lime in my water or ice-tea because I want to be separate from the maddening crowd, even though it kind of tastes like shit, I'm still going to ask for it. LOOK AT ME! I say, if you want to be different than others, than be nice, do random acts of kindness, show someone a little affection if you see that they're down. To me that's the best way of being unlike anyone else. And I say, if you're really that picky, maybe you should make your eggs at home. So there!
As we are all aware of today is the 50th anniversary of the murder of Dr. King.
As a child back then, growing up in the sixties, it was common to hear about a positive public figure getting gunned down out of no-where. I have a dream, voiced Martin, and I'm sure his vision wasn't anything like society is today. The only similarity is unjustified deaths of the innocents, misconceived as being deviants because of the color of their skin. Kill first, ask questions later seems to be the MO these days. When did the act of just wounding a person to detain them leave our system, when did giving a person a wedgy, or toilet swirly dessert our schools, being replaced by children murders, and mentally deranged adults. When did just caring about others get put on the back burner, boiling over and unattended. I ask you, where is my dream, because when I look around, all I see is a nightmare. Will we ever wake up?
Mary Maurice wrote her first poem when she was in the ninth grade, and hasn't stopped writing since. Catching the fire at an early age, she continues to dedicate her time to the craft.