The Circle of Life

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“The difference between a man and a boy is analogous to that between a lion and a cub. One’s king, while the other plays around like he’s king.” -kR

These days I see but a jungle full of cubs posing for lions. Too many Simbas, not enough Mufasas! Oh so you just can’t wait to be king, and yet you couldn’t get your so called queen a wedding ring. First you sniffed her all around, getting her all aroused. Then you played around her, then you played around with her, then you played with her, and then ultimately you played her. Your roar was so fake, for you swore she was your only cake. But then she caught you eating quite a number of other cupcakes. And now you come crawling back to me talking about how the stakes…are so high, and you just have to have her back. Fool, you’d still have her if only you’d never turned your back on her, but had continued to have her back instead of cheating behind her back. It was your pride that was your undoing. Now you are a victim of your own wrongdoing. No son, it’s not that life is unfair, it’s just the circle of life! What goes around comes around…and now you’ve crash landed into the ground – a wounded lion. Now tell me, what hurts more – is it your heart or your pride? That’s important for you to decide. For you see, if it’s the former, then there’s hope for you yet; because while hearts may bend they can still mend if you would make amends. But if it’s the latter, then understand that no amount of flatter will help you resolve this matter. I’m afraid my own pride will not let me welcome you back into the Pride. For a lion to claim a queen he must first become a king. Until you learn that lesson my little cub, you deserve no more than those thirsty little hyenas. Remember:  In the jungle, you only reap what you sow! Now at last my dear son, now at least…you know!

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Checkmate

Checkmate

“Forget the politicians. The politicians are put there to give you the idea that you have freedom of choice. You don’t!” -George Carlin

We the People are but kings and pawns.
Bishops and castles, and some fancy knights.
Being shuffled about as another match spawns.
Lamenting the erosion of our Bill of Rights.

Some black, some white, always black versus white.
Some rich, some poor, always rich versus poor.
Wit for wit, an eye for an eye, but in the long run not one of us wins this fight.
Head to head, Mano a Mano, and yet in the end not one of us changes the score.

“Viva la Revolucion,” they cry and decry, all the while repeating the L-shaped moves of a knight.
“Sign this petition,” they urge and encroach, all the while imitating the diagonal moves of a bishop.
Many flock to the polls in order to once again change their fate; this Black Queen experiment has gone on too long so they wish to revert to the White.
Some young, independent pawns decide to abstain; limited to never more than two steps at a time they’d much rather just listen to Hip Hop.

You may like Skittles but will never taste the rainbow when you only get to choose between blue and red.
And no matter how much you care about livestock, you’re not an affluent herder when you only raise an elephant or a donkey.
So during these fateful (s)elections what we get is a dramatic scene that closely resembles The Walking Dead.
Although to be fair, after watching Planet of the Apes, perhaps someday in the not too distant future we ought to consider a monkey.

They say that after a game of chess both the king and the pawn return to the same box.
The implication is that ultimately the mighty king is no greater than the lowly pawn.
But we know while on the board the pawn is readily sacrificed to protect the king, enough to make the latter as cunning as a sly fox.
That notwithstanding, upon the inevitable checkmate even the mighty king’s day of reckoning finally sees the dawn.

It is peculiarly interesting and incredibly clever indeed, when they say that after a game of chess the king and the pawn both end up in the same box.
What is equally interesting and grossly disturbing however, is that they never say who controls the pieces while on the board, and/or who owns the damn box!

P.S. The thing about change within a flawed system is that it is much like chess. Sure, the pieces can make significant moves, and some more freely than others. But ultimately, they all remain on the same old board.

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Homecoming

 

“The man who chooses to not recognize his home is worse off than the man who has no home.” -kR

My life, your entertainment. No scratch that, I prefer the term infotainment. Mine is just the story of a little drummer boy marching to his own African beat; We Three Kings conspicuously on repeat, seeking to redeem the essence of my illustrious culture in the presence of naysayers who parade about me like a conniving vulture. Yo Kennyrich that shit you wrote was dope, but behind my back they sling my name around like I was dope! Or yay, but nay I say unto thee. Between me, myself and I, there’s already a crowd of three. So please depart from me before my political correctness falls apart. Otherwise (and that wouldn’t be wise), I’d be tempted to split you like the Red Sea and leave you as alive as the Dead Sea. You dare label me naturally violent when I choose to go on a rant, and yet somehow you expect me to be so tolerant of the rampant oppression of a God damned tyrant? Ah the audacity of the ones who’ve caused us such calamity never ceases to amaze me! What’s a month to our legacy? That’s heresy if you ask me; please don’t fall for that sort of fallacy! Oh Black People! My people – once noble moors, pharaohs of ages ago haplessly reduced into mere dominoes. Our history has been a diminishing domino effect, a hallucination of sorts, closely resembling the butterfly effect. It’s like we were the weed that was smoked but never inhaled, which might explain why in this day today there are brothers like me in jail still waiting to exhale. Now I’m no Moses but I ask you Sir – Mr. Joe Schmo – let my people go! We are salt of the earth and deserve to be exalted on higher ground, not shamefully and despicably buried underground. And our bite is louder than our bark, so for your sake please do release us while there’s still room on Noah’s Ark. My life, your entertainment. No scratch that, I prefer the term infotainment. Mine is just the story of an African King, who unlike Prince Hakeem, his Coming to America had nothing to do with finding his Cleopatra. But rather, who was forged in truth to crash the Board of Chess and clean up the foul mess; not to acquire fleeting fame but to remind the black pawns that they are indeed kings and queens, just caught up in the wrong damn game! I pray this message is entrenched deep within your dome; my brothers and sisters your Kingdom awaits, so please sing along with me, “I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world that I’m coming home. Let the rain wash away all the pains of yesterday. I know my Kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes. I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world that I’m coming home.”