Blogging While Black version 4.0

Honestly, I felt like dying. I cannot believe that there were actions done by me that caused someone to turn away. It seems sad in a sense because I'm used to that kind of shit. Rejection. Sometimes I hate my life so much that I no longer want to be me. I can't help it. I didn't do everything right. I probably didn't say the right things. I don't think I did, but somehow I got lost in the flurry of emotions that causes me to be me and forgot about her and everything that caused me to leap out on faith and believe that she is the one. I know that life just doesn't go on all regular like. My heart just doesn't release that feeling like... Next! It cannot. I know I probably question things too much and probably get a little too extreme, but when I love I love so hard and am willing to jump in front of her to catch the bullet... I can't stop expressing the pain. I opened up and shared all that is Hassan. All of my hopes, dreams and secrets, all of my plans and strategies, my innermost fears. I know that it didn't go down a drain, released to bullshitville. I know that my conversations were not fodder. That, I do not understand. I know now that I must move forward. I also know that some of the things I feel right now will be damn near forgotten months and years from now. One thing. I fell in love. I never have like this before. I felt the shift in my core, my alignment changed and my gravitational pull became different. She changed my life. I am trying to gain better understanding on how I must move forward after someone comes into your life and changes everything. I still have a sense of purpose. I am not motivated to become one with that purpose yet. Until I understand, which I probably never will. So today I move, reluctantly but I move all the same. I cannot remain in this funk but in the same breath I cannot force myself to move from this space. Do I need a phone call, yes, but I will never get it. The forces of nature demands that all ties be cut off so one can refocus. She ain't calling. Get over it. Next issue. Would I like to have conversation? Yes. I would like to bring all that has happened to closure thru speaking. Guess what? Ain't gonna happen. The rules of the game says 'enough of this bullshit, the reason I cut you off is because I didn't want to even go down that road in the first place. You are not worth additional convo. You'll bring up the reasons and I'll hurt again and you'll keep asking because you don't understand.' That is what pierces men and causes unbelievable pain for ungodly periods of time. It makes us lose focus and harp at the obvious. It causes us to do silly things to regain attention. We are men, we cannot move on without proper periods of mourning. Our logic is flawed. We need logic to complete the formula so we can know what not to do in our next endeavor. I still want a relationship. I still want to share my love with the movement. I still want to be of the people and live in the hood checking for the shorties. I am still hip hop. I am that tragic song that cats bump their heads to but don't want to mouth the words. I am the unheard track that Biggie and Pac spit on, laying on a shelf under an inch of dust left unplayed because the producer knows that even the hardest head will shed a tear after the downbeat hits the speaker. I am that pool of blood that Big L shed in that alley after he was shot over bullshit. I'll seep into the cracks of the ground and nourish a dandelion and a little crabgrass. Those weeds hold life, but no one wants them in their yard. I am the legacy of Trouble MC: Too much talent, too little time, not enough recorded material to put out a tribute CD. I am the voice of the D.O.C. - loud and powerful, ready to represent a new breed of emcee, reduced to a whispery gravel. I'm still working on coming up from this. I have no answers.