Mens Rea

and suddenly I have bigger fish to fry, as it weremy father left a message for me (two days ago, natch) saying my grandfather, il mio nonno, was in the hospital with bleeding in his stomach. My grandfather is 87, clearly insane, and one of my top 10 people on God’s green Earth. I checked it this morning. shit, not a good day in the slightest. To top it off, Kershen is playing that godawful house music.

sanskrit. rule against perpetuities. mickey mouse. indo-europeans. hitler youth. lord of the rings. new zealand. iran. ireland. apparently, there is a structure here, but jesus, prof just get to the goddamn point.

My One and Only Friend…

clearly this is indeed my opportunity to illuminate the pain and/or suffering I am supposed to be feeling right now within my words of art or poetry. it should be time to create a maudlin lil’ senryu of sadness and human failure. but dig, I just want my ID back. and my screwdriver. the rest, you can keep. including your bullshit.oh, and lest I forget, fuck you. you probably don’t even really read this. liar.

1st-4-Life and LDP

Distance equals space. As God requires space, God creates it. As children of God, we do the same, creating our space or our distance as required, either tangibly, in terms of feet or miles, or intangibly, in terms of aloofness and silence. This is our connection to the heavens, not a book, not words, not stained glass and gold leaf. Our abilities, to create life, to create death, to make light, to create space where there is none; these are our imitations of the divine.So the space increases. Distance to protect us. Emptiness dividing our individual fullness. Born of us.

Actus Reus

I think I am going to write a post every day from class (when I go, shhhh, don’t tell my professors, por favore) just to maintain the legal aspect of this lil’ journal o’ mine. So, in honor of this idea, let’s talk about criminal law. I am a second year law student, let’s begin with that. It is usually not the case that a second year student is in criminal law, as that is a first year course, but due to the unique circumstances surrounding both my first year and my particular law school, I was required to take criminal law not in my first year but in my second. As a second year student, I am blessed with what I consider to be a singular opportunity to peer through a window of sorts onto the in-class minds and experiences of the first year students. And frankly, I feel for them. This professor, while she seems both an intelligent and engaging sort, clearly has no feel for the pacing and method required to teach the course. We are never where we are supposed to be in the course, and additionally, we very rarely are given a clear understanding for the core ideas at the root of criminal law. I am not aware if she has ever taught before, I will be sure to do some research to find out, but if I were to guess, I would suppose the negative.

Ok, you know what? Maybe I won’t write a post every day from class. The whole idea sounds boring. And I don’t think I would write anything particular interesting, unless I get especially catty and start making snide personal comments about the people and characters in my classes. And I don’t think that is particularly wise, for a variety of reasons. So Imma chill, m’kay?

Except for the taxi driver guy in our class. That never gets old.

Like sunlight sitting next to me
Her attention fixed on the front
Glowing with her growing understanding
White shirt, violet scarf, blue jeans
Dark hair, brown eyes, black boots
These fail to capture the wonder of the sun
Rays, yellow, and round aren’t words enough
To circumscribe its awesome glory

Malcolm X & Hors D’oeurves

Professor is workin’ it today. He has talked now for 15 straight minutes, and I think I have written down a total of 7 words. He just said he is going to work on our syllabus today. Yes, you are correct, sir, it is 3 weeks into the semester. Nice to see him taking interest in his job.This is my second class of the day. The first was a fascinating study in sleep deprivation and gentle mockery as well. My classmate (one of my absolute favs, though if she is reading this, please inform her that I truly despise her. And she takes up too much desk space.) made mention of the fact that she had taken an opportunity to visit the site of yours truly (yes, this very page!) over the weekend. She felt like she was intruding or something, like she was spying on my life. And she was, in a way. So here is my word, once more. For friends and associates, you may just want to avoid this page all together. Why? Because you are destined to fail to understand the most basic of all things blogadocious – the phrase that pays: “Sometimes a post is just a post.” It doesn’t have to mean anything deeper than the author’s exercise of his or her own mental conditioning, stretching themselves, reaching for a greater understanding of their own abilities. In short, fiction, baby. Dig?

And even knowledge of this is still not enough to avoid the reflex. Natural response to any online vitriol: “Is [he/she] talking about me?” Maybe. Maybe not. But does it help or hinder your life one way or the other? [note to self: practice what you preach]

That said, I was thoroughly flattered that she even read my page. I don’t know who does or doesn’t, or even that anyone does or doesn’t. So if you can stand to be all up in my business, than please, read on, black woman, read on.

And as we say in poker, ante up.– Warner Lawson

There are more things between heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.– Willie Shakespeare

I am so damned lost in this class. I think I am a 3L a year too early, I already am chillin’ all semester and buying beaucoup study aids at the end, to learn the subject for the exam. Not good. Indiscriminate blogging during class isn’t exactly helping things. I am feelin’ a jones to create, baby. I gotta get this monkey off my back. Man with the Golden Arm, baby. My professor is illustrating complex legal issues with Shoe comic strips. Do we look that simple minded? And does my professor really read Shoe on the regular? Does anyone?

By the by, Monya, lookin’ good, darlin’, as always. Love that green shirt on you. Ciao.

Glitches

I woke up and it was pouring down rain
I put my head on it really wasn’t no thang
one of them days I was feelin’ immune to the pain
threw on alice coltrane smoked and sang
and wrote this flame composed to the rhythm of the droplets
and wind whisperin’ similar to gossip
the kick slappin’ at the window glass
slow down the globe so it don’t spin too fast
because, I been runnin’ like a river since
the age of my early innocence
it just made me ambitious
my gramps used to tell me, “Man, listen,
If you can’t burn don’t step into the kitchen…”
You muscle your turn the laws of the land vicious
we gotta stick to the plan which is
pursuing true riches
whether we trade stock or wash dishes
throughout setbacks and few glitches
the big picture’s the focus so fuck being hopeless
and helpless we not selfish so we wrote this…
and give it to ya.
make ya feel good.
know what I’m talkin’ bout…
– black thought “glitches”

No Big Surprise

and this may shock you…but you think I haven’t noticed?

I am more saddened than shocked. It hit me hard, of course, but it wasn’t quite like the blast of cold that slaps you when you first jump into the lake in January…its like being in the water as it slowly turns to ice…my skin is numb at this point. the cold is burning, but very nearly comforting, in its own way. at least I am aware. sort of.

I was trying to understand what was keeping me from just being. one and one, dig? and I couldn’t, until you updated. the physical connection is a manifestation of the emotional and mental and spiritual, and obviously, something is not as it should be. I don’t know what. Its almost like you can’t relax, and neither can I. You and I are thinking too much. I think.

Criminal Law. 3:12 PM.

There are those who ask question after question, merely because they don’t understand a particular legal issue…I have been there. Sometimes, the black letter law just fails to take root. That’s not the case here. Time after time, class after class, case after case, his hand goes up. We have all seen them before. Everyone else agrees with the judge? Swoosh. Up goes his hand. Who cares to argue this point or that in front of the class? Swoosh. There he is again. Rhetorical “So does everyone understand now?” Swoosh. Swoosh followed by discussion that has only a tangential relationship to the case or law at bar. In torts, he uses the Wagon cases to talk about abortion law. In con law, he takes the opportunity presented in Macculloch v Maryland to opine about the most recent local changes to negligence law as it regards type 2 diabetes. Makes no sense? Doesn’t care. Swoosh. Student body complaining about campus problems? Swoosh. He wants to know what’s up with the stamps involving a famous alumnus. “I am just making the argument”… Always talking. Always has something to say. Always must be heard. Always.

Swoosh.

This was the poem I wrote in class today:

I can’t even write
Words that describe
With any accuracy
The determined
And draining movement
Of each empty moment
Represented by this class.

Each case takes an eternity.
And though it feels like much longer
Each class is but an hour.
Dourly we review the fragile lives
The sad pathetic twinkles
once met with criminal intent
Became immortal.

So their causes now ours
We fight for them,
Based on ideals forged
Within our shelters.
Away from the pain of cold nights
And hot blood.
Safe inside we judge
And laugh and preen.

yeah. I know its cliched. fuck off.

Grrr

Go ahead. Play like you don’t care. Don’t return my calls until weeks later? Fine. Act like an ass because that bothers me? Sure. Just generally be aloof and pretend like you don’t give a damn? Cool. But don’t bitch and moan because you think you belong where you don’t. You were special in my life, I told you that, and though I continue to repeat to you how important you were and are to my personal growth, you insist on acting like a petulant child now that you have someone new to lean on. When I was in pain, I reached out to you, that should have showed you how much I trusted you and respected what you thought and your opinion. Most people, most women, value truth and honesty so highly precisely because its such a rare gem from men. Only you would rather I lie to you to protect your fragile ego than to be upfront with you about my feelings. You would rather be in the dark, but of course, I refuse to accomodate you. My fault. So you wanted to see yourself in these confines? Congrats. I hope it was worth it.

Fuck You

“You know why, Mister? Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight. I drove an $80,000 BMW. That’s my name.” – Alec Baldwin as Blake in Glengarry Glen Ross

Coming Attractions

“Fuck you, that’s my name.”

this semester will consist of:
Remedies
Copyrights & Trademarks
Professional Responsibility (gotta have that, I am a criminal, you know.)
Legal Writing II
Criminal Law (I know, I know. Shoulda had that last year. Long story, I won’t intrigue you with.)
AIDS Action
Washington Law Books
Girls, Girls, Girls (a joke. I wish.)

“As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anybody want to see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you’re fired.”

Hair Cuttery

Barbershop. Six black men, one black woman. Two barbers, and one half of the ownership present – the Van, but not the Frank. There is something I love about the barbershop…my grandfather was a barber, though I had only been to his shop once or twice, but something about the smell of Barbasol that always reminds me of him. The sound of clippers. The snikt-snip of the scissors. My grandfather could never cut my hair right, he wasn’t used to its particular and peculiar maelstrom of directions. Mr. Singleton, with his shaky hands, he did the best he could, but still, it was never quite right. After one bout with Mr. Singleton, I wore a hat all day in Mrs. Morgan’s class. Lemon, Mr. Singleton’s boy, well, he could cut anyone’s hair…buzzzzzzzzzz-buzzzzzzzzzz-snikt-snip-snikt…so yeah, today, I got a trim…my hair is still all wild, but now its tasteful at the sides. Like I have Adobe Photoshop™ Edges 4.0 for Flowbee™. Rico. Suave.

My Word

ok, I promise that tomorrow I will wake up at a reasonable time and go get registered, then I am going to work to make the big bucks. for real this time.

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