Ladies and Gentlemen, this chapter concludes our adventures in Englewood, America's Midwest Baghdad. We have decided to do something America the super power will need to do to heal itself, help itself, and get out of the hell in Iraq. WE HAVE jumped ship, abandoned our post, retreated, fled, packed our bags, and cut and ran the HELL AWAY from Thugtomino Bay. The landlord who rescued us was the most nice slum lord we ever met. He was told he won't be getting his $900 rent, thanks to my giving it to a new landlord in University Village. We kindly despense with our furniture, gave away our television, many books, and whatever kitchen appliances we managed to buy and own, and went old school Harriet Tubman on Englewoods ass. We FOLLOWED THE NORTH STAR.
Englewood just is not fit for habitation. I am sick and tired of running home baricading myself in my house before dark. Tired of not enjoying my hobbies of staying out late enjoying poetry shows and movies and having the freedom to take a cab home if I feel like it. Taking cabs to Englewood takes charisma, perserverance, tough negotiation, psycological warfare and shit that just never fucking works in less then 10 attempts (8 attempts if dressed in suit).
I am sick and tired of the neighbors, the hood clients who don't want to change thier lives, and join me in my quest to become the man my mother never met or was raised by. I need people in my life who not only want to vote for Obama, or join Farrakhan for a million man march, but men and women who want to CHANGE themselves and compete against the world for honor and respect. I can't get that in Englewood. So the Fresh Prince of Englewood is bouncing from that sitcom in search of some bigger stage.
And just because we have left it does not mean we don't intend to respect the brave warriors and rebels who stay on that Englewood battlefield trying to help thier families survive the warzone. It just means I did not SIGN UP FOR THAT SHIT. I did my tour of duty and served with HONOR. I have zealously been a grassroots operative for Louis Farrakhan costing me scholarships, and jobs. I have zealously labored to raise money for voting for the first black president and used my poetry talents to fight the intellectual fight. And now at this stage in my life I need to focus on me, and accept responsibility for ME alone.
Its strange because for most of my life I have been a member of a family guilty of a strange sin. My family puts burdens on its young that only the elders should have. My sister was my mother at 9. I was the man of the family when my mother was imprisoned. So when Louis Farrkahn preaches venom and rage against the irresponsible black man who won't step up it carries so much weight on my soul to be the man my mother kept telling me I needed to be.
Well I am not falling for that bullshit anymore. I have my college degree, I have no children out of wedlock, I have both tried and succeeding on small levels entreprenuerialism. No man, from Farrakhan to Obama himself can dare belittle me as a black man as being irresponsible. I am responsible from this day forward to myself and to the family I hope to get should I repair the damage my dysfunctional family has left in me over these long 31 years of living.
I have read and laughed at the poem White Man's Burden but this shit has not been funny living with the Black Man's Burden. Englewood is a house on fire and staying in the bathroom sitting in water thinking you safe is stupid. RUN FOR YOU GOD DAMN LIVES.
I fled to craigslist, which is a fucking gamble. The cheaper the apartment the more risky and likely you moving 2 doors down from englewood. Plus in Chicago, its racist and segregated so you might find the perfect apartment with Matt Hale as the Landlord, roommate, or next door neighbor.
Then you could find a place with color, and dysfunction you trying to help threatens to infect you. Englewood had brothers offering to pay my heat bills with stolen credit cards. I said hell no, but my last bill was 400. It went from 71 to 400. I don't drive but how oil in saudiarabia is the only way to heat my apartment is beyond me. The CTA trains seem mighty warm and I just pay 2.00 to ride those. People's Gas is on some communist shit extorted people with those rates. I told them I moved and refused to give them my address. They calmly said okay and just went away knowing damn well that bill is gonna get paid either when I get married to a bourgie professional woman who cares about debts, or when I move back to Englewood after the Olympics kicks all blacks out of shit white folks will claim out south in 2016.
My new home is not perfect. Unlike Englewood I could be myself, and here I am trying not to be Englewood. I have new white, and asian room mates and I have been my uncle tom character laughing and joking and trying my best to relax them and enjoy me as a room mate. Its torture. I am a talented poet and I have a big contest with some opponents I really need to dominate and I don't know how I can practice in this fishbowl. I need the savings in rent and utilities to invest in equipment to help market my poetry cds and dvds this summer. But most importantly I need to practice. How do you memorize a poem whispering to yourself quietly? How do you compete with confidence without speaking your piece loudly with passion? Englewood offered that, but I could not get a black room mate or ANY ROOMMATE. Its a catch 22.
My poetry is angry at some times, silly and funny at others, and the metaphors and stanzas are purposely offensive and engaging. If you don't know me as a poet and performer, then you might eavesdrop and think I am unsafe to live around. I need one room mate, a wife. A creative wife would be perfect. But to get her I need to build a self sufficient decent income from respectable source, and this is hard because I need practice time and a quiet place to do my poems in full anger or rage and happiness that helps produce my victories in contest.
The great part of where I live is the healthy, vast food options, and also the public library across the street. I can spend saturadays there and just engross myself in the university setting. My new room mate I am excited about is a talented film student, and he can help me create a spoken word DVD. The white female room mate who I think is lurking reading this blog (which is weird because she told me keep my drama to myself and this blog is ALL MY DRAMA) is awkward, and ends every sentence to me with WHATEVER. When is "whatever" ever a good adjective? Its as if she does not want to just come out and say it, but leave her alone.
Fine, I am trying to just do that, but I told the landlord about issues like this. Worst part is I have no clue what i am in for with 4th room mate. All I know is I need to figure out how to do compete in a poetry contest with no safe, free, place to practice like I have always done. It does not help politics in poetry circles in chicago has me with no welcome home poetry venue in Chicago. The green mill thinks I am arrogant and not respectful and the black venues just offer me nothing but arrogant promoters and host intent on humbling me to do wack shit popular there. I need to move to NYC and make the Nuyorican Poets Cafe My new home. Either way, WarZone is done, and I am focusing on my poetry and spoken word. This blog started 5 minutes into a driveby shooting, and ends 5 days after I drove the fuck out of Englewood for good.
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