$78

gone.

the Nike Blazers that were ruined the other night....are semi-clean thanks to 2 washes in the washing machine and alot of soap scrubbed on with a toothbrush...

i put them on today...
and they shrunk

no longer do they fit


fuck

((but it was still worth it so im not too upset))

broke&bougie

YO!what a fucking great night.
this is why i love my city. this is why i love music. this is why i love the night life. this is what makes me happy.
i met up with Killa in little five points at this lounge/club/bar spot. the vibe was nice. i was fresh. swagg was right. hoes were jockin. everything was set for a perfect night.

and a perfect night was given. FINALLY! i been waiting for a nice club scene forEVER. i had been neglecting this spot for a while. everytime i had been asked to go i was "busy" or "tired". but this Saturday after a wasted thanksgiving and a few unneeded stressful days, i had to get out.

for once in my life...i danced my troubles away. from N*E*R*D, to Kanye to The Cool Kids---the music kept me hype. only party i ever been too where i didnt feel obligated to pressed to dance on a female. i was chilln.
the DJ was the shit...the drummer was just as good. their live act had me jumping, screaming, sweating.
even met some cool people, which is great cause i need a change in personality. [some friends get boring QUICK].

2 upsets:
1) dudes kept checkin me out. ok ok, yes my jeans were a tad small and my outfit was quite...stylish. but cant a straight guy be fly too? wtf.
2) my brand new white Nike Blazers were RUINED. i threw em in the wash in high hopes of cleaning em, ive yet to see the outcome.

even with these two major upsets, the night was well spent...what could make it better you ask?

hum...how about:

i only paid 99 cents to get in!

AND some guy was so high he started throwin money so i snatched a dollar...so i practically got in for free. and that my readers...you CANNOT beat.



((i'll save all the mundane and depressing drama for another post. im in a damn good mood...for once))

music

im in a quite somber mood these days so Coldplay's "Viva La Vida or Death and all his Friends" has been on blast. great cd for the depressed. Kanye;s "808s & Heartbreak" is also blasting in the truck. another good cd for the down and out. its actually a good cd period. not Mr.West's style to follow the crowd [pertaining to his use of the voice transformer] but its nice to see a different side of him. "Robocop" and "Street Lights" are two of my favorite tracks.but Ludacris has outed himself once again. his album "Theater of the Mind" is great. i find it safe to say that its better than "Paper Trail". although he has too many guest appearances and the flow is a little off, i throughly enjoy it. knocks hard.


music has overrun my life...and i love it
i need the escape

unsaid agreement

...i was too tired to fight back. delivering boxes all day takes away your strength.
it was a threshold he needed to break. he needed to hit me. he needed to lump my face.
for his own satisfaction
and for mine.

i do not recall the endless barrage of slanderous names he spewed. but i do remember his intent. i remember seeing it in his eyes. i remember the ice of the blacks of his eyes. it proved what i already knew: we hated each other.

why? why was i hit? because i made a choice. the keys to the vehicle were taken by its owners. but i needed to get to work. if not, i would have possibly lost my job and in turn fall back into the same rut we needed counseling for.

sabotage.

they beg for success but set me for failure and punch me in the face for "manning up" and making my own decisions.
i live in a circle of wrong. right is wrong and wrong is wrong. it is my reality, which is why i sleep so much.

my face hurts.

i have found a video to match my mood. the words hardly fit, but the look and the feel mesh perfectly.
my favorite part is when Kanye is smoking. he looks almost natural and the trail of smoke against the colorful background is wonderful.
Heartless by Kanye West...

"have my money"

its a line often used in movies as a joke or a prelude to death for the one in debt. i've never heard this line used seriously in the real world...

until yesterday

now, the walking vagina who birthed me has recently decided to strain my life further by forcing me to pay rent.100$ a month. no, its not a lot of money considering how much i make BUT for someone who has met all of their requirements (maintaining a job and staying in school) the rent just seems like another way to make me want to kill them. i paid my landlord $25 last week, just to shut her up. i think this confused her into thinking that i will be paying her weekly because she texted me "[...]and have my money."
i had to read it twice
i laughed at the ignorance of this woman who i once respected.

i find it disheartening that all of my friends have pretty good relationships with their parents. my girlfriend has acknowledged her mother as her bestfriend, Amber and her mother ARE best friends, JayJ and his father are almost one in the same, Kolen and his mother do almost everything together. i'm the only one who i know that has to pay rent, put gas in the truck he uses, has to ask to go somewhere and all this other shit but cant sit and ask for advice.

i hate my family. period

lately, one song keeps popping up on my iPod. i loved it when i first heard it, i love the video, and it fits for the moment. "Whose gonna save my soul now?" by Gnarls Barkley.



"are you listening to me?"
"...no."
thats my favorite part.

the good never lasts

i have begged for these moments...nearly died for them. for a few moments of peace, a break away from the world that lays bags under my eyes. i have asked Santa for these past two days, and, like always, he gave.

Two great friends of mine returned from school; Ariel and Amber. two people who i hold very close to my heart. most of my weekend was spent with Amber since Ariel had more errands to run. we went to see the Express on Saturday. typical movie. White finds Black, white helps Black, Black finds success, white is the hero. but the direction was great, very emotion evoking. We both enjoyed it.
Sunday i stayed on my side of town. picked up a few Cds to help my hour long commute to work. *sidebar* the five albums of my life are T.I.'s "Paper Trail", Young Jeezy "Recession", N*E*R*D's "Seeing Sounds", Ne-Yo's "Year of the Gentlemen and Flobots "Fights with Tools". N*E*R*D has become my favorite, but i been feeling the need for more rock-ish tunes. though T.I. has produced a GREAT album...finally. *end sidebar*
Monday i drove to finally see Ariel. after a quick catch up, we contacted Amber and another friend Mike. we all met at Zaxby's and went to our old high school to see my old [something like a] mentor and teacher. like always, we told him our lives and he gave us tid-bits of advice. mine being not to return to Howard...something i have to further consider...
Tuesday i drove out to Eagle's Landing AGAIN to speak to Kirk's class. well, of all the group, i live the farthest...so it makes perfect sense that i was the only one to show up. Amber showed about thirty minuets later and we spoke to Kirk's class.
i saw her off right before being invited to her homecoming. ((i hope i can go)).

all in all...it was wonderful. clear skies, great friends, new friends, blah blah blah.

but like everything in my life, it was short lived. things soon returned to normal. chief moore confessed to Amber that he really doesnt care for my girlfriend of five months. my gas tank half empty (but prices are quickly dropping). my relationship keeps hitting an annoying amount of road bumps. my energy has been sapped. and my time has slipped away. i find myself planning to overly occupy myself in order to keep from missing her while she plans to party and "go out". i'm re-realizing how pathetic my life is. and im remembering how much i hate it.

*sidebar* Gnarls Barkley's "Odd Couple" has become a favorite Cd of mine as well, though i don't actually own the Cd...yet. open book is my favorite track thus far. *end sidebar*

the story...of my fucking life...so now its a drought of happiness and smiles.
cause the good never fucking last...


.fuck.

thoughts

it has been some time since i've poured my soul onto this blog. i miss it. it has been my release from things that i cannot talk to my girlfriend about. i will neglect it no longer.

lately, i have been caught in a writing spell. but i can never write about myself. my stories contain my emotion, pieces of my persona but never the full me. so here i am, finally.

thought 1. my classes start soon. im not excited. between working almost 12 hours every m/w/f and then having class on t/th for five hours, and still making time for who matters most, my stress level is going to skyrocket. but its a change i must endure. my plan is to knock these classes against the wall retrieving an A in both. transfer to Georgia State then apply to Howard for next fall. yeah...thats the plan

thought 2. college students should only return home for summer and leave again. NEVER longer than two months. i am still at wits ends with my "parents". my mother has made it clear that she has chosen her husband over her son. though it may hurt, i will live. i need not their moral support or thumbs up on any of my decisions. staying at home while everyone has left is hard. its lonely. many a night i want to go to the club or maybe skating and i'm forced to go alone if at all. i need more friends. my weekend nights consist of writing depressing stories and waiting on her to get back from the club or other outings to talk her to sleep (which sometimes only takes twenty minuets).

thought 3. long distance relationships suck ass. temptations follows me like my shadow. recently i have found myself wanting to indulge in sexual pleasures but, of course, i cannot for she is not here. but temptation...she follows me. it seems that everyday i get another naked picture, another "i miss you" txt and another "i love you" txt from another girl. never have i been so faithful in not responding. never have i turned down so much sex. never have i wanted it so bad. i am a sex addict, in rehab. my love for this woman is strong. my will is strong and i will not fail in my relationship. everyday i have to go without kisses and physical attention. physically, i feel single but mentally i know i'm almost engaged. its so frustrating and i hate it. i hate even more that while she is out other men fell the urge to try and spit game at her. mainly those who she used to deal with. they seem to think that our love is either nonexistent or false and that they can touch her like they may have once before. some try to talk her out of her commitment just so they can fuck. though i deal with some of the same issues, it irritates me more when it happens to her. i believe that i have become the jealous type. im jealous that they can see her...and i cant.

thought 4. our relationship has grown, though. the daily arguments simply got old and tiring. i honestly felt the end nearing. i'm not sure when the change occurred but i know it was within the last two weeks. i know i have grown. her past (being engaged and cheating on her boyfirend/to-be-husband multiple times) often made me question her actions. it was the reason i needed to always be txting her or talking to her. i wanted to know where, when and with who all the time. now, though i still care, i dont have to know. she was recently in the same room with one of the guys she used to "do" on a regular basis and it hardly phased me. maybe it was because there were more than just the two of them in the room or maybe my trust has truly grown. i'm not as worried about her going to the club and dancing on other guys. im not concerned if they text her phone asking for her time. because now i know where her heart is. i may sound naive and foolish but a relationship must revolve around trust and with this new found trust, i believe that we will continue to grow. its too late for me not to get my hopes up. either i'm headed for the worst heartbreak in my history of heartbreaks or im headed to a bright and happy future.

thought 5. T.I.'s new album "Paper Trail" is great, surprisingly.

thought 6. i have almost completely let go of my ninja turtle fetish. but i keep hearing of people trying to pick up where i left off, it tempts me to make an appearance in all of my tmnt apparel and show these rookies the business.

thought 7. i need sex and intoxicating drinks.

thought 8. i'd like to go to a party soon.

thought 9. i wonder why i still write when i KNOW nobody still reads this.

thought 10. there is no thought ten...fuck it

bastard

was the best thing my step-father could have ever called me. to me, that means that he has finally come to terms that he is not my father. it is a cursed bond that we both share and yet, it is the very thing that tears us apart.

hate is a strong word. a word that should never be taken or said lightly. it is a word that can cut leaving one to bleed their soul. if love is pure and clean, hate is its polar opposite. hate is the color of Satin's blood taste of his sorrow. hate is a word that no man should ever have to say or hear. thus, i hate my stepfather. i've said it before without fully understanding the intensity of the word. now that i do, i can say it with ease. Herbert James Moore II, husband of Cynthia Denise Moore, i hate you.

in my younger years, i used to cry to my mother and her husband that i could never do anything to keep them happy. i could never please them. if ever this statement rang true, it showed today.

supposedly, the reason for our previous meetings with the shrink was that the elder Moores had grown overly frustrated with me not being enrolled in school and not having a job. my slight (2 month) downtime had caused such turmoil within this house that a professional third party was needed. now, i have a job. i am enrolled in school. one would think that all would subside. i did. i got my hopes up like i know not to.

i fuck everything up. thats what he told me. that was the cut that forced me to stab.
words are weapons. some use swords, some use guns, some use other untraditional weapons.
he uses a gun. the sudden bang of emotion is at first frightening and causes many to run. those who are used to it remain standing, though they are usually the target. once the bullet is released and hits its target the pain is immediate. my response is anger, more words.
i prefer poison. letting my words seep into my enemy's skin, not causing any instant or visible pain. but once the door is closed and one has time passed, my poison begins to work. it eats at the soul and causes internal and longer lasting pain.
i am a smarter fighter than he is.

i'm beginning to feel helpless.
i cant do shit right here
and i cant help my girlfriend in mississippi. her battles call for more than poison but i cant lend her my loaded gun for i cant even see her.
we help each other, she and i. that is how we survive. i wipe her tears and she holds me. i depend on her to ease my rage and she does a wonderful job as my mother never could.
they say its wrong for a woman to have to choose between her spouse and her child.
i agree, she should always choose the being she conceived. but im only 19, what the fuck do i know about being a wife/mother torn? nothing. i do know what its like being a son stranded, searching for love between the legs of any attractive female. i know whats it like to be a child with more bottled up emotion than the VT killers. i know what its like to be a dying human with no refuge or person to turn to.
i know of that life
and i have gotten my hopes up expecting another life soon.

maybe this woman can show me the love my mother neglected to. maybe i can turn myself into a man without the hindering tactics of her husband.

like most bastard children...what other choice do i have?

alone

its something im going to have to get used to. people have lives and i cant always be a part of them.

maybe i ask too much from the people i want to be with the most. maybe im too demanding. maybe i shouldnt get upset when i dont get a call or text. but when thats all i have and i cant see that person..am i so wrong?
when texting has to get me through my day and calls through my night, am i wrong for being upset when they dont come?

i spoke to a few friends about this...this was the advice i got

"Find some new friends. find someone to take her place when she decides to go m.i.a. or out or whatever."
"Find a girl on the side"
"just dont sweat it."
"take a few steps back, dont let her be such a major part of your life. that way you cant miss her as much."
"take a break."
"i told you this was gonna happen...just let it go."

obviously none of these were the help i needed.

i could use some new friends...

she came home not too long ago. we had a great time, even through the problems. if there was ever a moment that i knew i loved her, it was when i sat downstairs with her mother's halfway drunken ex waiting for her to walk downstairs. and when she did..my entire world stopped. she wore a white dress with blue, red, and yellow flowers. her light makeup was flawless. her hair had grown some hardly brushing he shoulders and some sections had a few crinkles. her cleavage was perfect, not too much and just enough. the sun shined on her just right...like a sign from God.

speaking of...i believe that he has been trying to reach me. it seems like his name randomly comes in throughout my day. or i might notice something that one might say is..."divine". i think (in a grandma way of thinking) that all the problems between me and my girlfriend might be the devil trying to ruin something meant for greatness.




i digress. my mood has changed since i started writing but the fact remains that while she is out drinking/partying and my other "friends" are off in their college lifes...i am here. i am alone. no lonely moments. i am truly and utterly alone. and i hate it.

((i hate this post. but i needed to update))

wishful babbling

somethings must happen.
many things cannot be changed though we try to avoid them
if i had three wishes they would be:
1) to be able to materialize an endless supply of money from fingertips. ((with which i would buy everything i need to life comfortable and provide the stability and security that she desires))
2)that i could obtain super speed that equivalent of the Flash's [who ran to the end of time] and flight ((with which i would don a suit and mask and save the world from itself))
3) to ses the genie or whatever free like in Alladin and have him use his powers to help me forever cause we're friends now.

seeing as how life will never happen like that..im stuck looking for jobs and worrying about meeting ends...FOREVER.

i often wonder why people are so afraid to die, when living is just a big pointless hassle. learn, work, pay bills, work, pay bills, work and die. is that all i have to look forward to? im not excited

if i could change any one thing about my current situation it would be that im not back at Howard. i often find myself flustered at the fact that she is sometimes too busy to entertain me. i have come to realize that its not her being too busy...but me not being busy enough. if i was at howard, i would be just as if not more busy and wouldnt be so stressed. then again, its possible that we woulda fell apart if i woulda returned.
OR
i would bring her back home...

i have acquired my license and enrolled in a school which has been enough to take the burden of my family off of my back. they seem to be proud of me and have been easier to live around. the tension has eased. driving really eases me. all i need is a great driving cd and a place to go.

i feel more alone than ever. all friends have left for college so my driving ability is almost unneeded. its frustrating. no one is here...no one has time for me...its just me.

i need to be on a campus.

i wish...so much was different...
though things are better...im still miserable.

dead man's thoughts

trusting those whom i know not to.
i have always been a trusting guy. always giving others the benefit of the doubt, no matter their track record. Tarrance Sr has, yet again, reminded me of why this act came to an end. he often reminds me why i no longer trust anyone.
he promised me a car
he promised me a room in his house
he promised me freedom
none of these he can deliver.

i am upset. no. im beyond that...but the word for extreme and suppressed anger escapes me. i got my hopes up. i trusted him. i was excited. after fighting so valiantly, i realized that i wanted Tarrance in my life. i needed to know what my Foster roots were like. for once in my life, i desired for a man. some one to talk with, to swap sex stories with, someone to ride downtown with, someone to fill the void that my female friends couldnt. i needed to embrace the source of my anger. i was excited. i thought that maybe living with him would help me change. make me a better person.
but like always, encountering him has only made me worse.

he has promised me $1500 so i can find my own car for hum to buy. i wont get my hopes up.

my body runs on auto-pilot. not much thinking is required to interact with my "family". i will begin to work soon, but i will not disclose where at. my "mother" tries to get me to tell her by asking daily, or asking how im going to get there, or asking how far it is, or threatening to turn off my phone. hopefully i can receive my first check before she can. i dont eat in this house and i have no car. so i hardly eat at all. i am losing weight. i feel as though i am dying. my mind is hungry and cannot be fed. mentally, im withering away. there is nothing left for me here.

my predictions often hold more truth than i wish.

though our relationship has changed and our love strengthened, i still feel...forgotten. not forgotten completely for she does call regularly and texts daily but often forgotten momentarily. it could be that because i am not completely busy all the time or maybe i have grown TOO attached, or maybe im just selfish. but i feel as though moments when i need her the most, when i have reached my limit or am ready to break down...she is busy. too busy for a broke city boy. this...neglect (for lack of a better term) often leaves me bitter and standoffish towards her. in addition to that, my frustration and sorrow lead me to become a recluse in my own relationship. always tending to her needs, but hardly listing my own. i am pushing her away...and i hate it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------fear-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

i believe that is what fuels me now. before the hate, the rage or the love; it is the fear. the fear of being stuck here. the fear of not being able to provide. the fear of losing. the fear of being lost. the fear of life. i continue to keep to myself (save for this blog and its few readers)out of fear. i am so on edge, so close to nothingness that im afraid that if i tell all., if i vocally express my issues...i could lose composure. i might cry

i accept death because i am afraid of life

but i once heard that any man who accepts death...is already dead

inspiration?

i spoke to a friend today, a woman of older age. she has told me something that i find most interesting about myself. she told me that i inspire her. she told me that i inspire many and that i leave a great lasting effect on many people. she told me that though my situation may not be the best one to be in, that i still manage to make people laugh, smile and show them a livelier side of life. i install these inspiring thoughts into the minds of those i touch. i inspire those who have dropped talents, to pick them back up. i inspire those who have lost hope to maintain focus. i inspire those who wish to die, to live.
this woman told me i was an inspiration. and as the day progressed i heard many times how i have inspired others from others.

i thought lightly of it but it made my day. it helped me to ease my mind of earlier occurring events that had me in a state of mental turmoil.

then later, i received a message on myspace with the subject "you inspired me". it was random but sat heavy on my brain.

could i really inspire people? is that my latent ability?

still, the real question is, if i can inspire so many to write, to love, to work, to keep going, to smile, to live...why am i so uninspired to do those last three?

my father's son

i am not too happy that i have this title, that i am the second Tarrance Bernard Foster. But i am. and each day i see it more and more. each day, i watch myself become more of that man. the woman he fucked and birthed me too often mentions the visual resemblance and has alluded to the same on a mental state. i see this as well.
and it pisses me of. a response he, too, would have. if my channeled anger could ever be matched, it is by him. i remember many a night the two of us riding to nowhere in his Chevy Suburban, him with a beer in his hand, playing another Tupac album and reminding his only son of how its just him in the world. how he knew i hated him even before i did. how everything he had was going to be in my name. how much he loved me.
years ago...i did love this man. i idolized him. but even a young soul can only withstand so much. there was a fine line between love and hate. he erased it and forced me to draw my own boarders. sadly, no person, after that day, could find that line. no person could cross what they couldnt see. no person knew of my love and i cared not for theirs.

this man is trying to regain access to my life. with nowhere to turn, i am forced to grant him his desire. many tell me that it might be a good decision. i have my doubts.

but i see him. i feel him in me. daily i want to taste alcohol until i forget all of my troubles. i hear his angry voice inside my head. i spat words of hate as though i a fluent in the language of disdain. i see his burning hazel eyes. i look in the mirror and see him...his hairless face stares at me until i can no longer look.

i am not fond of this man. and still i am his junior. his names keeps me near to him. and she wants to name our son the same...if i cannot change the legacy then he, too, will feel this hatred. the hatred of a father's son

hurricane season

i believe i love this time of year. the beginning of the academic year. when it is still hot enough to wear shorts and beaters to the pool but often windy enough to don a hoodie. it is often gloomy, grey clouds, light showers, thunderstorms. fitting of my personality, sadly. i have come to the conclusion that i am something of an "emo". i often wear black, i walk alone more so than with a group, my favorite songs are somber ones, "hate" rolls off my tongue like "love" should and i prefer darkness to light (i am only a few nerves short of cutting myself).

i dont think im happy. im not sure what all happiness consist of, but i'm pretty sure it lacks in my life. she remedies that, but only for short periods of time (which are now shorter cause shes gone). i even believe that my unhappiness is spilling over effecting my relationship. sometimes i need an escape, and no longer can she provide that for me. between her friends, social life and school work, i find little area to squeeze my hoggish ways into her life. i may text to receive a response many minuets or hours later when i forget the initial text in the first place. i choose not to bring this to her attention for i wish not to seem too...greedy. she has her own life and must live it. thus, i must do the same.

this is possibly a call to arms. a poem rings over and over in my head, to remind me of my refusal to be defeated.
"thank whatever gods may be for his unconquerable soul [...] though my head may be bloody it remains unbowed"

i do not enjoy my life. each day i let death know that i am ready. each day i wish i was elsewhere. each day i curse this life. each morning i curse my mother, who lays her hand on me as though she cares, for this life. each day, i curse myself for allowing myself to become a failure. each day...each and every fucking day i remember how much i hate this life.

and more sadly than knowing that i hate this life is knowing that i have to continue to live it.
that is my truth. i must live this out...i must remain on this island until hurricane season ceases.

13th day

the day marking the official start of my depression. my life had begun to fall apart thirteen days ago and i watched it. the enforcement of a ten o'clock curfew, the threat of being put out, the departure of my girlfriend and escape, the departure of my bestfriend and the reappearance of my "father".

i tried to escape it all. to push it back into a place in my head where nothing really matters. but like a unruly bastard child, it refused to stay put.
as a final attempt to keep depression at bay, i went into downtown Atlanta to look for a job. to at least try and show my "mother" (who shall be referred to as mrs.moore) that i was trying. dressed in slacks, shirt and tie i walked all of corporate Atlanta. asking banks, restaurants, inns, hotels and motels alike if they were hiring. none were, and if i was lucky enough to find a place that said they were, i had to return home to fill out the application online.

sitting on a bench realizing that my entire trip, that my sore feet, sweaty back, headache, aching knees and hunger were all for nothing, i allowed myself to succumb to the omen of my thirteenth day. needing motivation, i texted my girlfriend and waited. no response. i remembered that she was driving to mississippi that day and probably didnt realize her phone rang. i felt defeated.

i walked more under the blazing sun, hearing nothing but rejection. eventually my tired feet stopped listening to where my brain told them to go. they lead me to georgia state university. knowing that i have a few friends attending that college, i began to text them. i met up with people who used to make me laugh and feel good about myself.
Imari who i used to always disagree with on everything from racial issues to good music to women. we could never find a medium but our differences made us best of friends. she would often help me with my female problems as i did the same for her.
Amber who was better known as "Killa Amb" and was even more known for her offbeat humor. there was a unknown connection that we shared. a sense of humor that only quick minds could keep up with. we both were always laughing at something that probably wasnt funny.
Brittany who was considered by the school to be my 11th grade girlfriend, though we hardly dated. still good friends, we shared many a laugh (most of which were derived from stories about the other).
Ashley, someone i met through a mutual friend but having never seen until recently. most of out "talking" was done through text messaging. and still we found a connection.
all of these people helped me forget the troubles of my world.
having walked for ten hours, killa invited me to see her room where we ate apple sauce and watched tv.

upon my departure from gsu, i decided that maybe i could spend my next few years of college there. i tried to crunch the numbers in my head and concluded that i could afford it and still have plenty to eat. with a part-time job i could pay to get my own cell phone in order to complete my escape from the moore family. depression begun its lift as i found a slimmer of hope.

i rode home with my mother who complained about having to pick me up from a certain spot although she had been in her spacious and air conditioned office all day whereas i was outside in the 90 degree weather. walking the hour back to her job was physically impossible at this point.

i long for the day that the owners of this home will come home and live their lives as usual expecting me to be home at ten. i yearn for the moment where i can vanish from the face of the earth without them knowing where or how to find me. i desire for the year that i will randomly mail them a wedding invitation after so many years of not being heard from.

oh how i want escape.
as depression and emptiness roll on, i am attempting to pull myself out of this hole. by the end of this month, something will have happened. either i will be attempting to enroll in school, i will have a job and be working towards an apartment, i will be living with Tarrance sr or i will have enlisted in the military.
those are my escape routes and in ten days, one will have been used.

12th day

i just stood there, watching her. watching the tears fall down her cheeks. her eyes had long since turned red. goodbye couldn't have been harder. car door closed, window up, all she had to do was pull off. but she couldnt, and i could tell. she demanded that i walk into the house, to make her departure easier. i couldnt. the goddess of love herself kept me in that spot on the hot pavement.

i would not open her door and kiss her for i had just closed the same door just moments ago. it would only bring more tears. she fought with the ignition, battled with the steering wheel and lost to her own will. the past few days were filled with sorrow and memories. sorrow for her departure. the memories that would have to hold us over until we met again.

i walked onto the driveway in front of my house, checked the mail, and remained in front of the woman i hold so dear. in front of her white jeep which i was supposed to wash. she pulled up, inching past my stick-like body.
windows still up she mouthed, "I love you."
i mouthed the same back, "and i'll be right here when you come back."
she rolled her window down, "pinky swear." i met her curled pinky with my own, a custom we had developed during some of our more somber moments. the same custom that was first laughed at by her.
"Pinky swear." our hands struggle with each other and fingers find themselves gridlocked loosely.

ironically, we held hands the same way as she left the day we called ourselves a couple.
"Five, fourteen, oh eight," in reference to the picture of our hands taken that day.
the memories flooded my mind. from that day forward: our first outing, her first time at Atlantic station, meeting her family and friends, her doing the same for me, my birthday, the sleepover, our first sexual experience, public sex, our last sexual experience. all of which started from that day.

the laughs we have shared, the tears we have shed,the troubles we have endured and the love we have all have created this warm sensation that i am told is love. but it goes much deeper than just love...much, much deeper.

before i can allow myself to indulge in such memories, i watch as the world around me starts to blur. the rivers of memories well up in my eyes but i told myself i would not cry today. i was done crying last night. my hand slips away and i step back. she wipes her tears, states that shes ok now. that that was all she needed. she gains control of the steering wheel and slowly inches up , throwing me the peace sign. i return the gesture.

just as i save the tears from gravity and look back up, she is halfway up the street. i watch her in disbelief. watch her drive to her future, her success, her other life. my heart becomes heavy. my soul grows weak. my body, numb. she turns the corner and is gone...gone. and i am alone. all friends, off to college. my "family", is my problem. and my escape, gone.

i find myself alone.

i drag my feet back into the house. throw the mail on the table, slam my head on the table and let the memories fall. i cry. i told my self i wouldn't and i lied.

with one final sigh, realizing that there is noting i can do, i stand to my feet and begin life. while my friends work for a better tomorrow, i will work for a better today. i will make good use of my time. for in three short years...i will have a family.
but in less than twelve hours she will be gone
and it will be my 13th day
i will be officially depressed..

11th day

lay in my bed.7:00 pm. once i heard that if one is aware of their depression for thirteen days, then they are truly depressed. this is day 11. so i lay and watch the sun fall from behind closed blinds.

i watch time pass. its dark outside now and within the past eleven days i have cried more than i have in 18 years. 9:10, a phone call. the only one that will get answered. i pick up, "Hello?"
"Heller??" the woman on the other line replies.
"Mmmhum," conversation follows, most of which i strain my voice to mask my uneasiness. i mask the tears in my voice. i mask the fact that the tears wont stop, cant stop. i keep my composure , and when i cant i dont speak. this almost impossible task last for about an hour until she must go.

i continue to lay

i have enough time to let my eyes dry and let the cold stare return. i have reached homeostasis. when another woman enters my room. the woman who birthed me and thus has me eternally in her debt. i owe her for a life i am not happy with. i owe her for a life i didnt ask for. but i owe her. she has only appeared to give her next order that i must fulfill. its her second one today as this is my second time seeing her. its a simple order. "Wash the dishes," as she leaves the room. "I owe her," i remind myself as motivation to complete the task at hand.

i feel my body get up without my command. auto-pilot. emotionless, it walks downstairs and begins to work. my ipod is in sync with my mind and plays a more melancholy list of songs, many of which i havent heard in some time. a single light remains on above my head, the rest of the world is dark. i look up to see my reflection in the window.
its funny. instead of showing me whats ahead, what i desire, what isnt here...all i see is myself. thats how my life has always been.

i hate this life...that is the conclusion i have drawn.
my mother left me for a Navy man. the same Navy man who has implemented a 10 o' clock curfew for a 19 year old male. the same 19 year old who he so desperately wants out of his house.
my father never had me to leave. i have hated him for as long as i have been making my own mind. and now, when i could use that much more stress, he decides he wants to mend our relationship. my father is dead. i am a bastard child with no dad. i have a Tarrance sr and a financial provider.
the one person who gave me peace is escaping. she has found her way out and is taking it, leaving me behind.
i am stuck...with a life i didnt ask for. with a life i dont want. i am not happy

and in two days i'll be officially depressed.

one of those sleepless nights

yes i did just write an entry, but my mind cannot stop. i'm lost in a sea of emotions trying to stay afloat on this raft of words. i feel it slowly sinking.
nothing in this world of mine is going in the right direction. i see failure quickly approaching. i am destined to live the life of a bum under the overpass. what do i want out of life? i want to write. i want people to enjoy my poetry as they do on facebook and myspace. but poetry isnt "in the market now", as i was told by a publisher rep. "everyone thinks they can write poetry," and they are fucking my dream up. he suggested i write a series, so i tried a little experiment. on facebook, i wrote a little trapped in the closet/zane/ignorant nigga story. and as i expected, the niggas ate it up and begged for more. i gave. the series is a three part set, and still they beg for a fourth and fifth and sixth. in my favorite book 'ERAsure' (thank you Z-co), the main character hides behind an alias in order to write a book that will satisfy the leeching critics and public, a book that is completely different from his norm. i took a walk in his shoes with this series. my poems are usually dark and somewhat suicidal where as this series (entitled "Oh God" (his book was called "FUCK")) was just a bunch of coonery: sex, guns, adultery, drama. the series has gotten so much publicity amongst my friends that its annoying. if i have to write garbage to even be noticed...what lows will i have to stoop to to even be recognized in the published world? thus, i have given up on my dream of becoming a writer. i will settle for a desk job and not being an author of a book inducted into Oprah's book club or whatever.
the owners of the house i currently stay in have (for many years) told me that i am in a constant "woe is me" type of thing. i thought about it...and still i disagree. now, i am king pessimist but i never want any kind of attention and damn sure no sympathy. which adds to the many reasons why we dont get along. they simply dont understand. they haven't the slightest clue about any thought, goal, inspiration, feeling, emotion or anything that goes on in my world. but they construe everything to fit the way they want it to which just so happens to be the exact opposite of what they WANT it to be. so, how i see it, in their lack of knowledge, in their sheer ignorance, they have twisted me into this unmotivated, lax , rude, uncaring asshole.(ill give them the rude asshole part). being so far misunderstood by people who you cant avoid can lead to unmeasurable amounts of frustration. one can only imagine why we dont get along now.
lately, i have been pondering: what is the purpose of life and why do we fear death? is this entire charade just a test, or a show to please God. to convince him that we are good enough to be let into his pearly gates. and if heaven is such a better place then why do so many fear death? i dont. i believe once you have understood that life is actually completely pointless and realize that death is not only inevitable and inescapable but also the gateway to a better being, fear becomes a thing of the past. if God controls all, then he also controls when, where and how the end will come. no bother trying to take the long road home or staying far from the seemingly "bad" parts of town for if God wants you to die, you will. fear is a pointless emotion, as pointless as tears. and still as a human, i am burdened with this bullshit. i do not fear death. i do not fear physical harm. i do not fear much, except failure.

i believe i have reached a shore. and these words have carried me safely through the dangerous sea of thoughts. having reached a place where i can almost enjoy the high tide, i believe i can put an end to this rambling.
sometimes
i just need to face the dangers of the drink
only to see
how deep i can get

up the road

for so many years now, i have kept a journal/diary. "The diary of a sinner", "Enter Tarrance Foster pt.1",Enter Tarrance Foster pt.2", and now this one. the majority of my previous entries in my previous journals have been about my "love life". immature, i know, but it was all i knew. as i have matured i can find many things to write about (we all have to start somewhere, right?)
but at 4:01am on this Saturday morning, i will return to my previous self.
as i have begun this journey of life after college failure, i find the road not only rocky but simply unbearable. the many negative emotions that swell within this already scorn soul keep me on edge. i am not a happy person. i find it hard to smile, harder to laugh and impossible to forgive. and still, i managed to find love. love in a person much like myself. love for a person nearly as troubled as myself. love. a love that cannot be torn by time or distance as it is soon to be tested by both. which is the EXACT reason for this entry.
my entire life i have encountered people who make living easier for me, only to lose them soon after accepting them: Tarrance sr., a few cousins, good friends in middle school, better friends in high school, and the best friends in college but more importantly, my current girlfriend. she is soon to continue her college lifestyle in Jackson, Mississippi whereas i am to begin my adulthood here in atlanta.
returning home after experiencing college has been nothing less than hell itself, she has made the regression easier with her late night words of encouragement and admiration. many a night, i have watched this woman drive from my presence and still it has not been easy. one would think i would get used to it...and simply knowing that in two weeks time i will watch her leave for longer than just a few days or a week. she will be leaving for an entire year (coming back only for weekend visits(once a month)). the very thought of her departure keeps me up at night. i can feel the burden of my life getting heavier already.
i love this woman, dearly. and knowing that i cant see her when i want or need to is hard enough but then add to the equation the many...things (for lack of better terms) that a college campus can provide. the two of us discussed this earlier, it isn't that i dont trust her but one cant help but get a little concerned. drugs, drinks, clubs, men, boys hell the work itself can all serve as factors to keep her from me...or even take...i dare not finish. maybe i am wrong for worrying and thinking such thoughts, but i would be inhuman if i didnt. simply put, im scared that her college life will strip me of what i need most: her. in the midst of all that she will be surrounded with, who's to say that this beautiful country girl wont easily forget a little city boy trying to make a name for himself(meaning that im broke as hell).
it seems as though whenever i need someone the most, when i need to be looked into my cold eyes and told "I believe in you," the most, whenever i simply need somebody touch my hand and smile at me, no one is there. i hate to blame anyone but myself but it seems as though God likes me to be alone when i can hardly bare to be. and if there was ever a time in life where i needed support, it is now. as the moore family make it known that there is no room for a single Foster in their house and force me into the "real world", i find myself more alone than my first weeks in a strange city.
at the end of this entry, i realize: this isn't just about the departure of person close to me, its about being alone...again. i have never been too fond of change but that was a change that i truly enjoyed...not being alone. and now history repeats itself, time overlaps as yet again i am left standing in the street watching the one person i desire, the one person i trust, the one person i love, drive off into their future. into success. into life.
all the while, i am stuck. in a rut of failure, depression, arguments, hate, hungry and sleepless nights and headache filled days. this life i live, yes it could be ALOT worse, but still not a single thing makes me happy.

as a man with a past that can be erased
as a boy with no family
as a child who experienced hate more so then love
as a person too familiar with failure
i sling my bag over my arm and begin to walk.
into my future
into my success
in my life

i know it wont be easy. there will be many more hungry nights and headache filled days but having only known failure, one will do anything for success...

how villains are made

everyone has a story. those who oppose the light have reasons for their dark ways, many of which wish they could serve the light: Harvey Dent, Anikin Skywalker. those who serve the dark have been rejected by the light. in an expected turn of events, i have followed the same fate. the walls that have created this person have begun to close. and yet, unlike any creature with sanity, i do not panic. i coolly look for an escape while already accepting death.
Tarrance Sr. is pushing himself back into my life. all these many years i have rejected him and still i cannot escape. for now he has my mother's support. i have chased this very man, begging him to love me. now that i have stopped caring, my mother attempts to force me to Indiana in order to meet him. i refuse. if he would like to meet, he will meet me where i am. i have grown tired of their feeble attempts to get me to meet him. fuck him. but if it will shut these people up, i will meet with this bastard. only on my turf though. i will not waste my weekend to fly to the midwest to meet him. i will meet him at chick-fil-a fifteen minuets up the street. only there.
he is wall number one
James Moore has reached his breaking point. he knows not i cannot speak to him. he knows not why i hate him and Tarrance as one even though he has tried so hard to be everything Tarrance isnt. why? i hate him as a person. he is not a person i would ever want to be around. i cannot stand anything about him. his imposing nature, his downward diatribes, his high-and-mighty persona or his "i can relate" facade. i feel as though he has taken my mother from me and i hate him for that (although she has now walked away from me). i hate him for not wanting to be my friend to talk to. i hate him for making me sleep with weapons well within reach. i hate him for believing that because he has "supported" me for so long, that he has earned my love. you cannot buy respect, you cannot buy love, and he doesnt understand that. his being colorblind has effected the way he thinks.
he is wall number two.
Cynthia Moore has shown that she no longer desires a son. the man in her life has changed her and she only needs one in her life. she has no need for a struggling man when she has one who can provide. who has provided. my rebellion against her husband (which was partially for her heart and undying love) has only turned her against me. so enraged and sick of me, she has thrown the person i am becoming, at me. my father. her doing this has shown me that there is no love between us. people say that a bond between a mother and her son cannot be broken. but the Titanic was unsinkable. we have begun our decent into the ocean of hatred and despair.
she is wall number three.
wall number four is a wall that i wish could stay. with her departure from my grasp, the rest of these walls will collapse on top of me. killing me...no metaphor intended. Shanika Rena' Veal has been the only person to give me hope. her presence is the equivalent of twelve blunts. with her i am so high that i forget the troubles of this world. in less than two weeks, she will no longer be here. as an addict, i will go through withdrawals until i return to my other addiction: alcohol. the only escape is for me to physically escape. leave and never return. i will not disclose my potential future location, but the longer i stay here, the more i know i need to go. if everything i want to forget is here in Georgia, why would i stay?
i am trapped
but i am also trapped within myself.
they say anger destroys you. it does. it slowly and painfully eats at your soul until you can feel it right under the flesh. it has devoured me whole. i am not angry for no reason as my caretakers would like to believe, but now it is second nature. to hurt comes as second nature. even when i try not to, my hand is forced. i am asked about how i feel, and when i give the painful truth, tears fall. i cannot help how i feel. it is ingrained within my foundation.

but i would like to heal
i would like to find a place i belong
something i have wanted all along.

more than i hurt others,
i hurt.

but of course, this matters not. the villain receives no sympathy.
escape

"i've tried everything but sucuide...but its crossed my mind." -Cee-Lo
a quote that replays in my mind

inspired to hate

my entire life, there has been one person who has claimed himself to be my "biggest ally" has also proven himself to be my most hated villain [or hero rather being that this is the diary of a villain].
my stepfather has reached the point of no return. there are mental categories that i put people in.
the unknowns: strangers, associates, classmates, etc. people i have no bond with.
the knowns: friends, "close" friends, etc. people who i dont mind spending or wasting my time with.
the hostiles: enemies, people i should watch, people i dont trust. self explanatory.
and lastly the no-faces: this group was just created recently. these are the people who i will not acknowledge. these are people i look at with a blank face because i have no emotions towards them. people who i wouldn't waste my time trying to actually fight because it would only be a tease. these are the people whose funeral i would smile at. but there is only one member of this group: Herbert James Moore II

apparently (and unnoticed by me)i spoke to my self proclaimed "dad" with rudeness and rebellion in my voice. although this sounds like something that would be of truth, i haven't said much of anything to this man for i dont believe in keeping my enemies close.
here is the story (briefly):
im sitting downstairs eating popeye's chicken, on the phone with my girlfriend and making small talk with my sister. the household male over 2o walks in the kitchen area and begins his usual rant of chores needed to be done. being reminded that the grass needed to be cut and the weeds pulled the next day, i replied, "i know."
"what?" he asked. i figured he didnt hear me so i repeated my answer, three times. maybe he was expecting a different answer. i dont know what it was, maybe he should have asked someone else.
still on the phone, i whisper a, "hold on,' as his orders continue.
he moves on to ask me why i havent washed his truck. it was Tuesday. i was granted the weekend to myself after our session with the shrink (and a few glasses of Smirnoff mojito). monday, i attempted to cut the grass before the lawnmower let off a small explosion. after which i left the house for the pool and soon after returning (and having an encounter with my mother) darkness came. today (tuesday) it rained. i could possibly be at fault for not sitting around and waiting for him to return to wash his already unattractive vehicle.

having lost my appetite for the quarter biscuit left in my hand. i place it back in its box and grab my empty drink to place them in the garbage can (while his rant was still going on).
"if you get up i'll punch the fuck outta you"
begrudgingly i sat only because i wasnt prepared for a fight. i was too lax and my knife was upstairs.
"i was just gonna throw my trash away."
and just like that, this nigga grabbed me by my neck, slammed me to the ground out of my chair and was choking me.
he asked me a question
with halfway swallowed biscuit still in my mouth and his heavy hands restricting my air flow, all i could mouth was, "i cant talk."
he reminded me of his question with, "do you understand me?!"
i obliged with a , "yessir." maybe that was the answer he wanted earlier.

the new threat got up, untied his robe exposing his fat and my would be target had i had my knife.
"swing!" he dared me. i was never one to turn down a good dare, but this was stupid. STOOPID
"go head, swing." i didnt want to "swing". i wanted to laugh. he looked so childish trying to taunt me. i didnt want to "swing", i wanted to stab. right through his chin to close his mouth.
i looked at him with a blank face. people write on blank faces, just as they do paper. they fill it with what they want it to say or what they think it should say.
he knew he was wasting my time, so he assumed my blank face was saying, "nigga why you wastin' my time?"
all i did was stare. he lost his cool, and i had won.

i coolly walked up stairs until i reached my room. where i let the emotions that should have poured out onto my enemies' face, surface. i made a call. a friend of mine who had a friend who offered me a gun not too long ago. it might be handy. and i sent a text. my girlfriend to let her know that i wouldnt be calling her back tonight.
i put on some pants, a shirt and grabbed my skates.

a friend was sent looking for me by my worried sister. i had vented already and regained my stiff composure, so when he offered that i get off the curb and get in his car, i did.
we talked. and him being the honest friend that he is, he reassured me that in this particular incident i had done no wrong. and dammit he was right.
i returned to the residence in which will no longer be called "home" and waiting was the three man assault team of the main enemy, his wife and her older sister. my only regret was coming back two hours later. (i should have waited until i knew they were asleep).
they began their "conversation" with me. of course, regardless of the fact that i remained completely cool in the earlier events, i still managed to come out the bad guy. the loser.
my mother is ready to wash her hands of me...she knows where the sink is
my aunt is heart broken to have heard me say some of the very few words that i granted them...find some tape and a stapler.
and the assaulter wants me to stop fighting him...clearly im the non-violent one.

i kept my last name Foster for a reason: i knew i didnt belong with the Moores. and i knew that one day, my last name would completely set me apart from them. i believe it has served its purpose

and i watch

...place a chips ahoy in a cup of milk. what happens? it slowly but surely dissolves. breaking off into smaller and smaller pieces until it absorbs so much milk that each crumb sinks. hitting rock (or glass) bottom.
as of this exact moment...my life is that cookie and it has begun to sink.

crumb number one: not being enrolled in any college
crumb number two: not having a decent job
crumb number three: ...well, i wont continue to list the "crumbs". its too much work.

the point is, my life is falling apart.

a while ago my family decided to sign us up to see a shrink. with every fiber in my body i detested this idea. maybe its just me, but i dont find it important anymore as to why my family and i dont get along. i had planned on moving out soon and once i did, i would lose contact and possibly never hear from them again.

[2 hours later]...there are many many issues that i am dealing with. but i dont feel like sitting here typing about them . i wanna skate.
fuck this

iPod on random

today i cannot seem to keep my thoughts in check...
so i figured i'd try something new. each song that comes on my beloved iPod will spark a new topic. i'll list the song and go into the thought. the song that goes with this intro is "Twilight zone" by Lupe Fiasco...and its ending now
"crank dat weezy wee" -lil wayne
the only reason this song is even on my damn ipod is to prove to the ignorant kids that believe that he is the best rapper out...that is indeed false. rap or hip hop is not dead contrary to what Nas says. but it is surely on its death bed. weezy wee off in this hoe...coonery

"superstar remix" -young Jeezy, T.I., Lupe Fiasco
this song isnt a great song at all...not on Lupe standards. but i must respect him for putting two of the most known "hood" rappers on his track. if anything at all, this put him on in the streets. i hope the rest of the songs dont just get talked about like the first two...otherwise this entry will be a complete failure. (so not the intent of this entry). the song is pretty much over...this is good practice for speed thinking and typing. songs are much shorter than they used to be. "if you are what you say you are...then have no fear"

"humble mumble" -outkast
the dynamic duo of rap...friends...i have a problem keeping people of this description in the male gender. they seem to prove themselves untrustworthy...often. no wonder women find it hard to trust us...

i've decided that this entry is going nowhere...
i think i just wanted to write something...
well..yeah

dreams are just that...

once upon a time...(cliche' book opening), i believed in pursuing what one wanted to do. these...dreams. i just knew that if one was to follow their dream, happiness would surely follow. at least, thats what my mother told me. well...welcome to the real fucking world, where shit don't work out.
i had a "dream" of being a writer...once upon a time. that time is over. not too long ago, i started to write a book of poems for it to be published. many people have told me, "You're such a good writer, i cant wait for your book." so i figured, "why not?" this is why not, people dont buy poetry books anymore. WHY? CAUSE EVERY BODY AND THEIR LITTLE SISTER CAN WRITE POEMS. or so they claim. every retard thinks they can capture the emotion of a topic just because they know how to throw in a rhyme. so people like me, who choose not to rhyme, look like every other fucker out in the "poetry" realm.
i called a publisher one day and told him that i had a book of poems that i wanted to be published...he flat out told me no. for that previously stated reason. poetry is no longer an art or taken seriously.

but this publisher did tell me to keep writing and that if i get a manuscript of an actual story, he'll gladly publish me. great. i always loved to write stories. so i started one and kept a few ideas in the back of my mind...until today...

my girlfriend and i went to the mall for nothing in particular. window shopping and simply enjoying one another. something happened (i cannot remember exactly what it was) and it knocked me off the cloud she put me on and into a more somber mood. we walked into Borders where i almost instantly gravitated to the "African-American literature" section...that is where my dream ended...
and i woke up

i could write a great book...but niggas dont read great books. they read Zane, and Eric Jerome Dickey, and other shit. books with half naked colored people on the front was all that could be found in the front row of this section. "The Diary of Miss Jane Pittman" and "A Lesson Before Dying" were the only two books of real content in view. but they were also the only two completely stocked. "Purple Panties", "Dear G-Spot", "Gotta Luv Ma Sistah" and "Gotta Luv Ma Sistah 2" were damn near completely sold out. i knew not a damn colored soul would read my book (not including friends and etc.). i wouldn't write a nigga book...couldnt. and thus, i was awaken from my dream. my dream of being a well known writer ended.
and though my girlfriend tried to keep my dream intact, i still watched it fall and shatter in front of the African-American Literature section.

i am awake...my dream had just started but it was a nice dream.

now reality

i need a real job

dreams can come true
bullshit
thats why they're called dreams

oh how i hate the optimistic, lying assholes who make this shit up

worst Christmas ever

well...seeing as how im still not doing anything yet, i figure i'll tell you curious minds the origin of my sincere disdain for Tarrance Sr.

christmas eve...im not exactly sure of the year but it was Christmas eve. my family and i were in Gary, Indiana, my birthplace, for a funeral. a funeral for my Uncle Fred whim i had just met maybe the year before. the funeral was this day...so it goes without saying that this was already a dark Christmas. did i cry during the funeral? no, only to pretend to be strong for my relatives around. i couldnt have been much older than thirteen. playing adult and holding my aunt in my arms like she could really feel my strength. i can laugh now. but inside my soul was burning under a bright blue flame.

that night i spoke to the one man that i loved more than life itself, Tarrance Sr. he promised me that he would pick me up the next day, Christmas. i was so excited. that was my idol. my mother and step-father often criticized him and told me such horrible stories of him all of which only led me to despise them. how dare they speak ill will of my father? my hero?! especially my mother who at one time liked him enough to fuck him and produce me. the nerve. when i told them my plans for the next day...they began their rants...the nerve.

Christmas came...presents were opened and enjoyed. but nothing was too gleeful. i realized that i only saw some of these relatives because of this funeral. and again i began to burn.
but Tarrance came to my rescue and i gladly left to hop in his blood red suburban. i wanted to hug him, but i had to be hard in front of him, so i withdrew the urge. his hazel eyes always put me at ease. but they were different this time...there was no red tint behind them. he was sober...and i was happy.

we drove to pick up a young girl, four years my junior. as he explained later on, she was my sister. never had i heard from her before...or again. i cant even recall her name...cey-something...key-something or some shit. with Tupac blasting...we drove more. to Bubba jan's (his mother) house. my new sister and i taught them how to harlem shake (which was big at the time) and other new dances.

in essence, we had a great time...

finally, after a few more stops we went to one of Tarrance senior's friend's house. i was the only child my age there, all the others were either younger or old enough to drink.

the biggest flaw of Tarrance's that was hardest to overlook, was his drinking. he always became a more violent and uncontrollable person. tonight was no different. he drank and in the midst of watching some basketball game, he decided one of his close friends was now an enemy. a fight almost broke out...he dragged my sister and i out of the house. we drove...and drove...and drove. until i fell asleep. when i awoke, he had purchased more liquor and was headed back to the house to make amends. he did and all was well...

...for about twenty minuets. this time he sent my sister and i to his truck and he was soon to follow.

once in the truck, we sat...and waited. the friend he had the altercation with, "Little-head", had come barging out the front door to his car. but he opened the passenger side door. i sat and watched in confusion. "he cant drive from that side...". but that wasnt his intention and i was too foolish to know. he quickly reemerged from his vehicle with gun in hand...my jaw dropped. not only was that my first time seeing a gun in person, but he was going to use that thing on my father.
luckily, two other men were there to wrestle the weapin from him and carry him back inside.

not long after, Tarrance mad his way to the truck...and we told him what we saw. instantly, he was infuriated and sped off. again...we drove and drove and drove. until i could no longer see anything. it had been snowing all day so the road was slippery. randomly, he stopped and asked me, "what do you think i should do?"
in my ignorance i replied, "pray about it." how cute, this young boy telling his psychotic father to pray. mistake.

he took his gun out of the arm compartment and cocked it (by this time my eyes were huge with fear). "you can pray...i'm gonna go blow his head the fuck off..." he stopped at a stop sign and all i could see was the darkness around and the snow flakes that had fallen on the windshield.
then, suddenly, he turned the gun on me and said, "and if you ever tell your mom about this, ill kill you too."

i couldnt cry...not yet.
he dropped us off at his ex-wife's house and instead of staying the night like i was going to, i had my mother rescue me. when i returned to my step-grandmother's house, i sat in her play room and cried
for hours...in the dark i cried. it was all i could do...my idol...my hero threatened my life.

that day...the worst Christmas ever...changed me forever
and embedded this Hate for the previous me....
...Tarrance Bernard Foster Sr

Tarrance vs Tarrance

no...this is not a weak "T.I. versus TIP" phase that every unoriginal weak minded teen went through when he did. this is an actual battle for my soul between two bodies with the same soul of darkness and hatred. my name is Tarrance Bernard Foster 2nd. so there was a previous version of me. the original. the first of two failures. my father.

father...
he deserves not such a title, so out of spite we will call him everything but.

this man almost single handily ruined my life. he turned me into the cold hearted being that i am. all it took was one day, Christmas, to turn me against the world. that one day confused me so horribly that all i could be was angry, once i had enough strength to stop crying. and still i could not comprehend what had occurred. now that i am fully competent of what transpired that day and in all of my other run-ins with bitch of a man i can never forgive him. only hate remains where admiration used to dwell. yes, i hate Tarrance Bernard Foster Senior.

the worst Christmas ever...a story for another time my friends.

the purpose of this entry is to explain how successfully i had evaded this man. ignored calls, disregarded messages, burned letters. i did everything in my power to run from him. he who embodies pain. i had won. calls stopped, messages ceased, letters no longer came.

but today, july fourth, two thousand and eight, my birthday, the day i knew would go wrong before it came, he calls. of course i could have ignored it...and i would have...if he called MY phone. to my dismay he isn't as stupid as i would like to think. he called my mother and spoke with her for a while. meanwhile, i lay in my bed wanting to be sleep. when my mother barges in my room holding the phone. i knew it was someone wanting to wish me happy birthday, but when asked she wouldnt tell me who. i was trapped.

"Hello?"
"Hey Boy! you know who you talkin to??"
of course i did and no longer was i sleepy. i was infuriated. at my mother for giving me the damn phone and him for even remembering that i was his son. he told me to call him later, i wont.

after a hour or so, i was over it. until i went downstairs for breakfast...when i heard the worse news of the century.
worse than knowing that my family will be going to see a shrink...worse than knowing that my cousin and my aunt are moving in with us.
i found out that he would be moving to the same city...

after years of having escaped his grasp...he would be here...but this town aint big enough for two Tarrances.
my worst fear is coming to pass...and needless to say im not happy about it.

picked mind

my family has decided that it was a good idea to sign us up to go see a shrink...as a family. i keep hearing that it will be good for all of us. it will allow me to really express my sincere disdain for my stepfather. but, not only do i feel no need to let these people understand my feelings, i also think its entirely too late. i am soon to be moving out. mending any "bond" with the moore family wont matter. especially since i do not plan on hearing from them once i leave.
when im gone im gone

i keep hearing:
"Tarrance, you're not a villain. so why would you call yourself that"
only villains have the dark thoughts that i do. i watch a lot of cartoons and in each one the villain has much time to develop. i match well with each of them. it was either that or "diary of an anti-hero" and that doesn't sound cool at all.
i am the one who walks towards the shadows instead of basking in the sun. the one who watches the lighting rather than run. i am the dark character of your favorite book. and i enjoy it.

so this is nineteen

some birthday

nineteen

nineteen. the final year of the "teen". still not old enough to drink but not young enough to mooch off my "parents". eighteen was an interesting year. i accomplished much, and failed more. i realized that my stepfather and myself cannot live under the same roof. i learned that the beach looks better at night. i was taught b.e.t was evil. and i learned how to be a better me.

i hate birthdays. mostly mine. people ask "how does it feel to be a year older?" maybe i'm the only one who noticed, but not a damn thing changes in that one specific day. so often i respond (like i have today), "i just feel that much closer to dying." people mistake that comment as a sign of depression.
but am i not right?

nineteen. the year of ultimate confusion
nineteen. the year of pre-manhood and post-boyhood
nineteen will be a long and troublesome year.

yeah
happy fucking birthday

some birds cant fly

i feel as though i'm headed for failure. like there is nothing i could do to reach success. i know i have the tools, the training and the ability. but do i have the power...the destiny? what is my destiny? what is destiny? the pre determination of one's life...to be told how one will end before they begin...

earlier this month i spent a week in Myrtle beach. even though i spent it with temptress, a talkative family and a heavy heart i throughly enjoyed myself. never had i been so at peace with myself. often a text message from my mother would appear. knowing that she is the source of many of my stresses (or at least the messenger of such). i spent many nights with my feet in the warm water watching the moon pass through the skies. many poems were written. that week saw the essence of perfection in my eye. returning home was similar to letting a convict enjoy freedom only to lock them up again.

"home is where the hate is," -Common

lately suicidal thoughts have flooded my brain. even while in the perfect place, i often found myself wanting to throw my body into the drink and not come up. never have these thoughts been so vivid. i am somewhat afraid that i might actually go through with one soon. what frightens me even more...is that i fear nothing. death itself is actually just another event...and not "the end". living this way...i dont plan to see past thirty-five. and i dont mind.

so maybe im fucked up
i am a fuck up
and i dont give a fuck
.fuck.

maybe im not meant for greatness like i always dreamed
maybe ill die alone and poor like in my nightmares
maybe this hell will remain my reality
maybe the beach is as close to heaven as i'll get
.maybe.

the catch/up

honestly, i am quite grateful to have found this page again. somehow, someway...i lost it. but i needed the vent and here it is!

last semester i had such high hopes for my grades such a wonderful and pure view of my college life. well, i failed two classes and ended up with a GPA so low, that i am ashamed to post it here. gradewise...it was a complete and total failure. socially, thats another story. there are not too many freshmen on campus who dont know me. i hate to admit...but my father was right. with the mindset i went into my first semester with, i was bound to fail.

the good: i still learned plenty of useful thing that will aid me in my fight against amerika.
i have found a friend. there has been one person who i have seen everyday since before homecoming. if ever i had a best friend, it is him. there WAS nowhere we would go without the other close by. things change. now he has a reason for not being seen. Gabby Todd, my friend since seventh grade is now his girlfriend. this being said, i do not see my friend as much anymore. i am back to doing what i do best, be alone. this is no "woe is me"...its simply fact.

i have seen many things here at HU all ranging from an emergency room full of crackheads and one china man who cut off his ear. to the great Angela Davis herself. i still love Howard University, but now i know what college is. and now, i am prepared to taste success.