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