Friday, August 22, 2008

The Ghost of Atrack's Past

you're happy now, but just you wait. it'll end.

I totally stole this idea from some Very Smart Brothas, but it's a damn good idea.

A Letter to Young(er) Me

kick him in the nuts, insult him, and shove him out the front door. it'll feel great.

oh, and that West Indian cat in Atlanta? don't go. trust me, you'll regret it.

don't be so damned mean. he was a sweetheart. those other fuckers? yeah, they deserved your harsh words and ire. continue to laugh at their hurt feelings and K.I.M. matter of fact, talk about their mothers and dare them to say something.

explain to them. make them understand that you need to go away. don't bottle it up like you always do cuz you'll just end up at that wack-ass school begrudgingly taking classes until you graduate eight (yes 8!!!!) years later.

and don't major in English. what the fuck is that about? either major in some super will-make-you-paper shit or actually follow your heart and try to shop for a living. one day, on a semi-warm august afternoon, you will be effing miserable and mad perplexed about what to do next if you don't.

she's crazy ... as hell. she was a good friend for a minute, but that time has expired. despite the time you spend, the sacrifices you make, the pleas you cop, you cannot help her. that time in pizza hut when you tried to get away? be successful. don't be wooed back with sorrys and heartfelt letters. if she doesn't get the message, just give her the look and throw up the deuce.

i'm sorry. i don't speak crazy

honestly, you shoulda did him. that's right. it would've still ended (poorly) but at least you wouldn't be wondering years later.

save some money, dummy. yes, it's okay to still buy an ill pair (or three) of shoes every month or so, but siphon off summa that dee-oh-ee for the harsh times you know are a-comin'. gurrrl, you know you can't keep a job.

you'll still be fresh to def. word to Big Bird (or Cookie Monster).

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