I love Islam and cream soda

One year ago today, my life was measured in eight gunshots. Five of those bullets found their mark: one tearing through my eye socket and exiting my neck, the others shattering my arms, shoulder, and elbow. The impact detached my retina; the damage to my carotid artery triggered a stroke that stripped the feeling from my entire left side. A year later, the physical toll remains. I live with searing nerve pain and partial vision. I struggle to tie my shoes or type with the speed I once had. On the nights I do sleep, I often wake to the echo of those shots and the metallic taste of gunpowder on my tongue. I remember that night with haunting clarity. I felt a dark energy approaching and I moved first, throwing an elbow that made him scream—his teeth marks are still etched into my skin. The next sound I heard was the bullet entering my face. The case remains open as attempted murder. The police have their theories—ranging from a gang initiation to a disgruntled ex-b...

This year, inshaAllah (God willing) I am going to launch an anti-violence initiative based on the jailhouse culture of settling beefs by entering an empty cell and engaging in fisticuff negotiations - as opposed to resorting to using homemade weapons, etc. I'm old school in the belief that in the event that people feel they have to resort to physical confrontation to settle a conflict, that a line be drawn at the use of guns. In my personal opinion, most of today's wannabe  thugs are emotional weenies who are too quick to pull a trigger, further compounding their immature state of mind with life-shattering violence and death. (I blame this on skinny jeans). In jail, the idea alone of walking into a small space one-on-one was enough to make a lot of dudes think twice to avoid behaviors that lead to the thunderdome, and for those who had to get down, they got to walk away, with only a bruised ego if they lost, less thinner skin, and often more respect for the person they ju...