I love Islam and cream soda

Back on September 10th, I posted an admittedly provocative picture on my Twitter, of me cutting a gag off of my mouth - one that had "Dom" written on it - with the caption "#48Days". To most, it was an obvious reference to my then-countdown to the day that I would be off of parole and able to talk freely about my ordeal with my ex-wife, Dominique. But to my man, Theo Wilson, it was an opportunity to cape for Dominique and attempt to call me out on Facebook and both get back in her good graces and look like Black-Women's-Best-Friend. All the while, he claimed to be "brotherly" to me. He must've meant "brotherly" in the sense that Cain was "brotherly" to Abel. Some background: In August, the Kasbah nightclub hosted its poetry night on a Thursday and a sister recited a poem about being molested and then pointed out an audience member (and fellow open mic performer) as apparently being the one her poem was about. This s...

On November 26, minding my own business, I got an interesting Facebook friend request.  At first glance, it looked like the typical spam request that would eventually direct me to a porn site.  Except for the locale of the person.  Generally, the spam requests come from a locale either from my profile like where I grew up, but this one was from Colorado.  It took about 4 seconds of a closer look to realize that it was my ex-wifey Dominique, after old shenanigans. And I do mean “old”.  She had only just recently catfished to me taking on the guise of a weather person working at 9News.  The same 9News that had just exposed her as a fraud and a house thief.  Dominique intended for me to click on a link that she sent that would record and send her my IP address.  Not that she could do anything with that info, especially given the fact that I don’t have a static IP address; the perks of having more than one or two hacker friends. First, I sn...

One Day, Your flattened fingertips Rubbed smooth by too many swipes Over too many screens Are going to miss me Yearning for the mottled texture of my insides I  may cut you at first - An injury of unfamiliarity But that nick will heal as i absorb your blood It shall be a token to worlds far away from here I am waiting to bear you by all sorts of magical transports That only an author can conjure Come to me hungry And let me feed you Nibble, gnaw and chew to your heart's content I am your escape I have keys to every shackle and hobble ever constructed Let me enter your veins and course through Make you addicted and detached From the Armageddon that is outside your windows Drink my Sufi wine, intoxicated by the most Divine Let my spine bear your weight as you recline For now... I live in a museum What you used to call a "library" Where I am still and dusty but wide awake and alive Waiting for your fingers to honor and humor me In exchange...