ChillSpot Online: Our Art is Life

It’s been just over 24 hours since he died, and I’m still kinda hoping it’s not true. I didn’t know the man personally, so I cannot vouch for his character, but I can say with sincerity that it was a pleasure to have shared the Earth with Michael Joseph Jackson. I don’t believe in idol worship, and I don’t espouse to zealousness either. I don’t plan on building a shrine, simply admiring a talent so unique that it may never been seen again in my lifetime. That’s Michael Jackson. He was timeless BEFORE he died. His music endured his tribulations. Even HE could not undo that.

There is a piece on the LA Times Web site, written by Robert Hilburn, a reporter who covered and knew Michael, that is very telling. A quote:

In the 1981 interview, he told me, “My real goal is to fulfill God’s purpose. I didn’t choose to sing or dance. But that’s my role, and I want to do it better than anybody else. I still remember the first time I sang in kindergarten class. I sang ‘Climb Every Mountain,’ and everyone got so excited.
“It’s beautiful at the shows when people join together. It’s our own little world. For that hour and a half, we try to show there is hope and goodness. It’s only when you step back outside the building that you see all the craziness.”

Michael likely fought with the success he reaped. In the LA Times piece, he says the album after Thriller would sell twice as many, even though Thriller was the top-selling album of all time. And what must life be like when it’s apparent that you’ve already done the greatest thing you’ll ever do?

He was a lonely, and stressed man. I believe in the end, all the effort to be the best, all the internalizing and pain, loneliness and pull from those around him who existed only to feed off him, all these things conspired to claim his life energy, then finally his life.

Rest easy, Michael, your fight is over.

I’ve walked through fire,
burned my flesh so bad till vermin came sniffing the aroma,
scarred my retinas looking at the sun through binoculars,
severed tendons, cracked vertebrae, punctured organs
and knocked myself unconscious,
and never did I have a moment of fear of things
I’d done or faced, until you.

You.

You showed me a darkness
deeper than the murkiest trenches in the Pacific Ocean,
colder than the most desolate corners of the universe,
colder than Absolute Zero,
colder than the breath of a dead man,
from which there is no return.
I strode valliantly, ignorantly, toward my own demise,
in hopes of conjuring a magic powerful enough to overcome you.

But I had it all wrong.

In order to defeat something as sinister as you
I would have had to submit to it,
to you,
to the very evil I have worked to extract
from my own soul. I thought I could walk the edge,
straddle the raging volcano,
inhale the noxious gases
but an angel came to me as I stood on the precipice,
ready to plunge in,
and suggested I look inward before going further.
The angel showed me the folly
of trying to control a shadowy force of nature.

After all, what have you gained
if you obtain the upperhand on the devil himself?
And furthermore, is it really even necessary
to understand Satan anymore than you might already?
Evil is evil, and to look much more into it than that
is to become in league with said evil.

After seeing the darkness in my soul,
which had been blackening as I read from your book,
I found it best to turn away from you,
toward the light, because there is no victory
to be had standing toe-to-toe with the demon queen herself.

I just read this little tidbit, and it rings so strongly that I wanted to share it. The Cavs, in passing on tying the Boston Celtics record 41-1 home standard, may have inadvertently contributed to their own demise in the playoffs. Read on:

2 things the Cavaliers have to be wondering
2. Should they have rested the starters in the final game of the regular season?

Had they won that home game — they lost in overtime to Philadelphia as LeBron James and other starters watched — the bottom half of the East draw would have been changed, matching the 76ers against Boston in the first round. The argument can be made that the Celtics might have had an easier time against the Sixers than they ultimately had against the Bulls, who took them to seven enervating games. That would have left the Celtics fresher going into the second round against Orlando. Would the Celtics have had the energy to close out their 3-2 lead against Orlando? Would Cleveland have used its home-court advantage to knock off Boston — the Cavaliers having matched up better against the Celtics than against the Magic — and would they be in the Finals as a result? This is all highly far-fetched, but these are the things that keep executives and coaches up late at night after the kind of bad loss that Cleveland suffered in the conference finals against Orlando.

1. What could they have done against Dwight Howard?

The young Magic center had 40 points in the decisive Game 6 against Cleveland, which has been out of character for his postseason as a whole. In the second round, the Celtics held him to 16.4 points on 11.7 field-goal attempts, and through four games of the Finals, the Lakers’ harassing team defense has limited him to 16.5 points on 8.5 attempts.

Against the Cavaliers’ relatively passive interior defense, however, Howard managed 25.8 points on 13.8 attempts. Was this an issue of personnel and mismatches, or was the problem in the schemes? The likely answer is that both sides must be addressed. But I don’t believe for a second that coach Mike Brown is in danger of losing his job. He was Coach of the Year for winning 66 games with a team that was viewed in the preseason as lacking firepower around James. If you fire him, who becomes his replacement? Good luck finding someone who can seamlessly improve on the foundation Brown has established. It isn’t going to happen.

Okay, the Cavaliers lost to a better team. I can accept that. But something inside me just won’t let some other things slide, so I’m about to put them all on blast, partly for therapy, partly cause I feel like it.

- LeBron not congratulating the Magic or talking to the media
Who gives a shit? Alright! Let’s take this from another perspective. You go to work. The job hires another person who does exactly the same thing you do, only they’re younger, prettier, stronger and smarter. When that person gets the promotion you thought was yours for years, what do you do? This is your LIFE remember? You might pretend to be gracious, but in reality, you want that person to get sucked into a jet engine, right? Well, for LeBron, basketball is a JOB. Not a game, but a JOB. So he didn’t feel like kissing ass while the opponents rub their balls all over him and the fans cuss him out? So WHAT! Here’s LeBron’s take on it …

“It’s hard for me to congratulate somebody after you just lose to them,” he said. “I’m a winner. It’s not being a poor sport or anything like that. If somebody beats you up, you’re not going to congratulate them. That doesn’t make sense to me. I’m a competitor. That’s what I do. It doesn’t make sense for me to go over and shake somebody’s hand.”

- The other players
They all suck. Fuck the sugarcoating, they suck as a unit. They suck individually. They suck. Watch me break them down:

Mo Williams
A nice player when surrounded by other stronger, taller players, but not a second star. And now, a choke artist who sounded glad just to be there.
Delontae West
A really good seventh man, but not a starter. Defensively strong, but only an inch taller than Gary Coleman, who is the same height as Mo Williams. The NBA is a big man’s game, these midgets get stomped. And not an offensive force … a lot like …
Daniel ‘Boobie’ Gibson
He has become just like many other “shooters” to come along since LeBron came into the league. Remember Jason Kapono? Trajan Langdon? Shannon Brown? Damon Jones? Luke Jackson? Dujuan Wagner? J.R. Bremer? No? They’ve all come and gone since 2003. And they all were supposed to do the same thing Boobie’s not doing - spread the damn floor! So Boobie, minus a ridiculous night a few years ago against the Pistons, you’ve taken your place along those other names in Cavs history … welcome home kid.
Sasha Pavlovic
The poorest man’s Larry Hughes. Sort of can shoot. Sort of athletic. Sort of a good defender. Add all that together and you know what you get? A DAMN BUM.
Anderson Verejao
He’s what the Bulls’ Joakim Noah aspires to be. A cracked out flopper, a nuisance, a benign Dennis Rodman, who has very few skills beyond that.
Ben Wallace
A walking corpse of his former self. Can no longer bang with the bigs. Hustles no more. Is allergic to offense. And is the price we paid to get rid of Hughes. $20 mill… Without his afro he’s not even fun to look at anymore.
Zydrunas Ilgauskas
He’s like your old uncle. He’s cool, you give him mad respect for all he’s done, but you pity him because he hasn’t quite figured out that he ain’t the pimp he used to be. Big Z is a center, who doesn’t play in the middle anymore. Remember when he had post moves? Gone. What about when he could get 6 tap backs on rebounds to keep a possession alive? Not so much anymore. He’s a hindrance to the game unless he’s hitting his long range shots, but he doesn’t even do that so much. Hang it up big guy. We’ll put you in the rafters, for whatever that means…
Wally Sczerbiak
He’s never EVER been a good fit. He never hit threes like he was supposed to, so he should easily (and rightfully) fit into the category with Boobie, but for the fact that he was expected to do more than hit a three. He’s tall enough to be helpful, but he’s about as athletic as Joey Chestnut, you know, the champion eater? Fortunately his contract is up. See ya.

I won’t rip Joe Smith, he’s been ripped enough as a former No. 1 pick.

Does that cover everyone who matters?

Oh the coach!

Mike Brown
He’s a great cheerleader, which is good for a coach who wants to keep his job. But his skills as a motivator are still up in the air. Notice how much the networks showed Stan VanGundy? Never once did you see a Mike Brown huddle shot. Why? Because it’s not good TV, which means it can’t be motivating to a player? Okay, so Tony Dungy, former coach of the Indianapolis Colts, didn’t yell and scream, but he has something Brown lacks: presence. He seems like he really has no idea what he’s doing, still, and he’s now got Coach of the Year on his resume…

The future
The Cavs need more athletes. Preferably in the 6′6″ range, with speed and a jumper. And one decent big man (like hmm … Carlos Boozer?). The Magic series, as Charles Barkley said, was too hard for the Cavs to win. LeBron had to use too much of himself to carry the team, which was too willing to ride along on his coattails. Hence that game six stinker(?) where he seemed unfocused, and still had 25 7 and 7. All in all, the team overachieved, so there’s no need to be mad that they lost without a title. Cleveland is Cleveland, after all, so people will say this was a bad year, but it was the one of the greatest sporting seasons the city has ever seen, so savor it, and beg for changes or it’ll be more of the same next year.

Hey beautiful!
I was just thinking about you.
How pretty your skin is in the morning,
how your eyes glow in the sun,
and how sexy fine you are.
You’re the woman of my dreams,
and I am totally in lust with you.
I would let you eat my pussy,
while I was eating yours.
I would do your nails for you,
And bathe you in Moet.
I’d buy you the finest things,
Cars, you’d have three.
Clothes? Only the rarest ones for you.
I’d give you gifts just for winking at me.
Did you just wink at me?
Aww, here, have a tennis bracelet!
It’s not enough carats? Really?
I’m sorry … I thought 5 would please you.
Let me fetch someone to make this better for you.
Please don’t be offended by this,
But I’m gonna kiss you.
I’m gonna kiss you right on the lips.
Those soft supple lips.
Muah!
So sweet.
Is that a blemish on your cheek?
Oh shit! Baby, lemme put some concealer on it.
Wait a minute. Baby, your panties.
They’re cutting into your waist. Didn’t you used to wear small?
Did they shrink in the wash? They did.
I know it. But your belly IS hanging over them a lil.
Girl, don’t worry about it. Niggaz love a little pouch.
What you say? They love YOUR pouch?
Well no shit! Your toe nail clippings are worth more to men
Than most women’s whole bodies, naked!
You are an angel, and any man who don’t see that
Is too dumb to ever deserve you. Most men are too dumb.
They don’t know who you are. And that’s their own problem
And their own loss.
You think it’s weird that I’m in your head?
I know, it is huh. How we always seem to be thinking
The same things, we crave the same things,
Take the same things from men,
All that? It’s like we’re the same person.
But I don’t believe I could love myself as much as I love you.
It’s just not possible. Did I tell you I love you?
I love you too.

I was THIS CLOSE to my dream.
This close to my hope.
But I wasn’t really close at all.
There was an invisible chasm between me and them,
and I didn’t notice it till I was plummeting off the edge,
my face flapping in the wind, my eyes watery and red,
and the only thing left was the inevitable collision.
The only thing I’d expected to collide with was bliss,
A single kiss after the pastor pronounces us man and wife,
No strife, no stress, just me and he,
Arm in arm, the world in awe …
All that is in the hopper now,
How can I walk away from my dreams
And be forced to face my nightmares?
It’s there too, still taunting me,
Years after grinding me into a paste for his bread.
He’s still tormenting me, and I can’t shed him.
Why? Why does he matter? Why does he affect me so?
I don’t know, or maybe I don’t care to.
But I know I might have just watched my husband
Walk out of my life, and at the very least,
our bond may never be the same
Even if he does come back. I’m still getting used to the idea
Of him being gone …
And here this fool is, STILL pulling me under water,
Still muffling my screams for freedom,
Or is that my OWN hand over my mouth?

Look. I know this little series has been all O network and shit, all women all the time, but I got shit on my mind too, and Spike TV won’t quite get it. I thought I’d submit this so that someone out there might learn from it, or be inspired in some way by it. Well, naw, that’s bullshit. Really, this is my confession, except that I’m bragging, so I guess I’m not really repenting, but moreso acknowledging the abomination within me, in hopes that putting the words into space will calm it a little…

I devour women. Not in the Dalmer sort of way, but more in the psychological Hannibal Lecter (okay so maybe that’s not a great example?) sense. It’s like they WANT to be ruled by me. So I let em walk off their own cliffs. This is not without backlash … sometimes they awaken and are a little pissed about how they played themselves, and then they come at me. It takes more energy to contain their misplaced rage than it ever did to attain their weak minds in the first place.

So basically, I’m tryin to change my diet. I’d like to slow down and chew my food, and actually appreciate the care that went into making it. If that means I eat less, then fine … cause I’m damn tired of indigestion…

Before you took a breath,
before you ever told me you loved me
you were gone.
I know not where you went,
but I know where you aren’t.
You aren’t inside me,
you were in my past the moment you began.
I’d like to imagine you’re in a special place
Reserved for angels and the innocent,
Playing in the rain, climbing the tall slide
At the biggest playground in the world,
Laughing, screaming and running around
Free.
If I could have wished that for you it would be so.
I don’t know. I was happy today,
In a way, it’s all thanks to you,
Because there is no you,
The Me in all this grew,
Continued to enjoy the fruits of my new life,
Your new life never was,
Because it was between the two,
And you had no voice
No vote
No choice
Rejoice, because you’re in a better place;
Your face, bathed in the light of the sun,
It’s done, because I didn’t want it
And he didn’t care,
So there was no chance;
In my mind’s eye you dance with
My grandfather, old and new –
You two, in the same joyous abode,
Behold, how bad begat something good
Then became bad, which led to something good again.
I know in my heart that doesn’t make sense,
But since you’re not here to argue your side,
Inside me is how I choose to see
What we did and where you’ll be –
Eternity is a long time
But in time we’ll meet again,
And you can tell me how you hate me
Debate me on what I did
But for now, I am …
And you never were.

You know the drill, just my random musings … here we go!

Kiss Ass, Cop!
The cop who harassed NFL player Ryan Moats and his family knew he was on camera and STILL acted like an ass. No forgiving that. His mother-in-law is still dead, and you’re grabbing your own balls as the authority?!?! Kiss ass fool, and pay the price.

Um, your face?
Lil Kim, currently strutting on Dancing with The Stars, looks a lot different than she did in her Junior Mafia days. The weight she picked up in jail didn’t help, but there’s just something not quite right around her forehead and cheeks, eh? In one of her naughtiest lyrics, she once bragged she could “make a Sprite Can disappear in my mouth.” All imagery aside, it’d likely be an improvement over her look now…

(Sidebar: you think Sprite was pleased or upset that their name was used in such a way? Did they pay her for the product placement spot?)

Like he never left
Tiger Woods won his first tournament since returning from a serious knew injury at Bay Hill, hitting a 15 foot putt to seal the deal. The only problem with Tiger? He and caddy Steve Williams STILL give the most awkward high-fives around, even though they’ve had plenty of practice. You think they’d try it a couple times in real life? I’m not saying coreograph it like Lebron’s pregame photo routine, but at least enough times so they can actually SLAP HANDS firmly! No one has likely told Tiger this, or else, with his competitive vigor, he’d have them doing a six-piece brohand-shake, with the reverse foot kick like Kid-n-Play…

To my 6 readers: I am indeed alive and well. I will return shortly with more ridiculous crap and poems you may gag on while trying to read.