The Man who Invented Heaven & Hell ♋∞

"Jenny, what are you doing? Stop it!" Victor said, vehemently yanking his daughter away from her sister.
At that moment, it hit him. Bad people had to face the consequences of their actions so he spanked his daughter, urban folks called it "whipping" because it reminded them of slavery. To Victor, there had to be a place where people burned for their behavior on earth. In a state of constant thought, he felt that if they didn't face the consequences here, then they had to face some punishment in the after life. He was not a religious man but studied often. To test his theory, he started stealing and doing everything that his wife had preached him not to do in her beloved bible. Victor had been playing with fire and would soon find himself on the ledge of the building where he lived. While standing on the ledge, looking down, he noticed that the people that he had hurt were there to talk him out of trying to take his own life. They were encouraging.
"This must be what it feels like when you have so much bad weight on you that you constantly feel like your mind is burning," he kept repeating to himself, while standing on the ledge of his seventh floor apartment. Karma had caught up to him, so he discovered a way to undo the hell that he had created from his bad behavior. He started doing good to undo his bad will. In the process, he became wiser and did twice as good as he had done bad. He also started having a constant flow of positive thoughts. After spending his entire life playing with fire and ice, he wrote his philosophy down and published his very own book. Victor's reasoning of the afterlife stood in the middle of basic human actions. He stated that if a human being were to stay in one spot and do nothing, they would eventually attract some form of energy or become so neutral that they would become nothing on earth and die. His focus was on how the mind and body had to stay in motion, moving was the only way to keep the cycle going. He also wrote about training and how if one did not move they would eventually become like a tree, stupid and dumb to other humans. Over the course of Victor's work, he spoke a lot about fire and ice. His hypothesis that hell was equal to too much negative energy and heaven was equal to too much positive energy—wowed other philosophers and theologians. His basic concept that the human mind was built to stay in the middle could not be challenged. What won him an audience was his logical theory that everything that we do on this planet can only come from two forces that will eventually try to keep us in the center of life's eternal equation. In his final book titled: "The Man who Invented Heaven & Hell," Victor took readers into two worlds made of fire and ice. He elaborated on how one cannot survive by being totally present with fire or totally present with ice. His basis was focused on staying in the middle, he stated that if you did not stay in the middle, eventually you would become too loved or too hated and human nature would try to pull you in either direction. Although he could never show people heaven or hell, he believed that on our quest to be born into this world, we beat out the competition to get back into the middle, racing with our own bloodline. Victor felt that the rotation of life was never ending. He concluded by stating that we were just energy flowing constantly between two hot and cold elements, and the process never ends. His last chapter focused on the genetic makeup of human intellect. It talked about how our genetic makeup is ultimately a design from God to keep things balanced with an unlimited supply of creativity from his branches of DNA. Each genetic branch is given a chance to live in the center of the ultimate eternal cycle.♋∞

The Wild Wild West

A typewriter fell in my lap, bye God, it's a computer.
I could’ve sworn it was a typewriter just yesterday.
Laptops, Googles, Ipads, and Galaxies.
Flying liberals fighting at a drugstore, everyone duck-duck-goose, she's got a gun.
Conservatives eating with Russians.
Indians and cowboys, blacks and whites, bullets flying everywhere.
Tweets and eagles fighting in a white house.
Black Panthers fighting with African hippos, oh my, Mickey and Minnie too.
Naked women in 3D.
Is that guy a Mexican Jew?
Gays and Lesbians jumping through rainbows, midgets dancing in the street, somebody check the safe.
Muslims and Christians behind bars with tattoo artist screaming rape.
Smoke at a weed factory. Who knew?
Women with red hair and pink pajama paints too.
Jumping Jezebels on  public radio.
Jesus on B.E.T and in the Rolling Stones.
Lawsuits all over a poem and a poet with a broken pencil on the kitchen table.
The bank in the safe, the safe in the bank, no reserves for the robber, he's shooting blanks.
Teens on drugs and pervy neighbors peeking through little Suzie's window.
Guns in school, Guns in church, Guns in bed, Guns and roses.
Presidents with golf balls dancing in their heads.
A mixture, a reservation, sober people escorting drunks.
Ships in port, passing out condoms to spies.
Oh boy, what a Jubilee.
What's on the next channel, I hope I don't go blind.
I just remembered, did you pay my fine?
Drug infested stars, children speaking adult language.
Boxing matches in old churches.
Little furry dogs with headbands on.
Chickens running loose at the zoo.
Tigers in Vegas, bye George, there's hookers too.
Buses, and sleighs filled with starving children on black Friday.
A king drinking at a dirty fountain.
Presidents dead in the streets, doctors wearing white sheets.
Working nine to five in the land of the free.
Rappers, Barbies, Dick and Jane.
Anonymous, does anyone know my name.
Divas, peasants, and common people, jay walking on busy streets.
Ashes in irons and old folk tied to hospital beds made with high tech remotes.
Houses on the open market some of them sold.
Sports players, some of them bold.
Smile for the camera, are you talking to yourself?
Is that you on the tube, cleaning up blood in the snow?
Is that you on the tube, punching that girl like dough?
Can anyone comprehend?
Lawyers with empty stomachs, judges with wooden teeth.
I think I've lost my marbles, maybe I should head east.
Wigs and cotton, sea to shinning sea.
Breakfast in bed on the last day of the week.
There's something about the wildness that makes me assume everything is free.
Buy; sell; solicitors on the phone.
I walk outside but no one's home.
Wall Street with a corner store. 
Maybe my medicine will keep me sane.
Oh boy, I forgot my name.
The woman's hockey team beat Canada.
The paperboy dropped out of school.
A nun trying to hold on to the golden rule.
Different people everywhere, I must be lost.
How much does that penny cost?
I then wake up from my dream getting arrested by the cops.
They take me in and explain my rights.
I've woke up in the West, the Wild Wild West, butt-naked flying a kite.
Two professors dressed like hippies pass me a test.
"What a nasty world we live in," she has tattooed on her chest.
I'll try and do my best, wait, on second thought, maybe I should rest.
I promise I won't ask the fast-food girl for anything fresh.
Wake me up when it's over.
I've lost my mind.
Hold up, I think I'll be fine.
Peace.
Lol
Nevermind
Crazy, no, try wild.
Hey, get that camera out of here!
 
 

Quit

What's the point of trying, it's already been done?
Nobody cares anyway, there will be more people that hate you than love you once it's done anyway.
Sit down.
Take a break.
Why pay the bill when the owner is getting the service for free?
Why get married, in a few years she'll be with someone else anyway?
There's a tax on that land, why buy it?
Food stamp card, Hah! Rich people are wasting food.
Give me medicine because you make me sick.
Call me stupid because you wrote the book.
I eat sleep and breathe just like you.
Call me colored, call me white, what the hell;
I'm trying to find a reason to be here just like you.
What's the point of winning when you'll lose next year?
What's the point of hitting the lottery when all I'm going to do is get taxed and spend it all.
As soon as I'm caught up on everything there will be more bills.
Why's that dummy on top of that building, doesn't he know if he hits the ground he's going to be dead?
What's the point of killing yourself over someone you love when the world is filled with more lovers?
Leave the job, move in with mom, she needs the company.
The world is yours.
Why read, why exercise, what's the point?
I look at the doctor and he sticks a needle in me, he makes me sick.
Why try, when all they're going to do is pick on you?
Don't take my advice, do what you want, it's your life.

Everyone just relax and go to sleep

Okay....Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Why losing is good

In life, there is one fact: Everyone will eventually lose. When you win, you feel good. You attract mass amounts of followers who love winners and enjoy the hype of winning. When you lose, you work even harder to win. Losing is the understanding that life will eventually end. Losing teaches you the reality of life, it's encouraging. My friend, there is nothing wrong with losing. Losing shows you that friends who encourage you and make you feel like a winner even when you lose, are good friends. These friends are always around to teach and work with you to become a winner. Losing shows you that those who do not practice your profession and criticize you for losing, actually do not have an accurate understanding of your field of study. Losing is good, because it teaches you how to become a winner and how to win even when you lose. The ultimate reason why losing is good, is because it makes you try harder. Losing also creates miracles that are often called luck because everyone always expects you to lose. These miracles give others the ability to believe in something greater. That is why losing is good. If you're a loser, be good at it. Talk to people about how it feels to lose, scream at the camera, shout at your teammates, get angry at yourself and I guarantee that you'll soon become a winner. Good luck in March.😉

Ash Thursday

I gave it all away when I heard a small voice saying, "Follow me."
In the middle of a massacre, I couldn't help but notice angels carrying innocent victims up to the heavens.
Was I seeing things?
While noticing a blind man jump in front of a virgin girl to save her life, it hit me.
I took everything I owned and began to follow.
When the bullet hit me, I noticed the light.
There was screaming everywhere but there was no need to fight.
I left all I had and I took his hand.
There was nothing on earth that I could take with me.
I surrendered, when I did, I was told to go back and save as many souls as I could.
I was told to be a witness to the joy and peace on the other side.
There was no need to cry.
For infinite wisdom had created an understanding of two worlds.
I entered one and then the other.
On my journey, there was no need to look back.  
I left everything, and with nothing left I realized that my life was worth much more, for my soul was welcomed into the light.
Is ink burnt wood and water?
Is ash also burnt wood?
In that thought, my soul began to float like ashes in the wind.
With less, I had less weight.
My soul was set free.
No longer a slave to the world, there was something attractive about the other side.
Less rules, freedom to fly like eagles.
When I began to fly, I saved the date, signed my name in the book and called it: "Ash Thursday."
For they called me by my real name.
I'm home.

Big Time Love

This is big time.
Even when tragedy strikes, I won't let go.
When it all falls down and all is gone, I won't give up.
You can call me Mr. Love, that's big time, that's big time love.💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝
Love is sweeeeeeet.
It may cause heartache, but I want more.
I'm addicted.
I want more.
My name is Mr. Love, that's big time, that's big time love.
That's all that people want, that's all that they need.
The radio is telling me, the television is showing me, the phone is ringing and it's talking to me.
But all I can think about is love.
More Love.
That's sweeeeet.
That's awesome.
That's big time, big time love. 
 💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

Dissecting Typewriter Model 60 & the Imperial Underground Railroad

As the clock struck twelve, I could feel my fingertips swelling from typing for so long. In section one, I noticed the margin scale a tad bit off, this was after I had just checked my margin indicator but I had to keep typing. Poor Scarlet had just got word that two of her slaves had been caught trying to escape, I scrapped that page. At that moment, I put my paper locating guide a slight bit more to the left. My report had to be brief. The line space adjusting lever seemed a bit rusty but it's getting the job done. I then took notice of the line spacing adjustment indicator. This report was critical. The history of the underground railroad was recorded with every letter that I punched. With every sheet of paper touching the platen roller, I had little time for mistakes. I then proceeded to flip the carriage release lever and then the platen locating release. Struggling to get the paper out, frustrated because I spelled Harriet's name wrong, I fought with the platen clamping lever and the platen clutch release. Feeding the typewriter with a new sheet of paper, I quickly turned the platen turning knob and tapped hard on the carriage clamping wedge. I had to finish this paper, I was getting thoughts of plantations all over the south freeing slaves. On the last word, in the second paragraph, I hit the line space lever. Sweating from the heat, I took the hem of my shirt and wiped off the hinged ribbon cover. Some loose threads from my shirt got caught on the stencil switch and I made a mistake and hit the color change lever. There was no time for this, I was reporting on colored folks and the damn ink had to be black. In frustration, I mistakenly flipped the type-unit release lever. In the process of correcting my mistake, I noticed two initials engraved on the type unit's front plate. The initials were "A.L." how ironic, I wonder if they stand for Abraham Lincoln. I have little time to think, I have to keep typing on this old typewriter that I purchased from some new generation abolitionist to help them raise money for weapons. I punch the back-spacer, quick, then the shift lock next. Locating the feed roller release lever, I hear someone screaming my name. "Get in here and shut that damn door, don't you see we're on the break of another civil war," I shout back at my daughter as the door slams. I then tap the "Quickset" margin lever and adjust the paper shelf. The bail bar lever is in place and the auxiliary feed rollers keep rolling as I shift to the next paragraph on the page. I notice good indentation measurements on the bail bar, I'm cruising now, and I'm almost done. Punching letter after letter, I can't help but feel the rhythm as my line indicator stays put, while the paper rolls through. The ribbon center guide allows the letters to imprint on the paper and there is no need to adjust my line indicator locking lever. The sound of the type bar fork keeps me in tune with every word. Deep in my thoughts, I have an inkling to hit the ribbon reverse lever. I pass on that thought and adjust the tabulator setting key, concluding the last section of the report, I hit the touch adjustment control, then the margin release. I look at my checklist and finish-up. I hit the type-unit runner, the writing point indicator looks good. The paper is almost done, so I hit the tabulator bar then period and space bar. I use the shift key for the last line, now all I need is a signature. I notice that I have a typo by the names: "Moses and John." The first page of my black history project is done. I followed all of the instructions given to me by the teacher and used one of the oldest typewriters that I could find. Realizing that I'm going to loose points with the type error, I take a blot of black ink and correct my mistake. In the midst of my correction, I then realize that I've got black ink all over my shirt. In my own little cleaning ceremony, I realize that there's nothing I can do about the past, but I can make the future better.