Graffiti Bleu is the "Pen Name" of Novelist/Author/Poet La Mont Anthony Wright, the deepest writer you've never heard of...
Monday, December 31, 2012
Just My Thoughts: Book Signing 4 Intimate Rivalz
Just My Thoughts: Book Signing 4 Intimate Rivalz: http://youtu.be/uIdWK9v_WYk
Just My Thoughts: Book Signing 4 Intimate Rivalz
Just My Thoughts: Book Signing 4 Intimate Rivalz: http://youtu.be/uIdWK9v_WYk
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Just My Thoughts: Rap Session with a poet...
Just My Thoughts: Rap Session with a poet...: http://youtu.be/TXrdpmf2KLw
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Just My Thoughts: #freestyle
Just My Thoughts: #freestyle: #freestyle her spirit chills me the f*c out.../I am calm as the breeze you remembered/when you first fell in love/Absent of malice earth ...
#freestyle
#freestyle
her spirit chills
me the f*c out.../I am calm as the breeze you remembered/when you first fell in
love/Absent of malice earth in her eyes...making something that rhymes with the
rhythm in your spine/soul between that and belly button silver...At the
mountain top I sit with you/Now named you and I/right knee to left knee/Queen
and King/balanced as the ocean and jagged rocked cliffs/we shape each other
with the crashing waves/over and over in its physical manifesto/I #salute your
inspiration and will speak when it tells me/for I must obey...
fin
Friday, December 14, 2012
Just My Thoughts: Betrayal...
Just My Thoughts: Betrayal...: Betrayal... Part One. Are those who betray really that devious? Or are we too quick to believe, to green and naive ? Let’s go...
Betrayal...
Betrayal... Part One.
Are those who betray really that devious?
Or are we too quick to believe, to green and naive?
Let’s go somewhere else now,
Deep inside the fellowship of brotherhood
To the 1st I called brother from another mother.
We were thick as thieves.
The kind of cats that would go back to back against all odds, swinging hay-makers at creative opportunities.
Confidence and heads held high in the face of uncharted waters;
Where souls inevitably shift in the directions of the strongest breezes...
And as they did we drifted apart; thus having creative differences.
I believed I felt betrayal and I’m sure he felt the exact same way.
But we were young back then.
So betrayal is what we felt, but is betrayal what it was?
But we will come back to that.
Betrayal… Part Two.
Are those who betray really that devious?
Or are we too quick to believe, to green and naive?
Let’s go somewhere else now,
Deep inside the fellowship of brotherhood
To the 2nd I called brother from another mother.
To a time where youth, rebellion and arrogance all met midway between our hearts, our minds and the splits God gave.
We swore we were grown but we were only halfway from halfway.
Looking for someone to challenge the bold shit we would all say.
And when we ran out of challengers, so began our rivalry.
He sided with the corporate thugs
and I might have joined him had the tie not fit so tightly round the neck.
In his world I couldn't be me.
In my world he couldn't be him.
I believed I felt betrayal and I’m sure he felt the exact same way.
But we were young back then.
So betrayal is what we felt, but is betrayal what it was?
But we will come back to that.
Betrayal… Part Three
Truth is; those who betray really are that devious.
Truth is; we are too quick to believe, too green and naive.
Let’s go somewhere else now,
Where hindsight is 20/20.
Where we look deep inside of our own intentions.
When my heart was creative my brother was such.
When my heart was corporate my brother was such.
When my thoughts changed so changed my life.
When my actions change so did my click.
To deny your heart the speed to chase a dream, would mean loyalty for the sake of loyalty.
The pain of losing a kindred spirit is heavy with disappointment but temporary none the - less.
The pain of regret is eternal.
Never betray the will of your soul.
Though your truth you will be blessed.
#StudioFlow
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
What really matters…?
What
really matters…?
Embrace the
contrast of diversity through its striking beauty, where styles compliment
others by a braid of creative strength. We are unlikely allies and that is what
makes it work. I have been called “Hollywood” in this game on a few occasions.
If the definition of “Hollywood” is; to do God’s work for the love of creating,
I’ll be that. We were battling for 90 minutes straight while
the crowd watched us go at it like gladiators. We touched people, we moved
people, and we were touched and moved by people. Now we all look for other ways
to express ourselves…
Byron Walter will be studio with Shawde Banx.
Karee will be in front of the camera.
Poet will also be in the studio finishing his album.
And Graffiti Bleu has to edit next year’s releases…
Just my Thoughts Moralities, Short stories and
Poems.
So we will be "underground" for awhile. I humbly tell you that the run we had was for the love. Since March of this year we have been getting it in. Thanks to everyone who shared this with us.
GB
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
My Brother We are the same
We
are the same…
My Brother,
A different height, a different tone
A different frame, a different name
My Brother
The more I look at who we are
The more I know we are the same.
My Brother
Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood
Eager ally and heated rival
My Brother
The young soldier at my back
Forever fighting for our survival
My Brother
The street wise kid
Who was eager to challenge you
My Brother
We fought plenty,
But I could never stay mad at you
My Brother
A different version of myself
The Lord’s way of being clever
My Brother
Through the love we have for you
You will always be
remembered.Just My Thoughts: Love Thy Enemy
Just My Thoughts: Love Thy Enemy: Extra, extra read all about it! Hot off the press you can read all about it! Strangers become friends, friends become brot...
Just My Thoughts: Brave Heart
Just My Thoughts: Brave Heart: I lay deep in his chest protected by bone, muscle and courage. I am big enough to pump life blood to his imposing frame, ...
Brave Heart
I lay deep in his chest protected by bone,
muscle
and courage.
I am big enough to pump life blood to his imposing
frame,
I am strong enough to give optimism to those
discouraged.
I am brave enough to extend a humble invitation to a
stranger with no name.
I am warm enough to melt a frown until it is upside
down
I am free enough to provide all who I touch with fun
memories
Yet I am cold enough to keep my distance, and be
still without a sound,
I am generous enough to display love for my entire family
I am the beating heart of Dolphus Johnson Jr.
Even though it is obvious now that I am not
physically perfect,
And I desired certain things in life you may consider
selfish.
Know that I filled him with a passion to live life
against the grain,
A passion to make our own rules and to not live life
mundane
I know as well as anyone no two hearts beat alike
Know that others hearts live fearfully, without the
will to fight.
Remember me as loving my people, loving my friends
and loving fun,
Loving my mother, loving my brothers, loving my
father and loving my son
I am the resting heart of Dolphus Johnson Jr.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Love Thy Enemy
Extra, extra read all about it!
Hot off the press you can read all about it!
Strangers become friends, friends become brothers!
Budding greatness becomes fear of potential!
Envy becomes failure to count a blessing!
High intelligence and low self esteem become an
abuse of power!
A lack of options becomes frustration!
Frustration becomes a murder times two!
One homicide, one suicide...
To go inside the dark mind of the killer turn to
page 27
The other 26 are filled with ads straight from Heaven
This publication is divine and void of the usual
spin.
That exploits our ignorance, nurtures our prejudice
and boosts our vanity.
Let us begin…
The worst place to keep a gun is in the forefront of
your wicked dreams.
Especially when all you want is for the pain to go
away.
That is what the note said at the foot of the bed.
The sheets are soaked red, where a man lies dead.
The police kept asking how the hell this could be.
He kept his bills paid, has a college degree.
Wife’s a dime and 2 pennies, bless this house at the
door.
We may have to investigate this a bit more.
Upon their investigation, they found his wife, and
his work highly invested in a spiritual war against him.
They found his best friend dead with a broken wind
pipe.
Forensics said it was death by strangulation.
Fingerprints identified one who felt brutally
betrayed.
The brutally betrayed… was me.
And though this is a fictional tale, it was almost
my reality.
You may ask yourself; “How in the hell this could
be?”
Flash backwards to 1993
With God forgotten, into the woods I walk,
No machete, no armor, no compass and no ministry.
Repeatedly made to bleed by my enemy’s weaponry.
It was almost the death of me until I respectably
Begged him for his forgiveness then I noticed him
next to me.
Pause…
He said “Son I was always by your side, you just
happened not to notice me”
This story continues on page number 43.
Flash forward to the present day.
The truth of the matter is I premeditated the murder
that never happened.
This time I noticed God before I walked in the woods.
“Love Thy Enemy” he said and I mocked him for saying
it.
Simply because I couldn't wrap my head around that
concept.
So he broke it down in a language that I could
understand.
He personified it in verse through a story told by
my Pastor.
And I quote:
You take a rod of steel and the raw mineral is not
that strong. So you put it in the fire burning 1200 degrees. As the steel gets
hot you hit it and shape it. As the steel gets hot the impurities burn off.
Everything which is not steel turns to ash besides the glowing red rocks a
flame. You pull the steel from the fire and it is 3 times as strong as when it
went in. Now it is a shield or a sword or whatever you desired it to be.
Does the sword hate the fire that made him?
And if so does the shield?
“Love Thy Enemy” now makes sense to me.
Sincerely yours;
The publishers of the daily news which is called
“God’s plan”
This is a performance piece...
See you at the show...
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Rob My Desire.
Victim I lay before
this day,
Mind and loins now
prisoner born.
My moon now longer
where stars stay.
I am brought down to
rest on one knee.
Within inches of the
fucking keys.
Stretching my arms
painfully
Extending fingers
through the bars.
Like long legs parting
before moans.
Praying to the lonely
stars.
That a new ruler will
return.
Time passes and the
sky empties,
Empty as one whose
shoulders lay grave.
Trying desperately,
For the freedom of
sexual expression.
Red Sun Full now at
your back worshiping your soul.
Making my desire
endless
Un-tamable
Blue flames spread like
youthful wings
Till the nightfall
anxious for her flirt.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Death Becomes Him II (A Halloween tale) ... Or is it?
Death
Becomes Him II
Somethings are better off left alone. Somethings won’t go away until you
confront them. Somethings won’t die until you kill them. Somethings you thought
were dead return to haunt you born again. Everyday for a calendar year I have
been bothered by the visions in my brain. They appear when I am wide awake as
vivid as a red drop of blood splashing on a blue sheet of paper. They appear
mostly as demons with long shadows exploring walls left to right. A select few
appear as life interactions that lead to someones death. These are the visions
that make me question my reality. I had a vision last Halloween that I killed a
man who was once my brother. He would later kill me in the vision I had
directly after. Since then my brother’s keeper has gone missing in real life along
with my sanity. How could this be? Have I killed this man and blocked out the
memory of it? Am I recalling pieces of a memory of the Halloween night that was?
It has been haunting me for three-hundred and sixty-four days. I prayed for
protection and the Lord provided me with armor so bright, it didn't cast a
shadow of any kind. Especially the ones demons chose to reside in. And even
though my spirit is blessed and my life is prosperous, I insist I know the
truth. Is he alive and if not…
Did
I kill him?
October 31, 2012 9:53 pm, somewhere on a
back road deep inside the Florida glades. My Nissan Titan rumbles over a back
road covered in gravel and small stones. Rocks bang against the underbelly, mixing
tapping noises with the clanging of the shovel bouncing around in the bed of
the truck. The noise doesn't break my concentration. My mind focuses on the
task at hand as I think about what’s at stake here. I am driving to a spot I
visited once next to an old barn where I bought my first motorcycle. I've always
remembered how remote this area was. I always knew that if I ever had to hide
money, jewelry or a dead body, I would bury them here. If I shared that with
anyone, they may judge me wrong, when it is not their place to do so. For all
men have death in the lonely attic of their darkest thoughts. In a few moments
I will have my answer. I pull up to the old barn which is abandoned and pitch
black even with my headlights on. I hop out of the truck leaving the engine running.
I grab the shovel from the truck’s bed along with a pair of gloves and start
heading for a line of trees. The fog lights of the truck shine on a small space
between two of those trees. I head for the spot and feel a difference of
sturdiness in my planted steps. The soil under my feet is not like the rest of
this swampy plane. The dirt I stand on appears to be unsettled like the debt
that’s owed to the descendants of slaves. If indeed I did kill him, where I now
stand is the spot where he rests. With garden gloves on and an iron shovel
resting on my shoulder, I pivot my body 360 degrees, to take a look at my spooky
surroundings. Everything that is not touched by the beams of the burning head
lights is as black as Satan’s soul. Even the moon light struggles to get
through the thick fog between the trees.
I swing the shovel for the first time and it cracks the soil in a quest
for truth. With every inch of soil that I move to the side, I also dig into my
memories. None of them are of me digging this hole in the first place
surprisingly, but memories none the less. I remember how my uncles raised me by
committee to compensate for my father’s absence. I remember how my blood
brother became distant from me just like our father. I remember how much I
missed the brotherhood of fellowship when I left home young. That fact bothers
me more than my aching arms and shoulders from the persistent motion of
digging. I remember living the life of a gypsy, with my family constantly
moving from town to town every few seasons. I remember trying to prove myself
to my neighborhood brothers that I was worthy to be among them and never being
accepted as such. As my memory reaches an epiphany my shovel reaches the unconscionable.
I have hit a few stones while slicing through the Floridian dirt, but the noise
was not as hallow as this. Thud was the
sound when my shovel came down. The sound was exactly what you would expect from
a large box made of pine, meeting the dull tip of an iron spade.
Thud,
thud is the sound a pine box should make when it’s filled with death’s vanity.
Like white, soft, satin pillowed walls absorbing the echo so that it doesn't ring hallow. Thud, thud and thud once more, but the sound I hear is no longer
coming from my shovel. The sound changes from the dull tip of an iron shovel,
to the bony decaying hand of a very dead friend. My mind must be playing tricks
on me, but I have to look closer regardless. The headlights from the truck are
not enough to pierce the blackness down in the large whole where my boots
stand. So I open my cell phone and drop to my knees. The blue light from the
phone illuminates the loose dirt, and reveals a flat surface. I brush away at
the crumbs with my free hand and feel the thud repeat from the other side as I
do so. Fear has got me my by the balls quite literally. It is all I can do to
not empty my bladder right here on his coffin. Ironically, pissing on his grave
is exactly how I felt last year. The knocking stops for a time, I put my phone
back in my pocket and I sit at the edge of the grave to gather my thoughts.
Without the light of my phone the grave again becomes a pit of black
nothingness. Then the epiphany hits me again same as the shovel striking pine.
Regardless of this reality, I put myself in this position. I was so obsessed
with having a brotherhood, that I broke my back to prove I was worthy of his
circle, without having him prove he was worthy of being in mine. Killed him or
not, just thinking of him has me in this ugly place. Of course the thought of
this being a dream as it was before is inconsequential for my soul. I still
wanted to kill this man period end. This is a shame because there was a time
that I laid my life on the line for the sake of his justice. Perhaps this is
another dream that is reminding me of how important it is to not look back. Or
even better, a lesson to have not faith in man but in God. But if in fact this
is another case of the Grim Reaper riding with the infamous Mr. Sandman, why is
the smell of rotting flesh so pungent to me? Why can I taste the stench in the
back of my throat to the point where my stomach and back want to touch with
repeated heaves? Why is it that the “thud” from the coffin in the blackness
beginning to ring again? Oh… I know how
this ends. This is a dream about letting go. It isn't my dead friend that is
powerful enough to torment me. It is the power of my own thoughts. If I
continue on the path of regret I will always have a version of this dream. I
have no doubt that should I persist in doubting myself and my abilities that
the Devil will win. My dead friend in the box represents a life lesson, and like
the pain or not, he represents God’s will. Should I continue to sit on the edge
of this grave where our friendship died, he will no doubt spring from his
coffin and grab me by my throat yelling “Happy Halloween” Repeating the
nightmares from before. To break the cycle I must hurry…
With the
fervor of John Henry himself, I cover the grave back with the dirt I removed.
Slowly but surely the smell of rotten meat starts to fade. My muscles ache as
if its real, my lungs scream for air doing the same but I must hurry. We create
our own hell with the amount of joy we allow to get stolen from us. To look at
the face of a corpse who no longer matters, is more painful to the living than
a friendship that is dead. As I pass the halfway mark of the dirt left to
shovel, the fog lifts from the hallowed ground. The moisture starts making way
for the sunlight to reflect on its dew. The birds one by one start to sing a
song. The grave is completely covered now and the rising Sun never seemed so
promising. I throw my shovel in the woods along with my gloves and start my
drive back to Georgia. I am kind of upset that I haven’t awakened from this
dream yet. It’s typical of a team that’s winning to want the clock to run out
on the game. Then I get the break I've been waiting for. My phone starts
ringing and I have no doubt that if I answer it in this sleep world, I will
wake up in the next. But I am a fool. I am a fool because I am really asleep
behind the wheel, exhausted from shoveling dirt all night. I have no idea that
I’m about to die. My dead friend does though, and his spirit pays me a little
visit. The smell of rotted flesh suddenly fills the cabin of the truck. He is
in the back seat. He hands me the phone with that same bony decaying hand he
was using to knock on his coffin door. I look in the rear-view mirror into his
rotted face and he seems almost to be smiling at me. As my truck bleeds over
the double yellow lines into a head-on collision with a semi in the real world,
his haunting, spirit screams…
“HAPPY
HALLOWEEN!”
In the spirit world.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Just My Thoughts: #AnEmotionalAffair - #IntimateRivalz Book Synopsis...
Just My Thoughts: #AnEmotionalAffair - #IntimateRivalz Book Synopsis...: A professional woman meets a man of the street through a common artistic thread. He appreciates her love for women, and she a...
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Just My Thoughts: Don't Talk... Just listen... GB Interview 89.3 FM
Just My Thoughts: Don't Talk... Just listen... GB Interview 89.3 FM: If you enjoy this blog from time to time but have never seen or heard me perform the spoken word, you have an opportun...
Don't Talk... Just listen... GB Interview 89.3 FM
If your a late night person on the east coast, an evening person on the west or one of the followers of this blog outside of the US (Shout out to Canada & Australia, I have readers out there too) you may listen on line by clicking here: HOW TO LISTEN
As for my creative family, I hope to see you at the next show...
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