The Days of the Three Dimes: Dimems or Dimes

The Days Of the Three Dimes

Dimems or Dimes

Copyright © 2013 by Larry Middlebrooks Sr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8305-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8306-7 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 03/19/2013

It is 11:20 PM at night on the last day of March; it being the 31st day or night as it will be seen in the future.

Dimes was not supposed to start out like this nor was it supposed to be this; and indeed it was to be SCI-FI!

With my outlandish imagination I probably could have made a pretty good hit or miss at it, but I knew deep down on the inside it would be more predominately miss than hit!

So here we go and I will just do what God has enabled me to do. And that is to just write my heart.

The book AT THE CRSS is a finished product published and it is in a few hands so far, no big sales or anything like that, but I did not expect that! My job was done when the book became print ready!

You see, it was and is more important for people to see and read that writing than anything else! You may say to know the truth is to be set free by the truth! It seems that everyone knows about AT THE CRSS but only a handful of copies have been handed out; not sold, mind you, but given away as the crème de la crème of my heart… you know, gifts!

The oddity is everyone seems to know about The Book as it has come to be called even before they pick up a copy or read one; but you will understand the whys and the wherefores of this if you ever get a chance to read a copy!

Stop… hold it right there… this book is not about another Book! I want to tear away the trappings of flesh and expose the heart that lay there withal! I need to talk it out; I need to hear myself say I hurt; I hurt a lot, and this is the reason or reasons why I hurt; then maybe this exposure will allow a pharmaceutical healing of so many cold and dark days locked away in this dark and wet closet I call life to shine with a fresh breath and a renewed spirit! It’s 12:01 midnight; time for bed. My wife just got into bed and I am alone in my room… alone! It’s April 1st—April Fool’s Day—and I do with all my heart believe this joke is on me. Good night April Fool!

Hell-O. I mean Hello. It’s 8:56 AM on April Fool’s Day. I’m starting the day in the arms of fiendish quiet and destructive hate! Seems all the noise and news today is—and has been for a few decades now—about a man they want to read and rape and a Book they are afraid to read and are not opposed to raping! O well, such is The Days of the Three Dimes.

You know why I stuck and stayed in a marriage where there has been no nuptials for 15 years and not gone a courtin’ for a piece of moe pie? Well, it’s probably for the same reason that I have not found myself as and being a minister in the House of God for about 5 weeks now. This being some kind of abomination in the eyes of good Christians everywhere and I know it; and I don’t care!

Dear Reader, I’m tired. Actually I’m exhausted. My body hurts and my brain is in a stew pot. My faith, though, has not faltered; although many will say it has!

Yea, people have their opinions and, just like butts, everyone has one! Yet a butt is still a butt and there is always one around; you can be guaranteed to find one on just about any corner you turn.

Though I realize in this confession my problem—I’m a dad-blasted realist. That’s right. And I guess this is being honest? What I see, I see. What I smell, I smell. What I hear, I hear. What I know, I know. Excuse me, Butt for all of the I’ll go along’s of this world, I just know when the sun is shining even with my eyes closed, for I can even then feel on my ole skin! Why should I then stand and ask anyone Is the sun shining today? just to keep from stepping on the ever-popular toes of John ‘Q’ Public Opinion!

Don’t get me wrong… I’m not angry with my people or my society that people being the excepted name of the ‘Brother’, the ‘Soul Brother’, the ‘Negro’, the ‘Negroid’, the oppressed and suppressed Black Man living in a state of supposed freedom, floating in society of humanoids that cannot wait to make us all defunct, void, exempt, expendable, and non-existent! The same society that we bore on our backs in the very making of all we see and hold dear. Yes, they rode in upon our backs and we smiled, danced, laughed, got high, and had sex with our women before their eyes, created our children, and gave them more beasts to ride upon for future generations while they see as no more than fools and chattel for their own personal use!

Blacks are more likely to survive over a death dealing situation than any single group in this society than any other. Yet we stand in poverty even until this day of new birth!

I’m a dirty-mouthed realist. I ride along the road in rural America and I see shacks falling down… I cry. I ride along the streets and avenues in city and inner city. I see old tenant houses with broken walls, cut glass, concrete slabs, torn up old rooming houses that house more roaches and rats and poisons in the form of escape mechanisms called crack, horse, weed, alcohol, uppers, downers; sex for sell that the cops turn their heads away and somehow don’t see while HIV, Aids, and every form of disease ravish our Black women and threaten the lives of our children and plot to end whole generations of Black men and women!

I’m sorry… I read somewhere that it is not socially acceptable by John Q Public to write about certain actualities; and this most likely will not be read either because as we all know, we just don’t talk about shit like this!

Forgive me—I’m just keeping it real. This little taste of the paltry is not really the Black race; though when we really look, we see far too many of us living this squalor with no way out of it!

When Public looks, we look at our advances and how many ever go slow up the hill molasses accomplishments we have aspired to! We always look at our MS, PHO, BS, BA, the Associatives and the like. Butt excuse me. Maybe I’m missing something in process of numerical values. It seems by the very numbers of our own Black population there is an offset when it comes to the number of Black to the number of college degreed that we have to crow about!

Why then, who then said we are only supposed to write about or speak about that which is John Q Society acceptable?

It seems to me that we speak more about squalor in Africa and the Aids epidemic than we have every modern convenience to overcome and conquer right here not in our own backyards but in our front yards, highways, nursing homes, prisons, mental wards, and "high-rise ghettos? Yes, we do have high-rise ghettos. We speak more of what we don’t know than what we do know and see every day of our lives!!

I’m not saying leave our sisters and brothers alone in Africa, but what I am saying is let it be a unilateral movement from less to more for the American Black as well as the African Black. A simultaneous movement to undo the genocide from the Sudan and Aids all over this country and around the world. We have the means, we have the money, we have the degrees, thus the brains; so what is the hold up? Are they waiting for us to just die off? Well maybe they are! We’re certainly not doing a whole lot about it!!!

What I see as a realist is a cloud of euphoric bliss created by some phony accepted power that we dare not challenge. It seems that, as the song goes, we don’t want to rock the boat! If I’ve got my bread and beans, why mess it up by asking why sisters and brothers don’t have their bowl of beans and bread? This only chances the losing of all we’ve worked for and I’ll be damned if I’ve worked all these years just to give it away to some damn body I don’t even know! Why should I?

But what about the sisters and brothers that are working? My question is what about the millions of men, women, boys, and girls that are not working and not even enlightened by the media to let them even know they should work? Why in reality many of the millions of dollars and billions of dollars we represent goes to cover up campaigns to appease us so that we don’t see the need to do anything, because we don’t really see anything that needs to be done! We’re used to getting in squalor, going through our day in squalor, going to bed in squalor each and every day because we don’t see anything that we can do about it! This, my sisters and brothers, is the general consensus of our national and international condition—we just don’t see what we can do about it!!?

Nothing bothers me more than to see a little Black boy or girl in a news flash of progress holding in their little black dusty hands, nose running, as they use their hands or a plastic spoon shoveling out of a plastic very colorful bowl gruel out of a communal pot that we have sent them! Wrong? No, it could be worse… a lot worse… but it could be a lot better… a whole lot better!! Why our kings and queens; why not some other? You don’t know? Well then ask yourself why we sit and look at little boys having their feet chopped—and this is mercy—their brains blown out; their fathers’ guts pulled out; the women raped, screaming and dragged away; the little children chained together like dogs; whole villages burned and ransacked, everything they know gone up in smoke in moments; and we sit and watch genocide like it is just The Days of Our Lives and nothing more!

This is Black on Black destruction! These men who do this call it ethnic O God cleansing! They are Black Moslamic Militia! Men with modern weaponry killing men and women who are Christian, who just happen to be Black as well and who are no more than simple farming people who try to scrape from the ground life for their wives and kids while we as Black men, women, boys, and girls degreed, agreed, and rich!! don’t do a damn thing except wag our heads and count our dollars and go line check our bank accounts and stock quotes!!

Were you aware by the graph they flashed on the television the other day that Black people are now in second place to the Hispanic community as the race that contributes race-wise by capita to the overall economy than any other? And they are advancing further and faster than any other. They now are the ones to watch because they have more input into the American economy. And for this reason the whole society in America is geared to court the Hispanic dollar any way they can because dollar for dollar—and everybody knows it’s about the cheddar, baby, it’s about the cheddar—yes, dollar for dollar they mean more to this society than the Black man. Why? Because dollar for dollar, race-wise we are in second place as a money-producing people! Yet society still rides in on the back of the—(Can I use this? Let me think. This word to me is very caustic butt we say, so sweet!)—on the back of the Nigger! As it was… and if we don’t get our shit together as it will always be! . . . it’s because we are Black—not the color, not the race, not the society, but the place!

We’re in this place and have been for far too long because we have the excuse that we have not been afforded the opportunities that everyone else has. People from all over the world come here and are rich already and have become a force to be reckoned with in ten damn years, and we have been here for at least a few hundred! I’m not laughing! I’m angry and I am tired. We have every on-the-surface opportunity… yes, I said on-the surface. By census, it’s all in place; yet by a functioning component—I’ll write this again—by a functioning component, our opportunities really don’t exist!

It’s all a cloud of euphoric bliss only realized by a few, only measured by some, and seen by even less because the answer, my friend, is not only a-blowin’ in the wind, it is hidden within the binds of books that we still as a free and Black society are not even allowed to read because it has questionable content by other Blacks who are in position to only nod or shake their heads whether in public or private or just simply standing there in place. Door men with PhD’s, MA’s, BA’s, BS’s, Associates, and the like—people who have large amounts of money and, by the way, want to keep it at the expense of little boys and girls playing on broken glass laden streets and men and women who kiss with the women pressed against the walls in piss-stench dim-lighted hall walls, coming up big pregnant with the fellows laughing as she waddles down the street to the social services offices for food stamps because she for lack of ed-mo-cation has no job nor hope for one! Another lost branch of Zion!

Were you aware that the right race or the white race has the audacity to ask themselves this question: Well, then why do they keep having babies?

You know, on the surface I ask myself the same question. Butt being Black, it affords a reasonable, acceptable answer: You see, we—some of us—may have HIV and Aids, but so do many other nations. We just happen to be the sore-thumb on the hand of world society, so we are always seen first. Besides, we don’t look like anyone else, or this is the accepted norm, believe it or not! Yup, we know better but get any other race up against the wall and the first thing they will call out: You-a-Nigger or Nigger. It’s as though Niggers don’t have the rights afforded everyone else or am I trippin’?

But back to that great looming question… why do they keep having babies? Is it because they can’t get enough sex? If that is the case, then why don’t they use protection? Don’t they know the welfare office gives it away free and so does Sister Sally Chiquita Royal Thompson Zully Jones… oops! There I go again; going against the accepted norm. Yet she does, and everyone on the block knows it!

Then it would appear that it is the Black woman’s fault. Yet what about the Black girl who has the swole as it is called; properly the swollen eyes and the puffy bleeding lips and broken teeth, beaten, stomped, kicked, and bruised because she would not, did not, or could not open her legs for this intrusion on her only gift and wealth, the only thing she still has control over in her meager life, her own femininity! What happens to her source of joy and pride when she lays in a twisted, tormented, as well as broken heap while some big bold Black stud that all the girls chase after and just luv pulls his belt together after replacing it into his pants, putting away his Johnson and spouting off, That’ll teach your bitch ass. You don’t stop nothin’ do you hear? Nothin’, bitch, nothin’!?

This woman cowers on the bed trying to cover her only gift; trying to touch every hurt and hurting part of her tormented body and at last concedes and removes her hands to cover her ears for the words that pour forth from his mouth are far, far more painful!! At last her nudity means nothing… she is a broken vessel, another lost branch of Zion.

Yet why do they—the black man and woman—keep having babies? Why?

It’s because out of all the hell the world gives and all of the hell, the bedlam, and the remorse we give each other that, that, Lord how mercy!

That little tender babe that lays there looking up into the eyes of this demon called society, stops him—It—in it’s damn tracks and for a moment that mighty machine is held still and cannot move by the tears so tender by this new born child. That no matter how the child got here is the hope and the promise lying on the very breast of a woman who is for, in that timeless moment, the greatest queen ever in life, This Life", born!!

Now there in the Box of Pandora left!

Hope and a chance for a better and brighter day! For in each child there is the blood of some true king or queen; not the bloody hatred of a faltering Nigger that has already accepted his lot in life, who has his excuses for the way he lives feeding on the hopes of a nation!

Yet they are not the majority. Unfortunately, because they are not taught nor think they have to be, they have become the great minority; and we all stand in their shadow always trying to move away to a better town, a better time, a better place; always arriving with hope; and for a while all seems to be going well; just to have cold ice water dashed on our dreams in the great halls of knowledge and the hall of life that is afforded us, by a whispered word or a screamed word poured forth by a carload of beer drunken whites, Nigger, Nigger! This word that says you have not escaped nor will you ever. You’re no better than your forefathers that we hanged; and still hang unbeknownst to the many of you right before your eyes and you are too stupid to do anything about it! Because quite frankly you don’t even know that it has occurred and continues to happen, whether with word or rope, Y’all hanged!

It comes as no surprise to me that they would ask the question, Why do they keep having babies?

Well the reasons are many and varied. One reason is to offset those of us that you kill!