I Need Love And Water

The Forest x The City I ran into the forest because I thought I heard my name, but it may have just been the voices in my head, both them and you all sound the same. They said you never realize you’re lost until you try to go back the way you came, but there is no turning back now, I’ll build my fire here when it gets dark, come find me if you see the flames. I’ll stay here through the night until there is a little light to find my way, but when you see the smoke, the fire’s died, I’ve broken camp and it’s too late. I can navigate by the moon, wandering around until I’m found, but if your trees obstruct it’s view I’ll burn this forest to the ground. And build a city where you stood with buildings that reach higher than your trees ever could, and neon lights, we won’t need fire. And I’ll light you up at night, to where you’ll never see the stars, but you’ll look beautiful from a distance tourist will come by plane, train or barge just to get a picture of you. Or I could build you like they used to, with castles and with walls and erect statues of myself in the center of it all. Until the hurricane comes and earthquake shakes and the city crumbles to the ground and a forest grows in its place.

What Do You Believe In?

I never really knew if the earth went around the moon or the sun around the earth, but I still went to church when you asked me to. I still held hands and prayed with you even though I had questions about your prayers and your God and your Heaven and the stares I used to see your momma give to the Reverend when he sang hallelujah. But I never questioned your truth. I admired you for the fact that you could believe in something so blindly without ever needing proof, and that was enough to make me believe in us. I believed in love.

They say God is love so I thought my love was your truth, and I made sure I loved you exactly how you asked me to. On Sunday mornings at 8:00 am so we could get an early start on repentance for the sins we committed the night before. I was never sure what you prayed for, but I went through the motions with you even though all my prayers were ignored. I prayed for us.

I even turned my back on my own Catholic Jesus to pray to yours, despite the fact he and I still had some unresolved issues between us.

You shunned my philosophy. I held your hand as we believed in all your contradictions and hypocrisy.

You prayed for everything but us. You believed in everything but me.

I never had a religion, but I believed in you and you let me down. So what do I believe in now?

Soul Mates

You remind me of my ex-wife from a past life who I committed suicide to escape from when I made myself wings of feathers and wax, and fell to my death when I flew them into the sun. You just laughed and floated over me as I drowned.

They say birthmarks are entry wounds that show where we died before, and dreams are just memories we carried with us from the other side, which is why you looked so familiar the first time I saw you. Your feet never touched the ground.

My opening line was “you look like my daughter,” you smiled and asked “how old is she?” I said, “well if it all works out, five years from now she’ll be three, but I’m in no rush.” It felt like a third person existed between us.

And I wasn’t sure who we were before, or who are supposed to be, but I knew that on the other side of the world planted deep inside a forest there is a tree with our names carved into its side, and written in a language neither of us speak is inscribed

“forever is a pretty short time looking back on it,” and even though we may not be able to read it, we would instantly recognize our handwriting as evidence that we were part of the same tribe that died out a thousand years ago, and we would brace ourselves for

the earthquake as our souls shake and vibrate higher. We were sent here to repopulate so there was no time to apologize for everything we were about to put each other through. You just grabbed my hand and said “I look forward to getting tired of you.”

God don’t make mistakes, but people do. Souls only know wavelengths, and communicate through music and colors and sound; they don’t always remember to leave the key under the mat, or come home before 3 a.m., or put the toilet seat down, or

make sure to hold your hand whenever we’re out in public, because the flesh doesn’t understand it’s just a vessel full of flaws. Soulmates exist to serve as a reflection of how truly damaged we really are, how hurt, desperate and unexamined we are.

I never asked for a soulmate, just someone who hates all the same things I do, and in you I confronted all of the things I hated in myself, like a mirror that reveals the first time you realize you are no longer beautiful. My ugly is going take some getting used to.

I used to fear going to sleep next to you because I would get tangled in your hair and you would roll over, strangling me, leaving gasping for air in one of those dreams where you can’t quite wake yourself up, until I realized that you only hogged the sheets so you could

expose me to the cold and wake up the other side of me whenever my dreams got off track. My arms would always go numb so I could never fight back. So instead of starting a war with you I would just kiss you on your cheek.

Maybe we’re just meant to walk through life trying to fill each-other-sized holes in ourselves. Feeling like we swapped souls at a crowded train stop like two strangers who picked up the wrong bag and were forced to wear the clothes they found inside.

I have that sweater you’ve been looking for, it’s a little stretched out but it still smells just fine. Find me again so we can make amends, or at least swap bags one last time. Everyone deserves a seventh chance.

I guess I’ll see you next lifetime when you and I are butterflies and during our migration we can gently clip wings and create a vibration that causes the tides to rise off the shores of Hawaii and forms a tsunami that crashes into the coast of Japan

and floods some kind of nuclear reactor that causes the world to spin backwards and we can finally rest our wings on the sand and look back on all we destroyed with a smile, and I’ll know that it was all worth it just to be with you when the world ends.

Before Drew Brees arrived in New Orleans and gentrified the Saints' quarterback position, Aaron Brooks held almost every franchise passing record, including being the only quarterback to bring the Saints a playoff victory. Also, after Katrina he was the only person on the team to speak out against the NFL and Tom Benson for the way they handled the players, and was blackballed by every other team for it (except the Raiders). I'm surprised most fans have let Aaron Brooks fade into Saints obscurity. #2 was the first Saints jersey I owned. I'm not saying he was the best to ever stand under center, but at least he deserves his own mediocre restaurant along with the other New Orleans quarterbacks his jersey hangs next to in the team hall of fame. ⚜️

Where Are You?

Please don’t leave me here with these people. I'm not of them. I won't love them. Take me with you when you go. I don’t recognize them. We don't speak the same language. They’re humid. They're dank.  They’re hollow. Don’t make me love them. I don’t want to. I just want you. I’ll be quiet on the road. I’ll love them if I have to but I’d never tell you I’d be too embarrassed to let you know. But tell me who will you love? Where will you go? Will it ever be as good? What will you do when they don't recognize you or they don't love you like they should? I’m right behind you. I’ll come and find you. Don’t be stubborn out there on your own. They love me here but it feels so empty. Don’t leave me here with them alone.

Where Are You? Please Don't Leave Me Here With These People: a love story

I have an elastic heart. My heart stretches to let love in, and does so pretty easily. My heart has no walls, and no locks - it enjoys being full.  But once that love is gone, or you're gone, my heart bounces back like a rubber band. There is never any empty space. That space you once occupied is no longer there, my heart will still be just as full, only a little smaller, a little tighter - there are no voids in my heart. Only love. But just like a rubber band my heart can be stretched again. You may have to try a little harder next time. You may have to wiggle your way in. 

Who shot ya!? Hey, Pac, I’m still on the case because ever since they murdered you none of us have been safe. Was it the police? Was it your homeboys? Was is the KKK? On the Vegas Strip after a fight I’m surprised nobody got it on tape. I remember being nine on the cusp of defiance, rejecting all the heroes I was assigned in my sociology class. I told my teacher they were all murderers or murdered or make-believe, then I played her “Only God Can Judge Me” before she ran to the stereo and threw my cd in the trash. And that’s when I knew you were the hero I’d look up to, somebody not in the history books someone real I could grasp. And then I saw the news you had been shot you had been killed. Then I came back to school and my teacher just laughed. She said I should pick better heroes, somebody not as aggressive, someone on a much better path. Then I had to remind her of Malcolm of Martin of Huey of Fred of Medgar etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, and told her it didn't matter, black heroes don't seem to last. Who shot ya! Hey, Pac, what are we gonna do? How are they gonna find who kills us if they can’t find who killed you? I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto, verse three you sounded something like a prophet. You predicted 20 years ago that police would be out here killing us and we couldn't do anything to stop it. You said, “cops give a damn about a negro, pull the trigger, kill a nigga he's a hero” and now, “the streets are death row.” The cops are judge, jury and executioner and apparently every bit of it’s legal. And I don't know if Heaven’s got a ghetto, but I know its got a long line and there’s some people waiting to get in that could use your comforting because we know Tupac cared when nobody else did. I’m sure we keep you busy up there, we’ll make sure you died for something. Who shot ya? Hey, Pac, your killer is still on the loose. I don’t know if you heard, but they got BIG too. They’re killing everybody that we looked up to. And I know there’s people who will hear this that won’t understand “He was a thug” “He got what he deserved” “His music should have been banned” And those are the same people who fear us when we band together in death. They mock us they incite us when we riot or protest. Who shot ya!? Hey, Pac, maybe it’s best we never know. Jokes on them because they will never be immortalized and you will forever be the hero.

Pick up the new book (and the old one) at Studio Be in New Orleans or visit my website nikrichard.com

My brother, the brilliant @nikrichard dropped off some copies of his new book at @studio_be_ , pick up your copy while supplies last. #studioBE #ephemeraleternal #ADreamForSale (at Studio Be)

Happy Birthday 2Pac

I remember riding the subway in New York around this time last year and overhearing a kid, no older than 15, say "I really look up to Chris Brown. He can dance, he can sing, he paints, he does it all. He's my hero," and my first thought was - poor kid, he is about to have a rough life. Then my second thought was - this is probably how I sounded some 15 years ago when I told my parents and teachers how much I idolized 2Pac, that he was my hero. And he was. I had every album, every documentary, every book, and almost every movie he was in. And luckily for me, I had a mother who didn't condemn my idolization of 2Pac, but would take me to Blockbuster Music on Carrollton to get his newest albums the day they came out. Yes, 2Pac was my hero, and he was an important one because he was the first hero I chose, the first hero that was not assigned to me by my elders. Sure he was flawed, contradictory, extreme, and sometimes vulgar - but he was also unapologetic, genuine, caring, and determined to uplift those in his community. He made songs like "Keep Ya Head Up," and "Smile," and "Dear Momma," and "I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto" that can still put goosebumps on your neck when you hear them today. Sitting here at 29 and looking back on a life that was cut short at 25 almost two decades ago, I still consider 2pac a hero for the impact he was able to make on an entire generation at such a young age. Sure he made some mistakes along the way, but those mistakes I can learn from without exemplifying them. Pac, the world is a dimmer place without you in it, but a much better one for having you here. Happy Birthday. (Takes sip of Hennessey)