Call me if you want to get dug like the pockets – Real Life Stories and The Wu Tang Clan


“If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose”
― Charles Bukowski

When it became obvious I was a Scumbag

For those of you who don’t know I was a Chemistry major. I always did good in chemistry for someone who didn’t go to class. I can see it in my head  for years I was a private tutor to NYU and Columbia students for biochem, chemistry, biology, and organic chemistry. (I feel sorry if these Ivy league kids are going to be our future leaders) I can see molecules and reactions in my head. Even in highschool I had the highlander sense with molecules and reactions. I of course wanted to go on  and study something else but one day when threatened with either becoming a pre-med student or leaving home I chose to stay home. I have a love hate relationship with my profession though I am good at it. I imagine if I gave more than two shits I could be pretty fucking up there, but eh…  I got other larger than life goals I am setting up now.

So anyways, I was sitting in the gym, I scrounged some change and was able to eat something. Hunger was a great  way to get ripped. I was eating little for this week, and I couldn’t afford the books for class.  There was also no hot water and heat, in the basement I was living. I was angry to say the least. I found it more than unfair to be given the skills to succeed but never the raw materials, like a bed or a chair, or heat or even the illusion of safety as there were fights, needles and shady people at the time always lurking, cop cars chasing fools.

So I jokingly said maybe I should go into a life of crime, we all laughed and my low level drug dealing friend said” MrMaryRealName – You’re a chemist can you synthesize E(ecstacy).  Pride took over and I said shit I can synthesize anything what’s in it for me. He told me he could push it If I could make it. I did work study in a lab anyways. Of course being a business man, I asked how would he be willing to invest for a test run. He said he would get back to me.

For a whole week, this plagued my soul. I wanted to be able to eat regularly, have a bed, take my family to live some place we can finally be at peace for once. I didn’t want to see my sister just sitting in her corner silent with no expression on her face. I didn’t want to feel so angry or numb inside. I wanted to feel what it was to be happy for once.

 A few days later my friend told me, he checked at the clubs and even if I could make the best and purest stuff, there was no market for it, The Market was saturated and now users wanted nice packaging which I couldnt sustain. Packing meaning funny faces on the pills – that what I was told I’ve never used any drugs.

So I was saved. In a way in that moment I knew I was a scumbag. Because for all I learned and all I knew I considered it.  I was in dire straights, but I considered myself “one of the good guys” and in that moment of indecision I wasn’t, one of the good guys. That moment keep me humble,  because so many of the guys in the street that do deal  cant read well, didnt have scholarship, didnt have two parents no matter how crazy  they might have been.

My Idiot Nephew

I forgot for a moment all I had been given, and all the sacrifices I and many others made .  I tried to explain this to my idiot sort of nephew who like to listen to rap,  sag his pants cut school. I told him that a lot of the rap songs are a cry for a help. Look at the song C.R.E.A.M

It’s been 22 long hard years of still struggling
Survival got me buggin’, but I’m alive on arrival
I peep at the shape of the streets
And stay awake to the ways of the world cause shit is deep
A man with a dream with plans to make cream
Which failed; I went to jail at the age of 15
A young buck selling drugs and such who never had much
Trying to get a clutch at what I could not
The court played me short, now I face incarceration
Pacing, going upstate’s my destination
Handcuffed in back of a bus, forty of us
Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough

It talks about a mother and son leaving an abusive father moving to the projects and the kid falling in with the wrong crowd, going to jail at 16. No one likes to talk about this, no one likes to talk about what fucking happens in prison, or police brutality, or how hard life is sometimes for those people who aren’t in a certain demographic, I dont mean just black people or hispanics it goes beyond race.

My sorta-nephew doesn’t listen to MrMary. As bad as it was it wasn’t as bad as other people I know. I told him the projects the hood is a depressed place. There is no hope and so kids start smoking pot, fucking ( Sorry I had to use ‘fucking’ because at that age not old enough to understand love, or terms like making love). So many songs I listened too helped me psychologically because I knew I wasn’t alone in my struggle, the music was fucking off the hook too. But now the music is just that, it’s music its something to dance and posture to. There is no  message.

So I play along with my nephew, I think he is resigned to learn the hard way. I play him this song one of my favorites called of course Ice_Cream.  Maybe I should have a separate post on this one. I tell him the perverted parts of the song and he laughs, I laugh too and in the back of my mind I hope this kid finds his way, and I hope he remembers my fone # when he does need me. Meanwhile enjoy a fond memory from my youth

Black chocolate girl wonder, shade brown like Thunder
Politic til your deficit step, gimme your number
Your sexy persuasive ta-ta’s and thighs
Catch my eyes like highs I want your bodily surprise
Double dime some time, Ice Cream you got me fallin out
like a cripple, I love you like I love my dick size
ooh baby I miss you, your sweet tender touches
take pulls off the dutches, orgasm in my mindstate
masterbate in your clutches, I want you for self
like wealth, so play me closely
Bitches paranoia for the sting, who want the most of me
Only a hard dozen want to be callin me cousin
Thirsty for my catalog, baby shoppin spree you’re lovin
Call me if you want to get dug like the pockets
I jizm like a giant break brooms out of their sockets

I actually told a lovely lady that once: “Call me if you wanna get dug like the pockets” She called me and though I didn’t dig her out like my pockets she became a close friend of mine. Go figure lol Also Im not saying all rap is good or all of it has a message. Some of it is really touching to me.

Though I don’t know why I chose to smoke sess (weed)
I guess that’s the time when I’m not depressed
But I’m still depressed, and I ask: what’s it worth?
Ready to give up so I seek the Old Earth
Who explained working hard may help you maintain
To learn to overcome the heartaches and pain
We got stickup kids, corrupt cops, and crack rocks and
Stray shots, all on the block that stays hot
Leave it up to me while I be living proof
To kick the truth to the young black youth
But shorty’s running wild smoking sess drinking beer
And ain’t trying to hear what I’m kicking in his ear
Neglected for now, but yo, it gots to be accepted
That what? That life is hectic

Enhanced by Zemanta

2 comments

  1. I don’t think considering something like that makes you a scumbag…and I think that despite your “saving” you may still have concluded not to do it. The prospect is definitely interesting and would have changed your life…but you know that change would have been for the worse in the long run…

    Like

    • thanks for the comment. I felt like a scumbag at the time because I used to look at a lot of the dudes I knew from my building or my way as scumbags for dealing to make a quick buck. I think this sorta kept me humble and reminded me to get off the high-horse I sometimes find myself on

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s