you ever wish that maybe you didn’t
know as much as you do
because you know too much and
knowing brings understanding
which in turn bares confusion

does this make sense or should I stop?

you witness injustice, hate, and crime
and claim that you just want
everything to be kept REAL
but then that turns out to be
just TOO **** REAL!

does this make any sense?

you feel things that others feel
shouldn’t be felt but you
can’t deny feelings
although you wish it were possible
and conscious efforts are made

really, should I stop?

yeah let me stop…

Greetings beautiful people! Mentally and emotionally this has been a weird month for me. I’m getting older and I feel really indifferent about it. I feel middle-aged, paternal and like my biological clock is ticking. By the end of the month, which is the end of the year, I’m going to attempt to decompress and prepare for the new year and release the clutter and chaos. I shall return to posting in January. Enjoy your holiday’s and remember, it’s not about you. It’s about ME! 🙂

p.s. Why is Jared still doing Subway commercials? UGH! #OverHim


and still…

i cry
rain pours from
my heart
washing away life
vice grip tightens
breath is stolen
faith in love
fade to black

and still…

the LOVE of GOD
is the Love that
wakes me each morning
provides my breath
creator of you and i
protector of my soul
worthy of praise…

and still…

i reap the benefits of stillness
after my mind has questioned
and is lacking in answers
often times tears
spell it out for me
other times
i wait
and wait

and still…

wondering consumes me
life keeps moving
on top of
and thru me
but i see
i think i see
im sure i see
i wanna see
please help me…
this never becomes less
only more or less
mainly yes
im outta breath
so take the only words i have left
remember me…
and still…


Love without Love

Hello beautiful people. The past week has been slightly busier than some of others so I’ve decided to share a poem of mine from the archives. I feel that the subject matter is still relevant, and more than likely always will be. Plus, it’s one of my favorites…not just because I wrote it. All lies…it’s especially because I wrote it. Hope you enjoy it. XOXO

I was sitting here and going through tons of old emails from past lovers and past loves.

I was able to smile at some because I recalled and relived them briefly and the memory felt good.

I was able to sit in contemplation and re-read some a few times to really comprehend the depth of the exchange and (then) emotions.

I was reading old arguments and misunderstandings.

I was reading old hopes and even old dreams.

I was picturing faces, and bodies…Remembering scents, and trips, and meals.

I was recalling first touches, loving glances, and being called baby by every last one of them.

I’ve made and lived a life out of love.
I’ve made a fool (and been made a fool of) out of love.
I’ve shed tears.
I’ve raised my voice, and have even gotten silent when I was losing my grip on love.
I gave each person the parts of me that I felt they deserved and could handle…because MY love…was really too much for me and would surely be too much for them.


I nurtured my own ego and fed it well during love.
I tortured my own soul, while years past in a month while in love.
I explained why you couldn’t have me and why I couldn’t have you, and why love wasn’t enough to make either of us put up with the other over love. I’ve made love make sense when it didn’t and I made it not make sense when it could have.
I would have given you me completely, unreservedly, plainly, freely, sloppily, neatly, discreetly, sweetly, but wasn’t sure if you’d then keep me.
Or if I’d choose to keep you because I didn’t want to want and not be wanted the same.
The first to inflict pain is the one who never ever feels it.


I’ve had phone conversations about this love and that love, and why they weren’t loving me but still treating me lovingly because they lacked the experience, and knew that when it came down to love, I experienced it and couldnt be told just anything.

Love kept me up late, love woke me up early.
Love called me during lunch and on my way home.
Love shared and love let me fall asleep.
Love Washed my clothes, and I folded loves plain white t-shirts.
Love had me making sandwiches with verbal instruction from the next room when we were the same distance from the kitchen and could get there at the same time.

I was driven to the doctor by my love when what I would have loved was a miraculous healing instead because If I had to get out of bed, I would have rather done something interesting.

When I was in love we took walks just because, chose restaurants for dinner based on how close they were to the house, and how quickly we’d get what we ordered after we ordered it.

I wired money to love.
I bought cars for love.
I dressed love up in what I wanted it to wear and tossed shoes in the trash that love didn’t approve of.
Love is all about approval.


I wrote songs for love.
I gave half-a** apologies to love with my whole heart.
I cut my hair for love.
I grew my hair for love.
I rubbed shea butter on the feet of love.
I gave love my permission, while I did what I wanted because I was told I’d do it anyway.
I loved with conviction without direction full of purpose was my love.
I meditated on,
I asked for,
I dreamt of,
I even prayed for love.

Some love left me,
I left some love behind
but the most important love still remains.
That which was there unconditionally, can never leave
First, last, and lasting.

love without love always becomes what it needs to be.
I still love Love
but now we BOTH love me!!!

©2008 DC Jackson

Untitled (I live for the applause)

First of all let me say that the cold in Chicago is real. Everything that you’ve ever heard about the harsh winds and frigid temperatures is absolutely true, times three. I woke up this morning at 3:00am because I was done sleeping I suppose, but also because it was freezing. Fourteen degrees isn’t cute, and as a matter of fact I no longer like any numbers below forty. For fun, I converted the Degrees to Celsius and that made it ten degrees below zero. Waaaay more dramatic, right? At any rate, let me crank up the heat and get started.

In the past week I’ve made friends with one of my twitter/instagram/facebook followers. Very sweet kid, and sort of reminds me of myself. (Radiant heating beneath our hardwood floors would make life more bearable). Right now his struggle is on finding himself, and discovering what it is that he has to offer the world. He doesn’t feel like he has anything valuable to contribute to the world and doesn’t see a point in existing on an earthly plane any longer. He doesn’t believe that he has value or worth and that he somehow creates a burden, or spreads a poison to the life and people that surround him. I’ve been able to be sympathetic as well as empathetic.

Five years ago I was at an extremely low point, and made an attempt to take my own life. I had ingested every single pill that I had in my possession. Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, Tylenol with codeine, vicodin, and a complete bottle of ibuprofen. I felt like this should be a sufficient amount of pills to shut it all down. I felt like everything I had to give I had already given, and at that point was just unnecessarily occupying space. To feel completely empty and alone is a very crippling state of being. I was existing just to take medication, and to go to the doctors. I had no idea how to begin to live again, and probably wouldn’t have exerted any effort even if the idea was dropped off at my doorstep.

In true DJ fashion, the scene played out like an episode of a soap opera. My mother rushed to my side, the paramedics were on the scene, as well as a good friend of mine. I remember flashing lights, I remember being carried from my bedroom to the ambulance, I also remember thinking “These bitches better not cut my damn shorts because I’m going to want to wear them again if I survive!” Everything after that was a complete blur. I vaguely remember my best friend and her mom at my bedside in the emergency room praying life over me. I remember hearing a nurse say, “Wow, his nails look better than mine!” and because I have a tendency to be catty I wanted to tell her that I can tell her where I’d gotten them done but couldn’t guarantee hers would look as good as mine because my nails are naturally beautiful. I never got the words out.

If you’ve ever ingested something poisonous or know of anyone who has, then you likely also know that they make you drink a large cup full of charcoal. Now this stuff didn’t have much of a taste but was like drinking a warm foamy black milkshake. I finished the cup and fell asleep. The next day I woke up in yet another ambulance and was being taken to a psychiatric hospital. I tried to convince them that I wasn’t crazy and that I was perfectly fine to go home. They looked at me with eyes that said, “sit your crazy ass down!” so I did. Once I made it to the restroom to get changed I was super upset because the charcoal turned my lips black. I was so annoyed that no one wiped my black, dry, cracked lips. I mean where is that cute?

Over the next few days under lockdown and constant surveillance I had a chance to read, to think, to rest, and to pray. My parents would visit every day for the allotted hour and my best friends came as well. For some reason, it began to seem like the world was slowing down. It felt peaceful. It felt brand new. I was amazed by the trees that I could see out of my window. There were also wild turkeys outside the window. Well I’m assuming I’m correct in calling them “wild” because they weren’t on leashes. Who knows?

Anyway after 72 hours it was finally time to leave and my step dad came to pick me up. I was totally over that place because I couldn’t shave, and they stole my bottle of baby oil that I asked my mom to bring because I was ashy. It was brand new. Ugh. After leaving, I got to go to the hospital to see my big sister and the new baby she and my brother-in-law just had a few days prior. Seeing my new niece I really began to realize how amazing and beautiful life was (and is). I had nearly denied myself the chance to meet this beautiful child. I selfishly made a decision based on a temporary circumstance that could have permanently removed me from everything and everyone I loved.

I realized that I never wanted to die, but I did want the pain, and confusion I was feeling to stop. I did want a clearer understanding of what I felt like I was put here to do. I’ve always been great at everything I’ve tried, but once I mastered it, I was over it, and needed something else to conquer. It was the same way with all of my personal relationships. This didn’t feel normal to me. Because that didn’t feel normal, I didn’t feel normal. I felt defective and emotionally insatiable. No matter how much of anything that I consumed, I always needed more. The one thing I really needed more of was love for me. Not the kind of love that gets facials, and buys clothes, shoes, and jewelry, but the kind of love that allows me to rest and make mistakes.

So what I’ve been trying to tell my new friend is that all is not lost, and that fundamentally he’s right where he needs to be. You plan for the life you’d like to have and then the plan gets modified along the way as you discover your true self. Ends are sometimes beginnings and mistakes are often lessons. There are no tragedies other than wearing white pumps with black stockings. Change is constant and if you didn’t give life to yourself, then you sure as hell can’t take it away.

Sorry this was so long and my apologies if it seemed random and unfocused. I’m cold, hungry, sleepy, and I can’t stand Iyanla Vanzant. If you’re still twerking, stop. And if you own a white belt…I just can’t do you right now.

Until next time…


Relative Strangers!

For some odd reason, I’ve gone through four potential posts in the last seven days. I was trying to force a very specific feeling from myself, and in order to do so, I needed to be extremely focused and direct my mental energy to that place. But during this process, I became even more undone. I’m all for rules and boundaries with regard to crime and punishment but when it comes to feelings, thoughts and emotions, the situations don’t flow as neatly. It’s nearly impossible for me to write under any type of rules. Well, not exactly impossible because I often work as a freelance technical writer, but it’s something that I refuse to do in a personal capacity.

What I also refuse to do is to continue spend any more of my time or energy on people that don’t reciprocate. The issue I’m having right now, and the reason I’ve been fighting this contentious battle between what to write is because I’m trying to make sure that I’m not overdramatizing any situations because I’ve been known to do just that. And I do so notoriously. I was trying to allow how I was feeling to grow into, grow up from, or grow apart from its poisonous root, to hopefully reach toward a source of light that would ultimately cause it to repair and heal itself.

I began to discover that sometimes you have to uproot a plant and either replant it or allow its source to reclaim it and use it however it will. I’m sure this sounds a bit vague and cryptic so I’ll leak some of the specifics so that everything preceding will become clearer. I usually believe what someone says until their actions prove otherwise and certain people in my biological family plain and simply don’t say what they mean. They don’t follow through with any sort of action or make any effort to be any better than they are.

Recently I found out through my eldest sister that our father was in the hospital. My sister found out through our half-sister’s Instagram post of our father lying in a hospital bed. First of all, this pissed me off because why did this have to be the way for us to find out his condition? Why didn’t he ask his daughter to contact us, his first born children? Why didn’t his daughter herself think to contact us? I mean damn, why didn’t he contact us himself? After all, he made sure she was notified. Since my sister didn’t have any desire whatsoever to speak to our father, she contacted me and I then sent him a text to see if he was ok. Immediately he calls me to brief me on his situation, cries, tells me that he needs me, and promises to keep in constant contact. This lasted about three or four days. Now, having been two weeks later, I can barely get him to call me or return my calls. I make a daily effort to call to check in with him to make sure he’s doing well, but I’m not given the common courtesy to even bother returning a call even after saying he would.

Our father is definitely not making it easy to have a relationship with him. My sister Ginette and I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in eighteen years and she decided in 2006 that we should attempt to have a relationship with him. Every step of the way I fought it. I had such strong distaste for him that I couldn’t wait to tell him I was gay hoping that he’d be completely crushed. He wasn’t. In fact, he was totally accepting so I was crushed. Yes I was being that petty. I felt entitled to at least that. Afterwards, we spent years playing a passive-aggressive tournament of emotional Olympic table tennis. We were happy, we were pissed, we were happy, we were pissed. I became annoyed, he became annoyed. I lashed out, he lashed back. I forgave him, he forgave me. It was pure and total bullshit. I decided before reuniting that I didn’t need a father because I never felt like I was missing one. Now at thirty-two years old my feelings are still the same. Biologically he’s family, but I’ll never see him as more than a relative. Relatively speaking.

I have so much more to say but really, what would be the point? I just needed to release a little of what was holding onto me so tightly so that I might continue to move about freely on this journey of mine. The tension headache that I carried into today from yesterday is now gone and it’s time for me to rest my mind.

Until next time…


No Chinatown, No thank you!

Since you all don’t know me well enough yet I’ll just tell you. I really am a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll. In my mind I’m also a ninja, undercover cop, and I sincerely believe that I could qualify for the Olympics in track & field. So basically I have a healthy dose of confidence. I also love to travel and more than that, I obviously love to move state to state, and city to city on a whim in search of a certain feeling.

In my later teens I felt like I’d always live in California because well I guess I loved it. Not really sure why I felt the way I did about it. This is actually my first time trying to recall what my thought process was or recount why I was so enamored with it. If I had a gun to my head and had to venture a guess I suppose I could say it’s because it was very familiar and I felt that it had everything I could possibly need.

It didn’t take long for me to feel like I had outgrown the place that I was raised because at nearly every turn there was someone who knew me from somewhere or somehow needed me for something. I was also dealing with deciding how to express my sexuality. Back then, I felt that sexuality was something that needed to be expressed outwardly because there was strength and pride in saying it making it known. I was a kid, and obviously didn’t know nearly as much as I thought I did.

However, what I did know was that it was time to move on. I tried New York and loved it but I was indirectly forced out by a horrible relationship that crashed and burned. Next I tried Atlanta because it was the polar opposite of New York and I lasted a few years but it started to bore me. I went back to California and felt at ease again. The feeling was short-lived so I then moved to West Palm Beach, Florida with Lavarro briefly before moving back to Georgia. I hated Georgia even more the second time so we went back to California for a year then we moved to Dallas. After nearly three years in Dallas I began to think about what it was that I was not only wanting from a city, but also what I expected as well.

First of all, I needed there to be an efficient subway and bus system that operates 24-hours. Not that I utilize either of them, I just like to know that they’re there. Well I’d totally use the train if I had to, especially when going downtown because I hate looking for parking or paying $30 to park for four hours. I needed there to be taxis galore, luxury car service, a garment district, cheap (but good) Chinese food, an Hermes, Bloomingdales, an Intermix (for Kotur clutches), Hugo Boss, United Colors of Benetton, a financial district, numbered streets, a Broadway street, a huge designer fashion fabric store, activism and protests, museums for days, outdoor ice skating in the winter, a Trump hotel, a Ritz-Carlton, Four Seasons,or a St. Regis. I need for there to be a Spanish neighborhood, a Jewish neighborhood, a gay part of town, and the most important qualifier for me to consider living in any particular city is the presence of an official Chinatown. Not a part of town that has a few Chinese businesses or where Asian people have frequently been spotted, but a bona fide Chinatown where English isn’t spoken, where I can’t read any of the signs, where people are shopping for the days meat and fresh veggies at 6:00am, where tai chi is going down in the park, where the banks are Chinese, where hole in the wall stores advertise and sell Shiseido skincare and cosmetics, where greasy ducks hang in restaurant windows, a place where you can buy exotic herbs, spices, and remedies. This place has to be littered with jewelry stores selling 18k gold and jade, a community center, and tons of dry cleaners.

Whether you choose to visit Chinatown or not, is totally irrelevant and beside the point…it just needs to be there. For me it’s symbolic of a city that’s progressive, inclusive, and culturally diverse. It provides a very necessary dimension to any city’s downtown atmosphere and I can’t live anywhere that doesn’t contain one of these non-English speaking hotspots. If I were able to deal with the often unidentifiable smells that make me nauseated, I’d consider living in Chinatown. Or maybe I’d just buy an apartment building there to rent out to because I’m sort of turned on by the idea of being the owner of a building that I rent to Asians. Don’t be mad at me, I’m just being honest.

Anyway, you can pretty much be guaranteed that if there is a Chinatown, then there are all (or most) of the other elements I’ve previously mentioned. Ok well I’m done for now because I need to use the restroom and have been holding it for two hours, my face itches because I haven’t shaved this week, and I’m tired of typing because my hands are ice cold.


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