Timothy McVeigh was just executed this morning. My views on this are, “I don’t give a fuck.” He is the guy who blew up the state building in Oklahoma and many people died, including some black people I suppose. But that was like eight years ago which further helps me not to care, and none of my family or friends were involved in the bombing. But even if one of my friends or family had been involved, I probably still wouldn’t care.

You know five years ago my friend Ceasar Cicero was in a motorcycle accident. A pickup truck pulled out in front of him while he was strolling down the street. Now the guy who hit him was under the influence of alcohol. When Ceasar crashed into him, he kept on going instead of stopping. Ceasar was dragged by the truck by his hair because it was long. His face got all scrapped up and dismantled, and he had to have a closed casket. Now granted he wasn’t wearing his helmet at the time of the accident. A helmet could have saved him even though the doctors told his fiancé that it wouldn’t have because they didn’t want her to go crazy thinking what her life would be like if he would have only worn a helmet. Another thing that might have saved him is if the guy simply would have stopped the truck on impact instead of speeding off.

Now I knew Ceasar since Kindergarten. When he died, all I thought about was the fact that he was gone. I didn’t think about the guy who caused the accident. I thought about him a little after the funeral was over and he went to court and only got six months in jail for vehicular homicide despite the fact that he hit and ran and dragged Ceasar along with him, and he was also drunk. I thought that to be unfair, but did I want to protest constantly against the guy and wish him dead? No. After a while he just faded from my memory. I went and visited Ceasar’s grave for Memorial Day, and no thought came of the guy who caused the accident, just thoughts of, “I wish you were here. I wish, I wish, I wish.”

My cousin Romeo, his mom shot his father dead. I cried at his funeral for my love for him because he was a very nice man and good father as far as my eyes could see. I cried for Romeo and his sister Sary Kim. I didn’t see that Solomon was taking it too hard. He took it like a man I suppose I can say. During that time, I never had a hateful thought toward Romeo’s mother. Hey, she had some differences with her husband and one morning she decided to settle them. She’s been in prison for 10, 11 years now. Do I wish her death and pain? No, I do not.

My point is that killing the killer doesn’t make things better for the killed or the family of the killed. Now in Timothy’s case, he should die for taking multiple lives in such a way. He didn’t commit a crime he committed an atrocity.

I think personally that Romeo’s mother should be let out of jail now. 10 years in a cell is enough. I gave some thought to this and my prison system would work like this. If you kill someone, just one person, you get 10 to 20 years, 10 straight before possibility of parole. If you kill more than one person at a time, you get death. If you killed one person and get out and kill again, you get death.

Give drug dealers caught with a kilo or more, 5 years. They get out and get caught again, give them 10. No one should do life for the sale of drugs. Drug addicts can bounce back if they choose, so give the drug dealer a chance to bounce back. And after all, drug dealers don’t create the drugs they simply supply it and most of the time it’s through a middle-man. They are just capitalist and that is what America is all about. I think drug dealers are half-stupid for gambling with their freedom like they do, but on the flip side of it they are also kind of smart. Look the life they have.

Take Romelo Artrois for example. When he graduated from high school, he became a drug dealer. He fucked every bitch in town that I wanted to fuck and couldn’t fuck because I didn’t have any money. He had all the money. He had cars, clothes, trips to Vegas, etc. Look at the life of the guy in the movie “Blow”. He had millions of dollars, a big beautiful home, cars, everything he wanted, even a beautiful wife and kid. He lived this life for maybe ten years more or less.

Take me, after I graduated high school, I went to college. I graduated from college. I make $36,000 a year. I haven’t fucked half the bitches I wanted during my college years nor afterwards. I have a $16,000 car, a bum ass apartment, a few nice looking clothes, and no chance of losing my freedom unless I do something stupid. But the point I’m tryin’ to make is that I will probably never have the hottest car to drive, never be able to take trips to the Bahamas or Vegas, never have a big beautiful home. Or if I do get to have this life, it will probably take me another twenty years to get it. I have to work twenty years before I can do all this if I even want to do at that age.

While drug dealers, most in their twenties, have thousands of dollars laying around to do whatever the fuck they want in their youth. Most of them are stupid and wind up in jail 5 to 10 years by the time they are 27 to 30 years old. But I’m just saying, I wonder is the trade-off is fair. To have everything you want at your finger-tips: pussy, money, cars, etc; or, to live like a slave, working everyday for twenty years to build up a salary to have the same things. Truthfully, I feel like I’m in prison. I got to get up every day at 6:30 A.M. to go to work and all the money I make is for bills. I work and I go home because I can’t afford to go anywhere else.

If I didn’t have my daughter to think about while I’m living here in New York, I probably would be doing some stupid shit. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t because I’m just not that type of guy. I’m waiting patiently for my world to come together. I figure in five years, I’ll be paid more, my car will be paid off, etc. I’ll have a little extra cash to flaunt at age –. See what I mean? It’s like I got to do a five year bid before I can have a little freedom. Drug dealers have mostly all freedom out in the free world until they are caught. Do you get the analogy I’m trying to make here? This just seems my case thought. It depends on your life situation, and my life situation seems like I should have been a drug dealer. I wouldn’t suggest anyone be a drug dealer, let’s just say I can understand. You got money to spend. If you’re smart, you’ll save a lot of it. You get girls that the average good looking guy only dreams of having, and this is even if you are ugly, you still get them.

I hope my daughter doesn’t turn out to be a sack chaser; one who dates guys because they have money. I doubt that she will turn out that way with mine and her moms’ influence. My daughter is – now. She’s growing up on me. She was just here in New York for two weeks with me. Boy she has it really bad with allergies. She can’t blow her nose so she continuously sniffs the snot in. She cried seemed like for the first week that she was here. She whined about everything: she was sleepy, hungry, her belly hurt, her forehead hurt. I was a little concerned about the forehead thing. She said she hit her head on a flower-pot at home. She complained for three days straight that her forehead hurt, especially when she cried. After like three days, she never complained about her forehead again.

My cousin’s daughter Million was also here in NY with us. She’s a sweet little girl, well mannered. She says she’s good in school. She may just turn out to be the next family pride to rise up out the ghetto from a single parent home and be somebody. She says she wants to be an actress. She doesn’t really know what that means and what it entails, but I hope she pursues it and actually makes it. Her father is in prison for being caught with 30 Kilos of cocaine with intent to distribute locally and across state lines; Ohio to Kentucky. He’s been gone ever since she was three or four or maybe even before that. She enjoyed herself. I took my daughter and her to the empire state building viewing deck, to the museum of natural history. I drove them around in the city one night and rode pass Puff Daddy’s restaurant. Of course we went to Times Square. We went there with Watrina to take some pictures. On that particular day we also seen a model that Million’s mom has a calendar of that I bought her for Christmas. I pointed him out to Million. We were on fifth avenue in Manhattan in front of the building where Watrina works. Million shook his hand and said hi and I told her to take a picture with him. I intended to take Million and Janelle to the Zoo but Watrina said that the zoo should be like a three to four hour occasion. It closed at 5 P.M. I tried to wake up early and get them ready two mornings in a row, but I couldn’t get ready before 2 P.M. with bathing, feeding, and combing Janelle’s hair. I just said forget it because I was running out of money also. We made it to the movies to see Shrek. It was a nice kid movie and they enjoyed it.

Watrina and her daughter also came along. We did a lot of activities with Watrina. We went to Red Lobster with Watrina also. Watrina is my half girlfriend that I mentioned above. She’s – and just wants to kick it so to speak and not get too serious with anybody; just keep it on a cool level. So I say that half of her likes me and the other half wants to keep it light even though we spend a good amount of time together. I like her so far and her daughter is cool. We’ve been getting along for two and half months now. My daughter, at the age of – is writing her name. I didn’t start writing my name and stuff until I was – going on –. I was glad to see that. I asked her why she didn’t tell me over the phone that she writes her name and she said, “I don’t know.” Her mother and I don’t talk, but she could have told me that my daughter is writing her name.

Janelle told me that she and her mother have moved into a new house or apartment. Victoria hasn’t told me that yet either. I’m waiting to see when she will. I started to ask her about it when I dropped Janelle off, but I said, “knawl, I’ma see if she gonna tell me and give the new address and phone number.” I think a father has the right to know where his child actually lives not just the place where he picks her up and drops her off, which is at Victoria’s mother’s house. She’s eventually gonna have to give me the phone number and tell me because I’m about to start calling my daughter twice a week now instead of once.

Victoria probably has in her head that I don’t need to know where she lives for some reason or another. She’s always seemed to have some bullshit thoughts in her head concerning me and my daughter. She was going to see lawyers when Janelle was first born to ask them about how much she could keep my daughter away from me; what rights I had and what rights I didn’t. Victoria was looking kind of good when I dropped Janelle off. It only happens about twice a year that I see her looking attractive to me. I don’t mention it to her because I have no friendly words besides, “how are you.” After I saw her trying to play with me and my daughter’s relationship, that put whatever friendship we could have had out the door and over the top of the mountain.

I wish I could be around to watch my daughter grow up. I love being with her and watching her. And sometimes I have a little inkling of a thought of how could Victoria and I get back together. Maybe she’s grown up out of her, whatever she was going through when she had Janelle. Maybe her life is a little more together now because I don’t know anything about her: where she works, what she does, etc. I think sometimes that maybe we can make something happen. But then the reality of the situation is that it would take a lot of work with all the bad blood and bullshit she put up with me spending time with my daughter. I’ve seen the bitch in her and I don’t want no parts of it ever again. She can have that shit and save it for whoever decides to maybe marry her ass. So at the end of those get back together thoughts is the thought that I’m glad I ain’t glued together in marriage or engagement with her ass.

The relationship I have with my daughter is as good as it can be. Will I try to eventually do the family thing where I get married and my wife has a baby by me? To tell the truth, I don’t know. When you think about it, It’s all bullshit once things go bad. I don’t think my marriage will go bad none too soon, but I never know. I think I’m the easiest guy to get along with. I’m out to please. I try to be humorous and not all stick-up-the-ass. I work, I fuck, I cook, I comb little girl hair a little bit also, and I’m willing to try just about anything non-homosexual; that’s anything socially and sexually. I mean what more can a young woman ask for? But who knows, look at Victoria and i. And plus when people start getting older and older and maturing deeply and shit, shit sometimes gets all fucked up in the relationship or marriage. My wife may hit 40 and decide she wants to live in Africa. Hell, I might go, but my frame of mind right now, hell knawl.

Life is fucked up if you ask me and brining other lives into this shit is selfish truthfully. Most individuals have fucked up lives, are poor, dying from disease. I don’t think I want to bring another life here to face this bullshit. It’s gonna be hard enough getting my daughter through this life. My life at this point is all fucked up if you ask me. My half of girlfriend has brightened it a bit. My visitation arrangement with my daughter has also brightened it.

My music still isn’t going anywhere because mutha fuckaz don’t want to help nobody. They don’t even want to give you the slightest chance to make it. I’m learning this. I originally thought that if you had talent, it would be fairly simple to get someone to recognize that and give you that push you need to get to where you’re trying to go. I used to think all the time, “look at the entertainment companies and clothing companies: Bad Boy, SEAN JEAN, FUBU, Flip Mode Entertainment, FUBU Entertainment, Def Jam, Def Communications, etc. You can’t get near these companies.

 I went to FUBU to hand in a resume and I felt no love. It was just like walking into a white major corporation. They told me they didn’t have an accounting department, but they would take my resume and keep it on file. I saw Busta Rhymes in the village last year, and I had a tape on me. I originally thought that Busta was one of the coolest cats you would ever want to meet, cordial to his fans. He was surrounded by bodyguards. He was talking on the phone. His body guards were slippin’ because I walked right up to him and threw my hands up to give him a pound and he ignored me.  Then his body-guard came in my face and said that, “he can’t talk right now, he on the phone.” I walked away and then turned around and asked the body guard could I talk to him once he got off the phone. He said, “if it’s business, no. He chillin right now. Business hours are Monday thru Friday.” I just walked away and went on bout my business.

I got a telephone number of this female rapper “Uneek” I know from DJ Doo Wop Tapes back in the 90s. I talked to her once on the phone and she told me to call her back. I called her back three times and left my number and she never called back. I got Phantasm from the Cella Dwellaz number. I called it and I got no answer. It was probably a number to a pay phone. The bullshit never endz! I still love makin’ my music even if nobody listens to it. I still got the dream of producing a song on one album at least before I drop it and consider it a failure. Right now I feel like I’m failing in life. I’ve accomplished getting a college degree, but I just did that shit because I knew I had to take care of myself. I don’t really want to be an accountant sitting at this damn desk looking at a computer screen. I want to have some type of connections to music. Hell I can even be an accountant for artist or a record label. But that seems impossible too. How easy it is to get what you really don’t want, but when you have passion and really want something, it seems like all the road blocks in the world are up against you. “But fuck that shit cause I gots to live.” (Ice Cube) Whether I get what I want or not, I gots to liv