Post by HNDRXX on Jul 8, 2021 13:19:54 GMT -5
The sun is just barely above the tops of buildings.
Light streaking through glass.
Light streaking along glass.
A Black Hoodie emblazoned with Jim Breaks performing his eponymous maneuver. Jean shorts above the knee.
Black Adidas wrestling shoes.
The rhythmic thud of footfall on concrete, two sets of feet in concert. No dissonance.
Light painting the sidewalk in lengthening shadows.
“One thing about DeAndre…”
The meeting of knuckles as jibes are playfully tossed around. A hand backwards over the head as joyous laughter erupts from all involved, the semi self-consciousness of ribbing amongst friends
“.. He lose his daddy.
Every day since. He ain’t taking a day for granted.
Sometimes he just sit in the park, meditatin’ in his own way.
Na’mean?
Just sit there and look out across the landscape and let the feeling rush over.
Lot of men, they denyin’ have those feelings.
Loss is hard to accept. “
The exchange of further hand slaps shoulder punches.
The nod of heads as jokes start to turn to the truth of the day.
Keep your head down.
Take nothing for granted.
The kind of wisdom found in a barber shop. Old heads nodding. Barber taking the role of wise man. Three gifts.
Cut. Shave. The truth.
“See an’ that’s the thing. DeAndre ain’t denyin’ those feelings.
Can’t no man lose his daddy and not feel it.
Lotta smaller men, they look at that an’ they see weakness. They lookin’ round like a pigeon on a stoop. Lookin’ for the cracks. Head bobbin’ this way an’ that.”
Brims are rounded, hoods are pulled up, but the laughter and merriment of community continues.
An exaggerated sweep of the hand.
And the percussion line of feet grows.
The orchestra of voices rising and falling in cadence with the percussion.
“An’ that is what make DeAndre special. He ain’t sayin’ to no one that he’s had it harder, he came up tougher.
It ain’t the darkness you come from that define you.”
The door opens, letting a rush of scented air through.
Hand gripping the handle, holds it for all to go through.
“It ain’t the darkness that come on you that define you.
Too many.
They lookin’ at they past, and they sayin’ that’s why they gotta act how they do.
They lookin’ for that excuse that gonna let ‘em sleep at night.
They know that even though they grown-ass dudes.
They gonna blame the past, they gonna blame they come up.
They gonna blame and do whatever they need to cover up that they ain’t strong enough.
Ain’t strong enough to face they demons down.
Ain’t strong enough to admit they just a little scared of the world past they small horizon.”
White Bowls, Chopsticks, the sound of life. Of Noodles being slurped.
More joviality. The rising steam of the bowls as the golden streaks shorten and the shadows lengthen towards night.
Pale hues streaking through the scattered clouds.
Hands waving for service.
“A lot of men, they gonna hide behind the things they own.
They gonna say look at what I got.
Look at the cards.
Look at the closet.
They gonna show you the facade of havin’ it all.
But they ain’t gonna have anything real.
Sure they got Versace.
Sure they got Hublot.
They pretending like they curatin’ some real life.”
Outside.
The sun has escaped. Replaced by a sky bereft of stars as city light streams up to become the new constellations.
Sepia tones.
Thwock
Thwock
Thwock
Legs pistoning kicks into a heavy bag.
The sheen of sweat on a bare chest.
A room comprised of no quarter.
A room lacking digital displays.
The Clock on the wall, second hand, minute hand, hour hand stalled.
“The time to train”
Written across the white and black placard in shimmering red.
Thwock
Thwock
Thwock
Collisions of inevitability. Legs to thighs of larger men. Legs to heavy bags. Moving centimeters and then inches.
A room of Iron and Concrete.
A room designed to break men and remold them. A man can be reforged. A career can be rebuilt. Ashes to Earth. Earth to Brick.
Stronger.
Harder.
Chiseled arms crossed. Nodding watching the collisions. The smile of pride.
Thwock
Thwock
Thwock
The only metronome needed.
A short exchange.
A towel to the forehead. Eager nodding. A convivial hand on the shoulder. A diagramming on the heavy bag.
A black Marker.
A red bag.
Everlast.
A hand demonstrating a height.
A Circle on the bag.
The Metronome resumes ticking.
Four Four time.
A hand points to the circle and then to the kick pad.
More nodding ensues and another towel is passed.
More reps.
Finally the metronome stops ticking. An exultant exchange of high fives. Lean Muscle meeting A larger arm and bicep.
A review of the session.
A studied nod as the regions of the heavy bag indicating the height on the thigh and the calf are pointed to.
Hand to chin considering.
Understanding.
A clap on the shoulder.
Sitting on a bench, changing from wrestling shoes. To running shoes.
A new day.
The return of concrete rhythm.
“It’s how you deal with the feelings of failure, that come to define you. It’s how you feel when you gone to the well. When you touched the bottom of that well. When you think the reserves that were endless weren’t.
Ain’t a lot of men willing to go to that well. Physically, Emotionally, see what down there.
Naw. It’s easier to sit on the edge of the well. Trying to look down there, always wonderin’ what you got when the chips actually fall?
DeAndre, he been to the bottom of the well.
He climbin’ back out.
Everyday, he inchin’ closer to that daylight. DeAndre ain’t let no one throw him a rope. DeAndre know he gotta make this climb himself.
Every Day.
Brick. By. Brick. HNDRXX gettin’ closer to the light. He can see the sun pourin’ down.
Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop him from gettin’ back out the well.”
Light streaking through glass.
Light streaking along glass.
A Black Hoodie emblazoned with Jim Breaks performing his eponymous maneuver. Jean shorts above the knee.
Black Adidas wrestling shoes.
The rhythmic thud of footfall on concrete, two sets of feet in concert. No dissonance.
Light painting the sidewalk in lengthening shadows.
“One thing about DeAndre…”
The meeting of knuckles as jibes are playfully tossed around. A hand backwards over the head as joyous laughter erupts from all involved, the semi self-consciousness of ribbing amongst friends
“.. He lose his daddy.
Every day since. He ain’t taking a day for granted.
Sometimes he just sit in the park, meditatin’ in his own way.
Na’mean?
Just sit there and look out across the landscape and let the feeling rush over.
Lot of men, they denyin’ have those feelings.
Loss is hard to accept. “
The exchange of further hand slaps shoulder punches.
The nod of heads as jokes start to turn to the truth of the day.
Keep your head down.
Take nothing for granted.
The kind of wisdom found in a barber shop. Old heads nodding. Barber taking the role of wise man. Three gifts.
Cut. Shave. The truth.
“See an’ that’s the thing. DeAndre ain’t denyin’ those feelings.
Can’t no man lose his daddy and not feel it.
Lotta smaller men, they look at that an’ they see weakness. They lookin’ round like a pigeon on a stoop. Lookin’ for the cracks. Head bobbin’ this way an’ that.”
Brims are rounded, hoods are pulled up, but the laughter and merriment of community continues.
An exaggerated sweep of the hand.
And the percussion line of feet grows.
The orchestra of voices rising and falling in cadence with the percussion.
“An’ that is what make DeAndre special. He ain’t sayin’ to no one that he’s had it harder, he came up tougher.
It ain’t the darkness you come from that define you.”
The door opens, letting a rush of scented air through.
Hand gripping the handle, holds it for all to go through.
“It ain’t the darkness that come on you that define you.
Too many.
They lookin’ at they past, and they sayin’ that’s why they gotta act how they do.
They lookin’ for that excuse that gonna let ‘em sleep at night.
They know that even though they grown-ass dudes.
They gonna blame the past, they gonna blame they come up.
They gonna blame and do whatever they need to cover up that they ain’t strong enough.
Ain’t strong enough to face they demons down.
Ain’t strong enough to admit they just a little scared of the world past they small horizon.”
White Bowls, Chopsticks, the sound of life. Of Noodles being slurped.
More joviality. The rising steam of the bowls as the golden streaks shorten and the shadows lengthen towards night.
Pale hues streaking through the scattered clouds.
Hands waving for service.
“A lot of men, they gonna hide behind the things they own.
They gonna say look at what I got.
Look at the cards.
Look at the closet.
They gonna show you the facade of havin’ it all.
But they ain’t gonna have anything real.
Sure they got Versace.
Sure they got Hublot.
They pretending like they curatin’ some real life.”
Outside.
The sun has escaped. Replaced by a sky bereft of stars as city light streams up to become the new constellations.
Sepia tones.
Thwock
Thwock
Thwock
Legs pistoning kicks into a heavy bag.
The sheen of sweat on a bare chest.
A room comprised of no quarter.
A room lacking digital displays.
The Clock on the wall, second hand, minute hand, hour hand stalled.
“The time to train”
Written across the white and black placard in shimmering red.
Thwock
Thwock
Thwock
Collisions of inevitability. Legs to thighs of larger men. Legs to heavy bags. Moving centimeters and then inches.
A room of Iron and Concrete.
A room designed to break men and remold them. A man can be reforged. A career can be rebuilt. Ashes to Earth. Earth to Brick.
Stronger.
Harder.
Chiseled arms crossed. Nodding watching the collisions. The smile of pride.
Thwock
Thwock
Thwock
The only metronome needed.
A short exchange.
A towel to the forehead. Eager nodding. A convivial hand on the shoulder. A diagramming on the heavy bag.
A black Marker.
A red bag.
Everlast.
A hand demonstrating a height.
A Circle on the bag.
The Metronome resumes ticking.
Four Four time.
A hand points to the circle and then to the kick pad.
More nodding ensues and another towel is passed.
More reps.
Finally the metronome stops ticking. An exultant exchange of high fives. Lean Muscle meeting A larger arm and bicep.
A review of the session.
A studied nod as the regions of the heavy bag indicating the height on the thigh and the calf are pointed to.
Hand to chin considering.
Understanding.
A clap on the shoulder.
Sitting on a bench, changing from wrestling shoes. To running shoes.
A new day.
The return of concrete rhythm.
“It’s how you deal with the feelings of failure, that come to define you. It’s how you feel when you gone to the well. When you touched the bottom of that well. When you think the reserves that were endless weren’t.
Ain’t a lot of men willing to go to that well. Physically, Emotionally, see what down there.
Naw. It’s easier to sit on the edge of the well. Trying to look down there, always wonderin’ what you got when the chips actually fall?
DeAndre, he been to the bottom of the well.
He climbin’ back out.
Everyday, he inchin’ closer to that daylight. DeAndre ain’t let no one throw him a rope. DeAndre know he gotta make this climb himself.
Every Day.
Brick. By. Brick. HNDRXX gettin’ closer to the light. He can see the sun pourin’ down.
Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop him from gettin’ back out the well.”