Twas the Night Before Christmas Remastered by Jayson Wilkinson

I wrote this about 5 years ago and I figured it was time to re-release this for the good of the 2 readers I have. Enjoy!

Twas the night before Christmas, back in '91

Everyone was chillin cause finals was done

The shinny suit was hung over the lounge chair with care

mostly because MC Hammer was near

His fans were nestled all snugg in their beds

With the hook from "You can't touch this" playing in their heads

And Mama in her houseshoes and me in my du-rag

both our doors; double bolted so Santa won't lag

Then out on my porch I saw someone tan

On his belt, the buckle simply read, " Hammerman"

Now Santa wears Red with some white in between

but Hammer wear black and purple and green

Santa rides sleds fueled by magical forces

Hammer rolls deep in cars with maaaad horses

And Santa wears hats and a smile on his face

But Hammer rocks chains that hang down to his waist

Now to the window I started to rush

from my mama's room I heard her call out, "Boy, Hush"

He rolled with two men; the smaller, the announcer

From the size of the other I figured him a bouncer

The smaller yawned as his throat started to clear

"Open the fucking door, THE Hammerman is here!"

I ran down the stairs past the velvet picture of Jesus

but I got there in time, just to see him leave us

No cars, No suits, No army of lackies

Just a Geo, a cat, and a pusher in khakis

Where did he go? This jerk knows I'm a fan?

All I wanted for Christmas was to meet Hammerman

As the tears did fall, I turned to walk away

To find a package was blocking my way

It was big as boulder but shaped like a person

"Close the door, the heat's leaving" my Mama was cursin'

So I dragged my gift in, and unwrapped it with joy

Inside was a lifesize Hammerman toy

A man of few words, the Hammer wrote words that fit

The card attached said simply, " Stay 2 Legit 2 Quit"

Screw Vanilla, Screw En Vogue, Screw BVD

MC Hammer came through with a gift just for me

SO forget Boyz II Men and that group Kid N PLay

MC Hammer's the one that made this kid's day

To all that love the season, Happy Holidays I wish

but if you see Hammerman remember, You can't touch this

Redline (Part 1)

My daily commutes on the Metro Red line end up being my vehicle to putting a lot of things into perspective. Everyday, I wake up and take the bus to Twinbrook station. Luckily, my bus stop is directly outside my front door, so it’s a pretty easy walk. Once I the bus arrives, I start my morning rituals. The first one is a folksy comment to the bus driver on the way into the bus. It has to be something quick and old timey, so not to upset the people waiting behind me to get on the bus
Ex. Hot enough for ya?
Cold enough for ya? Rough game on Sunday, huh?
How’s the (wife, old man, mother, partner, cat) doing?
Bitches is crazy, huh?

My theory is if I make a connection with them, they’ll love me. That love leads directly to my Ride-on driver thinking twice the next time I’m running behind the bus screaming for it to stop and take me to the station/ home.

En route, I search for a discarded newspaper on the bus so that I can read a little and begin my daily crossword puzzle. Both of these things are essential to the illusion of unfriendliness, but I’ll come back to that later. I try to sit in the middle of the bus because I favor the chairs that point forward over the ones that put my back against the side of the bus. I have a waking fear that if the bus were to be attacked by, lets say, ninja assassins, they would enter the bus via super kick to the side windows and then what? I would just look foolish with an open back to a ninja assassin’s super kick and ninja stars If there’s one thing this Trinidadian doesn’t do, its look foolish

to a ninja assassin.


Once I get to Twinbrook station, I play it polite and let one of the old ladies or men get off the bus before me. Why only one, you ask? Because if you give a mouse a cookie, it’s going to fuck in your house and leave mouse babies everywhere. If you let anymore

than one senior citizen off, they’ll ( all of the old people on the bus) will sense your weakness and push pass you. Even worse, one may walk with you from the bus to the station and precipitate a topical conversation about the “weather” or “ the way things use to be”. No thank you, elder statesman or woman! Hence the strategizing my exit from the bus. I let the one pre-baby boomer off of the bus and promptly pop in my head phones. As I step off the bus, I turn on my “Aggressive “ playlist and turn it to the red. Not because I enjoy listening to “ Smack my Bitch up” in the early morning hours or potentially surrendering my hearing to Apple, but because it makes me seem completely insane to any

one around me for the rest of my commute. Remember, the goal is for all strangers to stay away by maintaining the illusion of unfriendliness.

As I make my way into the Station, I start to channel the Matrix ( the first one, not the two crappy ones that followed) because of the eternal newspaper war that is fought at each and every station the Metro services. Is it going to be the Express or the Examiner? Red pill or Blue pill? Blonde or Brunette? Boxers or Briefs? Jacob or Edward?

The Express Lady and the Examiner Lady stand about 10 feet away from each other every morning and they are cold and they are calculating and they are evil. They make you choose which poison, which pill. So sometimes the pressure of my impending choice gets to be too much and I breakdown, right there in the middle of the two increasingly bewildered ladies, and I sob. I sob for missed opportunities, for lost love, for broken hearts but most importantly, I sob for these ladies. Frank Lucas and Nino Brown over there are dealing their drug of choice to the people and the people like it. Fives minutes, 60 confused stares, and one concerned station manager later, I pick myself up and get an Express from the lady on the left. I like their Celebrity News section in the back and its been waay too long since I’ve had an update on the who Tiger Woods is fucking…..

August and Everything After...

I feel like for a while now I’ve had the desire to take things back to the times when I wrote for just myself. It’s been a long time. For the longest time, I believed that writing, when it came to be personally, was a means to an end. The truth has always been that writing is, and will always be, my release.

I was going to start this off by saying something about this being a pivotal moment in my life or that I’m standing at the foot of an unclear path. That thought seems like enough of a focus for reflection. I hate the idea that ideas feel so singular and profound. I hate the idea that it’s human nature to never be able to stand above the fray and figure out where you stand. I hate the fact that I know this to be a fact, when every bone in my body wants to believe that I have within myself the power to change this.

Because I grew up on the wrong half of the 1980’s, I think I missed a lot of the angst-y fun that seemed to grip those a couple years my senior. I’m left wondering what exactly that must have felt like. I ask because I think most of the words I’ve heard to describe these times and feelings can be thrown our way to encapsulate these days. Double Dutch. That’s what it feels like to me. I know, hang with me for a little and I’ll explain.

I think the most amazing part about double dutch is that moment before the kid jumps in. In that moment, there is a world of decisions to be made. Do I jump in now? OK, how about now? What about now? Are you coming in from the side? How about directly in the middle, where the arc is the biggest? Fine, now that that’s settled, do I walk in? flip? summersault? Granted, this is solely my guess as to what’s going on in this specific dutcher’s head. Assuming the best (or in worst, depending on your perspective) this moment in every way is the moment to watch. It’s the time before the magic happens, wedged in between when the shit hits the fan and when the goose is cooked. It’s the time when that person is on the edge of greatness; on the edge of glory. A few seconds seem like an eternity but the call is made and the show goes on. In a lot of ways, I feel emotionally robbed of the prestige of the moment. I or specially we are standing there staring at the rope and these seconds are feeling like an eternity.