The Intimate Side of CapCity

The Intimate Side of CapCity

What's In a Name?

Why would a Black man call himself "the Master (De)bater", you ask?

Shock value?

Name recognition?

Straight-up confession?

Try this one on for size: subliminal control.

Some of you read my blog to find out the purpose for the innuendo. A few people probably laughed till they pissed themselves because they caught the clue. You see, I wanted to force you to look at yourself. I want your brain to find itself feeling a fresh dose of honesty. What does your thought on the title tell you about YOU? Are you a closet freak who doesn't waste time waiting for your next ex-guy/girl to stroke/ride you into heaven on Earth? Are you that New York Times crossword expert who reviews every blog you can find for grammar/punctuation errors and lack of substance? Are you that strong pillar of the community who wants to hone your debate skills by seeking slick writers whose words oil the steps of most opponents and cause them to slip quickly and sharply to the hard floor of VERBAL EMBARRASSMENT? WHO ARE YOU?

WHO ARE YOU? To your surprise and my delight, you've just exposed yourself TO YOURSELF. If you commented, then you just uncovered a piece of your soul to the reading world. That's right--you've been steered toward exposure. Now that you're naked, what is there to lose? Open your mind, tap that keyboard, and spill your thoughts for the rest of us to read/hear/feel YOU.

Here you go...now you have control again. Use it. Share your thoughts.

Blocked Medium

Every writer feels it at some point in the writing life: writer's block. Constipation is more like it! You push and force and prod and pray and dig DOWN DEEP into your gut to move something out...and hurt. Nothing hurts a writer more than the inability to let words flow with ease and a painless exit. IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE EASY--so what do you do when the words fail to move from your mind to the page?

I'll buy the person who can answer a favorite drink and an ice cream cone.

Show Me Yours

Show me yours
And I'll show you mine
Where'd you put YOUR weapons
Of mass destruction?
Your [lying] mouth that tears holes into my heart
Like T-Rex chewing on Betsy the Cow
And Dick Cheney eating at our wallets
[Halliburton]
Show me yours
And I'll show you mine
What do you mean
I have to give you thirty dollars
For five dollars worth of groceries
In an economy that's so overblown
The world is just waiting to sweep up
The exploded pieces
Show me yours
And I'll show you mine
Give me some truth
And I might flirt with you
Just the way you like
With taxes and tariffs
And forced passport purchases
So I can return home
After I travel abroad
To my neighbor country
Show me yours
And I'll show you mine
Tease me with the promise of security
For a homeland that is
No more secure than it was
The day before the Towers fell
And the insurance company paid
That billion-plus dollar claim
Show me yours
...
On second thought,
Keep your panties on
Conceal yet another lie

Virgin Words

I'm new to this spot.

I request the same things that a sweet young virgin girl would ask a moment before the first thrust:

Respect me during and after this moment.

Be gentle until...I warm up to you.

Don't lie to me, and I won't lie to you.