I reminisce for a spell, or shall I say think back. Twenty-two years ago to keep it on track. The birth of a child on the 8th of October. A toast, but my granddaddy came sober. Countin’ all the fingers and the toes now I suppose you hope the little black boy grows. Huh, eighteen years younger than my mama but I rarely got beatings ’cause the girl loved drama. In single parenthood, there I stood. By the time she was 21, had another one. This one’s a girl, let’s name her Pam. Same father as the first, but you don’t give a damn. Irresponsible, plain not-thinking. Papa said chill but the brother keep winking. Still he won’t down you or tear out your hide, on your side while the baby maker slide. But mama got wise to the game, the youngest of five kids, hon here it is. After 10 years without no spouse, Momma’s gettin married in the house. Listen, positive over negative for the women and master, Mother Queen’s rising a chapter. Déjà vu, tell you what I’m gonna do, when they reminisce over the weekend.

When John Grisham’s movies were king.

Posters for movies that were planned but never happened.

The future of Instagram.

Funkadelic album cover designer’s obituary.

The speech Nixon was supposed to give if the moon landing had gone wrong.

Prince near the end.

David Abbott near the end: