Contributing Facebook Photos to the Community

For those that don’t know, I was once a nightclub photographer.  My main job was photographing patrons.  After editing pics, I would email them to a nightclub employee.  That person uploaded the pics to the nightclub’s website. Yet, too many times, the pics were never uploaded.

I never knew why that took place. This also occurred under two and three other different uploaders too.

Other times, when pics were uploaded, a person still may not see themselves. Yet, that didn’t just happen with nightclubs. It also happened when I photographed events for a local publication.

Pickiness I did understand.  Many times, you want to upload the photos that best represents your place or event. So, this explains why all photos are not uploaded. When it comes to representing a place or event, some photos do not fit.

Thinking about people not seeing their pics inspired me.  For the past few months, I have been uploading event and nightclub photos to Facebook. If someone uploads a photo of you, Facebook alerts you about it. I anticipated this as I uploaded photos. I was hoping Facebook would let folks know I uploaded a photo or photos of them.

So far, that’s been working.   Every day, I receive a request for someone to tag themselves in a photo.  Some folks tag their friends. I didn’t expect that. Still, I am happy for it.  As of this writing, I have only received one request to remove a pic.

I saw my actions as a way of contributing to the community, especially during these pandemic times.  Am I looking for praise? Not really. In fact, this blog post is an explanation to Facebook friends.  Now, they know why I’ve been uploading so many photos recently.  This wasn’t about me. This was about the community.

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Ex-Flame’s Faith in God (a poem)



Out on an evening date.
Ol' Girl tells me about God.
Says God was going to send her the right man to marry.
 
Years pass.
Mutual friend tells me Ol' Girl got married.
 
More years pass.
Another mutual friend tells me about Ol' Girl's husband.
Dude is an asshole.
 
Always wondered if this was true.
Was he really an asshole?
Or was mutual friend full of shit?
 
If this was true?
Wonder what Ol' Girl did to piss off God.
Posted in life, poetry | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Spider-Man’s Racial Identity (a poem)

Second grade.
Forgot how it went.
Think it was during music class.
White classmate said he was Spider-Man.
Then, I said I was Spider-Man too. Or something like that.
Classmate said Spider-Man wasn’t black.
I do remember that part.
 
He pulled this before with another character.
Forgot which one.
 
Over thirty years pass.
Marvel Comics introduces Miles Morales.
A black Hispanic teenager.
In another universe, Miles fights crime as 
Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.
 
Halloween season.
White friend tells social media his son wants to be Miles Morales.
Mind was made up.
Kid says he’s going to be Miles Morales for Halloween.
 
Finding this ironic.
White kid wants to be a black Hispanic superhero.
Remembering that classmate who told me I couldn’t be Spider-Man.
Why?
Because punk-ass Peter Parker wasn’t black.
 
Have no problem with my friend’s kid being Miles Morales.
Yet, as for that classmate of mine?
His kid or kids or grand-kids can’t be Black Panther.

Photo by Cristian Bortes.

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Nocturnal Creature (a poem)

Nocturnal.
Definition?
People who are active at night.
A word I learned recently about myself.
 
Studies describe nocturnal people as smart and creative.
(Well, I’ll get back to you on that one.)
Studies say nocturnal people lag in academics.
(Nope, I didn't finish college.)
Studies say nocturnal people eat unhealthily.
(Uh huh, that explains my high blood pressure.)
 
Use to think being nocturnal was a hindrance.
A pain in the ass.
Cannot sleep at night.
Always late for work the next morning.
 
Now, I embrace being nocturnal.

Photo by Uwe Schmidt. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Ass for Days (a poem)

Can’t stop looking at my co-worker’s big ass. 
Trying to be a gentleman to her.
Trying not to see her as a sex object. 
Trying to see her as just another co-worker.
Still can’t stop looking at that big ass.
 
Trying not watch as my coworker steps up a ladder. 
Trying not to watch as she bends over and picks up something. 
Trying not to look as she happens to be in my path.
 
How can you not see that big ass?
Can see that big ass from a mile away.
An ass that could distract a person driving down the street.
So busy looking at that big ass, driver crashes into another car.
Yea, that big ass can cause a car crash.
 
Coworker knows I like big behinds.
Yet, I try not to bring the subject up.
Still can’t stop looking at that big ass, tho.
 
Coworker has a boyfriend. 
Met him before.
Nice dude.
Always doing kind things for her kid.
Her having a boyfriend another reason for me to behave.
 
Don’t find myself feeling too ashamed about this.
Am I not a heterosexual, African-American male?
Most black dudes feel me on this one.
 
“You say she got some ass, dawg?”
“Yea, she got some ass, bruh.”
“Ass for days?”
“You know it.”
“Shee-it, I would be looking too!”
 
I’ll keep being nice.
Will continue treating coworker as a friend…and not a sex object.
Still can’t stop looking at that big ass, tho.

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A Favorite Florida Bar Now Known Nationwide for Covid-19 Cases

Back in 2018, I used to hang out at Kiwi’s Pub and Grill, located in Altamonte Springs, Florida. Mostly, I went there for trivia nights. Plus I enjoyed the food and service.

Because I no longer live in the area, I don’t go to Kiwi’s anymore.

Still, imagine my surprise when I found out the place closed because of COVID-19. Recently, six people informed the bar they were infected with the coronavirus. Within the last week, all six had been inside Kiwi’s.

It was shocking enough to learn this about a bar I frequented. It was even more shocking to see the same bar mentioned in an online Newsweek article. The article talks about Florida bars that reopened and shut down again because of the coronavirus.

I still can’t believe it. A bar I enjoyed playing trivia in is now known nationwide for COVID-19 cases. That makes me want to just stay home and watch Netflix all day.

Oh well, here’s some past pics I took in Kiwi’s.

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Unemployed During Coronavirus Pandemic (a poem)

Virus hits your state.
Governor orders statewide lockdown.
Businesses close except those considered essential.
Your company isn’t essential.
You get laid off.
 
Fear hits you.
How are you going to pay bills?
What about food?
What about rent? (Or mortgage?)
How are the lights staying on?
 
Applying for unemployment.
Unemployment website always crashing.
Can’t get an unemployment representative on the phone.
 
Fear still bothering you.
Bills placing pressure on you.
Feeling lost.
Feeling hopeless.
What the fuck are you supposed to do now?
 
Add on having other mouths to feed.
Talking about your little ones.
A decision arrives.
What do you do?
Pay this bill or feed your family?
 
A month pass.
Still, can’t get unemployment.
Received a government stimulus check.
Check has President's signature on it.
Yet, that check spent fast.
Had no choice.
Bills had piled up.
Stimulus money gone now.
Financial worries still nagging you.
 
Lockdown slowly ending.
Some businesses allowed reopening.
Company phone calls for you to return.
But you don’t want to go back.
Rather receive the unemployment check.
 
You’re not lazy.
You’re not the type to sponge off the government.
Yet, your job’s setup can cause you to catch the virus.  
Company won’t even provide you a mask.
Some employees from company's other locations 
have died from the virus.
 
Still, you have bills to pay.
Mouths to feed.
You report back to work.
Posted in poetry, politics | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Serving Facebook Probation

Yesterday, I go to my Facebook page and see this! An account warning.

Apparently, I rubbed someone the wrong way.

The violation was about a link I posted on a group page. The link contained a poem I wrote about a black guy following Trump. Speaking from the black Trump supporter’s point of view, the poem is littered with nasty slurs. If you want to read it, you can go here.

I didn’t fight the accusations.

If I violate again, I’ll be serving 24 hours of hard time in Facebook jail.

Yet, this time, I just got slapped on the hand.

Facebook does know I’m black, right? I’ve seen white people serve long sentences in Facebook jail. In real life, for the same crime, black folks usually receive harsher punishment than white people. I guess I won’t show some of my white friends this blog. They might start yelling reverse racism.

Oh, well, I can deal with probation.

Photo by Jérémy-Günther-Heinz Jähnick

I was in the wrong. The administrator of Orlando Poetry and I are cool now. I reached out to dude on Messenger and apologized. Then, I explained the poem.

Guess I gotta behave now. Or else I have to serve those long twenty-four hours.

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Black Men Supporting Trump (a poem)

Disclaimer: The views of the character in this poem are not my own.

Who says black men can’t be sexist, homophobic 
and anti-illegal immigrant?
Why let white guys have all the fun?
 
Keep them bitches in line.
Stop them faggots from marrying.
Deport them wetbacks.
 
Trump tells like it is.
Speaking my language.
Speaking my anger.
 
Tired of this shit.
Had enough!
My bitch talking back to me.
Faggot at work looking at me funny.
Everywhere I go, wetbacks always speaking Spanish.
 
Crackers can like Trump but I can’t?
Crackers own a monopoly on anger?
Fuck that.
Us black dudes are pissed off too!
 
Niggas making me mad also.
Niggas always voting Democrat.
Niggas always complaining about crackers.
And admit it, niggas.
OJ did it.
 
Trump I understand.
Rich white man who never experienced racism 
speaks my language.
Rich white man whose businesses keep failing 
really knows how to run this country.

Build that wall!
Straighten them faggots!
And grab those loudmouth feminist bitches by the pussy!
 
Who says black men can’t be sexist, homophobic 
and anti-illegal immigrant?
Why let white guys have all the fun?
Posted in poetry, politics | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Amazon Sent Money to My Bank Account

Since 2014, I had been selling books and e-books on Amazon. I haven’t been very successful at that. When it comes to my photo and poetry book Three Orlando Nightspots, most of that tiny success involved me selling the book on the streets.

Still, my books and e-books collected change anyway. If they aren’t buying, folks are reading. I joined a program involving people reading your e-books. The author gets paid by the pages read.

My e-book Family Entertainment, My Ass gains me the most money. It’s a collection of Instagram photos. In these photos are women of various ethnicity.

Some pics aren’t safe for work.

It isn’t as if I’m receiving mega dollars.

Yet, I can use the gas and medicine money.

Posted in booty, Photos, self-publishing | Leave a comment