Notes on Happenstance

By TK Long, Kevin Vosburgh, Reggie Raphael Wallace and Michellene Fryson

For the follow-up to her 2014 debut Fighting Words and Other Loving Thoughts, TK Long once again turns on the emotional radio. Notes on Happenstance speaks on issues of love, loss, race, and politics as experienced through her own eyes and the eyes of those around her. This book is a map of a journey no lover, fighter, peacemaker, or human being would want to miss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543425291

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by TK LONG. 760021

   ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-5434-2530-7

      EBook   978-1-5434-2529-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 07/05/2017

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Contents

The Doors

The Shoulders I Stand On

Who Needs A Song?

&

My G-Bird

My Mama

Dear White Best Friend,

Braelynn

Lying On Your Face

S.H.E. Loves Me

In His Hair

A Groove For Midnight

A Lesson In Lilies

Blissfully Stupid

Acceptance

Bubba

Letting Go

Moments For Life

Goodbye Forever

Thirsty

Drunk

Live To Dream (in Memory of the Beautiful Souls of Pulse Orlando)

Sometimes

Everything and Nothing

Lock & Key

Happy Valentine’s Day

Bobby

Sometimes I Am Love

If Only

What Is Music?

Something New

Slippery Slope

Just Another Shade of Pretty

Take Me Or Leave Me

Awake

Love Me Right

ATM

Dismembered

Dahlia

4 a.m.

Mama Said

Holly

Once Upon A Time

You’re Here

Through The Looking Glass

Lady on the Bench

I’m in Love

In Passing

Fool I Am

The Vein

Dearest Love of My Life,

The Dream

You

Someone You Used To Know

Your Truth

Stuck on Stupid

Meet You In Love

So Sorry

Theory on Saturn

U.B. (Unapologetically Black)

Ticket to Ride

Don’t Stop Dancing

Marry Me Tomorrow

Intergalactic

Forbidden Words

Perfect Stranger

Glass Houses

Michelle,

November 8, 2016

This project is

dedicated to those who love me as well as those who never quite learned how. You inspire me immeasurably. - TK

image002.jpg

Photos by Michellene Fryson

The Doors

Inside each of us exists a tiny asylum. It’s that little bit of crazy that scares us all but fascinates us at the same time. Just as we are our own worst critics, we are not merciful enough to ourselves to make our madhouses state of the art facilities with the best treatment. Instead, we run old chambers of torture with tools and methods as barbaric as our illnesses. We fill them not with rehabilitation but with projections of guilt and perpetuations of punishment. In each of our dirty padded rooms, we lock away pieces of ourselves that only long to be understood. We lock up all that we are.

The Lover. We lock The Lover away because we fear that it has enough power to spill over into every part of us. Once so warm, rosy-cheeked and full of life, it now possesses a pallor that makes it unrecognizable. It refuses to be fed and instead lives on the hope of nourishing itself. We lock it away because we are ashamed and grow tired of it allowing itself to be misused. It throws itself upon the floor and screams in vain for the one it wants most. We close the door.

The Dreamer. We lock The Dreamer away because it reminds us of our own failures. It no longer has the bright eyes and a wild heart we give life to as we sleep. It is gaunt and starved since we have offered up to the foolish Lover its rightful sustenance. We lock it away because we no longer want to fancy ourselves the modern day Sisyphus constantly rolling the lies we have told ourselves up our hill of false promises only to have them roll back down. It pounds upon the wall and screams until its lungs bleed. We close the door.

The Child. We lock The Child away because our own innocence make us feel weak and paltry. Because The Dreamer was its best friend and it too is locked away, The Child remains hopeless. In its naivety, it hears the screams around it and still believes in sunshine. It sings its nagging nursery rhymes in hopes of garnering sympathy. We lock it away because it is a reminder of the precious parts of us that will wither and die in spite of us. It sits in the center of the floor rocking and playing with its broken toys without an inkling that it will be forgotten forever. We close the door.

The Whore. We lock The Whore away because it is that thing that we were told never to be. It finds the song of The Child comical because it isn’t filled with promises of pleasure or the grunts and moans of passion. The Whore always knew the secrets to never being alone that the pathetic juvenile never could. We lock it away because it is both the center of our shame and the seat of our disgrace. It gyrates against the wall and beckons for a mate that will never come. We close the door.

The Fool. We lock The Fool away because it forces us to find the humor in the things that hurt us most. It is deceptive and makes the punches we take to our guts feel like the incessantly ticklish growth of laughter from our core. It takes the anguish that The Lover invites, the joy The Dreamer believes in, the pain The Child is blind to and the momentary pleasure The Whore nourishes and turns them into the greatest jokes ever told. We lock it away because we fear that if we find the joy, the world will believe we have no hearts or souls. Daftly, it somersaults about the room laughing wildly and requesting audience. We close the door.

We never see fit to scrub the walls or sterilize the tools we use to draw out the so-called demons inside of us. We fill our days with pointless rounds of electroshock therapy and prayers for comfort within straightjackets in hopes that we can drive out our own true nature. We convince ourselves of archaic cures and just buy our time until they begin to take hold. We know better but we use these walls as our cloaks. We have no desire to really know ourselves.

We close the door.

TK

The Shoulders I Stand On

I try to block y’all out sometimes. But you’re just too strong. That is really why I love you. On those