1 Chapter 1

"This is the stuff they don't want you to know. MK Ultra, Bohemian Grove, ALEC, the Tuskegee Experiments. The Secret Service birthed the same day as Lincoln's assassination. Coincidence Do you even know what's in Kool-Aid Kool-Aid doesn't know what's in Kool-Aid. What the hell is maltodextrin anyway It's all a lie, ever wonder why they only sell Newports as loosies You think you're playing a game, full of little Japanese monsters, but it's a government surveillance plot run by Google Earth. Programmers all around us! One day you will see that your thoughts aren't your thoughts. Your dreams are commercials geared to blend you in the slaughterhouse of modern society. Wake up!"

I ended my speech feeling victorious, awake, despite the shocked look on every twelve-year old's face looking back at me. An audience of adolescents wondering why a grown man was sitting in a bright neon green children's plastic chair.How does he fit in thereOr why the public library became my chosen stage for the loudest speech in history. Or, if I was some distant relative coming to pick them up. Uncle Johnny, to free them from the hell of literature and forced silence. A few even contemplated if I was their father, that's how the west side is, I suppose. All a thought, till a very familiar hand, clasped my right shoulder.

"Dimitri, stop scaring the kids. Aren't you early this time around You usually do this on Sunday," a velvety voice whispered.

I almost didn't want to turn around. I wanted to experience more of her voice before my eyes scanned her body in both a respectful and disrespectful manner. I can't help it. I'm programmed that way. I can't think of a black man who isn't programmed that way. But it's ok, Marie knows me, she knows I'm harmless.

I turned swiftly, unaware that Marie was wearing a crop top and that I'd be in the front row of her flat and toned stomach. This confused me because every time I see her eat, its fast food, I deduced it was her fast metabolism. A gift for the young. Do I watch her eat Of course, it's second nature to me, second nature to all outsiders. We observe by default, but the world calls it stalking. It didn't matter, when you spend enough time in the shadows, things like 'attention' doesn't cross your mind anymore. Your eagle eye sharpens in time, peering into a society that never looks back.

Plus, Marie was scatterbrained and god-fearing. She didn't belong here. She was too fair, naive, with horrible taste in men. The one ex-boyfriend I met used to think that the phrase 'Surf Naked' was the best two words in the English language. Good enough to tattoo across his abdomen, laid out like "THUG LIFE." He was that kind of character — the bulldozer to her forest.

But she adjusted, just like all newcomers in the city. At first, the air sickens you, constant sneezing, throat never crystal clear. Soon after, you walk through like you built the place brick by brick. Why, within a good breeze, you may praise the very atmosphere that's killing you. Anyways, back to Marie's flat and toned stomach.

I couldn't decide whether to look up first, or down first. I tried to think of my mother, and the right choice came to me. I should mention that this isn't an Oedipus complex, but a morality token.

Her eyes spoke to me: "Is this therealyou" Words beat my brain in a race to my lips. A blurted sentence echoed between us.

"I was just a little over-excited and couldn't keep the knowledge to myself. These kids deserve to know."

"You should pray for these kids instead of scaring them. They can read every book in here, but in the end, it's faith that will sustain them."

"Faith will confuse them, let's not forget, God didn't make the Internet, man did."

"God will do more for these kids than you will."

My mouth hung open. Her dark chocolate skin tone and perfectly symmetrical face pulverized my next statement into dust. Along with her flawless eyebrows, even though I know, she gets them waxed. Sensual dark eyes, the type that could hold fire, plum lipstick, long braids falling on both sides of her face. The tips of her hair landing on her V-neck opening, forcing my pupils to leap at her breasts. Red and green, the color of her clothes, a bit early for Christmas, it's seventy outside. But to me, she looked like a black rose, sprouting out randomly in the library aisles, waiting for me to find her. Waiting for me to dodge the thorns and feel the root.

She knew, and I knew, my gaze landed too long, she could see the fantasy being conjured in my brain. A blank, puppy dog expression was all I had to represent my face. Hiding wasn't my strong suit when it came to Marie. Shortly after, I escaped my bright neon green chamber of doom. Stood a tall five feet, ten inches, decent frame. I look more intimidating than I am. Within five words, I can dispel you all doubt that I'm a 'just-another-nigga-on-the-block' person. Better yet, within three words.

A few paces past copies of 'Where the Wild Things Are' spread out over an eggshell brown Nomad library shelf, takes me to the auburn entrance doors. Marie stood adjacent, her gaze more unsatisfactory. She gave me the impression that I was a sheepdog, trying to round up horses, wasting my time in the wrong place, doing the right thing, with a terrible audience.

"This has to stop, Dimitri. Seriously, I can't have you saying these things to kids. Especially kids thatI'mwatching. They repeat everything."

"They understand, Marie. Trust me, they know."

"They don't know what MK Ultra is."

"I know what a 'loosie' is!" yelled Mick, an eager twelve year old, his face more square than normal with a superhero chin. It made him look fifteen, to tell the truth, luckily the testosterone only chiseled his jaw and hadn't reached his voice. Every time he sneezed, it sounded like birds chirping.

He lived in the west side. The word squeaks all day from overweight middle-aged black men merged into the concrete corner. You would think that they came with the buildings as an add-on. Occupying the space between citizen and streetwalker. No matter how early it is, when Mick and his sweet virgin voice sees the 'loosie' men while waiting for the bus, they always seem awake and loud, chanting their product to the world. If Mick desired one, I'm sure they'd oblige and retort a nonsensical message like 'God bless you, bro'.

Marie reminds me why I should go. Not go away, go talk to some adults. I need practice. But they never listen as the children do. The amount you can swing by an unmolded mind is immeasurable when compared to the sculpted brain of a so-called adult. Heads swirling with 'yes's' to questions no one's asked. We are truly flawed.

"Who you voting for this year" I coyly asked.

That was a trick question since this year it was a vote between the left, the stubborn, the right, and the racist. It held the same feeling as 'Who do you not hate' As expected, she ignored the shit out of my question.

"Look, come by for a book reading ok. That I will allow. And not 1984, you can keep asking, I'm a keep denying until I need to ban you. You really want to be that adult who ruins a child's brain That's not fair, Dmitri." warned Marie as she turned to walk away.

There goes that programming again. If you understand, you know where my view went next. It made my eyes burn when the children encompassed her as she walked. Take an impure thought and splice a child in it, watch the disgust you feel. I exited while waving to the kids, I waved to Marie before going down the six concrete stairs outside, but she didn't wave back.

I looked down in shame and noticed an irregularly shaped tear, small threads of synthetic materials separating directly above my left big toe. There was a hole in my sneaker. I wear them often, like the plastic smiles of everyone in corporate America. That tried, empty, rehearsed smile.

When my heavy head filled with conspiracy theories and Marie's backside looked up to greet the world, I saw a jet black Ford Mustang, two-door, sporting a ridiculous spoiler. A panther on wheels, even the windows were black, door handles shaved off, headlights tinted black. Big decal on the door of a 70's black man, fro and all. The pick in his hair had a peace sign handle. If a white person were to emerge from this vehicle, someone would spontaneously combust.

I know the driver all too well. He wasn't conceived in the '70s either, just bottled in the idea of the 'groovy' generation, and decided to exploit it instead of researching it. The big decal's genesis came to him as the Indica transformed into ash, and the strain garnered a 'eureka' effect. But I digress, I love that decal, and I stared at it, as the passenger window facing me rolled down.

The shame on his face matched the sting of the word 'nigger' spewed from the yellow-stained teeth of an Anglo-Saxon cracking the whip, eager to injure. My brother never had kind eyes when he laid them on me. Even in joyous times, he masterfully managed to remain in pure contempt of our brotherhood. The sad part is he's always been bigger than me. I vividly remember him coming home from the gym swollen, drinking a protein shake, smoking a cigarette, what an oxymoron.

He blames me for his ruined life. The decrepit spirit of failure is contagious, and I repel him every chance I get. Until I need a ride that is. I've walked too much in my lifetime. My shoes paid for that crime.

"How can a man at thirty-years-old STILL not have a driver's license"

"You know it's just another way for the government to track you. Besides, your car is GPS'd, your phone. They know where you are. I'm off the grid."

"Why don't you 'off-the-grid' yo ass to work then You're supposed to take care of me. I'm the little brother. That how it's goes."

The radio became a servant to my index finger. A stampede of nonsense poisoned the speakers, killing us all.

"THERE IS NOTHING GOOD ABOUT OUR CURRENT PRESIDENT. I AM GOING TO BRING OUT OLD AMERICA! BACK TO THE GOOD TIMES!"

The screaming of presidential-candidate/anti-Christ Melvin Burns. Our newest symbol of hate, an ornament of atrocity, all insidious preparer of propaganda. Everyone loves him, and I'm not surprised. Either he's a fallen deity, or his death will resurrect one.When will we learn, our votes don't count

"Dimitri always had too much to say about things he didn't fully understand. All his knowledge was easy come, easy go"