Is Looking Back A Bad Thing?

They sometimes say that looking back is a bad thing. I beg to differ. We look for answers to many dilemmas in our personal lives and always want the reply to our questions immediately. It doesn’t always work that way. It can take putting a little distance between you and that issue to jump start the divine process of truly understanding that situation. But we don’t always have the patience to wait on our enlightenment. So many will act in a premature manner without the proper understanding of how to handle their uncomfortable position and live with the decision of a foolish reaction for years to come with many regrets. This is why I constantly reflect. I have gotten answers to some very confusing positions that I have found myself in many years after that particular challenging time period. It’s not that I am living in the past, but I have to look back to the past while planting my feet firmly in the present to have a better chance of creating a prosperous upgraded future….never to repeat the foolish mishaps I hold in my memory that I take full responsibility for. I can now see why I am the way I am. I can see why I have reacted to specific events in the manner that I did. A thought hit me the other day as I remembered a day in my childhood as other neighborhood children visited my home to watch the Saturday morning cartoons on television. We all wanted to have the best seat in the living room to get the better view even though there were about ten of us present. A situation that resembled the game of musical chairs indeed! To make a long story short, I found myself inching closer and closer to the television screen quite determined not to be beat to the point of having my nose almost touching the screen even though I tried to sit to the side to allow my guests a clear view. In my stubbornness to play this stupid and selfish game, I didn’t even get to enjoy the cartoons as the other children did because I sat so close I couldn’t even see the screen! How many of us in this life are in a situation that requires us to back away in order to truly see what the whole picture is? How many of us are blocking others who are close to us from absorbing who we really are because all they see symbolically is the back of our head? While we may have our  take and opinion on a situation, can you remember a time when your behavior was described back to you in that very same incident and you couldn’t believe how their story sounded so different from yours? Always reflect on your personal past so that old situations that may be outdated to others can continuously teach you about you. So check out a few things from my past that I have decided to share and maybe you will understand that we all have things that make us the people that we are.

At Times What May Seem Like A Curse May Be Realized To Be A Blessing Down The Road.......

The Blessing Of The Blown Tire!

In this life what we fail to sometimes read into a situation properly because we do not think in terms of the overall scheme of things. We only see the now. The present. What appears to be the immediate reality. We have become so rushed and hectic trying to make a deadline or punch a clock, that when we fail to fulfill it, we feel as though we are a complete failure. Keeping up with the neighbors and friends?

This leads me to think of an incident that happened to me many years ago that reminded me that there is always an unseen hand in our lives that is there to guide us around potentially bad situations if we just relax and let it manifest itself. There is always a good that lurks in an obviously negative situation. Well, one morning while trying to reach my workplace at warp speed, there was an individual who was driving a really nice looking and obviously new Honda Accord just as fast as I was in the lane right next to me. In the bigger more populated cities up north, this harmless and friendly competition happens frequently on the highway. It’s not that this individual was racing me, but he was mirroring me for the time that we were on the same stretch of road. He would move into and opening and I would follow and vice versa. It almost felt like a video game. Dipping and dodging in between others who obviously didn’t have to reach a destination quick, fast and in a hurry. At least it took away the some of the stress of being late.

As I gained ground I started to feel as though I had a chance to actually show up for work on time. But that emotion was short lived when I heard a tapping noise in the right side of my car in the area of my front tire. Nooooo! This couldn’t be happening I thought! A NAIL in my tire? It had to be. I reasoned that a nail wouldn’t be so bad if it there wasn’t any air coming out of the tire. I would take care of it when I had time later on. Time was my pet peeve because I pride myself on being to an appointment on time. Nice and easy. I like to get up early and enjoy my preparations so that I can be very centered when I arrive. Not this morning. We can sometime get too dependent on the electronic means of arising that when a circuit breaker trips in your home during sleep, your alarm clock can be rendered very impotent in waking you up. That is why I am watching the clock in my car as though it’s attached to an explosive! The noise in my tire is really bothering me as it appears to be getting louder…… or is that my imagination?

After putting on that “oh so small” spare tire that comes with most newer modeled cars on in order to carry on, I decided it was time to leave the scene of my unexpected rendezvous. I had never been stared at so hard by people as when I was on the side of that road feeling victimized from the curious gazes of those anonymous strangers. “Glad to get out of here” I thought. And although traffic started to get a little heavier, I couldn’t have guessed in a million years why it was so. I tried to put on the radio to distract me from the monotony of the now creeping traffic. I was surprised to hear that there was a major traffic accident that just happened about a mile or so right down on the very same highway in front of me! A eighteen wheeler had jumped the divider after losing control and came into the oncoming traffic and crushed a car and the one immediately to the right of it they reported. GREAT! Now I am going to have to see someone’s brains splattered all over the road before breakfast. I was very hungry at this point, and really didn’t need to witness that visual.

It Would Have Been Easier Dealing With A Blood Thirsty Lynch Mob Than Being  A Student Of

MR. BELFOR....

But As I've Learned, If  An Experience Doesn't Kill You, It Will Definitely Make You Stronger...

Mr. Belfor

Wow. It’s been maybe twenty eight years since I saw Mr. Belfor. He is probably dead by now as he was an almost elderly man who was probably near seventy years old if not there already. He was a teacher in the High School of Art & Design in New York City’s posh eastside. A strange place for a teenager to go to high school indeed….strange but at the same time exciting. You see, unlike all of the other kids who went to high school back in Queens, we didn’t see houses and well manicured lawns when we stepped out of school. We didn’t have a short walk home or a trip to the neighborhood hang out spot which was either the park or (the infamous)

So much had to be attributed to the normal trappings of adolescence where a short one hour train ride into Manhattan the rules changed greatly. It wasn’t about muscles or cars in art school; it was about how good your skills were. You didn’t have to flash a well polished ride or highly peaked biceps in a three sizes too small shirt to get attention……you would show off with those new hard to get acrylic paints that no one else seemed to get their hands on….or those imported pens that dropped ink on paper smoother than melted butter a hot skillet at breakfast time. So the more “artsy” and in touch you were with your creative side, that is what got you the attention from the opposite sex (And as most heterosexual young men there found out, they got unwanted attention from the same sex too! Shocking, I mean, as this was the late seventies and you could still get punched out for merely calling someone a fag!)

That being said, one could understand the very unique pressures we as artists would be under when faced with something as simple as a weekend homework project. Back in junior high, my creative abilities hands down stood out head and shoulders above all who were my peers without any extra effort. But in a high school where everyone was the cream of the New York City crop, any assignment that was to be turned in HAD to be awesome just to merely get a favorable notice!

So now in Mr. Belfor’s art class, we were given a weekend assignment which was to be  a thumbnail sketch of a bigger project that we would be doing in a few short weeks. He wanted to see what type of visual we would be doing as well as being able to approve the content before we moved on to starting it. Mr. Belfor was a tough cookie to say the least. He never smiled. He had this unforgiving demeanor as well as having mastered the art of sarcasm in a very cutting way. He was the reason many a young girl unexpectedly dashed to the restroom with tears in their eyes to avoid the embarrassment that his cruel and very slicing comments brought in front of the entire audience of the classroom. No one wanted to be on the end of his attacks. He seemed to be favored by the “higher ups” in administration for some reason as many parents rushed to the school grounds to confront him directly after his insensitive verbal assaults to bring some type of discipline to this madman. He always made sure to have the last word. This aging grey haired character seemed to be extremely agitated about something in his past and made sure to take it out on the younger, enthusiastic students who didn’t know that they would soon be the focus of his frustrations. It was only a matter of time before we would cross paths in a very intense way.

Monday morning….the work was done. It seemed as though the weekend just flew by. This was the case for many an artist and most will agree that the passage of time is altered in a very delicious way when one is so focused on the joys of creating. Many times my mind would be so deep into my work that I wouldn’t even realize the overwhelming urge to urinate unless some other outside distraction pulled me out of my trance. Drawing to me was that powerful an intoxicant. To dwell in that zone was definitely comparable to the exact moment one realizes that they were feeling the first floodings of that sweet place called orgasm. To play music while drawing only intensified the sensation. Reality around me was blurred and most times an insignificant annoyance. I didn’t want to come out of this sweet trance where mind, hand, pen, ink & paper became one. I willed my illustration onto the smooth surface of the paper. It was a form of lovemaking at its textbook best. Releasing my ink as I gently caressed the paper that eagerly awaited its anointing from the phallic nature of my pen & pencil. Once impregnated with my creation, it would go on with a life of its own into the cosmos…..very much now beyond me and to be appreciated by the world around me. Even after I pass from this level, the curious onlookers will see the beautiful by product that was conceived from the intensity of that very intimate and private moment between artist and the raw materials that he once held so preciously in his/her hands.

But even after all of this deep cerebral romanticizing, it was still Monday morning and a very grouchy Mr. Belfor just called my name to come to his desk with my assignment. You know, I seemed to know beforehand that this would be a moment for the ages…..and looking back, I was right. With Mr. Belfor, you did NOT come into his classroom without everything completed to his specifications. That was a no no. If he instructed us that a piece of artwork had to measure exactly 12 inches, then giving him something that was drawn excellently but measured eleven and seven eights was a recipe for failure. Consider it the ultimate artistic boot camp. I walked slowly to his desk while he gave me this judgement day stare. I think he had it in for me. I couldn’t prove it but it seemed to piss him off everytime I WAS prepared in every way. I wasn’t about to change my style now. There was no need to ask him what he wanted so I placed my work on his desk. Deep down I knew he was impressed. He picked up this illustration of mine and studied it. He studied it like a crime scene investigator looking for a lead or a clue to answer the riddle of a crime that had defeated even the most cunning of detectives. I thought I saw a hint of approval from this man who should have been an auditor for the Internal Revenue Service. He was that good. He slowly raised his aged brow to me while at the same time looking over those silver rimmed spectacles that had gone out of style two decades before and inhaled to speak. Mr. Scurvin! ……he said as if he didn’t know my name, but just hearing him say my name in that tone made my heart race with a combination of anticipation and raw fear.. Yes? I asked. Mr. Scurvin, you have completed an absolute MASTERPIECE! I began to release a sigh of relief and quickly thought to myself how glad I was to be called first and let off of the hook….I also thought how funny it would be to sit quietly and safely in the rear corner of the classroom to wqtch everyone else catch a classic Mr. Belfor thrashing! Ha ha! But wait! As I attempted to retrieve my work he held onto it. Why? Was he being funny? Mr. Scurvin! He said again. Mr. Scurvin you have created a masterpiece, it’s a shame that it was on the wrong type of mouting board! You will have to do it over as this is trash!!!!

TRASH!

My whole entire weekend thrown away just to give this cruel man the sadistic thrill in finally ripping my soul apart in front of my classmates. He knew just moments before that I felt victorious and off the hook! He carefully orchestrated this twisted scenario to keep me on the edge. I felt like a boxer who didn’t know if he did enough to win the fight or not and couldn’t wait for an announcement that eventually wasn’t in his favor. Crushed. A moment that I will never forget. A moment that had me double checking and triple checking everything that I did as to not give anyone a chance to have the edge on me. Artist's have this ability that others just don’t possess. When mere mortal die, they see their lives flash clearly in front of them. Their ENTIRE lives in just mere moments. Every happening, every turning point good and bad. Every secret. Every defeat. Everything that makes you to be the individual who you are. With an artist of the visual or written word dies, he goes through the same process….the difference is, we go through it as we live. We have a tremendous recall of every detail because we tend to be more impressionable and more sensitive as we are going through it. We do not have to wait for the moment to be over to see the beauty of it. We are enjoying the photo album as it is being made....in a way it is though we are in it before it is made in book form. That is why we can reflect the obvious in a more convincing fashion the the common man. Comedians have it also…..they can amplify the common tasks of the day into a hilarious skit. That is why I knew this moment crossing paths with Mr. Belfor would be one that would leave an indelible mark on my psyche forever more.

Dollar Vans: The Underground Economy Thrives In Jamaica Queens!

Never Let The Oppressors On A Mere Job Use The Threat Of Making You Unemployed To Instill Fear In You So You Are Afraid To Eventually Make It In Your Own Business, Therefore Killing Your Entreprenurial Spirit And Using Your  God Given Brilliance For Their Financial Freedom!

Money. Everyone needs it. Everyone wants it. Some treat it responsibly and others disrespect how it doesn’t have to be loyal to you. When small thinkers have a pocket full of it they feel as though they can purchase the world. But if you have the proper respect for the smallest amounts and its vast ability to change your life, large amounts will never change your character and you will be empowered to move mountains. Many unseen individuals live by the latter credo in their dealings with money. They would never tell anyone that money is the root of all evil….they actually would say the opposite. It was through my good fortune to have been blessed with a chapter in my life working shoulder to shoulder shared with people in the streets of Jamaica Queens such as these. They look like you and I. They had nothing about them that made them stand out from the crowd. They worked hard and sacrificed much….appearing ready for the days unexpected struggles and challenges hours before daybreak until long after the sun went down. They put their lives at risk to build their dreams one dollar at a time and never complained when stress was their constant companion. They didn’t have time to concern themselves with this thing called stress when they had families to feed….children to put through school and elders that depended on the earnings that this constantly scorned but honest way of making a living made possible.  They were trusted by most and looked down upon by many. They filled a need in the community but for the most part were faceless foreigners from many strange lands so very far away. You may have not known their difficult to pronounce names, but their determined spirit, work ethic and sense of community always let you know who they were by their obvious character traits. The name really did not matter at this point.

Who were these individuals that I speak of? Ask anybody who has lived in the Southside Jamaica section of Queens, New York for any substantial amount of time and they will tell you who THEY look for when they can’t find a bus or yellow taxi cab to reach their destination…. They are the Dollar Van Drivers! The WHAT? Most people who are not from that part of the world wouldn’t understand so I must take the time to explain what they do. But when you really look into it, their phenomenon on the terrain of the competitive streets of New York City encompasses the epitome of the American Dream. Dollar Van Drivers? Yes. They do just what it sounds like. These guys will drive a passenger van along the bus routes picking up citizens in a swift and timely manner to reach their connecting train that will take them into work. They are more agile and can maneuver the congested inner city traffic in ways a hulking clumsy bus can only dream of therefore making it preferable to many…..especially since it was also a bargain at one dollar! But many who had so called “high paying jobs” looked down on these men in scorn who plied their trade in such a humble manner. But at the end of the week when the well paid passengers were left to scratch their heads and wonder how were they going to make ends meet with their highly taxed and dwindling funds, many  van drivers had an extra thousand dollars to go to the bank with after all bills and obligations were deducted. So who was in a better position? I learned a valuable lesson from supplementing my income in such a way.

Dollar Vans have their root in Jamaica West Indies as "Juta" Vans, but it started here in Jamaica Queens as the result of a New York City mass transit strike back in 1979 where  residents of the outer boroughs were left stranded for a ride to the subway train. Someone saw the opportunity in this and took their private vehicles on the road and filled the gap  that the absent buses left unattended.

How did I get into it? Well, I have to give credit to my long lost friend Gerald Ihekuma, a Nigerian “Ibo” who worked with me at The South Ozone Park Home Depot in Queens New York. We were both hired in early 1994 but it was in early 1995 when he revealed to me how he had so much disposable income in his possession for eating the costly lunches that he insisted he treat me to everyday. It was so funny to me that he would reveal his mysterious source of income to me especially after he observed how a caucasion supervisor harassed me as though I was his slave possession on a southern plantation. I was angered to the point of going righteously postal! Gerald that I was on the edge of madness and knew it was on him to help me make a change with the knowledge he possessed, because he knew I was only there for the little money that I earned to take care of my family. So like two slaves working the fields together just beyond “masters” evil gaze, he whispered to me on how to legalize a van to put on the street to get my hustle on. He told me the ins and outs of extracting a fortune from the streets day in and day out without notice. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me but I knew he wouldn’t lie…..”Well why are you still working here I asked?”….Well, I won’t repeat the answer that he gave because it would put him at odds with the powers that be but I will say this: He is a brilliant man! You see, he is one of those individuals that come into your life to affect and influence you in such a way as to change you for the better….to raise you up a notch or two in life. Well I was appreciative of what he gave to me and took to the streets like a madman possessed!

It was such a victory to quit that job and within a week or two have the money and time to fix up my house. Spending more money at the Home Depot from what I earned in a week in the streets of Jamaica than I could make there in that orange plantation in two months time. The characters and unique individuals that I have had the pleasure to meet, know and love that have influenced my creativity in the art and writing that I would eventually embark upon in the form of this website. How can I forget the other drivers: Fat boy, K-9, Nigel (Always peeking out from under a hooded sweatshirt!) Ruddy, Bruce-BRUCE, Birdman, Polar Bear, K.P. alias P.K. (You’ll have to ask me what those initials mean, it’s an inside joke!), Ian alias "Joyride", Junior, Meatneck Tony, Al Capone, Tallman (Who almost got an a** whippin’ from me one night on

Because of the “vastness” of this chapter of my life, more will be added to this section regularly.

This Is Just The Reason Why The Slavemaster NEVER Wanted Us To Read & Write!!!!

ScurvOriginalz: How It All Began.......

How Mr. Lance Scurvin Rediscovered The Power Of The Pen!.......

"Mistaken Identity"

You Never Know How Fast A Peaceful Night Can Vanish Into Thin Air!

The summer night was hot on this mid August night in 1980, perfect for a late night bike ride in south side Queens, the infamous Jamaica Queens to be exact. As I filled my nostrils with the city air that is tinged with car exhaust, I rode in no particular direction as I craved to feel that pumped feeling that  begins to happens in my well developed thighs when I ride a few miles after a good workout with the weights. Riding casually through those semi dangerous streets, I couldn't help but think to myself, that at the tender age of 17 years old, life is good to me. I live in a nice middle class home with two loving parents an friends from all around and who enthusiastically visit with me everyday as we enjoy good clean wholesome fun. What I see in the street this early Tuesday morning just after midnight is quite a contrast to the life I live at home.
       

          I see a drug addicted prostitute, who only a year or two earlier might have been the most appealing girl in high school; and although  she still possessed the female adornments that drove her testosterone crazed schoolmates crazy, her face reflected a sad lonely reality that her parents never expected their beautiful baby to experience. I see drug dealers, who come out at night only and to me are the closest entities to a vampire that I have ever known. I see wolf like thieves casing the terrain for their next victim, depending on their oh so obvious naive demeanor to signal to them that "this is the one. I see affluent "on the down low" homosexuals, cruising Sutphin blvd. in the hopes of satisfying their twisted man to man fetishes while their faithful unsuspecting wives sleep soundly at home without a clue of what she is really married to. One might be tempted ask me;"why are you out there this time of night?" Well, this is my neighborhood, I went to school with these people and don't fear them. In a sense, I understand them, I have felt the same pain as they have, the difference is that I had the support structures at home to keep me on the straight and narrow.
       

        My weakness was always a pretty girl, a nice shape and a stolen kiss. Being an amateur athlete and in training most of the time with a killer physique and a gift of gab beyond my years, I appealed not only to girls in my age range, but to women much older than I. This unique positioning allowed me to get involved in situations with women that were quite dangerous but were too young to understand the potential consequences. Thinking back over the previous weekend, I thought of the neighborhood block party and how much fun my friends and I had. There were many young ladies from other schools and neighborhoods that we have seen in passing but never had the opportunity to speak to for any length of time. There was one particular girl to whom I have always had my eye on that was there. "What a perfect opportunity," I though to myself. Let me ask for a dance! In our heated conversation, I discovered that she had a crush on me but I was just to busy to notice. We made a date for the following week and all I could think of was how good it is going to be to spend some time with this beautiful and sexy young lady.
    

        Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice a black car riding next to me for the last few blocks. As I looked down slowly to make a mental note as to what they may have wanted, I noticed that there were three people sitting close together in the front seat with the back seat empty. "Why are they riding like that?" I asked myself. I looked again into the car a little more determined to take even more  detailed mental notes before changing my course defensively and noticed that between two very angry men in the front seat sat the girl I had the date with in the oncoming weekend! Not only did I see her sitting there with tears in her eyes, but I noticed a shiny large gun in the lap of the driver glistening menacingly in the darkness of the car. It didn't take long for me to understand that this was not a good situation, but I had to think to myself, "What did I do to her so bad?" I tried to remain cool and aloof so as not to force them to act quickly. But when I heard the gentleman in the passengers seat say out loud: "That's him isn't it? That's that bastard....Let's shoot him. Kill him!"
    

     I immediately turned my bike around so swiftly, utilizing the tricks on a bicycle that I learned as a kid imitating that death defying professional daredevil of the 1970's named Evel Knievel. Once I heard the screech of the tires behind me, it confirmed my worse fears that I might die tonight. Never being one to give up, my desire to live would win. I pumped those pedals on my bike as though my life depended on it, because it did. Wisely riding into oncoming traffic, I knew I would not be able to outspeed a car driven by an angry driver, but he would not navigate his vehicle as agile as I was on a bike. He was going to have to work to see me dead tonight! As I rode back toward Sutphin blvd. on Hillside avenue, the answer to my life was but a few yards in front of me. The subway station! If I could make it there and reach the underground tunnel they would NEVER catch me.
    

   Hurling myself into the air off of my speeding bike was not an issue at this point, I knew the late night opportunistic scavengers who lurk those hungry streets and who are probably viewing my plight as business as usual, would take joy in utilizing my beloved possession in the underground illegal unseen economy. Regardless, my life was more important I thought to myself as I hit the metal shudders with a loud bang, dropping to the cold dirty pavement to the amusement of the illegal dollar van drivers who wait for the fear stricken train passengers to take home safely. The black car skidded to the curb as I made my dive into the dark recesses of the all so familiar "F" train subway. I am quite sure an Olympic record was set that night in the track and field category if it were an officially sanctioned event, but fame was the last thing on my mind as I leap over the turnstyle in a single bound.
   

   Once down in the dark subway station, I carefully proceeded forward knowing that at that time of night, the next train would probably not be arriving anytime soon. "What was I to do if they came down to the subway with me" I thought. I quickly jumped down on the tracks, only to get startled again by the cries of a rat crushed below my foot. I cautiously stepped over the dangerous third rail, with is notorious for killing drunk vagrants who call the subway tunnels their home. After making it to the other side, to my surprise, a train was arriving! My first thought was I wish I had some way of calling home, as there were no phones in sight and cell phones were not invented yet as we know them now. Heart racing and sweating beyond belief as I entered the train, I spotted a New York City cop who approached me and inquired to find out what was the obvious problem. I couldn't have felt more relieved as he radioed for back up on the surface, to drive me to the  nearest  police precinct and take a report.
    

   After calling my parents and letting them know that for now, everything was fine, I had to wonder what was it that made them want to take action on me in that fashion. Although I couldn't reveal what that young ladies beauty caused me to think of in my deepest thoughts, I was definitely the perfect gentleman in the way I conducted myself in her presence. So what happened to her in such a short time? I found out later after the police questioned her about the aggressive behavior of who later turned out to be her brothers, that she was raped that night after the block party by someone who resembled me. Her brothers, like so many other New Yorkers who do not view the police as their alleys, wanted revenge themselves and did not want the law involved. She was so traumatized on all levels that she really couldn't respond to them properly and let them know that I was only a potential boyfriend, she needed professional help that their selfish vigilante instincts deprived her from receiving. After fully understanding the situation and refusing to press charges on them, we agreed to all met amicably at a neighborhood restaurant weeks later amongst mutual friends as they expressed their apologies for their actions toward me and I expressed my concern for their sister, whom I could not even look at in a lustful way anymore after knowing the unfortunate tragedy that happened to her. That event changed my life and made me realize how being in the wrong place at the wrong time can mean the difference between life and death.

View my page on Camp Treetops Alumni

It's No Crime

To Love Oneself!!

"The Evidence of God's Presence Far Outweighs The Proof Of His Absence."

~ Click Below To Enjoy The Shared Words And Forwarded E-mails Of Others ~