Fantasy Football

The following are deposition files and personal statements from a federal agent working a case of corruption within the NFL, these are interviews and confessions, judge at your own risk.

Deposition file of Ray Anthony Lewis
Linebacker Baltimore Ravens
Miami, Florida
April 20th 2012

“How can you ask me what my involvement in these affairs is? Do you not know who I am at all? This isn’t just a game to me; this is my life, my religion, my code! You think I would throw thirty odd years of hard work, of sweat, tears, and blood away for some more money? I got money man, this ceased to be about that a long time ago, this is about honor, this is about me realizing my destiny, leaving my soul, my entire being on the field, and you dare think it didn’t kill my spirit when I saw that bastard shank that kick on purpose? You think if I had an option to have run onto that field and kicked the damn thing myself I wouldn’t have done that? You’ve never watched your last dream die, so don’t ever ask me if I had something to do with that other than stand on the sidelines forced to watch a lie. I would gladly die doing this because it saved me, so I in return will die for it, now if you’ll excuse me I have a plane to catch, plenty of trials to attend.”

Deposition File #1

Federal Agent Theon Woodbury

April 21^st, 2012

This document will contain all the information I gather on my travels. I have been sent on the mission to gather testimonies from hundreds of athletes that play in the National Football League in regards to the latest scandal that erupted over this past week. After the end of the 2011 NFL regular season it was discovered that the New Orleans Saints football club had been involved in a pay-for-performance program established by the coaches. Another part of the program was to injure opposing key players every game. That was what that took things from bad to horrible, but what came next was even more sinister.  The NFL had ousted the Saint’s bounty program as a distraction from the massive lie rooting and growing underneath all our feet, completely invisible to the public; how did they really expect to keep 32 franchises quiet? What was each player’s involvement with this affair? I’ve asked this question a million times by now it feels like; it’s like asking my heroes if they are filthy liars. I have been a football fan since I was a child so this whole journey is a double edged sword for me, I get to meet all my football idols but the catch is I have to remind them that they are all on trial and are possibly full of shit.

Deposition files for Matthew Willis
Wide receiver Denver Broncos
Denver, Colorado

April 28^th, 2012

“Mr. Willis, what was your involvement in the 2011 silencing of players and staff under direct orders from the owners?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy detective, as much as it hurts my pride to say this, I am nobody in that organization, there are not many guys less important than a fourth string wide receiver.” He seemed honest in his answer, how much could he know other than the very obvious? He was just a young player, full of dreams, almost hateful towards of all the veterans who had it made.

“So tell us what you do know Mr. Willis then, anything you tell us might aid in our investigation.”

“The only things I know are the obvious; there was a whole lot of lying and faking going on, and we had one of the biggest fakes in our midst. There are reasons why people dream of the things Tebow did last year on that field; because they were impossible feats, of course they’re not so impossible with all the backing he had from the league.” A dry bitterness could be heard in his voice, while he struggled just to maintain a spot on the 53-man roster, there were guys who had commercial and magazine endorsements; this had gone on as long as it needed to.

“Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Willis, have a nice day.”

Deposition File #2

Federal Agent Theon Woodbury

April 29^th, 2012

Joe Montana won four Super Bowls and was the most valuable player in the NFL two times, but spent the last years of his career playing for a measly Kansas City Chiefs team and then faded away to making ads about sneakers. Is this the future that was held for the rest of all the great players of today and of years to come? Would all my heroes eventually wear diapers again and forget how to walk? This case is getting to me. Every testimony kills the kid inside me a little more. Just a year ago I was sitting at home in front of my plasma screen with my family watching one of the most classic and memorable seasons in recent history, and now just a few months later I’m cleaning up the mess of all the lies we cheered on. What we have so far is that the league was taking big financial hits from its low profile franchises, the teams whose games aren’t on TV even in their hometown, Buffalo, Jacksonville, and Kansas City are just a few of the teams that were bleeding the league dry for the last few years. Then came the lockout; the players’ association and the owners were at a disagreement on money and the negotiations were the perfect time for all the scheming to be done. Many months passed and they still had accomplished nothing, or so we thought. If the guys who hold all the chips get together in one room at a moment in time, there is no telling what they are capable of doing.

Deposition file of Peyton Manning

Quarterback Indianapolis Colts

May 1^st, 2012

“All due respect detective I have nothing but love for this organization, for all it has done for my family and for me of course. As you can see I did not play a very big role in this whole plan.” Manning missed the entire season due to a neck injury and surgery, this led to his team, a usual contender to win only one game throughout the season.

“Mr. Manning, what you’re trying to say is that you were forced to feign a season ending injury and stay on the sideline all year so your team would get the first pick in the draft, is this correct?”

“I mean it made sense, I have no hard feelings towards the Colts organization. They made me who I am today, I was getting old and becoming a liability. The owners thought to keep TV revenues high, they would try to keep the most exciting rivalries alive, and with me getting old and Tom Brady looking younger every year, that didn’t look like it was gonna last, so they opted for the young guy. This ain’t the end of the road for me, I can still play, and I’ll go wherever I have the best chance to win; that is of course if we play again.” He slightly chuckled as those last words came out of his mouth, the guy was sure positive. Manning is one of all time class acts, it baffles me he can keep his composure after all they’ve put him through, I guess all the southern gentlemen aren’t dead. It does say a lot though that one of the most powerful images on football today would not dare badmouth the owners, how much power do these men really have?

“Thank you Mr. Manning, good luck on your search for a home.”

“I sure appreciate it detective, you keep doing good work out there.” What a guy.

Deposition File #3

Federal Agent Theon Woodbury

May 2^nd, 2012

This fixing didn’t only have an impact on the league and the integrity of sports and fair play of course, it had many repercussions that vined and branched throughout the entire American landscape. Gambling had a giant crisis at hand, all the bets, all the spreads, all the wins and losses, null and void, just like that, second chances, victories stolen, lives ruined. How much money is enough money? I’m sure the number varies with each person, but this question rings in my head constantly, 32 millionaires in a room full of other millionaires trying to find a way to make even more obscene amounts of money.

O.J. Simpson was the first player in history to rush for more than 2,000 yards in a season. He also was accused of murdering his wife, and was arrested multiple times for battery/assault; he is now finally serving 35 years in prison. The wayward fates of many of the ex-players make me question if this life sets them up for a quiet and calm future, it removes them from the world and makes them incompatible with it after the lights are over and the uniform no longer fits.

Deposition File #4

Federal Agent Theon Woodbury

May 3^rd, 2012

Junior Seau is dead. Junior was a great linebacker for many years in the league. Junior was an inspirational man. Junior is dead. I was supposed to interview him too due to his ties with the New England Patriots franchise, but none if that matters right now; lives are being lost, are we horsemen bringing news of death and dishonor to these men? Who do we think we are? Can’t get out of my head. Sleep won’t come and there aren’t enough pills.

Deposition file of Thomas Brady Jr.

Quarterback New England Patriots

May 12^th, 2012

“Come on, guy, you’re wasting both our times here. Can’t you see I was also a victim of this plot? You tell me if you think me and the boys are happy with a repeat loss to the same guys on the world’s biggest stage.” This is true. Brady is as competitive as they come. He’s hiding something though, I can feel it.

“Mr. Brady, you are saying you had no involvement whatsoever in the fixing of the entire 2011 NFL regular season and postseason? Nothing you did aided in the fixing of games? Nothing you failed to do affected the future in some way?”

“Relax guy, you’re hyperventilating over here. Last thing we need is another dead person. Listen I told you all I know, ok? You think you’re the only appointment I got today? The more it looks like there won’t be any football for a while the more I need to make sure my revenue keeps coming, so I gotta run, hopefully you’ll find the answers you’re looking for.” Guys like Brady got it like that, they can walk away from a federal deposition, they get rules made to protect them, and they get supermodel wives. American dream quarterbacks get all the glory and privileges that all the other players can only dream about.

Deposition File #5

Federal Agent Theon Woodbury

May 13^th, 2012

Been on the road now for months and still no answers.

Walter Peyton at a point held the record for most career rushing yards and all-purpose yards, but died of a rare liver disease without scoring a touchdown in the only Super Bowl he played in. The trials are still underway, people come in and out of the courtroom like it’s a Disneyland ride or something.

Lawrence Taylor changed the way defense is played forever and was defensive player of the year three times, but later led a life full of drugs and was arrested for sexual misconduct with a minor.

Football was supposed to be our generation’s sport, just like baseball was for our parents, we were supposed to have a clean golden era of sports until they rotted from the inside out; this came faster to football I guess.

Al Davis, owner of the Oakland Raiders was a maverick and revolutionary executive for the league but spent his last few years as a deranged old man who couldn’t let go of the past.

I’m going to talk to the person who can give me some answers. I’m going to Tebow; he can’t lie. He’s not allowed to. Christians like him don’t lie.

Deposition file of Timothy Tebow

Quarterback Denver Broncos

May 16^th, 2012

“Hey I’m really glad you came, I appreciate all that you and the bureau have been doing to speed up the process of us getting back out there and doing this all for the people and for The Lord.” Gotta admit it, he’s as entrancing and charming as they say. I couldn’t let him swoon me with his words, I had to find out the truth.

“Mr. Tebow, you were very directly involved in the falsification of many NFL regular season games and one or two postseason games. Why did you agree to participate in this, and what was the stimulus that the owners offered? I had to get right to it, no more messing around.

“Theon, I would never do that, my Lord and savior Jesus Christ has taught me that through honesty and hard work I will be able to accomplish all. Look at all the good work we’ve done in the Tim Tebow foundation. We’ve helped so many children. I owe it all to the success I have found playing this game, the feeling I get from winning games is only secondary to the feeling I get from helping those in need.”

“Mr. Tebow, what was your involvement in the fixing of all these games? As the trials progress, the more it is looking like the owners gave you special treatment so you could become a sort of messiah for the NFL. What was your involvement?”

“Friend, you look out of sorts, tired. Let me take you to get some food and we can talk about this later. You look like you really need –“

“Enough! Stop dancing around the truth. You were handed a golden opportunity, they made you the next great thing. Why? Why put all their faith in some overly religious kid?”

“If I were the guy you think I am, don’t you think I would have probably been the one to approach the owners in the middle of their negotiations at the lockout? Maybe I would’ve told them this country is rapidly turning towards Christianity with all the evils that are befalling us as of late, maybe people need a symbol. Of course this is all speculation right?” His tone dropped a bit, the cheerful Christian boy was here no more; someone else was here.

“If I was the snake in the grass you hope me to be, then maybe none of this matters at this point already, I’ve already won. The league is over, let’s face it. Stop worshiping ghosts of men who are dead. True power is in eternity, you know this, look at Jesus Christ. People debate his existence yet his photo is on your wall, on your internet, in your mind. You wanna keep playing games and pretending you’re in control of your lives that’s fine by me. My plans are beyond this, this is beyond your understanding dear friend. All your gridiron heroes have failed you, they have died, lied, stolen, gambled, murdered, and tainted their legacy. Can’t you see? Can’t you realize how dead this all is?” The last words were barely audible to me, I stepped out of that room and didn’t come back. Was he right? Was I just following and admiring dead false prophets?

Deposition File #6

Federal Agent Theon Woodbury

June 1^st, 2012

League is officially shut down for the year. Trials, implications, sentences, fines, all this needs to be sorted out before another uniform is put on again. I still had about 200 more depositions to do, I left the bureau. I’m done sitting here and watching everything I saw as a kid crumble before my eyes. I met with an owner, name doesn’t matter. It was all money, it’s all always been money. Montana to Clark, all for money, Vinatieri’s field goal against the Rams, for money, Elway’s helicopter spin as he fell to the ground, for money. I’m leaving now, going back home. I had a dream that I was on a field; I was alone. Slowly the grass got darker but the light of the sun shone brighter. I saw my kid in the distance, he looked worried. I tried to catch up but he was gone. Then I worried, but a part of me was glad he went. Let him find something good. Find what we thought we had on this field.

Children’s Story

There were two deaths last night in our city. Does it make you feel haunted to know the two bodies in the caskets? It made me feel like something was coming for me. How selfish, but I can’t help it; this is my life and I am the Jesus Christ of my own Bible. Of course I’m nothing close to a Messiah; I’m just another boy who knows somebody that died. The first victim, named Abel, technically didn’t exist because the country didn’t let him. One of millions of children of immigrants, who had no say or choice about the life they were born into, that spent the majority of his youth looking for a way to become a citizen. The other victim, Moises, was anything but a savior. Baptized in blood, he knew darkness from a very young age and was forced to crawl out of it into the light. Children are not born evil; that’s just an invention by bad parents to help them sleep at night. Cities, towns, farms, villages, states, countries — these are the true edifiers of humans. You give a child some odd years in Union City and he’ll see and feel enough to become everything he swore he would never be.

There’s an optometrist’s office, next to a hen slaughterhouse, next to an abortion clinic, next to a day care, next to a dentist’s office. What is someone supposed to assume about life when this is home? Home to us is this transition of a town, this pit stop in the shadow of a great city built by the real men of the world. We’re just the strays that were left to fight for scraps. I saw Abel two days before his life was taken, a young pale boy with curly hair, hopeful in a sea of quitters, on his way to finish his application for residency to have a fair shot at trying to make it just like the rest of us. I had never appreciated how much I had compared to how little he did. I was contemplating all of this as he got ready to tell me a story.

Abel’s day had been horrible; he and our friend Petr were walking home from the pizza place by his house when they saw Moises in the distance. They knew they’d been spotted so they decided to face him head on. I thought this was pretty brave considering how everyone knew what happened to those who ran into Moises. I asked, just to be on the same page, “You did know that wasn’t gonna go well, right?” I knew where this story was headed and probably how it ended, but I let him tell it anyway as a confession of sorts.
Certainly he knew; Moises stopped them and asked if the lady in front of them was their mom. They shoulda said yes, but of course they didn’t. Moises said they should smoke, that he could get some good shit but they’d just have to let him call his boy, so Petr lent him his phone. He shot the shit with some dude, never asked about weed, then asked for Abel’s phone because he had to make another call. By the time the second conversation was over, he just said, “Alright fellas, my name is Moises, and this never happened.” They begged for their phones back but he told them that if they wanted them back, they could fight for them. Since he was of monstrous size, the boys just walked away in shame. Poor guy, Abel never stood a chance. In this city, if someone asks for your phone after six o’clock you better have a quick mind or tongue or you’ll be sporting the finest pre-paid flip phone for a while.

I felt like I needed to raise his spirits so I told him to just forget that guy; one day he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. I told him that the only reason he steals from people, even his friends, is because he smokes that base, the kind of shit you never come back from. I remember hearing about how his mother died at a very early age from cancer. It’s a tough life for most people in this town and he’s no exception. I’ve seen people lose their houses to arson on a weekly basis. I’ve seen stray bullets take babies in their cribs. His father was an alcoholic and drug addict, beat the crap out of him and made him into the terrifying presence he is today.

But that was the thing: Abel couldn’t stand to know that Moises just got away with it like that. So he went home, grabbed a hammer, and decided to get some justice of his own. Came right back out and waited in front of Moises’ house for an hour, just picturing ways to hurt him, thinking of how just this was, knowing that he was doing the right thing. Then he asked himself what the hell he was really doing there. He had forgotten who he was in blind rage. He had forgotten that had he busted Moises open like a watermelon, he would never be a resident of the United States. It seemed silly and sad when he gave it some real thought, so he just went back home. This guy really got to him; he had gotten to many of us. Everyone knows his techniques, his calling card: “My name is Moses, this never happened.” What a cruel joke his name is. But then again, a name really means nothing. Just because your parents named you after someone noble from the past, it does not mean you won’t shoot up your school. We make these saints and prophets squirm in their ancient graves, I bet. All of us fake Jesuses who smoke weed and masturbate, all them Moseses who rob the poor and abuse the weak. Young, strong crackheads usually have a tiny reign of terror before the darkness comes and takes them into the eternal rest.

The next day, I ran into Moises myself because he’s contagious like that. He’s a virus that spreads to all that are exposed to him, whether directly or indirectly. I was smoking with some friends and it was just another Friday night. I was floating and joy set in. Then I turned and lost all feeling as I saw Moises’ devilish face enter the room. His shirt was slightly torn, forehead glowing. Could he have just had his way with some poor soul?

“It’s my birthday. I just fought some dude man, he was just a little boy trying to act like a man, what does he know about being a man? He ain’t seen his dad rape his mom, he ain’t never dreamed shit like that. You can’t tell me about being a man. I’ve been a man since I was a boy. Don’t know how else to live. Pass that.” Iced veins and all, I kept my cool. He didn’t once try to mess with any one of us; I’m guessing he takes the holidays off. That phrase, “to be a man,” has echoed through eternity in the minds of all young boys who reach the end of their youth. What comes next?

The question resonated in my head all night; I realized I hadn’t the slightest clue as to how to grow up. Who was I supposed to turn to for this? This is why we envy the “Leave it to Beaver” families — because when the son feels misguided and needs some pointers, daddy lights a pipe and gives a lesson. My old man worked all day and the only time we saw each other was in between school, my morning job, and my night job. Punch in. Punch out. Say hi to dad. Say goodbye. Run to the bus stop. Sleep in bus. Almost miss stop. Text girlfriend. Feel good. Return to real life. Punch in. Punch out. This was everyday, at what point were dad and I supposed to sit and have him teach me all about adult life? Was I already living it? Doubt it; just because you have a mustache it doesn’t make you a man.

The morning after was a Saturday. I liked Saturdays because they reminded me of having something to look forward to when I woke up. You had good breakfast, cartoons, friends, but best of all no school. Now it’s the only day I get to sleep for more than six hours, but on this day the police said otherwise. You know what’s got a stronger kick than a cup of black coffee? Opening up a door and seeing two men in blue outside. It will knock you straight. The rest of the visit reminded me a lot of being blackout drunk. You figure a whole lot happened but it’s like you weren’t really there for it. You may get small flashes filled with tiny tortures but the rest is one big void.

“What was the last time you saw your friend?”

“Why were you with Moises Cabral last night? What business did you have with him?”

“Sorry for your loss, but we need the full story.” That one was the funniest part, a story. To these guys, the story is two passport photos, a fact sheet, height, weight, notable tattoos, place last seen, crime scene report. That’s not a story. They won’t sit down on their computer to write up their report in the form of a Shakespearean tragedy. They won’t show the youth of the city that this was just another case about the wrong path. I’m telling you the story that you will never hear from your parents or read in a compilation of short tales from the hood.

Last night I went home not only because I was tired, but because a lot of things that weren’t too much my speed started happening. I won’t get specific so as not to incriminate my friends, but let’s just say Moises’ favorite stuff was going to get lit. After I left them, they started lighting that glass cigarette and the lighting won’t stop because this young man knows no limits at this point in his life. From the explanation that the other witnesses gave the cops, I pictured Moises being as high as Alfred Molina’s character in Boogie Nights, playing Russian roulette, fire crackers going off, music getting louder and louder. Now this is a common thing in Union City so there isn’t any reason for the cops to get involved yet.

Outside the building where this is all happening, Abel is walking home from work. He has his backpack on, and in that backpack there is a folder, and in that folder there is a card, and they say this card is green, and for the first time in his life Abel exists.

Back inside, the music is at its loudest. Most people passed out, Moises is still tempting the fates, this time with a gun in his hand. His vision is blurred. He aims for a crucifix on that wall in that apartment. He knows he’s gonna hit it.

Outside, Abel walks by the window to said apartment. Inside Moises trips; the gun goes off. He hits the window. A boy is dead and Moises doesn’t even know it. They told me Abel died almost instantly. No fake movie bleed out that left him wondering why, no sad goodbyes, no nothing. They also told me that not many minutes later, Moises’ heart stopped beating. They said his heart stopped due to a crack overdose. Nothing new, nothing rare around here.

I have spent a majority of my life missing buses and catching surprise buses, and every time it’s not certain which will lead to something good or bad, but that night I’m glad I caught the early bus home. There were wakes, and there were funerals, and less than ten people came to each one. Mothers wept, statuses were written, 40’s were poured, and candles were lit. The news was told, the world didn’t miss a beat, the universe didn’t stop, and the stars didn’t feel a thing.

Kanye Christ Our Modern Savior

This essay was written on March of 2013, a few months before Kanye announced his 6th studio album Yeezus, so this is almost like I predicted the future, just saying.

Jesus was a huge celebrity in biblical times. Humans have been drawn to stardom ever since. That’s why we still continue creating martyrs and Jesus figures; we need them so bad. We need to see the rise, the fall, the return and the ascension to heaven. Kanye West is our modern Jesus. Famous. Radical. Talented. Hated. Loved. We want to know every move he makes. Every error. Why not any other rapper? It’s simple. He is us and we are him; a regular guy working at the Gap, making beats at home, dreaming of making it. Jesus was made in our image so we could relate to him, so we could be his friend and so he could help us repent for all our sins; then we killed him.

Though most people know him as a celebrity that tweets about getting emotional over fonts, or his dislike for waking up with a water bottle next to him on an airplane, he is actually one of the most prolific rapper/producer combos of our generation. He produced many hit songs for Jay-Z when he was in his prime, and after much hard work and perseverance got a record deal from Jay’s record label, Roc-a-Fella Records. Five platinum albums later he is still going strong and is on pace to release an album later this year. But unlike many rappers today Kanye’s style is very anti-macho, anti-violence and speaks much about oppression, social injustices, and how black people need to rise up and reclaim their glory. He speaks on many topics like education, “Ain’t no tuition for having no ambition, and ain’t no loans for sitting your ass at home”, or the illusion of the American dream, “It seems like we living the American dream, but the people highest up got the lowest self esteem”. Being the son of an English professor and a former Black Panther it’s only natural he would have a lot to say about the state of racism, and social issues in America. He raps about topics relating racial profiling and how even though slavery is no more, there are still many ways to keep black people down, “We buy our way out of jail but we can’t buy freedom”. He also takes a stab at the crack epidemic and how it affected the African American community, “Crack raised the murder rate in D.C. And Maryland, we invested in that, it’s like we got Merrill Lynched”. Also challenging the stereotype of how all rappers must have excessive jewelry, he talks about the conflict diamond crisis in Africa, “Over here it’s a drug trade we die from drugs, over there they die from what we buy from drugs”. When Kanye first appeared on the scene there weren’t many rappers on the same wavelength he was on: “I woke up early this morning with a new state of mind, a creative way to rhyme without using guns and knives”  – a peaceful progressive way to send a message to the youth, isn’t that what makes a role model?

How many times have we crucified Kanye for all the things he has done? How many times will we make him cry on the TV so that we can all have our cathartic ejaculation watching him repent? We want to tell ourselves we are better, we would never do that, money wouldn’t change us. Please. We wish we had the courage to say on television that George Bush doesn’t really care about black people,  or people of color for that matter. How many rappers write a song about how much they love their mother? I still can’t listen to that song without crying; it makes me feel like I need to love my mother more, give her more. Can’t you just feel his soul spilling through the tracks? It ain’t hard to tell how sad he is sometimes when he writes about his former loves, or his past failures. In the very testosterone filled rap world, where many came from poverty, drug dealing, gang violence, he challenged the entire identity of the rap game, and now every little gimmick artist is seeking to be the new Kanye West. Every crummy radio rapper today can thank Mr. West for their entire career. Just like every crummy scheming pastor like Creflo Dollar owes Jesus the fact that I am even typing his name.

I feel like I grew up alongside him, learning from his songs and learning from his mistakes too, learning that I should probably never rush a stage with an entire bottle of Hennessy in me. He also taught me about the ups and downs of life, I almost feel like I have never walked alone ever since we became friends. He taught me that hard work, perseverance, and honesty with yourself as well as with others will help you reach all your dreams. His hard work led him to work alongside all the people he looked up to when he was younger. He is about to wed someone who is equally as controversial as him, Kim Kardashian, people love to hate her and hate how much they love her and everyone still watches, waiting to see her every move. In a way isn’t that Heaven? Let’s face it, clouds and angels are a bit dated, how can the idea of Heaven as told by our parents and priests be attractive to those of us that have the internet, endless worldly pleasures, gadgets the likes our ancestors never dreamed of, and you want us to trade it for a cloud resort? In modern heaven you don’t even need to die, because Puritans prepared for death instead of really living, life expectancy has skyrocketed since early American times and you expect us to spend 80 years or more preparing to die? In modern heaven I will be friends with Kanye West, Paul Thomas Anderson, and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and we will sip tea and talk about art and literature on Saturdays.

The Pharisees shout to the heavens all the mistakes this human has made to drown out the sound  of all the good things he has done in his life. He created a foundation to try and help kids stay in school because he felt that when he was a kid it was the music that saved him, and kept him out of trouble. He has made donations to Doctors Without Borders, Habitat for Humanity, and the Human Rights Watch. Bet you didn’t know that, but I bet you know about every time he has gone wild on stage or off it. He made me believe in myself, so doesn’t that count for something? Thanks to him I didn’t quit college, I still work two jobs to make tuition, while still playing in a band, while still maintaining close relationships with all the people that are dear to me. So even if no one else, or very few will say it, I say thank you Mr. West, you remind me constantly of the power of humans and our will power.

The Custodian’s Cheat Sheet

If you are reading this then I am no longer an employee of CSI International, not the crime scene investigators, but the cleaning services international, I’m sure you’ll get that a lot from your friends and family. So congratulations, this job sucks. But you could be unemployed, let’s not forget. Fear not though grasshopper, lucky for you I did this shit for five years and have seen my fair share of things in my time cleaning the corporate offices of Polo Ralph Lauren.

Let’s give you the basic rundown of your equipment, your vacuum, this gray and yellow piece of trash will always get backed up, unless you follow my directions. Don’t be lazy when you see the big chunks of garbage. That’s what your apron is for, but we’ll get to that later. For now just know that big pieces and paper clips are your enemy. Use the tiny hose for clips and pieces of metal, because all the dust and cloth that you will pick up will fuse with the metal to form a robotic dust bunny that will claim the vacuum’s life if you don’t listen. Also, always pay attention that that red light, just like in any movie, the red light is bad news, it means the bag is full so get rid of it. Don’t try and squeeze those last extra minutes of life from it because that is where your pride will get the best of you, and you will lose half an hour gutting the entrails of your dead machine for dust, hair and paper. Also, the sidekick to your vacuum is your extension cord which is probably beat up and ripped, and it will also introduce you to an enemy you didn’t know you had; cubicles. You will have so much fun getting your extension unstuck from countless cubicles through your time at CSI.

The apron is a lot more useful than you might think, and if you have an issue with it being a woman’s ornament then you need to get over your gender role stereotypes right now; I’ll wait. Okay now that you are a more accepting person, your apron has two sections, one that I recommend you use for large chunks of garbage, and the other for treasure of course. There are endless candy bowls in this building my friend, and it can all be yours, as long as you learn how to limit yourself and know when to take from who and what to take from where. A true master thief knows how to weigh the amount of his loots and knows when to throw in the towel. That’s level one; survival. You need food to get through the day, some days I don’t even eat lunch at home because I know I’m going to eat well at Polo. Most days these Polo employees will order out from many restaurants in the Meadowlands area because they are rich and have no plans of going home anytime soon because they are slaves to the grind. This is all to your benefit of course, because those gourmet sandwiches in the kitchen are not gonna eat themselves champ. Level two is not for the yellow bellied though, there are plenty of workers there who have endless mounds of spare change you can use for your personal benefit, I’m not going to say I’m proud of this but these are the facts, I only did it when I was truly desperate and needed change for the bus or there was no food around and I needed to buy something from the vending machine. So if you feel like living dangerously go ahead and do it, just don’t get busted because the game ends there.

Now that you are acquainted with your tools it is time to learn about your surroundings. You will be cleaning the sixth and eighth floor in their entirety, I know you must be overwhelmed but trust time by the time I’m done with you, you will have enough time for a poop break and a cigarette break too if that is your vice. I’m not gonna lie to you, the sixth floor is massive and over populated with workers who don’t love their families enough to go home at 5 o’clock. So the route that will be most effective is the following: Take the affirmative action sector first, that is the area where Ralph and the gang chucked all the people from Asia, Russia, and Latin America. They are kind people who won’t get in your way too much and will be accommodating to your needs. The next sector is marketing, it can be hit or miss, some of them are friendly and will even make small talk if that’s your thing, but the ones who are really full of themselves will definitely go out of their way to remind you that yes you are cleaning their trash and that they do indeed live a luxurious lifestyle you cannot comprehend. Don’t let the bastards get you down as they say, take the high road, because who knows maybe one day you will swap places like in those Disney movies and you will both learn lifelong lessons. Or not. The next area you need to tackle doesn’t have a name but I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out a name for it on your own, it is filled with many beautiful, independent, and powerful women, so don’t stare, don’t be that guy. They are all kind and will leave you alone, just don’t be like those painters who retouch the walls every couple months, they are tacky and gross, and nobody likes them. This is also the area which will always be dirtiest of course, so get ready to clean endless amounts of cloth and fabric.

You are done with the sixth floor and may now use the bathroom or go get that nicotine you need.

The eighth floor is a bunch of small islands that are connected by long hallways that are carpet-less, so lucky for you there is less work here. There is the conference hall where they seem to play musical chairs every day, so of course you will spend most of your days rearranging chairs over there. There is the Polo travel area which is I guess how these rich folks plan their nice vacation getaways and business trips, this area is great for getting rare foreign treats from the people who come from all over the world leaving gifts for their friends and you. There is the security and loss prevention office, which is heavily guarded so do not try anything dumb there, trust me, the security guard Steve will know, but more on him later. Then there are tiny chunks all around that general area. Accounting, the place I like to call the corner of the world, and finally the glass door area. All small, with minimal work, these are good places to hide for a bit and check on your phone to see what you might be doing later tonight, or to see if your children or other family members have contacted you.

Congratulations, after that you have finished a day of hard custodian work, and can go home. Now let me tell you about the people that will make life impossible for you, or easier if you play your cards right.

First and foremost, your boss Serantony, not Anthony, not Sir Anthony, but Serantony is a horrible man and a great deceiver. He will try to befriend you just to stab you in the back. If you can’t tell from the first time you look at his old, street dog face, then aren’t you glad I told you? He blackmails and lies, I have seen him threaten employees with firing their spouses if they don’t do what he wants; in other words he’s a perfect boss. You don’t have to kiss the ass, but I would recommend staying neutral with him, because if he doesn’t like you he will try to fire you for using your phone, or going to the bathroom. He suspended me once for having diarrhea, what a guy.

The security guard Steve ain’t bad, he’s got a mean sense of humor, and is somewhat homophobic, racist, and intolerant but he can be made into a good ally because your boss fears him. He is your typical aging white person who grew up in the seventies on classic rock, beers, and drugs. Find a way to relate, it could save your job one day. Also because if he doesn’t like you, you will not work at Polo anymore, he will find a way to get rid of you and get you reassigned to another part of the building.

The front desk security guy is this old Puerto Rican man named Americo, he is pretty harmless and kind but he sure loves gossip, so never tell him anything important. Everyone will know before the work day is over, trust me. Don’t be fooled by his balding, Cheshire cat smile and banana shaped mustache, he can play broken telephone with the best of them. On a completely unrelated note, stay away from the old lady with white hair, unless you like the smell of soaked diapers that is.

So there you have it, a comprehensive guide to doing this job like a pro, but please don’t work too hard there are no raises or promotions or rewards here. They pay very measly wages and therefore you shouldn’t bust your ass for people who don’t care about your well-being. That being said, there are worse jobs, so do the bare minimum to keep it, because at least it’s warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and who knows you might even get to meet big brother Ralph Lauren himself one day. Or you might be there the day he dies, which is just as good I think. Have fun.

An interview with Arrows in Her, New Jersey emo band

I recently got to interview local band Arrows in Her, one of the better up and coming acts in the Hudson County area. They are a four piece act, Harold, Damian, Edwin, and Roger who could not be present due to work related reasons. Their recent EP “Leaving” caught fire and has put them on the forefront of a new emo and post-hardcore movement, this is the chat we had a bit after the year anniversary of “Leaving.”

Me: Hey guys, so it’s been a year since the EP came out, so where are you right now musically, as well as people?

Damian: Do you mean like individually, or as a whole group?

D: We’re writing. I mean we’re kind of in a better place, as a band we are a lot more known than we used to be.

Me: So with that being said, where were you guys when you were writing “Leaving”, musically and in your life?

Harold: I feel like we just went into it open minded, I had just joined and these guys had a thing set up, we each had our influences and we just kinda jumped in there.

Edwin: We kinda found our band chemistry, we tried to discover a certain feel and sound, and now that we have found it, we are more ambitious and driven and trying to write a full length album.

Me: On this stuff that you are writing, is there a big departure from the sound of “Leaving”?

D: It’s a more mature sound, we’ve gotten better, I don’t think it’s a big departure.

H: The guitar playing will definitely be more ambitious.

Me: So you guys did a couple tours, as well as playing a heavy dose of shows, how do you feel that has  impacted you and benefited you?

D: It made us way tighter.

H: Definitely helped, we got a ton of new fans that way.

D: We promoted pretty heavy online in the first few months but after that it was just word of mouth after playing shows and touring and stuff.

H: And it worked, a lot of people caught on and we would go to random shows, and people would be like, “Hey man I heard your stuff from your tumblr or one of your friends told me, or we were at this party and there was tons of people talking about you.” And we’re in the middle of Virginia.

D: We played a lot of out of state shows, mainly Ohio, we played there once, and when we came back there was like 30 kids singing along. And we were only there once.

Me: That’s pretty great man, is it sometimes surreal that people remember you, I know I get excited when people know my music.

D: I mean it was, I don’t wanna sound cocky but you get over it, because a lot of people treated us like we were a bigger band for whatever reason, and a lot of shows on tour they would put us headlining, and a lot of people would talk to us as if we were on a bigger level, and we felt we were, but at the same time it’s weird how people perceive you. But you get over it when it happens a bunch. A lo of shows we play around here and far away I hear people talking about us, and not even to us, to each other so that’s pretty cool, so I guess it is pretty surreal.

H: I feel like releasing stuff at the same time also adds to that level of surrealism, and I know we’re gonna go back to zero after releasing this, and going around seeing what people have to say like, “Oh you’re in Arrows in Her?” I wonder what they thought of the new album. Because once we went out with the EP and people would say that, I would wonder what they thought of the EP.

Me: Do you feel like there is added pressure on this new release?

D: Oh yea, there’s a lot of pressure.

E: It’s crazy because I was talking to one of the people that likes us, I’m not gonna say her name but she was like, “Oh I really love the Leaving EP I just really really hope your new album blows it away or sounds a lot better. It’s like once a person becomes a fan, there’s a pressure every time after that.

Me: It’s like you become their boyfriend and they expect things to get better and better with time, right?

E: Yea, and if you don’t get better you slowly start to lose them.

Me: So you guys dealt with a lot of issues and grief with the people in Glass Nail Records –

D: Oh yea that sucked.

Me: Are there any options or things that you are looking at as a new medium for releasing your music?

D: There’s a guy that’s going to put out our release, Middlebrook, a label from Long Island, they put out a split of ours and that’s actually coming in a couple of weeks, there’s also a guy who’s going to put out the release of “Leaving.” And as far as the full length, as long as it’s not terrible, we have a few friends that are on some good labels.

H: If we do well, there’s a very good chance we’ll get put out in a pretty serious label.

Me: That’s really great guys. So lyrically, “Leaving” was pretty dark, not dark like smoking crack, but sad real life stuff, is there going to be a lot of difference, or will there will be similar themes running through it?

E: I feel like it’ll be a different kind of sad.

D: And usually my intentions writing, I mean I don’t really think it came out completely that way, but for some reason the way I like to write was very inspired by Sartre and Nietszche, very existential and what is the world almost, but it didn’t really come across that much and it just sounds sad but maybe a little more of that too.

Me: Speaking on that sad note, famous At the Drive In vocalist Cedric Bixler-Zavala once said that all music is emotional and it is kinda senseless to classify music as emo or label it that way.

H: That’s my idol.

Me: Do you agree with that or do you reject that and embrace that title?

D: That is a crazy question, emo has changed like a bunch, it’s gone to a bad place, and a good place, and a bad place, and a weird place. As it’s known now, it’s weird because this emo revival that we are kinda a part of has been going on for like five years, and just now Pitchfork and Spin caught on to it, so pretty soon that label is going to get all weird and crappy again probably. I think punk is a safe bet, and if you wanna say something vague like post-hardcore or post-rock, because they can mean anything, indie can mean anything, but emo it changes and it can mean something good or something terrible. And of course everything’s emotional but, technically emo was emotive hardcore, it had a root, there was a reason it was called emo, it was for emotive hardcore, so in a way every emo band is post-hardcore so it’s all good.

Me: I know a lot of people when your EP was first released, it said, “For fans of American Football.” (a 90’s influential emo band)

D: Oh yea, that wasn’t our fault but everybody says it though yea.

Me: So everybody says it, but what do you say your music is more like?

D: I never really got the American Football that much, but it has been said so much that I guess it must be true to a certain extent.

H: I feel like every twinkly thing gets associated with that.

D: Yea that’s true, what bands do we sounds more like? I mean, exactly? Because I don’t wanna sound cocky but I feel like no one sounds like us, we have a pretty interesting spin on stuff and a lot of mixed influences.

D: People compared us to Lifetime, All Saints Day, a little bit of Alkaline Trio, a little bit of Thursday.

H: I’d rather not compare us to another band.

Me: Yea I get it, sometimes it can be crippling and pigeon-holing but sometimes you do need a little bit of classification and comparison.

D: Our biggest struggle has been playing in this area, we had a Maxwell’s show that was crazy, but the fact that we are always playing Montclair or New Brunswick, which is far as hell, so it hasn’t helped our momentum locally, more opportunities to play local would actually be pretty awesome.

Me: Last thing, any new announcements or exciting stuff that you would like to reveal?

D: We took this time off to write but our split is coming out on vinyl in mid to late October, and then we are trying to book a ten day or two week tour in January through Florida, Texas and up through the Midwest, and our full length will hopefully be out by maybe February.

After the publication of this interview in my college newspaper, The Gothic Times of NJCU, Harold left the band for personal reasons.

A Mother, A Goddess, A City

The plan was to head into New York looking for darkness, and the only thing to be found was a blinding light. Maybe films skewed people’s view of the city too much; Taxi Driver, Requiem for a Dream, Eyes Wide Shut, they all show such a haunted vision, as though one needs to sell their soul to make it out there. Thousands come in and out of the city through tunnels and bridges like livestock, the situation a perfect storm for angst and depression and still through all the toil and trouble people find a way to believe. Though the beliefs are different, they can all agree that the common quest is joy and survival.

“The world is too big not to want more.” Ambrose Davis Jr., a man who has lived all over the city, from Harlem, to the Bronx, to Brooklyn and back, is a prime example of the spirit that flows in and out of every street that fills New Yorkers with the vitality they need to bring this city to life. Not even being unemployed can bring him down, which is more that can be said for most people; since Bush left office all everyone seems to ask each other is where the jobs went.

“That’s the thing about the city of New York, they will provide you with funds and a place to live if you meet up to their necessities and their rules, and you’ll get food.” A city that takes care of its own, people cross oceans to find a place to call home, to find a place that will care for you back, and many do find it here. So what sets this city aside from the rest of the beautiful thousands of others that the rest of the world calls home? What makes it this altar for worship, its skyline peering over the world like a giant metal cathedral with millions flocking to pay their respects? It might be its disposition to take in strays, for many years now it has been home to the broken people nobody else wanted. Immigrants, deviants, homosexuals, they were all accepted. The first waves of people coming to Ellis Island, the hundreds of pornographic movie theaters that were home to many in the 60s and 70s, the now world famous Meatpacking District that went from a slum to a luxury are all proof of New York being the motherly nurturing figure that many seek.

This document is dedicated to the pilgrimage, the idea of arriving with a two figure net worth and leaving as number one, this journey to the Mecca of dreams. Some are born into this chase; some sacrifice everything just for a spot in the race, and some spend an eternity trying to escape. History and culture have engrained the image into most people’s heads of the small town girl or boy coming to the big city, the glamorous transition from eating Cheetos for dinner and wearing paint covered rags, to steaks and Commes des Garcon suits on the regular. Currently the game is the same but the trophies have changed; now net worth is valued by tweet mentions per hour, how many times your name escapes from the mouths of those climbing, influence, Instragam followers, but really these all boil down to power, always have and always will.

Venturing deeper into the beast, past the pixel Gustav Klimt paintings covered in neon and nude women, in parts where a conversation can be had without losing your voice was a woman named Colette. Born and raised here, she has a deep connection and love for it. When talking about people coming here to make their dream come true she said, “I’ve thought about living in different countries all the time, and when you meet someone who’s actually done it it’s amazing, because I’ve always chickened out or thought it was crazy, it’s always very inspiring to me.” She seemed very genuine about the people she has spontaneously sparked friendships up with. The interview started a bit tense because she was busy replying to work emails but once she started talking about all the good she has seen her demeanor completely changed. “I met a cab driver from Haiti, he’s a web programmer trying to make it here and does cab work on the side. I left my credit card in the back of his cab, and I never do this, but because we exchanged numbers he texted me and told me I left my card behind, he just came and dropped it off a couple minutes ago.” She described him as a solid person; this is something that is clearly important to the people of the city. For every stand up person they meet there are two others trying to trick and con their way to the top.

Once back by Port Authority, the crowd is as radiant as ever, endless amounts of lovers, friends, sons, and mothers walking hand in hand, laughing and in between the almost unintelligible rays of light that were these people was a man, his light moving at a much slower pace than the rest. He clearly was not headed anywhere, his name was Derek and he was from the Bronx. It is important to note that this man was unfortunately an addict, throughout the entire interview he would ask for the money he was going to receive at the end. He would add the question into most of his answers, like a jazz drummer squeezing notes that you did not even know could fit in that single phrase. “I met a girlfriend and became a dad, I’m homeless now, but my son is grown up, and that’s all I was going for.” The selflessness with which he blurted that was shocking, almost like his purpose was to be able to get this person he created to a state where they could fend for themselves and after that he did not care what happened to him. It was also easy to tell that he was not very honest and was holding back on talking about his addiction. He became homeless through a misfortune; somebody set a fire in his family’s apartment. Once that happened, he and his wife drifted apart and his son ended up living with distant family members in Detroit. It was heartbreaking how one small act can not only tear a family apart but also tear a man down. He eventually ceased to cooperate very well so the interview needed to end.

“You ever hurt so much that you can’t cry?” This was the heart of darkness of the city, not a dust filled street, or a project building, or an alley, but the experiences and lives of those who have been abandoned by the mother who took them in. His name was Rodney Jones, he was 47 years old pushing a caraban-like shopping cart down Chelsea, and it was a fucking miracle that he was even alive to tell his story. Rodney grew up in the city with his mother, father, and four younger sisters and the first red flag that hinted as to why this spirited man wound up in the streets was the complicated relationship he had with his father. There is a fine line between respect and love, and unfortunately in many cases children do not reach both of them with their fathers. He spoke with so much respect for his father, the provider, but yearned with such longing for his father, the friend he never got to meet. The man he knew instead abused his mother and would be out all of the time chasing other women. He says how these traits wound up rubbing off on him in a sad but not spiteful tone, proof for all those out there who don’t believe how strong a parental influence is.

Rodney says he laughs now but it hurt at the time, one night, tired of his father beating his mom, he walks into the room and tells him, “stop hurting my mama, you think you a man?” His father instantly lunges at him. In the middle of their tussle his father squeezed his genitals because it was the only way he could get him off of him. Now an adult, he reflects on how he feels his father played himself because he had a good woman, he also had trouble with his mom chasing after him when all he would do was beat her.  But one thing was certain, after that day he never beat that woman again as long as Rodney was around.

He has not seen any of his family members in three years and that he does not even know if they are alive. This he blames on the things he does in the streets, because he can’t pull himself off the drugs. His story telling goes back and forth between past and present, a butterfly effect inspired novel he is weaving to explain how even small things in life change everything. Drugs kept him from even graduating high school, he never made it past the tenth grade. During that time in which he was supposed to be gearing up for the professional world and life ahead, he instead had his first child, snorted coke, heroin, angel dust, crack, got arrested for carjacking, and for abusing a woman in public. Whether he was doomed by his parenting or the choices of his youth, it is impossible to not feel like the world and the system failed him.

“The first time was like summer camp, today it’s worse, but when I went it was like going away to a camp for real.” He describes his first stint in prison with such innocence, and such a positive and almost child like optimism. Rodney has spent 13 of his 47 years of life in prison. He spent most of his time in prison thinking about his uncle Ray who was the father he never had. Like all good things in his life, this joy did not last because his uncle died on the way to the store one day of a heart attack. He says, “I gotta stop, I don’t wanna hurt. Ask me something else.”

As groups of well-off white people pass by in bunches every now and then, him sticking out like a wolf in a banquet hall, he says that every day he wakes up is a blessing, specially with the life he leads. He gives respect to all people even if they look down on him because of the cart he pushes, because deep inside he knows himself, “I am my own best friend, I have no friends, all my friends are dead or locked up. I have no friends out here, your friends will kill you before your enemies, whether you believe it or not.” In the end he admits to having one friend who lets him sleep over, park his cart, smoke base as he tells it, and of course charges him with sex because nothing is free in this town.

His last tale, straight out of a street noir film puts him and a guy named Spank as the protagonists of a blood filled lesson of learning how to take a loss in life. It’s Saturday, the night lights vibrate off every body beautifully, unity can be felt in the big mess of bodies, taxis and heels, and somewhere in that ecosystem is a man coming with a bat ready to murder Spank. Rodney sees him first and tells him that this is not baseball season, that people never come back from this sort of stuff. He said that, “he cracked a brother, he hit him so fucking good, he hit him again.” Everyone dispersed like bedbugs in the morning light, but something told Rodney to come back around. There was Spank, on the ground with his jaw kicked up. As soon as Rodney lifted his head up, all of his blood came pouring out, and the man who did it wound up in jail of course, he will not be back for a while. “I’ve been beat before, this is the chance you take when you’re dealing with the drugs, take the loss, he couldn’t take the loss.” Spank never did thank him for saving his life.

The final climb uptown, the last act, the end of the journey was the boss at the end of the dungeon. How can anyone climb back up after seeing the bottom of despair face to face? Could the light that was so radiant hours ago have been a ruse, and were we really in hell instead? Was this Sodom and Gomorrah dressed up as Elysian Fields for those with no home? Whether it was delirium or a refusal to believe this was the truth, it finally felt like the seven circles of hell were in the background and joy felt like a possibility again. Children were rushing into a big building with joy, adults were leaving cleansed and rejuvenated. The building was of course Madison Square Garden, a place where people go looking for each other and they don’t even know it yet. Cheers that fill one’s chest with adrenaline, with life, that is why anyone is in New York. This journey that begins with being absolved of the past, the trials and pains that lead to understand the purpose of the mission, and the culmination of the pilgrimage; becoming a part of the whole, becoming a part of the vitality inside every other person here. That is when the night sky drapes itself around its people, the mother with her beautiful glass gown and neon necklaces, that is when she holds them close and reminds that that it’s okay, it’s okay, they are home.