Saturday, September 24, 2011

Of Fish and Birds

Of Fish and Birds

By Keith Kareem Williams

Last night, I read a tweet from @FreakyFact that read as follows:

"If a bird falls in love with a fish, where would they live? Who gets the fins and who loses wings? It’s an irony. That's how cruel but poetic love can be."

When I read this, I immediately saw the truth in it and it inspired me to write this.

Birds fall in love with birds all the time and what's more natural than a fish loving another fish? It's the same with humans. That's just a way to say that we are usually drawn to what we know, understand and are used to, metaphorically speaking. "Birds of a feather" etc. etc…What's more common and normal than that? However, every now and then, a bird and a fish do fall in love but sadly, that affair hangs dangerously close to tragedy.

The bird is used to soaring, always seeking higher heights. Its eyes are hardly ever on the ground and it finds comfort in the clouds. If it could, it would scorch its wings against the surface of the sun. in fact, the bird's whole goal is to escape the ground as often as it can. You can hear its voice in the sky mixing with the wind.

The fish is different. It doesn't make any sound and instead of the heights, it seeks the deep. It swims and has seen things in the depths that most will never see. It moves constantly, even when it sleeps, moving its fins while it drifts. It's mellow and craves the soothing current to carry it away. It can't breathe air so it hardly breaks the surface of its oceans and seas. It's not interested in clouds or the sun. You might never see it unless you decided to hold your breath to swim. It only fears the bait on traps and avoids hooks.

It's rare but every now and then a fish jumps out of the water to take a glimpse at the sky. At the same time, a bird may look down at the water. For a brief moment they see each other and become lost. The bird wishes it could swim and the fish desires the sky. The problem is that they've been in their elements for so long that they realize the sacrifice that it required for them to be together. The tragedy comes into play when neither one decides to.

Should I swim or will you decide to fly? At least, we should try.

DANIELLE: "A bird may love a fish, but where will they live?"

LEONARDO DA VINCI: "Then I shall have to make you wings."

Me, I'm different…..I'll make YOU wings so you can fly if you promise to give me fins so I can swim.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Excerpt From “Dont Be A Dumb Bitch” by Ayana Ellis Chapter 4 Predators Prey


Excerpt From “Dont Be A Dumb Bitch” Chapter 4 Predators Prey



You ever hear someone say that you’re not supposed to go food shopping when you’re hungry because you’ll go in the supermarket buying up all kinds of things that you don’t need? The same rules apply for these men. Don’t go looking for a man when you’re lonely and horny. Men can sniff out a horny, lonely, desperate woman a mile away. It doesn’t matter how reserved you try to be. It doesn’t matter the kind of woman that you “claim” to be if you’re not living it, it holds no weight. Women suffer from two diseases. One is “Toomuchdickinyaitis” and that is when a woman is just doing too much. You’re having sex with different partners and for no real reason other than to fill a void. The other is “Lackadickaphobia” You get no dick and when you do, you latch on to that dick like it’s the last pair of Red Bottoms that you are gonna find on sale for $100. And a predator can always tell when a woman is suffering from “Lackadickaphobia.” We be so thirsty and don’t even realize it, especially if he got that good shit. Men pick up on the body language and the subtle need and hints that we throw without even realizing how obvious we are being. We will let this predator come to our house in the middle of the night, or we will go to his whenever he calls. If we have plans, we will cancel them if that man wants to see us. We leave food in the microwave and the key under the mat for this dude. We let him hit it whenever he wants to hit it and we don’t ask him for shit in return. That qualifies you as a dumb bitch. Men need you to ask, they need you to set some standards, they need to know that this woman is not about “that life” whatever that life may be. Even if your lying to yourself, set some standards for this man to follow. But when you are dickmatized, suffering from Dickmatization, you just forget every damn thing your mama taught you. Dickmatization is very real but like most addictions, you can beat this ladies! Never trust some good dick and a smile, stay strong because men are always on predator mode looking for that easy prey, all day. And the hard working woman with so much on her plate that can’t find a date is the first one to get eaten. *Pun Intended

Most men are always on predator mode and they can almost always smell desperation on a woman like a dog senses fear. Maintain that deep desire and yearning to have another in your life or you will be someone’s prey and it won’t be pretty. Hungry lonely pussy and good dick is a recipe for dicksaster! Lord have mercy you will be outside looking for his ass in the day time with a flash light, a mattress tied to your back, waving your wallet in the air if your ass ain’t careful. So whatever you do, do not desperately seek out anyone other than yourself. Don’t let loneliness steer you down the wrong road.

Okay on a serious note, lol, the problem is that women equate sex with love. No matter how much we think we don’t, we do. We love with our pussies and get emotional when dick is involved. It is almost impossible to have a consistent sexual relationship with someone and not catch some kind of feelings. And when we catch these feelings, we begin to feel as if the man is obligated to us once we allow him inside of us, and that’s partially true. But it is also a gamble. All because we feel this way doesn’t mean that the man will understand it and reciprocate. As adults, I think that we all need to be fucking for a purpose bigger than money, a good time or to get over someone else. And as women, the older we get the more vulnerable we get. The average fuck is not just an average fuck, no matter how much we try to think that it is. Our needs and wants change as we get older/mature and with that comes emotion. Our desire and hunger for more will of course keep any man coming around for seconds and thirds. This man is now getting some good hungry pussy from a woman who wants nothing more than to feel a man’s touch, because she is tired of playing with toys and she needs affection. After all, she works hard and deserves to let her hair down. The sexual chemistry will most likely be phenomenal. But this woman confuses the time that the man spends with her with the emotion of love. She thinks that this man is always around her because he cares about her. Maybe he does begin to care as time goes on but the relationship isn’t built on that. It’s built on lust and there is no relationship in the world that can grow on that note. You have to be real with yourself ladies and get it through your head that this man is around you because your body is always calling. He wants that pussy first and foremost and the moment you try to switch gears he is outta there! The passion, lust and chemistry that is created in that bedroom needs to remain right there next to the wet spot. It is what it is and because we are so “emotional” we refuse to believe that. At what point did love come into the picture missy pooh? You love the sex, you love the intimacy, you love how he makes you feel physically and sexually but you have to learn how to separate your love of the sexual aspect of the “relationship” from the reality of what it is really about! It’s about a hungry person getting fed and that goes both ways! You need to stop cummin’ from your heart and learn how to cum with just your vagina alone.

Lady, he does not love you nor does he want to be in a relationship with you. He is in lust with you. He is a predator and he has swooped down on his prey and demolished it. You allowed yourself to be used. You put your scent out there for a hungry dog to sniff you out and rip your meat to shreds and as soon as you understand the position you hold the better off you will be. You cannot be mad at this man when it was you that gave him the easy entry into the basement of your pussy.

In conclusion, just know that being single does not mean that you have to be dumb or desperate. It’s actually the best time for you to get to know yourself and sort things out in your head. Take time to get over that last heartbreak, work on your esteem if it’s low and spend time with your friends and family. Think about your future and what you want to do. Ponder on the mistakes you made and learn from then. Most of all being single helps you practice self-discipline. When you practice and maintain self-discipline, men will respect you more, yearn for you more and want to be around you for reasons other than sex. And it’s not to say that you are a bad person, you’re just being vulnerable and some men often take advantage of that. Get control of your heart and hormones so you can date without all of the vulnerability and bullshit. If you’re going to have a hot passionate sexual affair with someone, so be it but leave your feelings and emotions where? *points to ass* back there!




By Keith Kareem Williams

Subliminal messages in public? Really? Don't get me wrong, I understand that everybody needs to vent. It's healthy. I do it too. The difference between me and a lot of you is that before I say it in public, just to get it off my chest, I've said it to your face already, probably more than once too. Sometimes, saying it once is not enough so it's necessary to purge your feelings by sending them off into cyberspace. I get it. This is what I don't understand:

Are we so afraid of life that we can't say what we feel to the people that matter? Yeah, I know, EVERYBODY says they don't care and that it's NOT that serious but isn't it if you caught enough feelings about it to talk in public about it? We don't talk about what doesn't matter. There's not enough room in our minds or hearts for things we don't think about. Some of y'all just look silly trying to play off the fact that something stings, hurts or just plain got you mad. We're human. It happens. It doesn't look "gangsta" to fire off a ruthless series of subliminal assaults and then holla "I don't care!" Obviously you do. My question is this:

Why let it even go that far? EVERYBODY claims that they're honest. Everybody screams that they're real. Really? If that were the case, you would have said whatever you had to say to a person's face. With the majority of people, that's not the case. Instead they rather run amok in cyberspace. Wouldn't it be easier to just hit up the person that you have an issue with and say, "I didn't like what you did" or "That really pissed me off" or even "Damn, I really love you" ?

I'm a private person but I AM a man without secrets because I always say exactly how I feel. Even when it's something harsh, I'm grown enough to know how to say it without hurting someone's feelings so I don't have to pull punches when I talk. This is the way I live. This is the way I walk. I don't live in fear and I'm not scared of much. Therefore, there's no reason I wouldn't express exactly how I feel, to your face and not behind your back. If I don't like you, I'll tell you directly because I'm not afraid of retribution. If I love you I'll tell you and really mean it. I'm not afraid of the risk. No matter what happens, I'll live right up until the appointed time for me to go is upon me so only what's supposed to kill me will finish me off. Some of you live scared and don't even know it. I can't really help you out with that because honestly I don't know how to. I'm just designed differently but I guess that's what makes me…..well…ME.

The people you send the subliminals at usually know that you're talking about them. I say again, why not hit that person up and say it to them directly? Like I said, if you were passionate enough to throw words at the person in cyberspace, I guarantee that those same words would be more effective if said to a person's face. But, maybe that's just me. I know I don't respect it if you don't have the courage to hit me up and direct it. When I see it, to tell you the truth, I laugh and turn my back to it.

Have we gotten to the point where we're afraid to directly express dislike for the things that irk us…or even worse….are we so lost that we can't tell the people that we know for real how we really feel? WOW!

P.S. If I ever wronged you, got you upset, pissed you off or hurt you, know that I really didn't mean to. Maybe if you told me directly, plainly and honestly I could have explained it, apologized or maybe even made things right.
***Yeah, I know. Pull my pants up! LOL***


Wednesday, September 21, 2011

How to Love

How to Love

By Keith Kareem Williams

He studies everything as she sleeps, from the first peek of the early morning sunshine through the blinds on her forehead to her pretty toes that slip out from the bottom of the sheets. His words, his actions and the way he feels inside her are the different ways he speaks. She listens and for once, his world feels complete. Every flaw, imperfection and feminine curve combined with the beauty of her mind inspire him to reach higher heights instead of pulling him down. She sighs in her sleep and he swears that he has never heard a sweeter sound. If the world was on fire outside of their window, he would cover her and hold her close, just so that he would burn first. He loves her enough to die for her and for the first time, he doesn't feel cursed.

At that exact moment, while he's lost looking at her, she opens her eyes and smiles. She turns her face towards him and to her, nothing else exists.
Have a good morning ; )

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

How to Fight

How to Fight

By Keith Kareem Williams

It had been almost a week since Cole and Tatiana had been on good terms which created an extremely tense, awkward atmosphere since they lived under the same roof. They both had forgotten what originally caused the friction but they were both stubborn enough to let it linger. Even when they slept in bed, they both made sure that they stayed completely separate as if the slightest touch might be translated into some sort of subliminal surrender. They seldom spoke and only if it was absolutely necessary. It had been two days since they'd even exchanged basic greetings like "hello" and "goodbye." On the sixth day of their feud, if the walls could talk, this is what they would tell us happened.


Cole and Tatiana sat on the couch, on opposite ends like strangers and watched some random movie on the television. Neither one really paid attention to what was on. It was just part of their daily ritual, only respectfully observed because neither one wanted to cross the invisible line that might falsely give the impression that they wanted to break up. It was the most honest thing they had done over the past few days. Cole didn't want to leave and Tatiana didn't want him to. The real truth was that frustration had started to weaken their pride. They still loved each other but at times, they were just terrible at showing it. As the credits rolled on the movie that they really weren’t watching, Cole gave in to his frustration. He sat in the same room with her but missed her painfully. Suddenly, without warning, he got up off the couch and started putting on his boots. Tatiana watched him silently, her face still stone but her heart pounded wildly with fear. If she could have looked inside Cole's chest, she would have seen that his heart was behaving the same way. He knew what type of Pandora's Box he would be opening if he stormed out of the apartment at that moment but he also knew that he had to do something.

"Where do you think you're going?" Tatiana asked as Cole grabbed his jacket and his keys. Her own voice sounded strange to her because she hadn't said a word to him in so long. Cole sighed inside, relieved to hear it. However, his facial expression remained the same. His hand was on the doorknob and his back was turned to her but he slowly turned to face her.

"Who the fuck are you lookin' at like that?" Cole asked, noticing the desperate flame that burned in her eyes. He couldn't tell if it was passionate concern or if she really would have wanted him to turn into a smoldering pile of ashes where he stood.

"I'm lookin' at YOU like that!" she answered, almost as boldly as the steps he took towards her were. She was afraid and excited by the way he marched towards her, forcefully focused and with deadly purpose. He stood right over her and every single muscle in her body tensed in eager anticipation of what he would do next.

"What the FUCK is YOUR problem?" Cole barked but before Tatiana could answer she felt his hands on the side of her face. He grabbed her and kissed her.

Tatiana kissed him back harder than she ever had before. She sighed as if he had breathed part of her soul back into her body. His kiss was rough and as soon as their lips had parted, he unbuckled his belt, almost as if he was about to pull it off and spank her with it. The way she felt at that moment, she would have bent over and let him. Instead, he dropped his pants to his ankles and pulled her skirt up to her waist.

Everything that happened next was a blur. Tatiana didn't even know when he dragged her panties off but by the time Cole pushed between her soft, pussy lips, she was already gushing and soaking wet. They were both too heated and ready to waste any time with any kind of foreplay. Her fingernails ripped into the flesh of his hips so that she could have a firmer grip as she pulled him so that he could bury his dick deep inside her. Cole obliged her and continued to force it in her without mercy, no matter how loud she screamed. Every stroke was delivered with the force of everything that had been building up for all the days they'd been at odds. Tatiana bit her lip as she felt her pussy drip as it stretched to make him fit. She didn't WANT to make up by making love. She NEEDED to get fucked! Even though he hadn't taken his belt to her backside, she felt like she was taking a beating. Truthfully, Cole wanted to punish her deep for not letting this happen sooner. He scraped her insides until she shook her whole frame. Her legs went stiff, then limp as she squirted and came. Cole had forgotten how good her pussy was. He tried to hold back but it wasn't long after that he let everything go inside of her. Tatiana moaned as she felt it splash. He let her feel his dick throb after his orgasm before he pulled out. She smiled as he fell to his knees and rested his head on her naked thigh. She played with his face as they caught their breath.

"I don't want to fight no more," he said, sounding half-dead.

"Me either," she giggled.

Hope you enjoyed this quick piece. Here's the link to my Author's Page on Amazon if you're interested in reading more of my work:

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Smoking and Drinking Vol. II

Smoking and Drinking Vol. II

By Keith Kareem Williams

Where do I begin to wash away my sins? I'm sure I left a few everywhere I've been. I swear there are days when I feel so tired and to get these hands clean, more than water is required. You can't survive where I'm from without dirt, blood and unpleasant deeds scribed on the list of things that haunt you. There are occasions when I have to deal with what's due and there are things I'm forced to face, even when I don't want to. Sometimes I'm still amazed by how they've found ways to bottle fluid to chase away the monsters in all flavors, to suit every taste. Dark or clear liquor, each and every one designed to get you there…which most of the time is anywhere but here…wherever "here" is at the time. We all need escape and I know I need mine. Unfortunately I can only make moves in my mind because it's still impossible to move through time.

She seeks humor all day but gets serious when she smokes. Her world flips upside-down as she floats on the opposite side of the jokes. There are so many heavy things on her soul that through the course of her day, she fights to keep control, just so she doesn't fold. Uncomfortably, she laughs at her past to mask the fact that the chuckles won't last. Now there's smoke in her lungs and she just wants to go numb. If you had been through what she has gone through, you might not have lasted long. She meditates and contemplates escape, being here or being gone. She dies a little every day and sometimes it feels like her time here is cruelly prolonged. If you had to wrestle with her ghosts, I doubt that many people could be that strong.

Now we're in the same room with both of our pains combined and in attendance. I'm on my side of the bed full of liquor and she's on her end full of smoke. She offers me a pull and I pass my glass so she can take a sip. We slide closer together and for that moment, nothing else exists. We take everything off and prepare to let the entire world slip…so far away from us that nothing really matters. Now there's no fear, no shame, no pain, no guilt and no past. Who knows if this will last but for now…there is ONLY this!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Blow Over Preview

This is something I've been working on. The original opening chapter was a bit slow so I decided tp start here.

Blow Over
by Keith Kareem Williams

CHAPTER ONE - Murder Miami

"Please don't kill me," Manuel begged as the terrible sight of the machete about to savagely slice into the flesh of his neck stopped his blood from flowing. It was an overwhelming feeling for a man to face his own mortality, especially when it wasn't going to be the glorious end of the road that all gangsters hoped for if death came for them violently. There was nothing dignified about being tied down to a bed, naked, in a room surrounded by murderous goons with loaded guns.

"We told you not to play with us you fat little bastard," Pierre, the thick-bearded man wielding the machete growled, his accent a mixture of Miami slang and Haitian Creole. Roughly, he stuffed a black bandana into Manuel's mouth. He didn't need him screaming for help. The veins in his temples tensed as he sneered and prepared to drop the gruesome blade with malicious, sinister ambition to sever his captive's head cleanly with a single slice. A steady stream of tears streamed down Manuel's chubby, pink, cheeks and then, Manuel got lucky.


Junie opened the bedroom door, hoping to find a private place to find a private place for him and the thick-hipped Asian swimsuit model on his arm to get away from the party going on downstairs. He didn't know if it was all of the different pills she had popped earlier or the sight of a naked man about to get his head chopped off that made her faint. Frozen in place, Junie didn't even turn to look at her. He only knew that she'd passed out when he felt her hand slip from his grip and heard the body thump on the tiles beside him. Before he could run or protest, he got dragged inside the room and felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple. As soon as the door slammed shut, trapping him inside with the monsters, he wished he had passed out on the floor with the chick. They hadn't even bothered with her so he made a mental note to remember that little fainting trick if he ever got out of his current predicament alive.

"Man, listen," Junie started to plead, raising his hands in the air.

"Shut up!" Pierre growled, cutting him off. It was obvious that he was the leader of the grim band of men intent on bloodshed.

"I ain't got nothin' to do with this," said Junie right before he saw stars and the room started to spin. It sounded like there had been an explosion inside his head but since he was almost certain that he wasn't dead yet, he knew that he hadn't been shot. He'd been smashed across the skull with the butt of the gun instead. He struggled not to black out as his knees buckled but he folded up and ended up flat on his back like an overturned cockroach. Still, as much pain as he was in, his mind began to work and weave a plan of escape. He was slightly comforted by the thought that if they hadn't shot him YET that there was still a chance that he could find a loophole in what appeared to be a death sentence for opening the wrong door at the wrong time. Still, he did possess an uncanny gift for escaping bleak situations. His brothers had always said that he had more lives than an alley-cat.

As soon as he hit the ground, the man who had gun-butted him planted his foot firmly on his chest. Junie was strangely annoyed with himself as he made a very feminine sound as the wind got knocked out of him. Quickly, he shifted his thoughts back to more important things, like NOT getting killed in the next few minutes.

"Want me to shoot him?" the goon standing on Junie's sternum asked Pierre.

"No, don't shoot me!" Junie quickly interjected. He had to strain to see the features of the man who was apparently giving the orders because his vision was blurry. For all intents and purpose, THAT man was "Death Incarnate" for the moment. The man with the gun in his face was only the instrument that would carry out the sentence.

"Did anybody tell you to speak pretty boy?" the goon with the gun in his face asked before he kicked Junie in the jaw. As he tasted his own blood, he didn't know what made him angrier; hearing another man call him pretty or the fact that he might actually be slightly less handsome if he survived the surreal ordeal he had been dragged into. He wondered what the chances of him getting kicked in the face with a BOOT in Miami were. Such a thing was much more likely to occur during a Brooklyn winter but in sunny Miami? The odds had to astronomical.

What the hell is this guy doing wearing boots in ninety-degree weather? Junie thought to himself. The better to kick people in the face with Junie guessed.

"Don't shoot him yet. People will hear the gunshot. I'll chop him up after I carve up this fat lil piggy," Pierre answered.

Junie swallowed hard when he heard that, choking on the metallic taste of his own blood from his busted lip. He would prefer to be shot than hacked to pieces by some machete-wielding maniac who didn't want to make noise but didn't mind a mess. From the floor, Junie couldn't see much more than Manuel's toes and his round belly up on the bed. I wonder why he's naked? As a matter of fact, I don't even wanna know. I hope they don't strip me naked before they kill me, Junie thought to himself before he got back to thinking of escape. He focused hard on the face of the man giving the orders and then the light bulb to save his life went off in his head.

"Pierre, don't kill me!" Junie shouted which got everyone in the room's undivided attention.

"What did you say? How did you know my name? Pierre asked. He walked away from the bed where he was about to butcher Manuel and slowly crossed the room. He pushed his goon aside and stared down at Junie.

"You know me," Junie started to explain.

"I know you? From where?" Pierre asked.

"He's lying'," the man who had kicked him in the face interrupted and planted his foot on Junie's throat.

"He can't speak if you got your damn boot on his throat. What the hell are you doin' wearin' boots anyway?" Pierre asked with an annoyed, puzzled look on his face. Although there was a good chance that he was still going to die, Junie had to force himself not to laugh out loud when Pierre asked the same thing he had been wondering about. He quickly got back to trying to survive.

"You know me from Brooklyn," Junie answered.

"I don't know anybody from Brooklyn!" Pierre roared. Judging from the man's sudden change in demeanor, Junie knew that he had guessed correctly and that his eyes had not deceived him. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out but even under the thick beard, he recognized Pierre.

"So you're NOT the same Pierre that shot the cop in the park a few years back when he ran up on everybody at the dice game?" Junie asked. He knew what he risked by saying it out loud but he didn't have a choice and not much to lose. With all that he had seen, from the faces, to the guns, to the man about to be butchered, it was unlikely he would be spared anyway. He was an unwilling, accidental, witness with both feet in the grave. Pierre's bloodshot eyes opened wide at the question and served to confirm that Junie had the right man.

"Who are you?" Pierre asked.

"I'm Flat's younger brother. You used to live upstairs from us," Junie answered. Pierre studied his face for a while but eventually Junie could see that he recognized him. He extended his hand and helped Junie to his feet.

"You work for this hog?" Pierre asked, pointing the machete at Manuel.

"Hell no!" Junie answered.

"What you doin' all the way down in Miami?" Pierre asked.

"I'm here for what everybody comes here for. I came to party and bullshit," he answered.

"So, if you don't work for this soon-to-be-dead man, what you doin' at his party?" Pierre questioned.

"I'm here on vacation with my girl. She got sick on the flight down so I left her in the hotel. I ran into his cousin outside a bar and he told me they had a bunch of models getting' high and partyin' over here so, here I am," he explained. The words flew out of his mouth so fast it almost sounded like he was rambling. It was the pleasant side-effect caused by being relieved about NOT dying a gruesome death in the next fifteen or so minutes.

"So, you're tellin' me you know him from Brooklyn too?" Pierre asked suspiciously.

"Not from Brooklyn and I ain't say we were best friends either. I know him from the Wash Heights, uptown. We used to go up there to cop weed from him sometimes. Listen, I know it seems like a crazy coincidence but it's a small world fam," Junie answered, making sure he used the slang abbreviation for family at the end of his explanation, just to remind Pierre that they were friends once. It seemed to work as he watched Pierre appear considerably less tense.

"Because me and your brother go way back, I know you ain't no snitch so I ain't gonna murder you for what you know. I AM gonna kill this hog though," he said turning his attention back to Manuel who must have pissed himself already.

"What'd he do?" Junie asked. He had escaped the butcher but he wasn't necessarily eager to witness whatever unpleasant business was about to go down. He didn't shy away from violence. If it came down to it, he was down to take life if he had to. He just wasn't keen on being privy to the type of carnage Pierre had in mind.

"These boys from New York, they think they can come down here and do whatever they want," Pierre answered and slapped Manuel on his round belly with the flat side of the machete. He literally yelped from the blow like a kicked puppy. Junie saw the machete's blade vibrate in Pierre's hand after the blow.

"You wanna kill him cause he's out here partying?" Junie asked, knowing how absurd his question was in hopes of lightening the mood of the room. He had a good relationship with Karma so he didn't think it was a bad thing if, (now that he'd gotten his own fat out of the fire) he did the same for Manuel if he could.

"Of course not! What d'you think, we're crazy? No, we told him more than once about comin' down here to our city makin' money, playin' like a rock star and not having a piece for us. We don't play that shit! He don't wanna pat so now, we kill him," Pierre explained. Again, Junie's mind began to work.

"I feel you but why kill him?" Junie asked.

"Because this is how we do shit!" Pierre answered, raising the machete in the air again.

"I feel you but if you were tryin' to make a point, I think you already made it. You kill him and then what? He's dead and you dump the pieces of his body somewhere. Ok, and then what?" Junie asked.

"And then he'll know we wasn't to be fucked with!" Pierre barked.

"True, but he'll be dead too. You can't collect money from a dead man. This whole thing IS about money ain't it? I'm sure if you was to take the gag outta his mouth he'd tell you where the stash at and pay you anything you want if you let him live. I can even bet he would never step a toe back in your city as long as he lives too. I'm just sayin'," Junie said, trying to reason with the room full of seemingly irrational men.

"You tryin' to tell us how we should do shit?" Pierre asked, pointing the machete at Junie.

"Not at all but if I ain't makin' sense, by all means go ahead and chop him to pieces. Just let me leave first cause I ain't really got the stomach for that type of shit," Junie answered nonchalantly.


Monday, September 12, 2011



By Keith Kareem Williams

I think this is a basic thing but, humans don't get it. (I'm not from this planet so I DO)

By a show of hands, how many people reading this have EVER seen me mad? I can bet money that there aren't more than a handful of people with their hands up. I live my life the way I do because I believe in certain things. I won't bend or bow for anything. Do I like problems or drama? Not at all. Anybody that knows me can testify that I avoid it. I'll fall back from a situation WAY before it gets ugly. That's ME. I don't like problems. You will almost NEVER hear my name up in any kind of drama. I rather laugh, play and joke. There's one problem with that.

People tend to take you for joke when 95% of the time you're cool. A lot of people run around in these streets being disrespectful because they get away with it, over and over. Nobody ever DEALT with their asses for the bullshit. I'm cooler than the other side of the pillow but if somebody asks for it, I'll give it to them. YES, I AM "that guy" that you shouldn't have said "that" to. I don't care if we're in the club and all the bouncers look like wrestlers. I AM that guy who will walk to the bar, buy a beer (if they're stupid enough NOT to give it to me in a plastic cup), come back over and BUST ya head with it. Talk greasy on the street and I WILL snatch you up. Ask homie I grabbed by the collar downtown Brooklyn about 2 weeks ago. Ask my real fam that I would give my life for, I'm the last to start but I WILL finish. I HATE disrespect! Why? Because I don't bother people. I mind my own business.

I hate the type of bitch ass men who try you with the disrespect when you're out with a woman. Ladies, don't get it twisted. I understand why you tell us AFTER the situation. You don't want to see us get in trouble and I respect that. It means you care and DON'T want us getting into trouble for bullshit. That's what a REAL chick will do. (It still doesn't make us any less mad after the fact.) You may brush it off and that's cool but WE can't always let it slide so easily. You gotta let us rock and be mad about the shit. Repeatedly telling us to calm down only gets us MORE vex and chances are, now WE'RE gonna be arguing.

And, to the half-a-bitch ass men who try you quietly or say slick shit in languages they KNOW you don't speak….next time, say it loud and clear so I can hear you. Please, do me that favor. Then I can fix it…one time! YES…call me ignorant. Guess what? I don't give a fuck. I put hands on people for coming out of their face. Any time I let shit slide, I don’t sleep and I LIKE sleep dammit!

Ladies, if you want the type of guy that will allow certain shit to go down with a smile, I am NOT that guy. I NEVER was and I NEVER will be. I can't change. Ladies, if I'm wrong, please…..let me know. I know that I would have to be dead for something to happen to you when you were out with me. Let me know if nowadays it's acceptable for MEN to be cowards and throw women in harm's way. I have a theory. Maybe women don't understand me because there ain't many MEN that stand for anything real around. That's the WORLD'S problem…not MINE. I will ALWAYS be this…exactly as you see me!

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Latest Review of Eros 369 Vol. III Anthology

Susie Henry Wrote: "EROS 369 Vol III is an exciting collection of erotic short stories and poems that is sure to entice and arouse adult readers. Offering a wide range of story lines, from a group of extremely talented authors and poets, the anthology is a necessary addition to a well-rounded library.

While all of the pieces in the collection are enjoyable, a few stood out as true gems, in my opinion. They include: "Hot August" by Stacey L. Moor, "Galerie Erotique" by Keith Kareem Williams, and "L'art dans le sexe" by Shae Moore. These three pieces in particular showcase the authors' exquisite talents, and they are - for me - jewels in the crown of this collection. They are sexy, intelligent, extremely well-written stories that arouse the brain as well as the body."

Here's the paypal link to get an autographed copy directly from me:

Here's a sample of the story I wrote for Act II of this sexy anthology....Just a lil something to wet your appetite.

galerie erotique

by Keith Kareem Williams

An art gallery was the last place he expected to spend his Friday evening. A bar, lounge or club was usually more to his taste. Whatever her knew about fine art he’d taught himself by reading books or by paying close attention to discussions on the subject. He’d also dated an art major once so that also helped. He had no serious interest in paintings or sculptures but occasionally, the knowledge made it much easier to hold conversations with potential clients. In fact, it was one of his best clients who suggested that he attend this particular event. All week he’d been in a grim mood so socializing had been the furthest thing from his mind. However, as he strolled through the bourgeois crowd, he was glad that he had changed his mind. The place was saturated with tailored suits, designer stilettos, diamonds and pearls, all swimming in a sea of wealth. Celebrities, moguls, titans of business, and infamous socialites were scattered everywhere. They held hollow conversations while they sipped expensive champagne and pretended to admire the art. Most of them were simply giddy to be surrounded by people with similar lifestyles. In many ways, he was the outsider but that didn’t bother him at all. In this jungle, they were the herd that outnumbered him but he was the lion that stalked them stealthily as he moved through the tall grass. He put his game face on as if he belonged and began to hunt his prey.

He worked the room like a professional. He’d done this a thousand times before and each time, he’d gotten better at it. He smiled, shook hands, kissed stranger’s faces, held friendly conversations but was careful to never formally introduce himself. Everyone that he interacted with simply pretended that they actually knew who he was. He seemed so relaxed and comfortable in their presence that none of them dared to ask him too much, fearful that their inquiries might offend him. They all understood how unwise it was to bruise egos unnecessarily.

Once he’d made his way around the lavish event, he decided that it was time to fall back in order to observe his surroundings on a deeper level. That night, he hunted big game and not everyone qualified as the species of clientele he was after. He was certain that as the evening stretched on, certain individuals would naturally become more loose and reckless. He watched for this as he patiently patrolled the gala. His champagne had started to get warm and as he tipped back his glass to finish it, he spotted her from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed her before.

While everyone else mingled and socialized, she sat alone on a red couch. She was the only one in the entire gallery that wasn’t talking to anyone else so he should have noticed her before. Only the champagne bottle that sat at her feet kept her company. She was also absolutely gorgeous and he never overlooked gorgeous women. She was very different from most of the paper-thin females in attendance. The black dress she wore hugged every plus-sized curve on her body. She was a big girl for sure but he thought she had a beautiful frame. Even though she was sitting down he could tell that she had hips for days and her cleavage was insane. He couldn’t help but undress her with his eyes as he imagined what it might feel like in-between her warm thighs. Slowly, with his gaze fixed on her voluptuous frame, he made his way over to her and sat down beside her like a spider. The gears in his mind began to turn as he tried to decide how he would weave his web while she pretended not to notice him.

“Good evening,” he said and extended his hand. She ignored the gesture and remained focused on the admirers of the art. She watched their reactions with great intensity, almost like how a starving person might pay attention to food.

“Hello,” she answered coldly. She still hadn’t turned to look at him and halfway hoped that he would just go away on his own. She grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck, put it to her mouth and tipped it back. Dirty thoughts ran across his mind as her thick, full lips wrapped around the tip. When she was finished, she used her tongue to lick off the excess alcohol and put the bottle back down on the ground.

“So, you’re the Juliette Sinclair that has blessed us with all of this art tonight. Your paintings are beautiful,” he told her, trying to charm her as well as throw her off balance. Shocked, she finally turned to take a good look at him. Immediately, she knew that she should have just laughed and denied who she really was but there was something about him that made her curious. He had figured out her big secret and she needed to know how.

“I’m observant. It was easy enough to figure out that this is your work. I noticed how nervous you were while you watched everyone looking at the art. I could tell you had a deeper interest in their reactions than most. The red streak in your hair and the piercings were a give-away too by the way. You’re the only one in here who looks like an artist,” he explained, sounding quite pleased that he had guessed correctly.

“Wow! No one, not even the brokers that sell my work know me. None of them have ever met me in person,” she answered, not quite sure what to say next.

“Why the secrecy, if you don’t mind me asking?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“I never wanted people to kiss my ass. I always want their honest opinions. I prefer it to the brown-nosing and hollow praise that gets handed out at most of these things. I even go as far as to buy some of my own pieces just to throw everyone off so they think I’m just a supporter. The misdirection adds to the mystique of my work. It actually sells better because of it,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he told her with a wink and one of the most charming grins she had ever seen. Somehow, she could feel the sincerity in his smile. She decided that it was safe to play with him.

“Not good enough. Now that you know my big secret, you’ll have to share one of yours with me or I’ll have to kill you,” she joked.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes, really,” she answered.

“Well, in that case, I’ll tell you something that no one else here tonight knows,” he said. He looked around and pretended to make sure that no one was in earshot of them before he leaned in and whispered to her, “My real name is January.”

“Are you joking?” she asked, laughing heartily. She slapped him on the thigh but liked the way his flesh felt so she left her hand there.

“Not at all. My parents named me after my birth month. I guess they weren’t very creative,” he explained.

“I guess not,” she answered, wiping tears from her eyes from laughing so hard. When she caught her breath, she noticed that he was still smiling which was good. She hadn’t intended to offend him. As she continued to giggle, she kept her grip on his leg and squeezed him. He didn’t seem to mind and she surprised herself with her boldness. Juliette looked at the empty champagne bottle at her feet and decided that she would just blame it on all the liquor she’d guzzled that night.

“Most people call me Jan for short. I know, it’s feminine but I’m comfortable enough in my masculinity that it doesn’t bother me,” he told her.

“I can see that,” she answered. She was incredibly turned on by his presence. He had managed to step into her personal space aggressively but also balanced it off masterfully by being subtle and smooth. She caught his eyes on her thighs which were pressed together tightly as her panties got moist. She felt it and blushed as she wondered if he could tell.

“Are you an art dealer?” Juliette asked.

“Me, an art dealer? No, not at all,” he answered, almost as if the notion had been more ridiculous than his real name. “I’m really here for the networking.”

“Networking huh? So, what type of business are you involved in?” she asked. Her question was followed by an awkward, uncomfortable silence. “Now, that’s unfair. You know how I earn my money but I don’t know how you make yours,” she continued, causing him to grin again but this time, without the confidence he had displayed before. It was obvious that he had suddenly become very uncomfortable and she could see in his face that he thought very hard before he answered.

“Well, I guess I am a dealer of sorts but more along the lines that would be considered criminal,” he began to explain. Then, he leaned in close to her ear again before he whispered the last bit. “I peddle illegal, temporary happiness to people who can afford it.”

“Oh, so you’re just a common drug dealer,” she said, frowning as she realized just what his occupation really was, no matter how he chose to describe it. He immediately seemed slightly less dashing to her.

“There’s absolutely nothing common about me,” he immediately answered. His confidence had not wavered, not even slightly. She liked it and she felt guilty for liking it. There was also something dangerous and edgy in his tone. She could read the double-meaning hidden in his answer and her body responded by throbbing in her most feminine places.

“How so?” she asked, intrigued by what January’s answer might be.

“I haven’t made a hand-to-hand sale since I was thirteen. I’m here because one of my clients suggested it. You see, the types of people that are here, enjoying your artwork are very discreet when it comes to their habits and vices. They do their dirt in the dark at all costs. It’s a safe, lucrative, win-win situation for me,” he told her.

Juliette listened to his explanation and her curiosity subsided slightly in favor of her better judgment. The voice of reason in her head screamed that getting involved in any way with this man was a horrible idea. January read her body language and felt a chill come over her after he had been sure she was warming up to him. He quickly changed the subject.

“Where are you from originally?” he asked her. He was already taken by her so for him, it was too late to turn back. He had to have her. He’d do whatever it took to re-kindle her interest.

“I was born and raised in Arizona. I moved to New York two years ago,” she answered.

“Interesting,” January answered.

“Why? Don’t I look like a desert girl?” she joked. He was glad that her mood had lightened.

It’s just that most of your paintings feature water as their main theme,” he said.

“Well, I guess coming from such a dry place, I’ve always been fascinated with anything wet,” she told him.

“Me too,” he answered, wetting his lips as he stared at her cleavage.

“You’re fresh I see,” she answered after she realized what he was looking at. She could feel her heart beat faster because of the way he looked at her. She opened her legs, separating her thighs for the first time since he’d sat down beside her. She was a little ashamed that after finding out what he did for a living, she hadn’t been frightened away.

“Very,” he answered before showing her just how fresh he was. He took her hand and put it on the bulge between his legs that had started to pulse and throb.

“Mmm, interesting,” she said. Her voice trembled in eager anticipation as she felt him grow. She squeezed him and tightened her grip to let him know that she wasn’t afraid.

“Interesting that I’m flirting with you?” he asked, even though he knew that they had crossed way beyond the borders of harmless flirtation.

“No,” she lied. “Interesting that a drug dealer would have any knowledge of art at all. I’ve never met a cultured criminal before.”

“Now I’m insulted. As a matter of fact, I happen to be a bit of an artist myself,” he told her.

“Really? How so?” Juliette asked, somewhat intrigued. She was still more focused on the bulge in his slacks that seemed to grow the more they talked.

“Let me show you,” he said and took her by the hand. “Is there somewhere we can be alone?”

“Yes,” she answered as she got up off of the couch with her heart pounding so loud that she almost swore that he could hear it. Juliette didn’t know why she felt so reckless. Again, she thought about all of the alcohol in her system but she knew that wasn’t it. She was in the mood for excitement and the thrill of sneaking off with a total stranger.

Juliette could feel January’s eyes on her behind as she led him through the gallery. She purposely rocked her wide hips just a little more, just to make sure he saw just how much ass she really had. He wasn’t mad at all as he thought about all of the things he would do to it if she let him. His imagination told him that everyone could see his privates through his slacks, hard against his thigh as he walked. There was no room left in his boxer-briefs so his tip had just slipped past the bottom of the right leg of the cotton material. Finally, they reached the end of a lonely corridor. Juliette looked around one final time to make sure that no one saw them before she quickly pulled him inside the room. She locked the door behind them which cause a steady stream of erotic mischief to run through January’s mind.

The room appeared to be used for storage and was filled with all kinds of furniture, covered with dusty drop cloths. January pulled the covering off of the nearest antique couch and sat her down on it. Juliette bit her bottom lip as he took two steps away from her and started to unbutton his shirt. He walked back towards her to lay it down neatly on the arm of the chair. This time, he only took one step away from her as he lifted his undershirt up over his head. She was in awe as she looked at him. January wasn’t particularly cut or rippling with muscles but he was a strongly constructed man. However, that’s not what caught her attention. His upper body was covered in tattoos. There were incredibly detailed portraits of loved lost ones’ haunting faces. Letters written in calligraphy illustrated sentimental strings of words that held great meaning to him. There were also mythological beasts in conflict mixed with modern imagery. Somehow, they all flowed together beautifully without seeming cluttered or confusing.

“Wow, you’re beautiful,” she told him as he turned slowly so she could see his back as well. He turned around to face her before he spoke again.

“Thank you. Of course I didn’t ink them on but I drew and designed each one myself. They all flow together and tell the story of my life,” he explained and for the first time that night, she could hear humility in his voice.

Juliette stood up and took a step towards him to close the gap between them. She sent a chill through his body as she gently ran her fingers against his flesh. She traced the slightly raised lines of ink that had been imbedded in his skin by the painful kisses and caress of the tattoo needle. She could feel his chest tremble as his heart pounded like a base drum. She knew that his blood was hot as it coursed quickly through his entire body. She softly kissed the lips of the faces inked on his skin.

“They’re all amazing,” she told him before she ran her wet tongue across the wings of the dragon that stretched out across his shoulder. Then, she hastily unbuckled his pants to see exactly what kind of man he was. She wasn’t disappointed. She was even happier when she began to skillfully stroke him sensuously and felt him grow. She wanted to see it for herself. Breathless, she took her hand out of his underwear and sat back down on the couch. She raised her skirt before she did and spread her legs so that he could see how thick her dainty lips were behind her damp panties. January got even harder at the sight of her most private parts.

“Is there anything else you want to show me?” she asked, sliding her fingers into her underwear. He could see her fingers moving behind the beige lace and wished it was his tongue instead. The scent of her perfume still lingered, even after she stepped away from him and he could only imagine what she would taste like.

“There are a few things I’d like to show you,” he answered as he watched her stimulate herself. First he took his shoes off, then his socks and then his pants. Finally, he stepped out of his boxer-briefs and stood completely naked in front of her.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Black Straight-Jacket

Black Straight-Jacket

By Keith Kareem Williams

I walk around in a black straight-jacket that happens to be the skin that I'm in. I know that it sounds like I'm insane so please let me explain.

I tend to sit and brood. I admit that I'm prone to dark moods. They say that it's a Capricorn thing but I think there's a little bit more to it than that. It has to be and if you ask me, it has to be connected to this life I lead. I constantly have to fight for elbow room and space to be me. My constitution is constant, consistent and unchanging but contrary to what's considered sanity by many. You'd think they'd get me by now. I guess it could be said that I'm an existentialist, something like Albert Camus' "The Stranger." I think I cared today…or was it yesterday? I accept the realities of this existence but occasionally I launch my own resistance. That's when I reject everyone else's reality for my own. I desire no one else's throne because I plan to grind until I can rest my old, weary bones on my own.

I'm always considered crazy, just because I won't let life play me. I'd be a fool if I didn't pay attention and study the rules. It seems like it's become more absurd, I mean, so similar to Halloween with all these ghouls. Don't believe me? Look at the way we have to live. The pastors, teachers and the priests can't keep their hands off of our children. We hear about it happening all the time and none of us are blind. These are the people who are supposed to guide their souls and their minds. Then we wonder why our babies are crazy?

You can try to tell me that we live our lives and I'll tell you that we don't. They take it from us at every turn before we even get a chance to. The wealthy have bled the poor so dry that there's no blood left for them to get. Now they can't feed because of their own greed and it all seems like comedy to me. I laugh like a madman when I see that they're in terror because their lives are about to get slightly leaner. Most of us are still good because we've never had much anyway.

I look around and I wonder if anybody really realizes what I go through? The whole world takes a quick peek and assumes that they know you. (Even though, SHE might really know me.) What's the proper course when everything seems false? (SHE might be the truth though.) Wish I knew but in the meantime, I just try to get through. I've worked so hard for most of my life that all I have left is passion and desire. I ask you, what am I supposed to do? The cure for loneliness appears in the form of a temptress in a skin tight dress. (I know that you're thinking that Keith is a mess!) I confess that my heart yells "NO" but the drive for sex screams "YES!" I only want HER but I'm waiting for a match.

Does any of this make sense or am I really crazy? I should really try harder to fit in but disappointment has made me lazy. I refuse to take off my black straight-jacket. It kinda keeps me warm.

Monday, September 5, 2011



By Keith Kareem Williams

All of the tears she's shed for you by herself falls as the rain. All of her anger builds up in the form of a hurricane.

Just because I didn't see them doesn't mean that her tears didn't fall. Just because I didn't feel it doesn't make the ache in her chest any less. Although I was oblivious to how much she missed me when I was gone, it doesn't make the emotion any less valid. Things became dangerous when she grew tired of crying because of the things I do and the complete list of things that had been done to her, even before me. I don't know all of the reasons but I can feel her rage and I don't think it's all because of me. If I know myself, I'm sure I've played my part in all of it but she never told me so I'm ignorant of the negative effects of my presence, or lack thereof. Either way, I stay because I'm strong enough that the wind can't blow me away. If the pressure and the storm ever becomes too much, I'll just open my umbrella and walk home. There's always a way to escape a bad situation. For now, I'm not afraid of the wind and rain. Also, with all due respect, I don't plan to die if what we feel ain't real….I'm not anxious for that train wreck. I'm sorry if I've caused any pain but I can't apologize for the lames that damn near drove you insane. I'm in my own lane so I suggest you don't judge me as the same because that's a losing game.