Archive for the ‘Personal (myself)’ Category


Breakfast At Roscoe’s Chicken And Waffles

(Got my eat on)

 I have heard many people in the past speak about how good the food at Roscoe’s chicken & Waffles is but I had never been there.
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He Is Married Now: A 4th Of July Encounter

I was in downtown Los Angeles on July 4, 2008 and as I was walking I gentleman stopped me. He said excuse me did you use to be a cook over at the shelter long ago.
I said yes, and looking at his face I then recognized him.

Now this young man use to do a lot of drugs, hang out in streets, and sleep with a lot of women. I was a volunteer cook at a shelter in 1994 to 1995, and that is where he use to hang out. I remember that life style he use to live.

In the 1990s he had women who were white, Hispanic, and black. He was a player of women, and was dating messing around with many women at the sametime. He told me that he gave that life style up because it was not healthy.

He has greenish brown eyes, caramel skin, average height; hair that comes to his neck and he was wearing his hair in a pony tail, his face had shine (glow) to it, and a friendly smooth voice. We both were glad to see each other.

He no longer does drugs; he is married, and happy to be married. He said that marriage was a good thing for him, and that he enjoys being married. He said it has its up and downs but marriage is a good thing for him. He said that he and his wife have been married for five years now.

I told him a little about how my life is going, and we talked and laughed. I really enjoyed seeing him, and I was so glad that his life turned out for the better. I feel good because his life is good. I wish him the best of success.

Then I went home and enjoyed the 4th of July.

I was really glad to encounter him that day. And I say more success in life to him and his wife.  


A Conversation With A Vato  

By Chance,

I was walking in down town Los Angeles early Wednesday morning, and as I stood at the corner there was a young Latino guy who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties. He started a conversation with me,

as our conversation continued he told me that he had cut his hand at work.

He showed me his index finger that had many stitches on it. The cut was very long, and the row of stitches were long also. He was a mestizo Latino, very intelligent young man, with a bald clean shaven head, no facial hair totally shaven, blue jeans, tan colored jacket, and he had a nice yellowish tan beige skin color.


Basically he and I both had the same skin color. As the conversation progressed he revealed that he had his driver’s license suspended for drunk driving. He then said — he was arrested a second time for DUI because he drove his car on a suspended license, and the police pulled him over — and arrested him, and took him to jail.

The judge gave him probation for the second DUI. He then told me this past weekend he was driving his car again with suspended license, and the police pulled him over, the officer found out that he had a suspended driver’s license. On top of that he was drunk, so he got hit with his third DUI (driving under the influence). The Officer wrote him a ticket — but he said the officer did not take him to jail but he has to show up in court Monday. The young man’s eyes looked worried and sad, I felt sorrow for him.

He was worried about going to Los Angles county jail to do some time on the third DUI. I asked him did he have kids he said he had three. His eyes were black, and he looked tired and very worried. He said why do I drink, and get drunk look at were it has gotten me. Drinking is not good for me. All of this happened to me because of drinking. The young Latino just needed me to listen, and not give advice. He needed to have someone hear his story, and not try to find a solution to the problem.

I could sense that he just wanted me to listen, and I was honored to have been chosen by this handsome young man to hear his inner sorrow, the regret, and the worry. You see he did me a favor that morning also, he allowed me to empathize, sympathize, and to be tender hearted. He allowed me to tap into that emotional side of myself that empathize with the sadness and emotional suffering of others. I felt tender inside listening to him share his life experience. I felt human. His sharing took away some of the numbness that I have in my heart. Living in a big city like Los Angeles can make you numb because tragedy, suffering, inner emotional pain, etc and this numbness is too some degree needed because without it you can’t live here.

But once in awhile an encounter with another person can open up the door of empathy, sympathy, and compassion. These encounters touch the human and tender side of your inner self. And they leave such a powerful impression on your inner being, that when you think about those precious encounters a well of emotions swell up inside of you. Through this young man’s tragedy he gave me the opportunity to feel those intangible sentiments that bind man to man. I hope the judge gives him mercy, maybe increase his probation – no jail time. I feel this third time he may have learned his lesson about drunk driving which could cause someone’s death. It will be a lesson well learned.  

Thank you, Vato for the emotional hug. Vato is Mexican Spanish slang for a dude or guy.

que paso vato (what’s up dude)? Sometimes it is used on the streets to mean homeboy — but it basically means dude or guy. Vata is for the female. 

 Black Parents Who Publicly Humiliate Their Children 

By Chance Kelsey,

I witnessed a very unfortunate situation Thursday night. I had just left a fast food restaurant named Wienerschnitzel (pronounced wener snitshall), and stood at the stop light. I was standing at the stop light facing the north waiting to cross the street to go to starbucks and get some coffee. I noticed coming across the street from stop light in the North direction was a black man, black woman, and a black boy about the age of four or five years old. As they walked across the street the boy was walking fast and ahead of his parents, the father started saying slow your blacks ass down, wait, bring your black ass here, you’re black these cars can’t see your black ass at night.

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(a celebration of life and death) 

 By Chance Kelsey,

“Oh my” indeed it is true, that it was you who introduced me to the writings of Jose Marti the Cuban poet. After all Ralph, you were born in Havana, Cuba. I really enjoyed listening to you tell me about how life was as a young boy growing up in Cuba. You spoke of how the political communist system worked in Cuba and how hard life was living under a dictator leader like Fidel Castro. And indeed, you spoke of the ethnic make up of Cuba. You were proud of being a Cuban.

Ralph: Cuba has blacks, whites, Chinese, and mixed people.

You were very intelligent too; you shared a lot of knowledge with me about a variety of things even though you were in your forties at times you sounded like an older wiser man who had experienced a lot in life. Really you sounded like a man in his early sixties filled with knowledge. “Oh how” I remember your gratefulness for being born Cuban and you would tell me about all of the accomplishments that Cubans had made in education, sports, medicine, politics in the United states, etc and I enjoyed listening too.

Ralph: I am a black Cuban and I have some Chinese in me because of my grandfather on dad’s side.

Ralph, you had caramel brown skin, black wavy hair that you wore short about two and sometimes three inches long your hair was a mixture of black and white or Chinese ancestries. Not too wooly and not too strait. You had arch eyebrows like a tiger, round black eyes, a Spanish accent when you spoke English, you were bi lingual you spoke Spanish and English I saw and heard you speak to many Latinos of Mexican, Salvadorian, south and central American descent, about 5 “9 or 5”10 in height, and handsome.

I enjoyed our walks to the store and fast food restaurants we had some good intellectual conversations as we strolled. Then one day you revealed to me that you felt the end was approaching, and a strange fear gripped me because an intuitive feeling inside of me agreed with your words. Your illness had progressed further and was causing in indescribable pain, and because of this you knew the end was encroaching. I had placed a stone over my heart so that when it happened I would be able to bare the pain of loss.

I would visit you at your apartment and we would chat about various topics and we laughed those moments were pleasant. Then months before your disembodiment (death) I would visit you and there was a difference in your physical appearance – you looked tired and ill. When we would sit and have our conversations there were moments of silence and again an intuitive feel came upon me that the end of your incarnation was approaching. Those silent moments left a powerful impression on me because it should me that I was only human too. Sometimes at these moments of silence you would break the silence between us and remind me that death was coming closer and you and I would separated from each physically. You told me that I was friend and you cared about me. I knew in my heart that you loved me. Months later you became very ill and you went to the hospital and after being there a few days you passed away (died). I was some what prepared because you had let me know in advance on many occasions that this would happen.

Then one day sitting at my job I thought about you — and from deep within my soul essence emotions of inner pain swelled up from inside me. I put down my pen, and turned both my hands over towards my palms and placed my hands over my face and cried. I cried like a baby yearning for his mother. I cried hard and the more I cried the more it hurt emotionally, and then more it hurt emotionally the better I felt. It was a good crying that hurt and but at the same time brought a joy to my soul. The more painful the more joy that swelled up from within. It was liberating, thank you for showing me through your death Ralph how to feel and cry. Tears are purifying for the soul.

Ralph: My favorite book in the bible is Ecclesiastes because talks about life and how life works in many situations and circumstances.

I miss you Ralph, your death affected me deeply. I saw you suffer emotionally, mentally, and physically with your illness. It was painful emotionally for me to watch you go through that. Feeling powerless to help easy your pain was tormenting to me. All you ever wanted to do was live a little longer, and enjoy life a little more. Life is so precious, but yet so fragile, life she is like the springtime too brief.

I have a white rose for you a sign of our friendship, it’s a beautiful rose and it blooms. I will give it to you when I cross over.   

This is a hug from me to you (Ralph)  

I Cultivate a White Rose

By Jose Marti

I Cultivate a White Rose
In July as in January
for the sincere friend
who gives me his hand frankly.
And for the cruel person who tears out
the heart with which I live,
I cultivate neither nettles nor thorns:
I cultivate a white rose.


Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca

Por Jose Marti

Cultivo una rosa blanca
En julio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo,
Cardo ni ortiga cultivo,
Cultivo una rosa blanca.

Written during the 21st century by Chance Kelsey (chancellor)

Mother And Dishes

Mother And Dishes

(chores around the house)

By Chance Kelsey,

Chance: When I was a little boy my mother gave me chores to do around the house. I will admit like many young boys I did not like doing chores, all I wanted to do was play and watch cartoons on television. The chore I Honeysuckle Bushdisliked the most was washing dishes, when mother said wash the dishes a type of sadness fell upon me. We did not have a dish washer either so, the washing was done by hand. Standing over the sink washing those plates, spoons, forks, knives, pots, and pans seemed like it took forever to finish. When I finished there was a sense of relief inside of me “oh indeed” I was glad it was over. I also swept the floors but that was easy so it did not bother me that much. I really enjoyed playing and like most kids under twelve years old I used my imagination a lot.
 “Oh my” what an impressionable young boy I was then — I enjoyed seeing the green trees, grass, flowers, and nature. There were honeysuckle bushes that had yellow honeysuckles and white honeysuckles on them. I use to take the honeysuckles and bite the bottom end off and suck on them. I use to mow the grass also, and I enjoyed mowing grass. Fresh green grass that has been mowed smells good, and the smell of it always made me feel happy on the inside. I climbed trees and I use to run real fast and jump fences. Climbing trees, jumping fences, and mowing grass made me feel like man. I felt as though I could accomplish a lot no matter what it was I felt I would succeed. Being a kid I felt invincible at times. On various occasion adults and other kids let me know that I was a handsome boy and being a young boy who was told he was handsome made me feel special. Who could blame a lad for feeling that way? Nature with all of her beauty kept me fascinated. At night I would see the fireflies and they would light up as they passed through the night air. The fireflies would flash yellow light from the end of their tails. It would be very dark outside and out of nowhere I would see a flash of yellow light. Those fireflies were so beautiful as they gave their yellow light in the darkness of the night.

Chance: “Oh yes” the days of my childhood what impressions they have left upon me. In my adulthood one day me and my mother were talking on the phone and she said too me that, she was proud of me and loved me when I was a little boy because I would do the dishes and clean the house. She had told me that she loved me before but I never knew that she appreciated all of the hard work I did as a kid of washing dishes and doing chores around the house. When she said that a feeling of such emotional joy and rapture swelled up within me. I was thrilled that she had taken notice of my hard chore work around the house. It was also a feeling of emotional liberation because I had always thought she really never noticed my efforts. It made me love her even more and I have a greater appreciation for her. Thank you mother for letting me know that you did take notice, and to hear you acknowledge it put a song in my heart of tenderness from son to Mother.  

 Sometimes as kids we feel our parents give us a lot of chores but seldom give us verbal appreciation or acknowledgement. Parents once in a while acknowledge your kids efforts of doing chores, good grades, or anything else that is deemed worthy — it will inspire them and make them feel that they are appreciated.  

By Chance (Chancellor)

Written during the 21st century by Chance