“Live From 90210” - Monday, April 28, 2025, 12:13 PM

If you missed me, I just copped a few ties for Derby and cut a few ties that unnerved me. It’s early, but it’s already been quite a week.

I’ve been thinking so much, I can barely speak.
I’ve been running so much, my legs are weak.

“You belong here.”

In my head, I keep chanting it over and over again on repeat because I’ve had plenty tell me I chose the wrong year, the wrong gear, and the wrong street.

I’m sorry, but I can’t slow down in Tinseltown.

You gotta be fast to grab these shooting Starbucks and I’m not giving my art or these cold brews up.

Building a cha-ching dynasty on the run has me panting with my hands up, because my coaches keep telling me there’s no air down there… and I don’t wanna go there.

I do my best Chris Breezy when the flames of change start shooting Jordin Sparks at me, because I’ve been waiting my whole life to dance with destiny.

Somebody remind the cowardly who Fred Hammond was trying to groove like, because you have to bust a move at this height.

5’9 never felt so tall when my backs against the wall and I call on the Almighty. I hit the Shedeur the other day, so right now only the browns like me… but even then it’s barely.

I can’t help it. I’m on all-time offense since so many feel the need to curtail my growing confidence.

So let me provide more evidence of a life dedicated to excellence in the pursuit of an ultimate purpose.

I’m not too happy about those treating my friends and family crazy, hard working people who help the world greatly, I pray everyday that God crush their enemies instantaneously.

To dust… then allow them to saunter on the ashes.

My heart goes out to beautiful people who refrain from seeking their own revenge, so I’m penning fighting words until every form of evil meets a horrible and tragic end.

Folks can tell Jesus is still working on me because I don’t care, I want to see life’s cancers beg for mercy. 

Their disproportionate impact on humanity really irks me and Lord knows I hate a bully.

Pain, loss and pathos has my writing hand looking like it was buried in a bag of flaming hot Cheetos after witnessing the demise of a multitude of childhood heroes.

Coming to you live from the 90210, I’m gassing up the tank before the big show, but let me flex on hate and stupidity one more time before I go.