with artworks by DAVID ALABO
. . . My mind is . . .
sitting in the backseat of a taxi,
in Madrid,
on the way to the airport.
Thanking God cuz this is how I live;
therefore, I give many thanks to my dear Lord . . .
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a syrupy sweet?
Does it retreat like an entire fleet
once the circumstance is looking like an imminent __?
Shiiit, I refute, I refuse, I rebuke, I am replete.
I’m always after the money man, I’m Mr. Receipt.
And, if i could compose a riddle into tweet—it’ll read:
“I’m in Deutschland with some ill ass shoes on mastering lessons from my failures,
so in a way, I’m also Mr. Defeat . . .”
(and I stuttin the beat . . ).
Law school taught me bout a non-compete.
Braddy bout to sign another athlete.
Rosary clutched—I’m not Catholic.
My cap so cold—not a hat trick.
I’ve been traveling, gambling, mobbing.
Trying to get more sunglasses than Brandon Robinson.
All jokes aside, it’s obvious.
All it really takes is one lick!
Young Hov lost 92 bricks.
Flipped that shit, into. . .
Beyoncé, 5 classic albums, and a basketball team just as good as the Knicks.
Lil Bitch!
I’mma touch the money so long as I’ve got cognition, hands, and my palms itch . . .
G shit . . .
How you gon lose hope?
And you tryna be dope?
You wanna get to the castle,
you gotta swim through the moat.
You don’t want no smoke—
cuz if you did,
you’d say “I got the frankincense,
motherfucker I’m the young Pope!”
I’m telling you to— KICK DOE, KICK DOE!
Black folks, they back on that bullshit!
We done bought a few mics so we can travel with our pulpits.
Slice that bitch open, fuck a hoodie with a full zip (Trayvon);
let’s keep this shit smoking man we fucking with a full zip!
God lives within me as me.
Eye contact,
I caught you looking at me.
New contract
is in the booking addy.
Still got plans of purchasing Charles Hadley,
still got fans asking why I call it YANCY!!!
She told me I’ve gotta kid’s spirit,
but I’ve got sad eyes.
I could barely hear this
while swimming in her thighs.
Yeah — I’m blessed, but I want more.
Never stressing a turf war.
She made a mess on my surfboard!!!
But I can see it . . .
And
once the lens got sharper
then the pen got sharper
then the ends got started
then the wins got started
now my friends done caught it
no corn ball brothas never no Rob Parkers!
I be looking at my mama
like: “Nigga, you a baller!”
I be looking at my father
like: “Nigga, go harder,
cuz you gotta little sister
old enough to be your daughter,
not Obama or a martyr,
but a man with a motto,
and a plan for tomorrow,
not to beg, steal, or borrow.
Or wallow or follow
or SWALLOW!”
Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen,
nobody knows my sorrow,
but if I’m gon be in that Bubble-eyed Benz,
I’ve gotta go jamon serrano.
I don’t want no slice nor the whole pie,
I wanna own a fucking Sbarro!
Back in cold country.
I can feel it in my bones.
My nigga Glenn told me, “Ferguson stop going
Ferguson stop going
Ferguson stop going
at things . . .
Raw Jones, Jr.”
Eyes on the prize young soul.
Don’t let this world make you grow cold
by its Vertigo.
REVERSAL OF FORTUNE
opp.: BURIED BENEATH THE DUSK
TERRON FERGUSON writer
Terron Ferguson is a lawyer, businessman, and global organizer from Miami, Florida. He earned a B.A. in Philosophy from Morehouse College and a J.D. from New York University School of Law. His professional background consists of various roles, including working as an elementary special education teacher, corporate lawyer, and death penalty attorney. In 2017, Terron was awarded a German Chancellor Fellowship. In partnership with the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation and Universitat Leipzig, he moved to Leipzig, Germany and facilitated a clinical project. Terron runs a firm called YANCY Inc. His practice offers corporate counsel, strategic advice, program development, and produces creative projects.
Terron was previously featured in Stillpoint Magazine Issue 001: FANTASY with The Fear Jesus Might Be Starting a Cult.
DAVID ALABO artist
David Alabo is a Ghanaian-Moroccan artist whose works could be described as a fusion of afrofuturism & surrealism. Alabo’s imagery serves as a meditation rather than an escape, as he provides a visual language that is not only surreal but healing. A kaleidoscopic rendering of Africanism through juxtapositions of African tropes and imaginaries, with a chromatic, shiny quality, that he describes as “reflective points,” in both metaphorical and literal terms.
David’s work is also featured in Issue 005 alongside S. Alfonso Williams’ essay “To Be or Not To Be”: Blackness and Signification.
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