The President Signs Autographs at Cremator 305
Note: The text after this introductory paragraph is an unedited journal entry from November 2009. I wrote it a few days after getting out of jail.
Thanks to everyone who came out to Bas Fisher Invitational on Saturday night for the Experience Sobriety release party and opening reception festivities for Cremator 305/. I can honestly say that it was one of the greatest nights of my life. Some of the original drawings and writings in the exhibit have been compiled in the 44-page booklet that comes with the President's new album, Experience Sobriety.
Now see the cut for a video of me wearing a dress and no underwear!
Journal Excerpt, November 2009
It takes but a millisecond to ruin, and alter the course of your life forever. I am the drunk driver. It happened to me, it can happen to you. I want to make drunk driving a thing of the past. I want to take full responsibility for my mistakes. There is nothing like the sound of a body hitting your car's windshield as you cruise Miami Beach at 4 a.m. The glass windshield cracks and you begin to scream in shock at the top of your lungs, asking god why this is happening. Once you realize that you have frantically sped up, you stop and consider driving into the ocean. Vehicular manslaugher. You make a U-turn and watch the scene unfold as the sirens get closer and surround you.
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Ms. Lauryn Hill - The MLH Caravan: A Diaspora Calling! Concert Series
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Gold Coast Jazz: Jon Faddis Quartet
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You step out of the car as they frisk you, pointing their guns at you, and realizing that your perspective on being human is beyond good and evil. "Fleeing the scene," says one of the cops. You can feel witnesses staring with eyes full of hatred at you, the drunk driver. The cop tells you to touch your nose, stand on one foot, and recite the alphabet backwards. One of the cops finds a dried up roach in your ashtray, as another clicks the handcuffs behind your back. Fuck.
The scene repeats itself as you lay on the cold cement floor of the holding cell, waiting for your name to be called. They take you upstairs to a bigger cell filled with more unlucky risk takers. Will I be here forever? Did I kill someone?
You can't close your eyes, it is there on loop: Driving up Collins Avenue, all happy and shit. And then -- bam -- out of nowhere. A body falls from the sky and lands smack on your windshield. You thought that you'd seen it all: crack heads, junkies, prostitutes, abandoned skyscrapers, terrorist attacks, coma, carnage, Jesus under a bridge, and ghosts of the Bermuda Triangle. But that sound of human flesh and bones bouncing from the shattered glass in front of your face. Fuck.
Let's go back ... No let's go forward. You always hear about other people getting DUIs. You'll read about the drunk driver that hit a pedestrian or killed a whole family. I am the drunk driver. I never thought that they would catch me. I never thought that it would all culminate into this nightmare.
In the courtroom, the judge is talking to you in a foreign language. Suddenly, in slow motion, you grab the bailiff's gun and point it at your head. "Handelsman, Jason!" You open your eyes and stand up in the jail cell.
To be continued ...
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