Michael Tavon's Blog, page 2

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The Void - Void (on Wattpad)...

The Void - Void (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/lUz2MVUIQy

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God is a Woman (Chapter one) - God is a Woman (Chapter One) (on...

God is a Woman (Chapter one) - God is a Woman (Chapter One) (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/SHPCubkd1x

The first chapter of my forthcoming novel “God is a Woman”.

God is a Woman (Chapter One)She’s GoldenThere I was sitting at...

God is a Woman (Chapter One)

She’s Golden

There I was sitting at the edge of the bar alone, sipping on the third cup of Gin ‘til I could taste the last half melted ice cube through the straw, with suicidal thoughts dashing thoughts my brain. At twenty-five years young I was alone and broke. With a dream that often seemed impossible to achieve, and I’ve somehow managed to alienate myself from old friends and loved ones. I was broken, and I wasn’t seeking to be fixed.
It was Friday night and everyone was dressed in their best attire, happily intoxicated with their friends or significant others. Some people were celebrating: love, success, or simply appreciating life. While I was wallowing in self-pity; because I released my third novel and barely sold one hundred and five copies. Fifteen more than my second title, and sixty more than my first.
Optimistically speaking, I was on the up and up. but realistically speaking I was fucking failure. After all the sleepless nights, relentless promoting, blogging, and stress; I have two hundred and twenty-five books sold.
Prior to the releasing of the title my Facebook friends, twitter followers, and real life associates were so engaged and supportive. I projected to sell at least one thousand copies. Unfortunately, once the book hit the stores and amazon people stopped giving two shits. The retweets. The likes. And even the text messages were gone. Its was like was dead or worse like I never existed.
In Saint Petersburg, Florida people pretend to care and show half assed support, but pretend to be die-hard fans once you make it. Moreover, I have the worst luck with women, hence why I’m alone and half plastered on a Friday night.

“Lala, another one please.” I blurted to the bartender.
"Ok, but I’m closing your tab after this one love.” She responded.
“Why? I’m not driving.”
“ I don’t want you to get so drunk to where you can’t even call an Uber.”
“Uber… I thought I was leaving with you.” I reached for her.
“Not tonight baby.”
She shrugged and smiled softly.
I noticed the cherry lipstick smudged over her front teeth, I should have said something, but didn’t. She placed the drink in front of me. I took a huge swallow, then another, then another, and another. I began to wince as the alcohol slowly burned my insides. It was the type of pain that brought pleasure to me. I nearly chocked as a chunk of ice slowly slid down my throat. Lala stood there to see if I was well enough to leave on my own feet.
“Alright love, It’s time to wrap it up.”
“I got a few rounds left in me,” I said.
“No one knows your limit better than me, and I say you’re done for tonight.” She slipped the bill in front of me.
” Whatever you say.“
"Thanks see you later baby.” She turned to the next customer.
I didn’t want to waste any more time so I chugged my drink so quick I chocked on my salvia. I slammed the cash on the bar and began to survey the area. My legs were still under me, but the ground felt like I was standing on a moon bounce. I bumped and nudged a couple of bar goers as I made way to the exit
“What your step you putz!” A scrawny gentleman yelled.
“Nice burn Fonzie.” I continued towards the exit.
A dainty palm gently landed on my chest as I reached for the door. The young woman appeared from a crowd standing nearby.
“Hey you’re Price, Price Jones.” She said.
I flashed a wide smile when her gypsy eyes met mine.
“You’re much taller than I expected.” She said.
“Well you know,” I shrugged.
She stood 5'2, with rich brown skin, and short wavy hair. Her petite frame was complemented with salacious curves. She appeared to have no signs of stress, disappointment, or hardship.

“Yes and y-yo-you are?” I stammered.
“Be-”
“Beautiful?… Did I guess correctly?” I interrupted. A cheesy line I quickly regretted.
“No silly, Benu.” She rolled her eyes.
She nudged into me. She had such a piercing stare the type of stare that could see right through your soul. It was as if she had no clue how beautiful she was. Within five minutes my heart was kicking in overdrive. I couldn’t tell if it was the booze or if she was her causing the adrenaline rush, but alcohol never made me feel that good.
“Oh the Egyptian bird, I like.” I winked. Her lips curled into the cutest smirk
“You can call me Bee though.” She responded. “I love this song!” She jumped.
“Me too but it’s kind of weird they’re playing it right now.” I responded. She leaned in closer to me.
“Why so?” She asked.
“Don’t get me wrong ‘Every Breath You Take’ is a beautiful song, but it’s the last song I wanna hear when I’m letting hammered.” I answered
She chuckled and placed her hand in mine.
“You’re funny, meet my friends.”

I trailed her as we approached her friends; who were a few feet away. Just a few moments prior I felt like I was walking upside down, but she made me feel sober. Nothing sobers me up quicker than a pretty face. I never wanted to be the guy who threw up on himself in front of a beautiful woman. So I always maintained the ‘perfect drunk’.

"Hey guys meet Price.” She introduced. I waved. “He’s the writer I’ve been telling you guys about.”
“Nice to freaking meet ya.”
Her friend pointed at me. I reached for a handshake as he extended his arm for a fist bump. After three failed attempts our hands finally connected on a proper handshake. I quickly withdrew from his warm clammy palm.
“Nice to meet you too.” I wiped my hand on the hip of my pants.
Cam was a few inches taller than me. He wore a fishnet shirt and close-fitting blue jeans that would have made Patrick Swayze proud. And his hair was styled in a messy-greasy aesthetic. We began to converse about sports and movies; we liked the Lakers and the Cowboys as well as anything Will Farrell. Their other friend interrupted to introduce herself. She was frail and pale.
“Hey I’m Mel.” She smiled, exposing her oddly spaced teeth. I leaned for a hug, she embraced me back. My nose twitched when I caught a whiff of her putrid body odor. She smelt like she showered in sewer water. She was a chipper woman and seemed like the type to get high off life.
“So you like Queen huh?” I nodded at her shirt. She looked down.
“Who?”
“Queen, The band on your shirt.”
“Oh I don’t know any of their songs to be honest.” She laughed. “It’s a killer shirt though!”

I shook my head. Nothing screams pretentious more than wearing the shirt of a band you have no knowledge of. I turned to Benu, I felt a hint of jealously when I saw her entertaining another guy a few feet away. By the look on his face the conversation was going well. Her slender body was nothing short of perfect in that tight red dress. I began to imagine the things I wanted to do to her.
Melanie was speaking to me, but nothing was heard. Benu’s smile from a distance had me in a trance.
‘Damn, beauty like this doesn’t come every day,” I thought.
Cam wrapper his arm around my shoulder and clinched my tightly. I tried to escape from his hold, but his grip was too strong.
“Isn’t Kevin hart’s new movie awesome? He’s the funniest.” He said.
“Nah, He’s not that funny to me.”
“You’re right, he can be corny at times, and very overrated too.”

I raised my upper lip and shook my head. I tugged my shoulder and he released his grasp. He offered a sip of his drink. I waved my finger. I was never the one to turn down a free drink, but he seemed like the rufee kind of guy. His eye kept twitching or he was winking at me, I couldn’t tell.
“You straight?” I asked.
“The hell kinda is question is that? I love vagina.”
“No, idiot. I mean straight as in are you okay. Your eye keeps twitching.”
“No it’s not.” His eyes twitched again.
“There it is…You did it again.”
“Dude you’re drunk.” He took a sip of his drink and turned to Melanie.

Benu tugged my sleeve. We locked eyes again this time the connection was longer. She bit her bottom lip. I took her by the wrist and opened the door. We left her friends behind; for they were already making out.
We strolled the down the strip and talked about everything, she mostly boasted about my writing. I’ve never met a person who was so infatuated with my work. She recited lines of my poetry and her favorite quotes from my stories. The feeling of being admired felt new all over again. She made me believe people were out there watching. Her eyes had me drawn to her. She seemed nothing like her friends. They were nice people, but she was magnetic.
“How did you meet those two?”
“I met Mel at LA Fitness and Cam is her on again off again boyfriend, but not boyfriend.”
“You mean a situationship?”
“Yeah, I hate those. Why are people so afraid to commit these days? People just pretend to be in relationships; it’s pathetic.” She said with a passionate tone. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder.
“Because some people are tired of getting hurt, so they keep their emotions bottled in and screw each others brains out.”
“That’s not healthy.”
“It’s less painful than love.”
“Hey, I wanna dance, let’s go to Push.” She jumped as we walked passed the club. I was relieved when she changed the topic. I didn’t want to get in one my melancholy moods and turn her off. I often tend to self-indulge in my own sadness.
“Where they play that crappy house music? Nah I’m good.” I declined.
“C’mon don’t be such a loser.” She tugged my arm. “I’ll pay your way.”
“Let’s go!”
“Well giddy up.”

She hopped on my back and I carried us three venues down and waited for entry. I hated clubs with a passion, black clubs especially: long lines, expensive watered drinks, the Disk jocky played the same songs all night, and the people were snobby stiffs. My generation no longer lives for the moment. People can’t take a piss without snapping a pic of themselves. But she made me feel alive; That night I would have climbed a mountain with her. Her energy was infectious.
The club was packed with drugged out white people dancing off beat to irritating EDM renditions of rap songs, and Flor-rida’s music (I really hate Flo-rida). That’s one thing I love about Caucasians, they don’t care who’s watching, or where they are, they’re going to dance without a worry in the world. The music was blasting at a tone deafening volume. I took Benu to the dancefloor. She began jumping and fist pumping. I couldn’t help, but laugh.
“Don’t stand there a be a boob, have some fun.” She grabbed my shirt.
For the first time I decided to let go, and have fun. We raved together like two care free souls. We swallowed a round of fireball shots. And danced some more. When two thirty approached she invited me to her place. It was a few blocks ahead. Her legs were tired from walking in heels all night, so we caught a cab.
During the ride she told me about herself. She was from Southside Chicago. Dirty literature was a guilty pleasure. An animal enthusiast. A brain cancer survivor and she moved to Florida to escape the toxic environment of her home. When we arrived to her apartment complex, I hugged her and wished her goodnight. I remained in the cab as she exited.
“What are you doing?”
“Huh what?”
“You’re such a dork! Come on up.” I crawled out the backseat eagerly.

Her elevator was out of service and her unit was on the seventh floor. I carried her up the first two flights of stairs. She walked the next two fights. Then I carried her the rest of the way up. She was light to carry, but the temperature of the stairwell was warm and dry. By the time we made it to her door I had my hands on my hips while gasping for air and my sweater was soaked with sweat.
“You’re such a wimp.” She laughed. I was too gassed to make a quip. I love a woman with sass and Benu had plenty of it.

When we entered her apartment she politely asked me to take my dirty Vans off. I stood in the living room as she walked to her bedroom. She quickly came back with a washcloth and a towel, then escorted me to the bathroom.
I took a long shower. I stood under the huge square shower head and let the warm water stream through my hair and down to my body. I felt purified and relax. She came knocking on the door, because I had the water running for too long. I dried off then put my dirty boxers back on. My throat was sore, so I raided her medicine cabinet. There were three half empty medicine bottles meticulously placed in the far left corner; one on each row; with the labels facing the wall. I ogled at those bottles as if one of them contained the cure for cancer. She knocked on the door again.
“Is everything okay?” She said through the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”

I splashed some water on my face and left out bathroom. I noticed the creative décor as I walked down the hallway leading to her bedroom. Her walls were a warm purple with eclectic paintings. There was a painting of an empress ruling a colony of men. I always believed a women could rule the world and it was nice to finally meet one who believed it too.
Her door was cracked opened. The scent of cinnamon tickled my nose as I entered. Persian rugs covered the floor and Chill wave music was playing through the speakers. She was sitting Indian style on her bed reading Portions from A Wine Stained Notebook by Charles Bukowski. A bong shaped lamp, placed on top of her nightstand, provided a well dimed light. She wore pink boyshorts, a long white tanktop, and wide black frames over her small face. I smiled and said.
“Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks, are you gonna stand there or come join me.” I plunged on top of her bed like an Olympic diver. The mattress wobbled and she tilted to the side.
“Nice water bed too.” I said. She giggled.
I haven’t seen a water bed since my mother had one when I was a toddler. After the water settled I placed my head on her lap. She continued to read with the book while rubbing my beard. I smiled and I looked up at her.
“I love how you smile with your eyes, and you have beautiful teeth too.” she winked. I sat next to her.
“Thank you.” I smiled. We locked eyes again. I went in to kiss her, she was too timid to meet halfway, so I stopped.
“You’re one handsome some of a bitch.”
“What?” I raised a brow.
“You heard me!” She puckered her lips and sized me up.
“And for what it’s worth, this has been the best night in a long time for me.”
“I’m glad I was able to help.” She said. “Flip over.”
“What are you gonna do to me?”
“Just do it.”
She pinched my chest, so I flipped over. She straddled my back. I felt her soft fingers caress my neck, then shoulders, then she went down to my lower back. I sighed a breath of relief. She leaned in and whispered, “I’m a masseuse”, then kissed the side of my neck.
“And I’m in love” I said with my face planted in her pillow.
“Huh”
“This feels great.” I said through her pillow.
“I bet.”
She lathered my back with lotion and stroked my back with her warm hands. I drifted into a dream as she rubbed my back and planted her soft lips on my neck.I was too drunk to wake up, and too paranoid to have sex. I knew she wanted it, but I didn’t have a condom. Usually I would ‘roll the dice’, but those medicine bottles gave me the goosebumps. I remained stretched across her bed with my eyes shut tight.

That night was the best sleep I had in years. The water mattress felt like I was resting on a cloud. I cuddled her petite body and she smelt so sweet. I had the whole wide world in my arms. That’s how she made me feel.

The next morning, I was awakened by the cadence of my throbbing headache. A small cup of tea was steaming on the nightstand. I took a few sips. It was sweet and minty. She entered the room. Her hair was in a messy bun and she wore a white Fleetwood Mac shirt covered in droplets of paint and black panties. Her wait was still partially moist. She handed a plate of French toast, turkey sausage, and egg whites.

“Thanks beautiful,” I thanked as I grabbed the plate.
“You’re welcome.”
“Those paintings on the wall, are those yours?
“Yes, It’s something I do on the side.”
“You’re freaking awesome.”
“Thank you, eat up. I hope you enjoyed the tea.”

She winked and switched her hips as she walked away.
I took my time eating, I wanted to savor it. After I finished I took the dirty dishes to her kitchen and washed them myself. She was in the living room working on a new piece.
I sat next to her and watched as she stroked the canvass with her paint brush. We talked about: time travel, spaceships, and our favorite moments from The Office. After she finished, she took me home.

My home was only a twelve-minute drive from downtown, but the environments were polar opposites, like heaven and hell. My neighborhood looked hopeless; filled with abandoned houses, and brown lawns. My house was an old aged two story unit. The overhang roof was caved in from heavy rain storm from the past. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and exited the car.
‘I’ll call you.”
“You better”. She winked.

I gazed off into the distance as she drove way. I stood with my chest out and confident smirk on my face. I was content yet slightly saddened as I lost sight of her red Prius; only because I didn’t want our moment to end. I barely knew her, but when you meet someone special, you just know. I stood in the driveway for a few minutes just thinking about her. I couldn’t wait to see her again. I strutted to the front door feeling like a new man.

When I entered the house my face got hit by a large cloud of smoke. I rushed to the stove to remove the burning pot of old rice. I felt My lungs collapsing. I ran outside for a few minutes to catch my breath. I sprinted back in and opened all the doors and windows.
“Mom? Jay? Ash?” I shouted.
A loud thud erupted from my mother’s room, so I rushed upstairs.
“Mom!”I yelled as I ran into her room.
She was trembling in the fetal position next to an empty syringe. I felt her cold skin as I grabbed her body. I shifted her to the side to prevent her from choking on her vomit. Clunks of her blond hair fell into my sweaty palm. My upper lip began to quiver. I dialed 911.

“"Nine-one-one operator. What is your emergency?”
“My mother odee’d, please send help, she’s dying”
I provided her name, address and all the other irrelevant information the operator asked of me. I see why so many people die before ambulance arrives. Getting some help shouldn’t require so much Q&A.
“She’s white by the way.”
“No worries, someone will be there soon.”

I mentioned her race to create a sense of urgency. The last time an ambulance was called to this neighborhood the victim drowned in his own blood before they arrived. It took them forty minutes to drive two miles. Traffic must have been heavy at 12:45 am.
He was a good kid; seventeen years’ young, honor roll student, and tri-sport all American. Allen Ross was his name. His house got raided, he attempted to protect his family, unfortunately he suffered three gunshots to the chest. The killer was a fellow teammate, who had no clue Allen resided in there.
I tilted her head, lifted her chin, and pinch her nose. I sealed her lips with my shaking fingers and huffed two quick breaths into her mouth. I repeated the process every two minutes.
“You gone alright, okay.” I kissed her forehead.
A cop car and ambulance arrived twelve minutes later. I guess mentioning her race helped after all.

I stayed home to wait for my siblings to arrive. I didn’t want to alarm them they’re too young to be worried about our mother’s well-being. Jordan, the seventeen-year-old ‘dark’ child of the trio. He identifies himself as pansexual. I never understood the definition of it, but our family coined it as a phase and never paid much attention to it. He’s a bright kid nonetheless. Then there’s my eight-year-old sister, Ashlyn, who suffers from mild autism, because our mother was shooting up during her pregnancy.
Growing up as the only child of color in our family was traumatic to say the least. I was abused by their father, Thomas: mentally, physically and sexually. He was short and stalky with spotted skin from his lasting sunburns.

I often find myself waking up in cold sweats from vivid nightmares of him fondling me, with his grimy hands, while I was asleep. He made me feel worthless and unwanted. Every time I saw his smug face I felt the burning passion to impale and knife through his kidney. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. One day, he packed his bags and drove to West Palm Beach and never looked back. We haven’t heard from him since.

A few hours later Jordan arrived was dead silent as he walked through the door with his slouched posture. I snatched the orange tinted shades off his face.
“Another fresh one eh Jay.?” I asked and held his chin.
Jordan shook his head then dragged his feet across the floor. Jordan’s eye was swollen shut and his shirt was ripped. Jordan had the strength of an ox, nothing could break him. I don’t know how he managed to maintain their sanity while being tortured every day, at school, in the neighborhood, and via social media. Attending a predominately black school made things worse.
Ashlyn got dropped off by her bus driver shortly after. She was my heart, so pure and harmless and It was my job to keep her that way. Neither Jordan or Ashlyn asked of mother’s whereabouts. They probably assumed she was somewhere shooting up. They grew accustomed to sleeping without their mother at home.
I decided to go to back Benu’s house. We smoked weed, painted, and cuddled on her couch as we watched How I Met Your Mother on Netflix. I always loved this show; because of Ted. He was such a hopeful romantic and it was pretty pathetic. I knew what it was like to have such high hopes for a woman, just to be let down.

The night was going well until her demeanor changed. She suddenly became standoffish. She wouldn’t look at me and refused to let me touch her. She treated me like a complete stranger

“Excuse you, what the hell are you doing?” She said when I rubbed her thigh.
“I was just.”
“Trying to fuck, were you?”
She sat upright the snatched the blanket off of me. I hopped up.

“Noooooo”
“You’re like every other asshole, get the fuck out!”
“Chill out, it’s not serious!”
“GET OUT!’
“Well, I would love to stay, but you’re a crazy bitch.”
I got dressed. I stormed out without closing the door.
I took a long hike down the biking trail. I lit a smoke and sucked on the butt. The sky was dark and plain, no clouds, no stars, just the wide moon staring back at me. As I continued to plod and smoke, I saw a woman cradling her toddler son, while resting on the grass. She had a grocery cart filled with torn blankets and a jug of water. I walked over and gave her ten dollars. She held my hand firmly and put it to her forehead.
“God bless you.” She said. I nodded and walked away.
My hamstrings were beginning to stiffen, so I lit another cigarette. The route home seemed to get longer and darker, the further I walked. Every time a smoke went out I sparked another. My fingertips caught a burn by the fifth cancer stick. I grimaced at the sting.
When I got home I grabbed the bottle of bourbon and stood on the patio. I took swig after swig until I was numb inside. Numbness is the closest feeling to being dead, and I l loved it. People never understood my pain. Neither did I, but I knew I hated myself and wanted no parts of what I saw in the mirror every morning.
I thought about Benu. I had hoped to get back in her good graces soon. She was the first woman to put a smile on my face in long time and I needed more smile more often. I didn’t want to lose her so quickly. I deserved a second chance. I needed a second chance.

Pre-Order Here:https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M9EGXS0

From growing up in an abusive household to becoming a dejected...

From growing up in an abusive household to becoming a dejected adult, Price Jones found himself drowning in a sea of alcohol and one night stands, to fill the void of loneliness. The suicidal novelist is yearning for love more than ever before. His spiraling love life comes to a halt when an old flame saves his life.

This is a story about how the support of a strong woman can help a man restore confidence, improve his lifestyle, and mental well being. God is a Woman.

Pre Order here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M9EGXS0

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"Depression is a mothafucka"

“Depression is a mothafucka”

"I’m Donald Glover’s Cousin""

“I’m Donald Glover’s Cousin"”

This is not Donald Glover

This is not Donald Glover

Here’s my new book it’s coming

Here’s my new book it’s coming