Bitches Brew: in the hands of Blackjack Nutmeg

Bitches Brew: in the hands of Blackjack Nutmeg

by ghetto english rock, Attaway

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Overview

Bitches Brew: in the hands of Blackjack Nutmeg. the novel partly inspired by Miles's Davis 1970's Jazz album, explores the bend riffs and hard-times many good men experience in turbulent relationships with their significant others (women) in their lives. Bitches Brew exposes and sheds light on many hidden agenda and wrongs the woman/women play in the role of the deconstruction of humanism along with exposing many of the things women might have always wanted to know in regards of a man's TRUE feelings. And although the project carries the authors of Kenny Attaway & Ghetto English Rock and primarily centers around the lives of Dallas (leading character) and his friends Sal, Aston and Justin, over 200 different men hardships and tribulations have been packed into the novel. Bitches Brew not only explores the troubled relations THE MEN share with their significant others/women in their lives, but the hardships with the other woman in their lives such as their mother (s), daughter (s), sisters and grandmothers. Written and encrusted in/with the life spices of compassionate, honest, wits, understanding and realism--Bitches Brew is one of the best-written, honest and most personal memoirs of our lifetime.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781456794743
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 09/16/2011
Pages: 360
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.94(d)
Age Range: 15 - 17 Years

Read an Excerpt

Bitches Brew

in the hands of BlackjacKNutmeg
By Kenny attaway ghetto english rock

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Ghetto english rock / Attaway
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4567-9475-0


Chapter One

Bitches brew 01: In the hands of blacKNutmeg

I kissed her ass all night pleading with her to make steak and cabbage for dinner and she makes a pack of fucken noodles telling you the steak went bad that she thawed out, only to find this rabbit looking motherfucker eating my steak that I worked so hard to put on the table Dallas. What would any real man do, but kill both of these fuckers ... somebody got to die. In fact all of us may have to die someday. Today is our death and funeral. Bring flowers when you finally arrive. She loves daffodils; especially when they are given by another man. This moment is ugly when your kids talk down and are against you, it's ugly when another nigga is wearing your bed robe, showering with your rag and soap, eating your last piece of steak and fucking your wife in your bed, your room, your house. She never screamed like that for me.

-"eating gourmet shit with the best spoon in the house".

Some things, moments and people I'd never forget ever. Alzheimer's would resist these memories, time wouldn't know what to do about them, but to move the fuck out of their way when they make their way to the threshold of the mind through a flashback or what I like to refer to as a stampede. That memory or moment could out whatever moment your feelings to its knees, like the very last moment my brother and I shared on the planet. At exactly 9:49 pm on February 24, 1998 I received a frantic call from delusional and hurt Kurt Dirt; as he held the other end of receiver my trembling ears could hear his tears and already burden soul knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant call, but one I had to accept. "Dallas, Dallas where are you big brother, where are you big brother. I want to say goodbye to you the right way. Can you make it down here now? I need to see you now big brother. You remember when we were younger and Popeye and Bluto/ Brutus fighting over Olive Oyl 'always confused us. We always wondered why they'd fight over such a scrawny ugly bitch in the first place (with a eerie laugh). She had no tits, no has or hips and those asses were fighting over her. Growing up we'd argue and bicker on why Olive Oyl should just be with Popeye or just Bluto/ Brutus, but I never knew it affected my big brotheras much as did. Now shouting and laughing in a strange tone" grandma was never any help now was she, tell the truth big brother. She'd always say, with herdrunk ass, a' man' should defend his woman and fight for her honor, ladies should be first at all times, well ... she's right ... ladies first Dallas, ladies first (aggressively changing his tones). I am going to make both of these motherfuckers show me how they were fucking, sucking and destroying our marriage before I got here, then Theresa is dying first. They are going to reenact the moans, the groans. Then they are going to clean up these empty soda cans, vacuum my $1, 000 carpets. I want this sucker ass singing dud to hit the highest note one could ever fuck'n imagine.

These no good bastards going to scrub my sheets, pillows and get every nut stain out my mother-fucking carpet in the bedroom. This rotten bitch will be the first to die, ladies first big brother. "Ladies first". "Kurtis what are you talking about, please tell me you don't have that 38 in your hand do you?" "Nah big brother, I have my heart and ring in my hand the gun is my mind. I am going to mind fuck them first and then slow kill. He's an inspiring singer. I am going to murder the sound boy and have him sing high notes in heaven, but back to Popeye and Bluto/Brutus and drunken ass grandma. I still hate that bitch for running off with that slave master and then saying grandpa was raping her and abusing her. I swear to god I hate the maggot face bitch for doing some shit like that to papa. I still hate her for putting us through that BS; she should have been there for us. She should have taught us the evils of woman, but she was too damn wicked her own fucken self to teach anything. The shit she did to mom, the shit she did to our family. If she were here I'd kill her my fucken self. "Kurtis please tell me what's wrong; please tell your little brother what's wrong. Let me help you. Don't say good-bye like this. Now both of us were panicking and becoming delusional. My fingers were slipping off the keypads, face pounding with sweat and my palms were shaking uncontrollable dropping the phone cell times now discovering the battery is low (less than 5% capacity).

You are not my little brother. Age doesn't make you bigger or stronger, but how chiseled and strong the mind is and knowing how to move away from BULLSHIT when you smell it. A chiseled mind allows you to see the mistakes of others and knowing the scent of shit before you step into it without grandma's help you figured out why Olive Oyl was such a smutty ass harlot. I have always been a sucker for a woman, bitch and floozy, but you always had enough courage and strength to walk away and make peace with it. That's makes you bigger than me at all times. I made the worst mistake ever in falling for a bitch that doesn't give a rat's shit if I live or die, but as long as the bills were paid and that this singing mother fucker is sticking pipe to her. Olive Oyl was probably fucking Whimpy (character from POP-EYE) too. She did it all for attention, she did it all because they allowed it to happen. Shame on Popeye and Bluto for not walking away and leaving that scrawny bitch to go fuck herself, "Kurtis did you take your meds today, did you and Theresa have a fight. Please tell your big little or little big brother what's going on. How am I going to get to St. Louis from here in time? I know its big trouble, but tell me what it is really. Please don't do anything crazy. Please don't do anything crazy. I love you big brother. I love you. What will I do without you? What about your children, what about life?" Life doesn't love me right now. Life is beautiful, but all I see is ugly at this moment. This ugly ass moment I have to face is not pretty. How would you feel if your wife sent you off to work with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch and water knowing how much you love Pepsi?

I kissed her ass all night pleading with her to make steak and cabbage for dinner and she makes a pack of fucken noodles telling you the steak went bad that she thawed out, only to find this rabbit looking motherfucker eating my steak that I worked so hard to put on the table Dallas. What would any real man do, but kill both of these fuckers ... somebody got to die. In fact all of us may have to die someday. Today is our death and funeral. Bring flowers when you finally arrive. She loves daffodils; especially when they are given by another man. This moment is ugly when your kids talk down and are against you, it's ugly when another nigga is wearing your bed robe, showering with your rag and soap, eating your last piece of steak and fucking your wife in your bed, your room, your house. She never screamed like that for me. When I wanted to be loved and hugged she was tired, headache or not in the mood. Before he dies I want him to show me how to love my wife. I want him to teach me how he made her hit high notes. I want him to tell me what are her deepest secrets, her saddest happiness, but more importantly I want him to tell me what gave him enough heart and steroid stupid courage to fuck a man's wife in that man's home and bed without any remorse. And Dallas he drunk my last Pepsi, this nigga drunk my last Pepsi (voice changes). I will miss you big brother and I will always love you, but I can't beat this thing call life. What can you do when your wife has been drugging you with these pills that effect memory, physic and all other parts of the mind and body. I am a total wreck. My whole life was a lie. This kids isn't mines they belong to the devil. They knew about the shit and never told daddy, this home isn't mines. All I own are the bricks and decorative bullshit she put together. A house in not necessarily a home and don't you forget it. Never forget it ... a house is not always a home. "Kurtis please calm down, let those people go and if you are going to say goodbye, don't allow it to happen this way. Give your big little big brother a hug, handshake or sit-down before you go, if you must. (Now crying) "Kurtis why won't you talk this out. Why won't you give life another chance." My battery is dying big brother. Let your battery die big brother, but my heart and love for life died as soon as I entered my home to find this ... Our love died years ago and I assumed with dedication and strength I could recharge it, but it's dead man. It's dead. I love ... (Battery dies).

"Kurtis ... Kurtis ... no Kurtis". I was stuck in the Atlanta train station with not a charger insight. My cell phone died and not a person insight had the charger I needed. No longer did I remember his number my memory. With one flick of my wrist and push to favorite number one I was connected no matter what part of the world he was in. Unsure if my bother was in the midst of a killing spree of his wife, her mistress singer and kids I frantically screamed for help, but I was in the middle of downtown Atlanta screaming and pleading for god to transmit my screams from Atlanta to St. Louis, but 570 plus miles were far to crack the skies of blue. Now an aching heart and mind filled with thoughts of grandma, grandpa, a steak, a Pepsi, was my brother still taking his meds and of all things Olive Oyl and Bluto went through I blanked out with fear, confusion and illusions only to wake-up to reality that my one and only brother was dead along with his wife and Mr. Mystery meat with my niece and nephew being sent to live with their grandmother and grandfather. For years following the double murder/suicide their grandparents denied my visitation request. I was written off ass the "crazy unfit uncle". They hated my brother and anyone that resembled him or me as if he has drove to that point of madness without any help from her disrespectful cheating ways. For a long time I fought off many battles with nightmares of me being killed at my wedding, stupid dreams of Olive Oyl stabbing me with a knife as Bluto/Brutus laughed on and other times my nephew and niece Little Kurt and niece Kayla being trapped in a fire calling for help and my cell phone dying from the fire and smoke before I could find out the address. Thanks to a dying cell-phone. My brother's homicide/suicide left me a physical and emotional wreck throughout most of my life. For hours and hours at a time I'd watch old episodes of Popeye trying to figure out the haunting childhood confusion and mental anguish of why Popeye allowed Olive Oyl to make such a fool of him for whatever reason. He always assumed I had the answer to all questions, but I was simply playing along and making up things until the "correct answer dropped into my hands. Before I reached the age of 10 I had pretended that Olive Oyl's ways of dealing with men were no different than grandma's and that I didn't care; which was enough for my big brother Kurtis aka Kurt Dirt.

Kurt was always in some form of pain as a child and adult. He'd always fall off his bike, scrapping his knees or nursing a heartache thanks to grandma and grandpa's conflicting arguments and fights that would later lead us into a life long voyage with no good ass foster parents that only gave a shit about how much they were going to get paid for taking care of two orphan ass brothers that always were into some kind of emotional troubles that later lead to physical beatings and Munchausen syndrome; in watching the episodes of Pop-Eye that were bothersome to Kurt and I the most. Night after when I was supposed to be moving on I was intentionally taking steps backs.

Our troubles landed us in the psychologically quicksand, a twisted love for life and woman, but a closeness that only the night of February 24, could rupture. Luckily for fate and an unyielding social worker Mrs. Bona Kurt and I was court ordered to never to be taken apart regardless of how the family's that adopted us felt or how little their space was the court order read "never separate the two", but nothing read what happens when one of us does the separating. For years to come trying to move on from the massacre of the heart was more difficult than swimming in cement or eating cotton candy in the rain. Meeting Chanel was one of the brightest, but later dimmest moments of my life. While gambling in Las Vegas (Sin City) of the mind I stumbled on a pot of diamonds and sage in Channel. Losing Kurt Dirt left a void in my life that needed to be filled and Chanel provided the shine. I was on the brink of insanity. I blame Sprint for the quick dying cell phone, I blamed myself for not keeping a charged battery. I blamed grandma for choosing the speakeasies, various men and Mr. Chandler over her husband and grandchildren, I hated cancer for taking our mother before we could get our first spanking from her. I hated my father for not sticking around to help his boys to become men. Standing in the midst of my storm of life caused confusion at all angles. When it rained I wished for sunshine and at sunshine I wished for rain. With help from our last foster parents Momma Nadine and Father Jeffrey we made makeshift men of ourselves. Makeshift in the sense of we created or patented what was a man suppose to do or be from what we wanted to our father Jeffrey to be or do with a little mixing and matching from Father Jeffrey and other momentary men we'd stumble across. Looking back Father Jeffrey was a good-hearted man, but that was run by sports, his life as train conductor and his wife. Momma Nadine hated sports, but would do almost anything to make sure her husband was happy. He'd give her his entire weekly check and attention when needed, but all else was for sports; especially the Negro league baseball teams and any football team. He had no favorites, but did rename me after Dallas in recognition of his love for the Dallas Cowboys football team. My birth certificate and born name was Palace, but he associated "Palace with being a girl name and since their adoption he stuck. When I finally became the legal age to change my name I immediately changed it from Palace Arnold Smith or P.A.M (another girl sounding name) to simply Dallas West (mother's maiden name).

As a foster parent he was a C at best. Since raising his boys out of the house he wanted to be done with parenting, but for the love of his wife Momma Nadine he welcomed us to his "train-station" with open arms. "Next stop is home". Outside of knowing every facet of how train stations and trains are ran, information on Negro leagues and how to fry catfish we learned very little from Father Jeffrey, but was inspired to "treat a girl, lady, woman and all females with love and respect; even when or if they were wrong about anything. Kurt Dirt and I struggled. Although I was named or renamed after the Dallas Cowboys, the more attention we paid to sports; primarily football and basketball, the more I hated all sports and games. Sports were too competitive and rigged for only certain people to win and games were evil and promoted the ideas of cheating and doing anything to win. While attending college I watch closely as the "sport jocks" jockey for position for all the girls and easily batted, spiked, dunked and tackled those misfits of a woman to the sheets, but somehow I never was impressed. I always had a nasty distant taste for how sports not only played a key component in breaking down a man's body, but his mind. Whenever Father Jeffrey would lock himself into his sports he'd turn off the world as if he had the switch at his fingertips; which shoved Kurt Dirt to the end of the earth. Kurt and I craved to learn more about trains, woman and the jazz music that he listened to on weekends.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Bitches Brew by Kenny attaway ghetto english rock Copyright © 2011 by Ghetto english rock / Attaway. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

01. "eating gourmet shit with the best spoon in the house"....................1
02. "a handful of rainbow"....................24
03. "the yoga cult" (you.out.getting.ass)....................34
04. "a night in Vegas to die for"....................64
05. "mistakes of a woman in love with other men"....................78
06. "the goldminer's daughter"....................91
07. "love drunk & devil's pie" (Appetite for destruction)....................108
08. "jezebel "the panhandler"....................134
09. "bitches brew"....................159
10. "nutmeg panties"....................201
11. "warm bag of voodoo"....................207
12. "cockfight with the ugliest rooster"....................228
13. "sloppy seconds, but eat with the seasons"....................247
14. "hot pots of strawberry jam"....................263
15. "like water for the chocolate"....................282
16. "In the hands of blackjack nutmeg"....................299
17. "kake and eating it too" the extras....................333

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