VINCENT COLEMAN

My name is Vincent Coleman. I am a singer/songwriter/producer from LA. When I'm inspired, I want to share it with you. Let's share this journey.

[vincentcoleman]

Let's Unite & Make A Difference

My heart has been heavy for the past couple of days. I’ve found myself bursting into tears from the sight a rainbow flag, the mention of Orlando but most of all from the realization that 99 families have to suffer; 49 of them some how having to find the strength to cope with the deaths of their son, daughter, partner, or best friend. And it hurts.

It hurts that another senseless act of violence has cut short the lives of individuals who had so much promise yet the media are more focused on the shooter and his possible alliance with ISIL. The media continues to perpetuate the cycle by idolizing the murderer instead of forcing American citizens, leaders of the NRA, and others to memorize the faces & stories of the victims; those who suffered at the hand of violence are the ones who should be discussed, their lives, their legacy, their families, the love that they represented.

In addition we need to discuss the laws that have been set in place by NRA lobbyists that halt the progression of creating stronger background check laws when purchasing a gun and how we as Americans can move forward and curate a better culture that isn’t constantly promoting violence, negative views towards LGBT humans &I people of color, as well as religious fanaticism. It’s time that we really take a stand. Whether that be through educating yourself and talking through social media, YouTube videos, at panels, with your family, with your friends, or sending letters to political representatives, international leaders, whatever it be, we need CHANGE! And though we may feel discouraged, tired and lost, we can do this if we unite. In three days, Americans have raised over THREE MILLION DOLLARS to help the victims of the Pulse Nightclub Shooting, so we can unite and fight by just using our outlets to make a difference; make a difference and teach love.

In honor of:

Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old

Amanda Alvear, 25 years old

Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old

Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old

Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old

Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old

Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old

Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old

Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old

Cory James Connell, 21 years old

Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old

Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old

Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old

Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old

Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old

Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old

Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old

Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old

Frank Hernandez, 27 years old

Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old

Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old

Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old

Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old

Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old

Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old

Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old

Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old

Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old

Kimberly Morris, 37 years old

Akyra Monet Murray, 18 years old

Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20 years old

Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25 years old

Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old

Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old

Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old

Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old

Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old

Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old

Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24 years old

Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24 years old

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old

Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old

Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old

Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old

Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old

Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old

Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old

Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old

Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old

I will be giving 100% of the proceeds from the sale of any of my EP releases through the remainder of this week (June 14 - 19) from my website www.vincentis.com/store to The GoFundMe Page for The Victims of the Pulse Club Shooting. It’s a small gesture, but every gesture can make a change. Let’s join together and make a difference!

[vincentcoleman]

“Harlem - 1941″ by Yehoshuah Young

Speakeasies, jazz clubs, creativity and racial tension - that’s the atmosphere of this beautiful love story, the fifth in my Past Lovers writing collaboration project, set in Harlem written by Yehoshuah Young, an amazing father of two. Young invites you into a swinging nightclub filled with intelligence, artistry and most of all sensuality. Sit back and enjoy the sounds of “Harlem - 1941″.

“Harlem - 1941″

Written by Yehoshuah Young

Antonia didn’t know that a sound could cause such bliss. She sat at the front table of the dark packed club, Giuseppe and Theresa, her bookends. When she first came into the jazz club she felt a bit out of place and her cousin’s eye roll when she saw what Antonia was wearing suddenly made sense to her. She was dressed for dancing and this was no music for dancing. She always thought Jazz music was dancing music it had always been so, but the way the Negroes played was unlike anything she had ever heard. Antonia had played the violin and flute since she was six. She was good. She could play anything you could write down on paper…but this…was different. She couldn’t imagine how a person could capture this sound and chain it to paper.

The saxophonist seemed like the quiet type but his instrument was not. It was like a roller coaster but not smooth, at least it felt that way. If a roller coaster had no track and could fly and pivot on a nail head. The trumpet was brash and bold but delicate. Sometimes it seemed to trip about itself daintily like a newborn deer but in an instant it would change to some sporadic train of rapid deliberate notes that you could lose yourself in. Antonia was a trained musician but she was blown away. How could such disjointed sounds make such emotionally moving music? Her senses began to overwhelm her and she closed her eyes and just listened. She was flying. Erratic, directionless but flying. Then she heard and when she heard she soared. It was the piano. The pianist was holding it all together. There was the melody, there was the direction, there was the…magic. The piano was less potent than the other instruments but it was powerful in subtlety and succinctness. The pianist had boiled down the melody to its bones and let the other musicians dress it back up in mismatched perfection.

Antonia opened her eyes and saw the pianist for the first time. He was dark, even for a Negro. His suit was neat but not flashy. He was…good looking. She winced as she thought that. She couldn’t imagine what her family would say or do if they knew she felt that. She erased the thought from mind and listened. Now that she had figured out the secret glue in the music, she couldn’t stop hearing the piano. It drowned out the demanding saxophone and the energetic trumpet. She looked at him again and noticed he was looking back. There was a smirk on his face. Antonia scowled and looked at her drink. When she looked up again, he winked. Maybe it wasn’t her he was looking at. She gave a little half smile and then he changed the tempo. The other musicians backed off and he took the lead. His fingers slammed on the keys one second and slid across like hot butter the next. Her eyes widened. He was playing opera. He was playing Carmen. Dear God, L’amour est un oiseau rebelle! Carmen’s Habanera! This was a song that spoke to her before she ever learned to play an instrument. She had memorized an exact replica of the worn copy her mother would play while doing housework. But this was altogether different. This was playful, this bounced and rolled and was dirty with autumn leaves and mud. You could see sunshine between the notes and pain and sweetness. It was music for the soul. The sound was inconsequential compared to the emotional impact. Of course music was emotional and penetrating, but there was something not beautiful about this music and it made her feel something deeper and more real. Life was not always beautiful, it did not follow a predetermined path laid out before you. It had peaceful moments and harsh ones, sporadic starts and stops, half measured crescendos and disjointed completeness. This music was life.

Then it stopped. There was restrained low clapping. The Club patrons began talking and moving around. Theresa was staring at her as Giuseppe went up to the pudgy trumpeter and started chatting him up. Theresa just stared and looked sort of smug. “So, what did you think?”

“It was interesting.”

“You look a little flushed. It looks like you really enjoyed it. Maybe a few parts more than some others.”

“I-It’s just warm in here is all.” Antonia took a sip of her drink.

Theresa pet her hand and smiled. “Of course it is, dear. Especially near the piano. His name is Byron, by the way.”

Antonia looked at Theresa and started to protest, but Theresa intervened, “It’s okay. He’s just a man. Go talk to him.”

Antonia’s mouth dropped. She knew Theresa was wild, but this was on another level. To sneak out to a jazz club was one thing, but to go up to a man and start a conversation – and a Negro at that. She heard rumors that Maria Antonello had a Negro boyfriend but it was just gossip. We’re already an item? What’s wrong with me? Theresa is just teasing me. I’ll show her. “Fine. I’ll do just that.”

Antonia stood up and strode sternly to the stage. The pianist was just tinkering around on the piano, a little filler music to fill the empty spaces with. When he looked up at her his playing trailed off and he smiled. He smiled like he knew a secret or he was remembering a joke. She didn’t wince this time, but her knees got a little wobbly. What am I doing? He was handsome. He stood up and walked towards her. She stopped in her tracks and he passed her. As he did he brushed her hand, looked her in the eye and nodded his head toward the rear exit. She watched him walk outside and she stood there. What else could she do? She looked back at Theresa. Theresa’s eyebrow was raised in surprise. Antonia put her nose up and followed the pianist outside.

When she got outside he was smoking a cigarette, but it smelled funny. Oh! She thought, that’s not a cigarette. He waved to her and she came over slowly. “Can I have a puff?” He handed it to her and she pulled the smoke in and exhaled nervously.

He laughed quietly. “You’ve got to hold it in. It’s going to make you cough though.” She tried again, she held it this time. It burned her throat a little and she coughed. He smiled again and leaned against the brick wall. The night sky was pretty clear and the moon was full and bright. He took her hand gently and looked at the moon. He just held it. Like they were old lovers. Like they had always known each other. She stood next to this man holding his hand and looking at the moon together. She never took her eyes off the moon.

“Why did you play Carmen’s Habanera?”

He looked over at her. “It felt right.”

She looked at him. “Do you always do what feels right?”

“Yes.”

Antonia looked at the ground and paused slightly before she laid her head against his chest. He put his arm around her. It felt right. She could hear his heart beating. He was calm but it was not. He was nervous. She made him nervous. She smiled to herself and listened to his heartbeat. Antonia didn’t know that a sound could cause such bliss.

Listen to the Past Lovers EP here @ www.vincentis.com/music

Follow Yehoshuah Young on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/yehoshuah.young

Follow Vincent Coleman on Instagram at www.instagram.com/vinniethebooh

[vincentcoleman]

“Dot.” by Byron Adams

"Dot” by Byron Adams, the fourth short story of my Past Lovers writing project, is simply a story about realizing that love is not always permanent. Byron, an illustrator and visual artist who resides in Long Beach, CA, writes about his experience of falling for a man named Steven and that fear inducing moment when you receive that text message after months of being separated and the process of moving past the feelings that overwhelm you when you don’t want to let go but know you have to. 

“Dot.”

Written by Byron Adams

I come up to the bar to look at the menu board and unlike a the traditional bar regular, I love exploring new beverages. The new tastes on my tongue that send my body through moments of calmness as my mind attempts to articulate every flavor, but really only understands the simpleness of bitter or not bitter. Hanz, the bartender who’ve I become acquainted with, comes over to me already knowing my curious desires. 

“We have a new double IPA and a sour, I know you aren’t big on the sours but the IPA is really good.”

“I’ll take it and if I don’t like it I’ll just drink it fast.”

“Anything new in the line of love my friend?”

“Oh you know, masturbation and I are as healthy as ever, though he never wants to cuddle afterwards.”

“How does that even . . . never mind.”

He pours me a drink and I take a seat on the nearest stool, pull out a book and begin to read. Half way through the page I feel the pulse of my phone at the pocket of my pants. The message is from an unknown number. I look at the message to see a simple “dot.” Puzzled, I stare at the number for a moment contemplating what it means, who is it or if it was it even meant to be sent? 

There’s a small sense of familiarity to the number and I repeat it out loud over and over. Curiously I reply.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s me, silly.”

A quick state of shock hits me and I become stagnant; my body stiffens with the tingling of caution. Another pulse on my phone, this time I don’t look at it. My face is heated, my heart begins to beat rapidly and I hold my breath. I’m jolted by the possibility, by the reality of who might be on the other end.

Quickly, I find my way to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. The florescent lights flicker inconsistently from bright to brighter and I stare at myself in the half broken mirror. I don’t know how to respond or act, the fear and joy makes me uneasy. There is a flash of memories I tried hard to bury reaching the surface of my eyes, each one vivid and each one causing contrasting feelings within me. A brief moment passes with the possibility of me being wrong, that it isn’t who I think it is. Am I over reacting? Am I just releasing suppressed feelings, feelings I’ve been hiding for the past year? The blank screen in my hand teases me, the shock of my own face reflecting back at me. 

I put my phone in my pocket, flush the toilet and turn on the sink, to create an allusion, then realize how silly it is to fake a restroom session. I walk out the door to see that a small line has formed, everyone’s eyes displeased as if I had been holding a family hostage.

At the bar, Hanz looks over at me, it must be obvious that I feel overwhelmed and without asking pours me another drink. I hesitate to take out my phone, the sweat underneath my armpits attaching to my shirt. I read the message.

“It’s Steven,” the name I have lovingly dreaded to see.

The last time Steven and I made any form of communication I was slightly drunk and very confused. It had started off as something causal but then began to develop quickly into something deeper. At first, I was too scared to say anything, I didn’t want to make a mistake and end something that made me feel comfortable and wanted. One morning after I stayed the night, I climbed on top of him and stared deep into him wanting to say the words that I felt and before I could decline my own desires, he looked back at me and said, “I really like you, a lot”. A laughter came over me, it was uncontrollable and he began to laugh too. 

Months passed and I couldn’t have been more content, more in love, the idea that it happened so simply confused me, I had always worked so hard to believe that I could love and here it just was.

Like all good things, it came to an end. A lack of communication and understanding; my lack of being lovable emerged in a way that has haunted me since a high school classmate said to me “You know, I can’t picture you with anyone.” It began with series of delayed responses, followed by plans being rescheduled over and over again. Until on a drunken night, alone, at bar I called him, he answered after my eighth attempt.

“What’s going on?” I stumbled to say.

“It’s late, what do you want?”

“Did I do something wrong?” I blurted.

“I’m tired”

“Can I come over?” I said desperately.

“I’m tired.”

“Is that a no?”

The conversation continued without him ever saying the word, “no” and I took that as a sign that I could stop by. I drank water to sober up and drove twenty minutes to his place. I needed clarification; at least I needed him to tell me that it was over. I sat in the parking lot of his complex and called him but no answer. I called him again, I waited an hour before I left. I never saw or talked to him after that night until now.

As a child I would read and watch movies about love which always gave me this false hope that once it was found it would last forever. I would picture myself stumbling upon the man of my dreams and my loneliness would be cured, that I would have my partner in crime through all of life’s struggles. The truth is, I have learned, this is not true. Love comes and goes and the journey of finding the man of my dreams won’t happen by chance but by meeting someone who I can build love and life with. Steven was not that person and it has taken me to this simple shitty “dot” to see that I deserve better than a guy who thinks he can still have a hold on me after dismissing the love I was willing to give. 

My phone vibrates and without looking at the message I block his number.

Listen to Past Lovers EP at www.vincentis.com/music 

Follow Bryon Adams on Instagram @ www.instagram.com/byyewican

Follow Vincent Coleman on Instagram @ www.instagram.com/vinniethebooh

[vincentcoleman]

“That Day” by Sara Kitnick

The third short story in the Past Lovers writing collaboration is “That Day” written by Sara Kitnick, a reporter for E! News. Kitnick’s vulnerability in this story of experiencing the feeling of something new and the heartbreak of it ending is something of relevance to each and every one of us who have ever felt love slip through our fingers. 

"That Day"

Written by Sara Kitnick 

It was a Saturday afternoon when I let her in. My closest friends knew she was to be arriving soon but hadn't told me. We were in the countryside and the sun was shining. When she walked down those steps her eyes caught mine, and it was in those moments I lost myself. I don't remember that day… but I'll never forget the way her dress flowed in the wind, how it hugged her curves, how it looked on my bedroom floor.

Although someone's heart was broken that night, it was if a pile of bricks had lifted from my chest. I couldn't tell you why it happened, although, I think I had been waiting for her.

Mother says people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. She was my reason, my season, and in the months we shared, my lifetime.

It was a senseless love; a love which no one understood. We were timeless together. Everything and anything was possible. I wanted to be the best version of myself for her, for our future. She wanted me to change and I wanted to be the person she knew I could be. It wasn't until tears were shed did I realize I didn't want to change. It was too much work. I stopped feeling my heart and started hearing outside noise. It was so loud. It broke us.

I have no regrets. She will be forever buried in my heart.

Listen to Past Lovers EP at www.vincentis.com/music

Follow Sara Kitnick on Instagram @ www.instagram.com/skitnick

Follow Vincent Coleman on Instagram @ www.instagram.com/vinniethebooh

[vincentcoleman]

“Whiskey Brought Me Back to You” by Frederick Grady

Our third short story inspired by my latest EP, Past Lovers, comes from my little brother, Frederick Grady, who is currently a Med Student. His story “Whiskey Brought Me Back to You” explores the sadness that a breakup can create, the problems that whiskey can make and the reconnecting paths that life can take you on. Read below and enjoy. 

“Whiskey Brought Me Back to You”

by Frederick Grady 

I gasped for air as I woke up, my head pounding from the night before. I rolled over to reach for my phone and knocked over an open bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Every time I drink, I text Angel,” I say while scrolling through my phone.

Angel was my ex, we both cheated and it became toxic. It’s been a year and a half since the split. It has been great to explore new avenues, but I’ve been masking the pain with whiskey. I’ve been going to work hungover everyday. I’m sure my boss Craig knows by now, but that hasn’t even stopped me.

I left work early to head to Library bar. On my third drink, I saw a cute girl walk across the bar. My eyes immediately diverted to her. She was a brunette, with green eyes. Her black dress was gorgeous! 

She introduced herself, “Hi, my name is Sarah, what’s yours?”

After talking for a while and playing a few board games at the bar, I asked her to come back to my place, and to my surprise she said yes.

She got comfortable immediately after we entered my apartment. Her heels came off, hair tie in. She asked me for a pair of sweats. I went to my room and grabbed the sweats and thought I’d continue our night of board games with Jenga. We played through a few rounds and I found an opportunity to make a move. I went in for a kiss and she kissed back. We started going at it but all I could think about was Angel. Then I blacked out.

When I woke up, I noticed I drunk text Angel ten times. Then I realized Sarah was missing. She was nowhere to be found. I went to the fridge to get a snack and saw a note attached:

Nora, you’ve given me an experience to say the least. That was my first time being with a woman. However, you are an ASSHOLE! You kept calling me Angel. I don’t even know who that is. Whoever that is, you need to get things cleared up with them. It’s unfair to me or the next person you’re involved with.

-Sarah

P.S. I used your Uber app to get myself home.

My disregard for the feelings of the people I was hooking up with was starting to catch up with me.

The next week came around. Since I left early Friday, I showed up early to check the emails I neglected. To my surprise, Craig was there.

“Nora, I have an opportunity, are you interested?” He asked.

“Depends on what this ‘opportunity’ is,” I said sarcastically.

“I guess I’ll offer the $7500 bonus to someone else,” Craig slyly remarked.

My eyes perked up at the idea of being $7500 richer so I became very curious. 

“Tell me more about this opportunity,” I said.

“There is a conference in Atlanta this weekend to help small businesses learn new marketing techniques,” he replied. “My son also has a baseball tournament in Vegas this weekend, do you see where I’m going with this?” he asked anxiously.

“You want me to represent the company?” I asked with some concern. “Sure why not.”

“Great, my son will be thrilled to have me at his tournament!” Craig said with gusto. “I will send you info on the flight and itinerary.” Craig said as he walked towards his office.

I started packing the night before around midnight and my flight left at 7:00 a.m. I finished packing around 4:30 a.m. so I didn’t sleep. When I got to LAX, I remembered how much I hated airports. Everyone was on edge and looked miserable. I eventually boarded my flight.

The flight was five hours. I passed the time by re-reading Sarah’s note and contemplating on things I could do better. I had a much needed self-reflection session.

The conference lasted all day and as soon as it was finished, I headed straight back to the airport. When I arrived, I saw there was a three hour delay. I walked over to the information desk to inquire about the delay. Then a familiar voice arose from behind me.

“Could you hurry up? My flight is boarding and I need to late check this bag,” this mysterious voice said with much impatience. 

I froze, this could not be happening, not now. There is no way that is who I think that is. My heart started racing incredibly. 

“Excuse me, can you just take my bag?” The stranger yelled to the information clerk. “I don’t have time for this, she’s not even paying attention.” The stranger said.

So many thoughts ran through my head. Should I turn around? What should I say? Should I say anything at all? I had to make a decision quickly. I took a deep breath and turned around.

“Angel?” I said nervously.

“Nora?” Angel replied with a confused look.

The awkwardness was tense, but I managed to someone ask Angel to meet for coffee. 

“Um, sure. Where do you want to go?” Angel replied with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. I suggested Urthe Café, a place we used to spend Sunday mornings.

Flash foward to Sunday

I woke up late and barely had time to brush my teeth. I dashed out and drove recklessly to make it on time, but I was late. Angel was waiting when I arrived.

“I’m surprised you were only slightly late.” Angel said jokingly. “Let me guess, you slept 12 hours and still overslept?”

“Yes, I won’t even deny that.” I chuckled.

We talked for hours catching up, reminiscing. We didn’t realize that we had been there so long until my stomach was rumbling. I looked down at my watch and it was already 3:30 p.m. “I have some work to catch up on.” Angel said. “Let’s meet up again, this was great.” We hugged and the scent of her hair scent me into overdrive. I knew that I had missed her but not this much. 

We started seeing each other more often. We were falling in love all over again. This time around, everything felt right. Six month passed since we ran into each other in the airport and Angel and I were now living together. 

We were finally in sync.

One Saturday evening, we went to an elegant steakhouse downtown, excited to enjoy some superb food. During dinner, Angel knocked a glass onto the floor. I flagged down our waitress to ask for help. When I turned to look at Angel, I couldn’t breathe.

“Nora Washington, will you marry me?” Angel asked.

“Yes, I will! I want to be your wife!” I finally replied after a brief stall.

The wedding day came and everything was perfect. I was nervous that Angel would develop cold feet. My maid of honor went to get my father because I was freaking out.

“What’s the matter Nono?” My father asked softly.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous that Angel will pull a 180,” I said as I started to tear up. “Just tell me I’m crazy and to pull it together.

“Sweetie, your feelings are real, so don’t ignore them.” He suggested. “Lets have faith that you both will be standing in front of us to share your love.”

“You always know what to say dad.” I said as I embrace him.

My dad walked me up and when I stared into Angel’s eyes, I knew I made the right choice.

Listen to my latest EP, Past Lovers, at www.vincentis.com/music

Follow Frederick Grady on Instagram at www.instagram.com/extragrady/

Follow Vincent Coleman on Instagram at www.instagram.com/vinniethebooh/

[vincentcoleman]

"Volatility & Vulnerability" by Steph Young

The second short story inspired by my latest EP release, Past Lovers, comes from Steph Young, an accomplished author who's book entitled "No Plus One" is the perfect handbook for learning to love yourself when you're single and dating. Her story, "Volatility & Vulnerability", methodically exposes the desire of wanting to lose all sense of self-control and constraint, ultimately letting go when love treats you wrong for "...while there’s power in poise, there’s infinitely more so in exposure." 

"Volatility & Vulnerability" 

Written by Steph Young 

I can’t even write a piece on vulnerability because even as I sit here typing out the words they seem calculated. Everything perfectly placed so at the end there is a clear path laid out from beginning to end. There’s no vulnerability in that.

But then like lightning, I’m brought back to 3am on a cold and rainy night, the moment I gave myself permission to lose it.

I was parked down the block, waiting. Lights off like a stalker. You had a party and I was determined to be the last one there, because even though I was “your girl” I still felt like at any moment I was going to be made the fool, again. I didn’t even enjoy myself at your party because I was too busy analyzing all your interactions with every other girl. So when it finally ended and you didn’t want me to stay over, I immediately lost my logical, evenly-emotioned self, and even though I left your apartment, I didn’t leave. I gave in. I decided that if I were going to feel like a lunatic,I might as well commit. So I waited outside your apartment, down the block, just out of sight with my lights off. Freezing, I waited patiently to see if any other girl was going to come or go, taking my rightful place in your bed that night. I waited for over an hour. You probably thought nothing of the night, proud of yourself for throwing an epic party and were fast asleep in dreamland, while I was still stewing in my own madness outside your apartment.

The feeling of being this girl, the one I swore I’d never be, was like freedom. It was counter-intuitive to my calculated self. I always wanted to be so in love that when I got enraged I wouldn’t second guess throwing a lamp across a room, daring to destroy everything in its path. Like in the movies after creating a war in a tiny, shared apartment, each of us would sob together, apologize, make promises and as the fractures healed become stronger than ever. But I’d never thrown a lamp across a room. I’d never lost my composure. And while there’s power in poise, there’s infinitely more so in exposure. A crazy liability that can blow at the lightest touch – people are careful around dynamite. They don’t fuck around with it, because they don’t want to get burned. Within the volatility from emotion lies the barest of us – vulnerability that begets an honest look. And even though I was eternally poised, I knew that the only way to a real, deep love was through the most honest and bare exposure.

But I was never that person. When you cheated on me just a month earlier, I never cried in front of you. I remember the night vividly. I was upstairs reading, while you worked quietly into the night below. It was my ideal vision of a relationship – comfortable and together, yet still together. Just before I went to sleep I brushed my teeth, and my instinct told me to look in the trashcan…my first inkling of crazy. There was no logical reason for me to dig around, but I did and I found that condom that wasn’t ours. My heart dropped and in an instance my perfect fantasy was gone. I wanted to scream at you, but instead of unleashing my fury and hurt all over you, I treated you like a teacher treats a kid in detention – calm, cool, borderline aloof.That was my only power play. Never let ‘em see you sweat. I baited the trail to find the answer I already knew. And when you finally told me the truth, rather than smashing everything I could get my hands on, I left quietly.

That was then, and here I was finally feeling like I wanted to own my irrationality, but even as I committed to being the type of girl who waits outside apartments, I did so in the dark. Not a soul to witness my fall from composed grace. A month after our reconciliation and I was in the same place. Alone and crazy. Sitting in my car, furious, but calmly baiting you into the truth, waiting for evidence to use in trial. Even though I had finally allowed myself to lose control while I lurked in the shadows, to this day you’ll never know that you pushed me over the edge. 

It takes a tremendous chemistry and bravery to show somebody the depths. And only now, I know you never deserved to see those tears. You weren’t worthy enough to know that you had the power to drive me to do things I’ve never admitted to even my closest friends. But the next love, guaranteed, will know my fury. And it will be the highest compliment.

Listen to "Past Lovers" EP @ www.vincentis.com/music 

Follow Steph Young on Twitter, Instagram & Tumblr @stephyoungmc (You can also get a copy of her book "No Plus One" on IBooks and Amazon) 

Follow Vincent Coleman on Instagram @ www.instagram.com/VinnieTheBooh/

[vincentcoleman]

“Still” by Shannen Roberts

I recently released a new EP entitled Past Lovers, which explores the heartache and sensuality of falling in and out of love. In addition to releasing new music, I also wanted to invite others to share their stories of love through the form of short story inspired by the Past Lovers EP. I will be releasing one story a day for the remainder of this upcoming week (June 6-12), all inspired by the pain and pleasure of LOVE. Here is the first story, “Still” by Shannen Roberts, a story of twisted love and feeling addicted to someone who doesn’t seem to care for you. 

(Discretion: Adult Language)

Still?

By Shannen Roberts

2 a.m. “Hey. What are you doing?”

It’s him? It’s been so long…what does he want?

“Nothing...why…” I said. “Can I come over? I just want to talk to you,” he pleaded. “Yes!” My heart started racing. No, no, no, say no, lock the door, I thought to myself. Do not answer your phone, hang up now.

I smiled, showered - even put a little bit of makeup on - and sat on my bed, checking my phone every few seconds.

2:30 a.m. Is my volume off? Do I have service here? Maybe he’s outside already, maybe his phone died, I defended him in my head. He’s not going to show. He lied. Again. I knew he wouldn’t fucking show.

*

“Do you know where he is? Have you seen him?” “No. I have no idea where he is,” his friend replied, annoyed. “Please, please, please call me if you find him, please,” I begged through screams and sobs. I heard my boyfriend’s laughter faintly through the phone. “He IS there. I HEAR HIM. WHY WON’T YOU LET ME SPEAK TO HIM.” His friend hung up. I put my head on the wheel of my car and sobbed, betrayed, embarrassed, out of control. We were supposed to have a date night. He ditched me again. He lied, again. Why does he keep doing this to me? Doesn’t he love me? * 3 a.m. It rang.

“Hello...?” I asked, trying to sound normal. “Hey...I’m here...come out.” “Aight, hold on.” My heart was pounding, my hands were clammy. What are you doing?! Stop! Tell him you can’t go outside tonight. I stood up. Sit down! Go to bed! I walked out of my room. PLEASE STOP! * “PLEASE STOP! DON’T YOU HAVE ANY RESPECT FOR YOURSELF?!” My friend sobbed as she looked into my glazed over eyes, knowing I was seeing what was not there. My eyes searched and searched and would not stop until I found him. I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him. To explain how I am still in love with him. That no matter how many people I fuck, how many people I try to have an emotional relationship with, he is all I see and I am numb to any other love. I am numb to everything except his touch that burns, that pulls at my soul and strangles it. But at least I can feel with him. Even if it is pain, that is better than not feeling anything at all. * 3 a.m. Toe, ball heel. Toe, ball heel. I melted down my steps, avoiding the creaky spots that would wake up the rest of the house. *Click.* I lifted the lock on the door, cringing at how loud the sound was. I heard his Vans sludge against the cement. He looked the same as he did years ago... * “Hey bitch, nice granny pants you got on.” The group laughed and blew smoke in my face. “Fuck you dickweeds, give me a fucking stog.” They passed it to me. Another girl started walking toward us. She was white, but tan for a white girl - California sun lightened hair, khaki booty shorts and a low cut V-neck shirt showing off her push-up bra. “Fuckkkkkk I want to fuck her so bad. God damn.” “I wonder if she would take it in the ass.” “Dammit Tyler only fat girls take it in the ass cuz they have to!” “I wish she had more boobs though.” “I don’t know, I kind of like girls with small boobs.” “That’s cuz that’s the only girls you can get faggot!” “FAGGGGG!” “GAYYYY ASSSS BITCHHH!” “No it’s 'cause he’s never fucked a girl.” They all started laughing and quieted down as she approached. “Hey Katy, how’s your pussy?” “Very funny. Give me a stog.” “Sure Katy, let’s see you smoke one.” She lit the stog, put it to her soft, pink lips, but didn’t inhale and let the smoke gently caress her face and leave from the butt of the cigarette. “Wow, at least she knows how to take a fucking hit. Katy, what the fuck is the point of you asking me for a stog if your pussy ass won’t even inhale?'

* 4:30 a.m. He left on his skateboard. I asked when I could see him next. He said to just call him or swing by. I could tell the alcohol was wearing off in his system. I could tell he felt dirty. I felt dirty too, walking home, with the taste of his cigarettes and liquor in my mouth. With the taste of his lies lingering. With the taste of my lack of self-confidence lingering. I hope I see him soon. Maybe I’ll swing by tomorrow. Oh god don’t do that, you know he won’t actually be home. And even if he is home, you know he won’t actually want to see you.

* I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I rang the doorbell again. No one answered. This was the third day in a row that I had stopped by and he wasn’t home. I checked if the front door was unlocked. It wasn’t. I went around the back to see if the sliding glass door was unlocked. It wasn’t. I screamed at the top of the my lungs. He’s my fucking boyfriend, and yet I have no idea where he is, he doesn’t answer any of my calls, and he just… doesn’t… want to… see me… he...he doesn’t want me anymore... I sat back in my car. And drove away.

*

He told them to not ring the doorbell, he’d be waiting outside to pick me up.

They had found me next to my car. My shirt was off, I was screaming. They had knives pulled, searching for my attackers until they realized the attacker was me. My car had a border of broken bottles and trash, the inside wreaked of wine. I had cuts on my arms and knees, but that was from falling. My glasses were in the gutter. They dressed me, and asked me where I wanted to stay that night. My mind flew back years ago and, believing that to be reality, I asked them to take me to my boyfriend's house and gave them his number.

He answered.

“What happened? Sure, uh, yeah, bring her here. Just don’t ring the doorbell, I’ll be waiting outside. Thanks for taking care of her.”

When they dropped me off at his house, he helped me walk with one sock half off, the other sock missing. My shoes were nowhere to be found. I was sobbing and wiping my eyes with my fists like a kindergartener would. He couldn’t resist. He felt so bad. He had lied to me more than 300 hundred times, an amount that I didn’t think was possible for a human being to do without admitting. He couldn’t let me down now. But he felt the tug too. The strangling fire. It was confusing. But he knew I’d remember nothing in the morning, so this didn’t matter either. Nothing mattered because we didn’t make it work then, so nothing would work, ever.

*

Listen to Past Lovers EP @ www.vincentis.com/music 

Follow Shannen Roberts on Instagram @ https://www.instagram.com/shannenroberts/

Follow Vincent Coleman on Instagram @ https://www.instagram.com/vinniethebooh/

[vincentcoleman]

Interview with artist of Past Lovers Cover Art, Alberto Di Pietro

I recently released a new EP entitled Past Lovers and I was fortunate enough to work with an amazing team of individuals to create this project. I wanted to honor them by picking their genius brains a bit and letting you into their world as well. Here is the first of the interviews with, one of my favorite visual artists, Alberto Di Pietro, creator of the cover art for Past Lovers, where we discuss what defines an artist, finding your voice, and the power emotions can play on love and creative expression.

I've been a fan of your art and aesthetic for while now. You've got such an individual style & one of the most amazing Instagrams. Who are some of your inspirations as a visual artist? First off, thank you so much for all the compliments! Well i get inspired by a lot of things, really. Not only by other people. I'm very inspired by nature. Humans could never create things that nature creates. We can't compete with nature when it comes to "visuals" and beauty, if you think about it. But of course, i'm very inspired by many artists and creatives. Frida Kahlo is one of them, for example. Pablo Picasso, Gustav Klimt and a lot of other known artists. I get my inspiration also from less known creatives/artists, that sometimes have or had a lot of interesting views and concepts. I love Jesse Kanda and Leigh Bowery, just to mention a few. Very different people, but geniuses in my opinion. Another thing that inspires me is definitely fashion. Alexander McQueen, Thierry Mugler, Martin Margiela, Hussein Chalayan are on the top of my list with many others. I have too many things I get my inspiration from and I actually think I could never give a precise answer to such a question. Growing up, how did you find your voice as a creative person and once you found that voice, did your confidence in your gift come easy or was it something you grew to understand? I think i'm still searching for my voice as a creative person. Don't know if I'll ever find it, honestly. I was always the kid that stayed home and just drew whatever came across his mind and I also went to art school, actually. And as far as I can remember, I preferred to have a coloring book and pencils instead of other toys. Now that I’ve grown up, my creativity, taste and inspirations change quite often and I learned that about myself, not so long ago. I think I'll evolve a lot of times still, because I feel like I'm always looking for new things, techniques, art forms etc... And also because I'm very contradictory and impulsive when it comes to my works, processes and so on. Most of the things I've done were "born" out of mistakes. Especially lately. I'm growing to like mistakes during a creative process. So, yes, i'm still growing to understand my voice as a creative person, definitely. What do you want to represent as an artist? Is there a particular statement you'd like to convey to viewers of your art? I wouldn't call myself an artist or call my works art. Not for now, anyways. I think that's still something I have to work on and prove to myself and others. A creative person, that's what I sure am. 

What I'd like to represent as an "artist" (if I'll ever become one) would be for the viewers to not necessary feel a connection with my work, which would obviously be great, but at least being moved or attracted to it for a mysterious reason to leave them wondering. I'd like to be provocative in a certain way, so that people would think about my "art" even after they've seen it. For good or bad reasons. It might sound pretentious and I sure have to do a lot of work to get this kind of reactions. So, I don't know if there's one word to describe all of this, but that's what i'd like to represent. Mystery, maybe?

In regards to the artwork for Past Lovers, what was your thought process as well creative process for the album artwork?

When Vincent told me about the EP and what the mood of it was, I started to think about different materials. I don't know why. I just felt like I needed to do something tangible, "organic" if you will. But love, and all the emotions that come with it, are not something that you can actually touch, it's almost abstract. And here's when my contradictions kick in again. One of the materials that fascinates me is paper. Maybe because I've always had to have paper around when I wanted to  draw. Paper can be very fragile. It can be cut, scrunched up, ripped apart, transparent, thick, textured, smooth, black, white, colorful... just like the emotions that some people might feel when they're in love, wether it's a healthy relationship or not. Some people will scrunch you up, some will try to make you all nice and smooth again. Some will make you feel so comfortable that you can be completely transparent with them. But the more layers of paper you put one on top of the other, the harder it is to do certain things. And that's what emotions do: they hang on you and layer up. Especially if you're in love, in a vulnerable position and unable to shake this emotions off of you. So I started to cut, scrunch up and rip different types of paper and arranged them as I thought would look the best. But it wasn't abstract enough. You could still clearly see where a piece of paper begun and where it finished. And that's not what I wanted. Then I thought about a technique/art form that could give me a much more abstract effect: scanography. I already knew scanography, but I never really saw the use of it. I started to think about a way to get the result I wanted. I tested and "studied" different methods for a few days and so I finally got the result I wanted by positioning the paper and moving it around as the scanner was going. And there was the cover for Past Lovers. The Black frame around the scanography is just a photography of black paper, perfectly cut around all the madness going on in the center. - What is your favorite song on the Past Lovers EP? Uhh, this is a hard one! I think it would have to be a toss between "Ride Out" and "Just One/Fall Through". But honestly I listen to the whole EP on repeat anyways. - Lastly, if you had to curate an art exhibition with any artist (dead or alive), who would you choose and why? I really thought about this one too long. I'd have to go with Frida Kahlo. Just because she was, and still is, the first artist that I felt really close to. I've learned so much about myself just by reading about her, her thoughts, her views and her art. And I think, even if my works would be completely different than hers, she'd probably get where they come from and why I did what I did. I like to think that we could have a great connection.

Follow Alberto on:

Instagram | https://www.instagram.com/imbe__/

And you can see and hear my new ep ‘Past Lovers’ at www.vincentis.com/music 

Instagram| https://www.instagram.com/vinniethebooh/

Twitter | https://twitter.com/VinnieTheBooh

[vincentcoleman]

Over the past year, I've been writing songs to help deal with the remnants of damage that my past relationships left me. Writing these songs was a very vulnerable and at times, extremely emotional process for me, but challenging myself to face my demons really helped me find a new sense of peace and understanding of the lessons those relationships taught me. I'm hoping this EP will help others face their fears of dealing with the past & push them towards a new sense of peace and understanding as well, while also listening to some cool tunes. Check out my new release "Past Lovers" on soundcloud and if you love it & want to support, you can get a digital download at www.vincentis.com.

[vincentcoleman]

When I was a kid, my grandmother taught me in pre-school how to plant seeds & watch them grow. That lesson has become an important value to me in more than just planting trees, but also in planting seeds and watching them grow in the form of friendships, my career, & relationships. But planting trees is what gives us all the opportunity to actually do these exact things, love & live amongst one another because they give us oxygen - DUH! So today, I'm giving my plants some selfie love because they deserve it. We've only got one earth so let's love it and hug it by taking care of it and giving back to it. Happy Earth Day! Let's keep it Green & Clean.

[vincentcoleman]

Yesterday I was given the opportunity to speak with some amazing students at Hamilton High School about the power of owning your creativity, being aware of who you are and having confidence in your own self worth. Being able to inspire and be inspired by these future doctors, architects, surgeons, and artists was an experience I will never forget.  

When I woke up yesterday, I felt a sense of nervousness. This was my first time being asked to speak with a group of high schoolers, and it made my palms a little sweaty. I remember how I was in high school, couldn’t be bothered by a special guest speaker, especially if it was after the three o’clock bell rang. But I took some time to get my thoughts together, speaking to friends and family throughout the day just to run my points of discussion by someone and before I knew it, it was 2:40pm. 

My friend Brian, who asked me to speak, picked me up and we made our way to Alexander Hamilton High School. When we arrived, I began to have flashbacks. I started remembering the little overweight, afro having, beard growing 15 year old I was, unsure of what life had planned for me and even more unsure of who I was. I remember trying to navigate the person I wanted to be while still trying to keep some sense of identity as a cool kid that had left my immature ways back in the eighth grade. And then I heard the bell ring, which reminded me of that amazing sense of rush you receive when the big & little hand of the clock finally move from 2:59 to 3:00. It feels like freedom as you run to your school bus or parents car, yelling goodbye to your friends. But instead of walking out of the high school, this time, I was entering it. 

Walking through the halls of Hamilton High, looking at the lockers and being surrounded by commotion and teenage excitement seemed to turn on a light bulb in my head, and at that moment I knew exactly what I wanted to talk about. 

Upon entering the classroom, Brian and I were greeted by the two amazing staff that ran this program. They were setting out pizza, salad, and donuts for students to devour before we began talking. One by one the students entered, each of them introducing themselves with a mixture of confidence and insecurity, just as I did in high school. Feeling that energy created a calm within me, because I knew that I could identify with them from that moment on. After Brian closed out his discussion about personal branding, he introduced me and I made my way to the front of the class. My mind sort of went numb at this point and it felt as if I was walking in slow motion, but as soon as I began to speak, all of my words started making sense. 

It was very important to me that each student had the opportunity to introduce themselves and tell me a little about their dreams and aspirations. Hearing these students, mostly students of color, tell me about how they wanted to become film directors, musicians, cardiologists, psychologists, architects, business owners, and cosmetologists was like music to my ears. It was a great feeling to see the confidence in their eyes when they talked about these aspirations and it inspired me, more than they know, to continue fighting for my dreams in life. 

I continued to speak with them and began to discuss my own career path and how important the values of hard work, dedication, understanding rejection, self-awareness, and having confidence in yourself and your vision are to me. It curated a dialogue that went from Rihanna to Kendrick Lamar, how race & gender roles plays a part in decision making, the importance of tolerance and diversity, and how to stay confident when you are not sure who you are. Having these discussions and answering these questions ended up being, by surprise, a self-reflective activity for myself and these students in turned taught me more than I think they will ever know. 

Having this opportunity moved me beyond words and I am thankful. I hope that we all can have the opportunity to be taught and be teachers, because that is what will help us inspire greatness within each other. 

Shout out to Alexander Hamilton High School & the Class of 2016!

[vincentcoleman]

Love can be a crazy feeling. I remember when we first met, I had no idea what was in store. Our relationship became a crazy world of passion, torment, and emotional ups and downs, eventually bringing both of us to our knees with tears on our faces and hearts that were tired of fighting. It was the hardest relationship I had ever experienced but it has now become the greatest lesson I’ve ever learned - to love myself. There will always be a place in my heart for what we shared, there will always be the memory of the connection that we had, but I know it’s best that we went our separate ways, but I’ll never forget how his little eyes would wake me.

[vincentcoleman]

There is a power in understanding who you are & how that identity effects the world in which we live in. Your personal identity can be viewed as empowering, threatening, beautiful, strange, or a myriad of other things. This identity is something that we define as we grow and become more aware of who we are through both our extrinsic and intrinsic experiences. But imagine if all the extrinsic messages we receive were put on mute and we were able to experience the power of just knowing who WE are from the inside. If we had the opportunity to just be FREE from all external expectations and instead were just as we are when we are born - FREE. 

Right now we are inundated with information constantly, which paints a very specific picture based upon skin color, sexual identity, gender assignment, religious affiliation, or place of origin at times with the intention of devaluing or displacing a group or groups of individuals. I feel it’s time that we take part in speaking out against the hatred and replace those thoughts with love & information that creates unity, both individual & group empowerment and ultimately equality.

Regardless of our belief systems and personal bias, WE ALL ARE HUMAN BEINGS & if we damage each other, we destroy the opportunity to give LOVE place to grow, spread, & heal. This is why I wrote Born Free & Pure Love, in order to challenge myself and others to become leaders in love & supporters of HUMANITY. 

We all need to unlearn some of the information that has been provided us & learn new ways of understanding, forgiveness, progression and equipoise in order to be a better people and society. We Are All Born Free! Lets start living that way in unity and with love.

Love. V

[vincentcoleman]

"The Entire Universe Is Within You" -Truth. 🙌🏾🌍🌑☄🌙🌞💫🙌🏾 #POWER #Inspiration #SelfReflection #InternalTruths #StrengthTemple #LoveYourself #StreetArt (at Murphy's Ranch Trails)

[vincentcoleman]

Growing up, there were times where I was made to feel that I shouldn’t be proud of being black. I found myself in the middle of being made fun of by fellow black classmates for being “too white”, “an oreo”, or “not black enough” while also being told by white americans in a variety of situations “you’re so smart for a black person” or “your parents must have been successful because you aren’t like the others” and both of these messages created conflict within. My family was always a proud black family that loved everyone not based on the color of their skin but rather just for being human beings, so being thrown into this world who judged me from every single angle of my life for not being what they thought I should be was confusing, but I always remembered my grandmother telling me “you’re beautiful the way you are and don’t ever let anyone else define you.” This has always sat with me and helped me in the times where I didn’t feel good enough. With all of the debate and conversation around race, race relations and Beyonce, I feel its a great time to be even more proud to be WHO YOU ARE! I’m proud of my brown skin and regardless of the mixed messages I received in the past, I can stand proud and say that. Right now is a powerful time, a great moment for change and progression and WE ALL should be proud of who we are; black, latino, white, asian, gay, straight, christian, muslim…whatever label helps people understand us better (because that’s all they are, labels) but we should also be proud of those who are DIFFERENT & embrace their differences with LOVE, not with the intent of degrading or destroying them, or supporting institutions and ideas that limit progress or the over all respect of who we all are - HUMAN BEINGS! Love yourself but love others in the process.

[vincentcoleman]

A little behind the scenes of me recording a song for my band ROIS (you can hear our music at www.vincentis.com/ROIS) called 'Running To The Sun'. This song is one of my favorite songs I've written. It gave me such a great opportunity to tell my story about being in love & wanting someone so bad. Definitely check out the track at the link above and let me know what you think. ❤️❤️

[npr]

Music, ultimately, is one of the great ways that we as humans have for coding internal life. It’s glue that joins people together.

Yo-Yo Ma (via npr)

TRUTH