Milwaukee, Wisconsin, United States
I was born in Wisconsin, in December of 1957. I am of African/French decent, by way of the Louisiana Creole. My great-grandfather, was a Frenchman, who traveled to the states, and married a slave in the Louisiana territory.
The name Knubian was adopted from the Nubian Kingdom, an ancient area around the Nile River. Today it is known as a barren desert land located between Sudan and Egypt; and Knight was adopted from the Knights of the round table. I call it my childhood alter ego. Some may call it a fantasy, but I call it my destiny.
I choose the name, The Napkin Writer, because of my writing and doodling on napkins. I really believe that the world’s greatest writers are in fact, napkin writers.
Writing of my pains, my heartaches, abandonment, and isolation from my spiritual longings took me to a new dimension, yet there was life in me now. I could really breathe again. It didn’t kill me!; and I was stronger!; so I wrote it!
Learning of my heritage has created many advantages in knowing myself, so I applied myself in understanding where I came from, and where I wanted to go. I don’t believe today that I ever wanted to go anywhere with the knowledge, sometimes it seemed just having the knowledge, was good enough.
I gathered enough information to debate with scalars. Yet, my greatest understanding of living came from working with people with similar causes as mine. I do not believe that color ever made a difference to me, so what I excepted in life, I thought gave me a humane balance?
I guess I am bias myself to a certain extent, in that I believe many of the things that involves racist behavior are true, so I draw lines that I believe, I will never cross again, but who knows for certain! I would whether deal with a racist up front, than to deal with a racist that hides behind political correctness! It’s kind of like, the racist employer, that discourage you from filling out an application for a job; versus, the employer, who says all the right things, then throws away your resume, once you leave! This happens all the time, and will continue to happen, until we remove that political correctness that allows our racism to hide, and start to focus more on our whole truth, as human beings.
It’s easier to understand today why most want to remove the color barriers, and identify more with the commonality of our human existence. In the sense that we emphasis too much into our culture and heritage. In saying this, I mean, knowing, and understanding our culture and heritage is one thing. Trying to live in an isolated culture, or heritage, among such diversity, deprives us of the growth we need to unite as humans, and to even start understanding, what growth needs to take place, in order for us to perceiver.
My beautiful island of sanctity, the one place that I can go to find peace! Once it was in the corner of my bedroom. Then it was in the arms of a woman. But, alas! I find peaceful solitude in the corner of a bar. Each drink gives me that much more strength, to write to the world about you, me, and ours.
Look at all my new friends, drunk with the power of the bottle! Drowning their sins, and broken hearts, failed encounters, and lost souls! I push myself to crawl out of the liquor bottle, but I can’t, I’m scared! No one out there knows me, or understands me! Therefore, this is my life. I sit and I drink, and I think and I write. Profoundly I address the world in an array of colors, doodles, quotes, spiritual renderings, and beautiful sonnets, but in the morning, I am just another no one,
with a hangover!
It has been 4 years, since I had a drink. Sometimes just living is enough, to make you pick up again, but that same false pride that kept me in that bottle, now keeps me out!
Today my island of sanctity is in my heart, in my writing, in my being able to love, despite all the distractions of the outside world. I have found a place, where I only need seek the truth in me, I will never hurt again inside, and I will never be so openly to trust again. The world may keep all of its selfish glory. I only seek peace with God, No more, No less.
So, The Napkin Writer, Was born!!!
The Napkin Writer
As I slowly, make my way, through the doors of the sad and gloom. The waitress comes and hand me a drink, a drink, where sorrow looms
This place is all secluded, from all whom else can see. A place where I can sit and doodle, of stories of life, and me.
I need no pads of paper, on the table sits a stack
Of freshly place and folded napkins, to pen my life’s heartaches.
I need no tape-recorders, I always keep close by. A napkin for my poetic verse, under the drink, that I have cried.
As the smoked-filled room, clouds my mind, I write, how love has parted. My words are soft and somber, though inked, from the broken hearted.
And when my nights are ending, my verses turn to song. Such peaceful words, telling the world, what its like to be alone.
So now I abandon my verses, my words of love and grace. And make my way, to the door, to leave this smoked-filled place.
Just when I know, someone will find, my ink of love so rash. The waitress comes and cleans the room, and those napkins, go in the trash.
But every once in a while, yet a great little while, you’ll see some verses shown. They publish and print, what a waitress has sent, and they mark the poet, unknown!
The Napkin Writer
Interests: Writing, Picture Framing, Art
Published writer: No