Photo by: Earlson Vios
Tuesday, November 5, 2019
Dedicated to Vinsanity, I used to wanna’ jump like Vince Carter.
When I was 13, I wrote short stories about an imaginary young boy growing up in Brooklyn, NY—he’s the younger brother to a high school basketball player with high hopes of becoming a superstar at all levels. I personally, was never an athlete. Boxing is as close as I’ve come. In writing the lifestyle of an athlete for so long, it allowed me to appreciate the gritty mentality the best of them sustain.
The first book I wrote, ‘BOOJ-WAH-ZEE‘, is about a boy who comes to the refined district of ‘America’. After his father escapes border wars back home near their tribal land in Central-West Africa, they arrive and begin to adjust living in the city. He gets recognized in sports, and becomes level headed only to find himself playing a role for everyone he meets.
To give a bit more perspective and context, one of the roles he plays is the imaginary young boy I wrote about growing up in Brooklyn. But these stories don’t take place in New York City.
Surviving above the heat of colors, Port Avanti becomes his shadow. Along the Atlantic Coast, is America’s renowned District with hundreds of miles of renovated lofts, towering condos, contemporary office buildings, and the bourgeoisie.
At the age of 15, Rigil is separated from his father and sister. School days become an eternity, dad works graveyard, and while sister spends weekends with friends and a boy, he’s left with basketball and football to become a two-sport athlete.
In book one of the Booj-Wah-Zee Collection, Rigil explains through his journal to Port Avanti, how he ‘fixed’ some shit. First arriving on refined American soil, later to become the first of a beastly humming soul…..I’ll have to stop there.
I was horrible in basketball, football scared me, but ended up falling in love with boxing. After the 10,000 hour rule, boxing reminded me why I sucked at hoop and football.
I had no grit. And it wasn’t my gift.
Rigil’s stories were developed at my most excruciating points of exhaustion; running up hills, working out in the cold, under the sun, boxing and meditating.
I’m no Vinsanity, but the visuals on my runs are insane to me. The imaginary little boy from Brooklyn ended up asking, “can you share my stories on behalf of Port Avanti?”
One thought on “The Art Of Jumping To Insanity”