So last night during the cathartic meditation on the
reappearance of my mother I wrote the following passage...
In honor of my mother appearing after many, many, many years. I am declaring today Fuck You Friday.
Fuck You Friday’s goal will be to post as much shit that I would never fucking post. As a secondary goal, I will also aim to have the largest post ever. Primarily as another means of saying fuck you. But also as a secondary means of saying fuck you.
Do you not understand that ???
Fuck you.
Seriously. Fuck you.
Get used to it. As you might guess, asshole, it will be a recurring theme on Fuck You Friday. Me telling you. Fuck You.
Fuck you.
You don’t even know what’s about to happen here. It’s about to be historic. Epic shit.
Those adjectives are bullshit. Fuck you. It is going to be all of that. But I don’t fucking care. Because fuck you. You aren’t shit. Who? You. You reading this. Yes. You. Fuck YOU. Don’t like it. Be out. Fuck you. You think I care about traffic. Filtering for a niche, but maximizing the audience. Fuck you. The audience is bullshit. You’re bullshit.
Here, what if I say it like this. Fuck. You. You like that? You like that with the one word, then the period, giving you a little emphatic style? You. Like. That. Shit? Oh that’s not how it works? Too bad. Fuck you.
None of it matters.
I am about to drop shit you’ve never seen before. That’s what matters. You want to judge otherwise? Fuck you. You’re not shit. I don’t give a shit what you think. You’re nothing. You are less than me. Fuck you. You can’t do what I can do. You can’t even conceive it. You can’t conceive it until I fucking show you.
I am a fucking artist. I am THE fucking artist.
How dare you not vote for me for Urban Arts blog. You think I give a fuck about an URB. URBs are for Herbs. Fuck you. But if I did give a fuck about an URB, I’d tell you me as urban arts blog is a no-fucking-brainer. I am THE artist.
And yeah I know the link fields and links don't correlate in a helpful manner. Fuck you.
What’s that? “saying "fuck" a lot doesn’t make you an artist” fuck you. Looking and smelling like you do doesn’t make you a pile of shit either.
Yeah. I don’t know what that means. It means fuck you. You shouldn’t even be thinking. What the fuck arey ou thinking about? Are you trying to judge? You want to judge me? Fuck you. I don’t care what you think. So don’t bother. You can either lap up the fruits of my labor in the most sincere authentic way possible. Or you can be silent.
I’ve got like 5-10 songs cued up. I don’t know how many I’ll drop. None of them are from Theater of the Assimilated Negro. None of them are about blogs or any shit like that. It’s personal. Fuck you if you don’t like it.
As an aside, I was going to drop a little something today for Girlspoke. I’m supposed to be doing a drunkcast with meme and lexie sometime soon. I was goign to surprise them with a little audio prelude. But then my mother showed up. So maybe next week, in time for their party. But I wanted to let the girls know now so they can start picking out nice underwear.
SO anyways. I have some songs. A lot of them rough drafts. I also have written stuff. And I'm going to try and figure out a way to get some urine in here somehow. Just to say fuck you.
And I ended there. I fell asleep. And when I woke up I was feeling a little more emotionally stable and balanced. Not hostile. And with that balance came the thought it might still be a good idea. To vent and use this as an outlet. And cast aside concerns about anything external to my own personal interests. I don't need to say "fuck you," in a meanspirited way. Instead of fuck you friday. Maybe it's "who am I" friday. Or "who I am" friday. A personal day.
I also like the idea of a long-ass blog post, that has a variety of written content, and audio content. It's kind of like a blog concert. I'm going to host and narrate the events, and we're just going to shuffle through a bunch of material. Most of the material, I wouldn't normally post. Either because it's too personal, or it's incomplete, or it's a little too far in whatever zone it's in. Or some other reason.
And since it's stuff I wouldn't normally post, I'm probably going to forget I ever did this after it's done. So don't ask if we see each other. I probably won't know what you're talking about.
But for now. we forge ahead....
Before we move on however. I think this song is a good segue after the fuck you friday intro. I did this song a couple years ago when "Can You Hear Me Now" was just catching on. I used to it to lead off sets. It was fun. It's been in the back of the cabinet though, because obviously the "can you hear me now" got dated, and there's an excessive amount of "n-word" usage. And the "n-word" is not negro. But now, since it's lively, and old enough to be ironic, and kind of appropriate. We segue into "Can You Hear Me Now?" to get this started ...
Lyrics
since this will be the longest post ever. all the lyrics are going right after the audio, so you can read along with your children at the office. Enter the room, and my raps are all over
Can you hear me now?
Who wanna be the
jackass to fuck w/ a king cobra?
spitting kind
back bolder w/ written rhymes
time tap the shoulder of brothers who skip in line
“excuse me ni**a,"
"people getting choosy ni$$a,"
"get a new style,
drop the tooly ni%%a"
"cause you be looking fooly"
"all this acting unruly”
I rudely smack ni@@as ‘fore I take ‘em back to
cooleyYou iced out stoolies …
It’s truly yours
And duly note the applause when I’m in your ass like dirty drawers
Can you hear me now?
y'all ni**as are rap prawns
Claiming you’re raw dog
more like soft-core porn
And we’re -
twice the spicetwice as nice
fuck around w/ tony tantrum (my former dj)
and you might get sliced
flowin’ w/
two tables and a mic device
throw in a
couple dykesand some drinks that’s spiked
Aiiiiiiiight
we got the ladies cummin’ and shit
but we stay huntin’ for dumb ni**as
runnin’ they lip
so fuck this underground slummin’
the room blue and too stunnin’
anybody frontin’
I son ‘em
like
Phil DrummondDon’t you know we need conflict?
I’m supplying the beef
My crew pissed
e & tone got me applying for beats
no empire or messiah
to squire the streets
Scale my shit down to desire
pure fire and heat
they're gonna say I blindsided the real
I remind you the deal
don't pretend
in the end
we're all riding by feel
like fucking, those first few times
fucking around with those first few lines
became the first few rhymes
it's The Blue Revolution
the fucking first few signs
at the party
I'm only fucking with the first few dimes
then I get tired
or rather inspired to write
and the tall skinny bitches
just blocking my light
"get out the way"
to the point when I got something to say
classified reads, “alpha male with a capital a”
I react
bring your ass back
I”ll slap it away
Before sex my silhouette looks like a capital J
These days you need more than rhymes and reason
You need a reason to rhyme
no seasonal lines
summer cash, winter is crime
i’m keeping mine genuine
inclined to enter the spot
see my intellect connect,
whether you on friendster or not
whether you a god-body
or brother who got bodies
got personality
or the hot-rod body
my brain’s not potty trained
I drop this shit on your feet
cinderella tip
I fit like glass slippers on beats
You’ll know the fella, J-Ella
biggest ship in the fleet
to hell and back
angelic raps react to simmer the heat
just a glimmer
of how I serve ni**as
like 5-star dinners
Sinner sautéed
this is gourmet
delivered all day
four trays
palate cleanser sorbet
yo they getting antsy tonight
cause the parlance is fancy-schmantsy
enhanced when I write
be it blacked out or light
we still advance through the night
take a chance pass go
I’ll build a house on a hot flow
Jambox won’t stop ‘til we got the mon-op-o
j-o on your mind like the j-o
last line of this
yayojust give me mine and say-hooooooooooooooo
One of the issues that always comes up when screening material, is the question of whether I'm an artist or a professional. Or as Josh friedman more eloquently puts it,
"a zookeeper or a monkey."Artists/monkeys get to do whatever they fuck what they want. They have fuck you friday every day of the week.
The artist says, “I’m so badass, I can fucking get over on this world just by being my awesome fucking self (AFS). Then they come up with whatever way they can publicly demonstrate that AFS in a way that empowers them. Using the cultural indicators around them they choose something reasonably accepted (hence q-tipping your asshole is not generally considered an “art”) and then freakishly obsess over it and study it, and master the rationalization behind whatever allows that craft to be accepted as art. Self-expression is self-expression. Masturbation is masturbation. But some of us call it other things. And some say this can go there, but that can’t...
I have many other thoughts on this. Terms like "deconstruction of art (DOA)" and "Anti-Artist Artistry" and "Art Over Artists" are names I've considered for my second album which I think will be themed around this topic.
I wrote this bit a while back to try and express it in a different way:
A Prelude to Art over Artists
Here is the artist!
Here!! Look at him!!
Come look at him here!!
The ARTIST!!
In all his glory!
See him there!!
Now
Hunched over. Eyes closed. Oblivious to the world around him.
Come everyone!!
Come see the artist here!!
Come see his whims!!
Come see his PLEASURE!!
We laugh at 2-bit whores and say they lack artistry. Haha
But never mind them, come look at THE ARTIST here.
The supreme Artist. Naked. Exposed for all.
Come here and see him.
Hunched over, but not in the legs, just in the upper body. The shoulders.
Look at his pleased look in his face. He must be creating.
CREATING ART!!
COME HERE AND SEE THE ARTIST CREATING!!
ART!! HERE!! NOW!!
Come see the Artist!! Come see the artist creating art!!
LOOK!! Look at how pleased the artist is!!
Look how he moves as he creates!!
Look at how he moves his waist!!
He is creating ART!!
MY FRIENDS!!
Aren’t we friends now.
We are friends sharing.
We must revel in this moment.
This artist.
This art.
Look at how he pulses.
Look at how he gyrates.
Look at how he thrusts.
Slowly.
In rhythm.
Look at how the sweat glistens on his back!!
Look at his arm pumping furiously!!!
Can you feel the excitement building!!
Can you feel it!!
Can’t you feel THE ART coming!!
COME HERE!!!
FEEL THE ARTIST!
FEEL THE ART!!
CAN YOU FEEL IT COMING???
LOOK!!!!
HE TREMBLES!!!
Look the artist sees us.
He sees us now.
Look at the artist. He’s shy.
He holds out the art sheepishly.
He thinks we won’t —
LOOK!! THE ARTIST IS HUMBLE!!
COME LOOK AT THIS HUMBLE ARTIST!!
And his magnificent art.
So that's that. I think i wrote it when I was getting in the mix with poets for the Poets V Rappers show. I often try and emulate my environment creatively. Around music, I'll do that. Writers, I'll do that. Literary is fine. So is smut. Humor I love. But I don't mind stern. I think I still maintain my own identity or voice in whatever I do. But I like trying all the different stuff....
I mentioned
girlspoke earlier. And Snod, who writes for girlspoke, and is EIC at
decent content, has coaxed me to do some stuff for them. The other day I ran a bit by her, jsut to get a female perspective. I thought it might be offensive. But I wasn't sure. I had two optional titles:
Want Some Butter On That Gender Roll?Or
The Bleeding Vagina MonologueOf course it was the second one I was concerned about.
But now I'm not concerned. So here it is:
Ok. Here’s the deal. I like this title. So I can do something formal where I kind of express my feelings on gender roles and relations. Or I could do something that might be a little inflammatory. Far less substantive, probably. More entertaining, maybe.
Ok let’s go inflammatory.
The Bleeding Vagina Monologue
I wrote this for my actor friend who said he wanted something fresh for his audition. It was based on a recent e-conversation I had, and, as the rant alludes, other things.
"Ok. Look. I’m sorry I called you a bleeding vagina. "
Once again I was forced to say that to some female I thought I befriended.
“I know it’s a little excessive. Amongst a host of other things. But that’s what I’m about. I like being excessive sometimes. If only to see what happens in excessive situations.
So can’t you cut me some slack?
It’s not like I broke it out immediately upon meeting you.
I waited for the signal. As I always do. The universal sign:
'you know what. I want you to treat me like one of the guys.'
You said it.
And some guys fart.
Some guys throw punches.
I like to jokingly refer to you as a 'bleeding vagina'.
What's the prob?
I mean, you are kind of, right?
I know there’s other things to your personality blahzay-blah.
But, I mean, I don’t have to deal with the bleeding vagina issue. Ever. Unless a bleeding vagina brings her shit into my circle, I never have to worry.
Not saying I mind (necessarily). I mean, you know, like everything else it has its pros and cons. In general, there's always a 50-50 chance I'm down with a vagina, no matter the variety.
But aren’t we seeking equal, honest communication? Can’t I call a spade a spade?
An assimilated negro, an assimilated negro?"
But no woman ever goes for that explanation, even though I usually give it with a lot of conviction and purpose.
No, after that, I always get, “please do not marginalize me as a woman.” And then immediate placement on the shit list. Presuming I don’t’ receive something far more violent.
But the thing is I’m confused. Because as the argument goes, this is never a problem when I’m standing in line for the bus, outside in the cold, and I let ten women in front of me.
Or when there’s only a couple parachutes left in the plane that's about to crash, and the ladies get them.
Or I throw my jacket over a puddle so you could walk on/over it.
(Aren’t we happy that little trend has passed. There should be a holiday for the first guy to say, “this is some motherfucking stupid shit I’m doing here with my jacket getting dirty on the street in the mud. She could definitely walk around. It’s not imperative that she maintain a rigidly straight path to her destination. Especially when the puddle’s not even all that big.)
So yeah women are funny. And they’re definitely not bleeding vaginas.
And they're not. Seriously. I know it. I don't mean anything by it. I say it like I would say something rude and crass to a guy. And I say it after a girl has asked to be treated like "one of the guys." But I've never not had it turn against me. So I'm probably going to kill the bleeding vagina reference.
This next song might help show the ladies I respect them.
Song is called "Best Friend's Wedding" And I had the thought for it when a female college friend of mine got married. I thought it would be cool to kind of capture the movie storyline in a hip hop song.
It's a rough draft. And I'll have to get a new track for it. But we don't care about that today.
Lyrics
some people gonna know just what I’m talking about
usually play it cool
sometimes I open my mouth
check the setting
best friend’s wedding
she’s getting married
to this guy named Larry
and yeah
that’s fortunate for this particular rhyme
but you should know this is all fact
for those keeping the time
it’s 1:30
guess I gotta drink early
a little Ketel-1
then a little bit of flirty
talking to some girlies
start feeling nervy
said “I should be the groom”
not sure anybody heard me
but I did
and I found it disturbing
Anger. Guilt. Fear.
not quite sure of the wording
but …
I felt something
I know it’s best to say nothing
But ..
i’m just fronting
unless I say something
what …?
here she comes walking
the organ is playing
priest started talking
next thing you know I was saying …
Your sensibility
That shit be thrilling me
I know you’re feeling me
I feel it in the air
That’s why it’s killing me…
The shit that we shared …
there was silence
then a wisecrack
“what the fuck was that”
said someone in the back
and I was like
“come on baby
let me talk to the lady
and maybe
we can have jokes later
okay b?”
i turned back and looked her dead in her eyes
she looked back without a hint of surprise
i smiled and said
you know I have the worst timing
you’re probably wondering,
why now?
and why the fuck are you rhyming?
if you got something to say
you should just say it
well, that’s very true
so this last rhyme's from me to you
as long as what I bleed
and the seas are blue
and whatever size the jeans
you gotta squeeze into
it’s a dream for two
i’ll flat-leave my crew
jump through hoops
and off the trampoline for you
you’re my best friend
so what the fuck am I saying
funny thing is
for once, I ain’t even playing
So yeah. I think that's going to be a nice one whenever it gets done.
Here's something about "The New Revolutionary" It's another "alternative" bit, I'm using it as a theme on a piece about Terrell owens, and why we should perhaps revere him, instead of ostracizing him.
There is in development a new revolutionary.
Most people cannot stomach the new revolutionary these days.
He is in fact, too revolutionary.
The new revolutionary slaps you with swagger, holding her cunt with confidence.
She spits in your eye and laughs derisively.
She doesn’t say fuck me, she never says fuck me.
Unless he wants to.
The new revolutionary smiles and says, “you fools still care about gender?”
You clowns still quibble about race?
There is but one color,
and it is darkness…”
The new revolutionary is not here because he believes in now.
She does not think. She is not.
The new revolutionary will become old
Then give birth to the new revolutionary
And the new revolutionary will laugh
Derisive because the new revolutionary knows
What the new revolutionary does not
So the new revolutionary is coming to town.
Like my mother.
I have some audio that references my mother. Here's one of the bits. It's a little more artistic, abstract, and poetic than some of the other stuff. Or so I like to think.
Lyrics
send this one to my mama
and dom dada
they encased my mind in permanent drama
so I bring the game ko[r]mma
that’s reason for pause
whether you fighting for peace
or kneel at a cross
if you’re -
married to god
or need a divorce
if you -
don’t give a fuck
or bleed for the cause
if you -
check if they’re clean
by sniffing your drawers
if you
have AIDS
just got a sniffle or cough …
i change gears
spill that blood on cashmere
y'all talk tomorrow
don’t know I spit that last year
from the big city
there’s only first or last here
and Blue Room
we’re trying to plant the staff here
don’t mean a flag
i mean the whole bag
a philandering Dad
wife on a rag
kid that talks back
plus a Mexican to take out the trash
i'm so fast
better get your hands on the dash
or risk whiplash
from the crash of pens and pads
lights flash
i make beats bend and sag
- by now you really must know the dilly
- my rhymes rock mags - pop wheelies
stop and listen
it’s time for that mind nutrition
brought it from the Bx
to the Pomfret griffin
nonfiction –
mind drifting
reminiscing on Bam in the kitchen …
slick speaker
i make ni**as switch speakers
my flows demand Bose
like heroes demand foes
and shows demand prose
that goes beyond good and evil
yo, we squeezing camels in needles?
for people who fear the gap
i rap like Evil knievel
my art a means to an end
i don’t believe in the end
season change
but never come to an end
i live life like a reed
with no reason to bend
head of a bull
heart of an ox
sometimes dumb as a mule
sometimes sly as a fox
sometimes I enjoy the ride
sometimes I wish it would stop
sometimes I think homophobes
are just in love with their pops
unrequited
the awkward silence
I invite it
people fight it
but I’m driving
so you’re riding
first sin
yo this pride
i gotta try it
gotta buy it
fatten my brain
put my body on a diet
makes sense …
the vision nascent …
Ok. I have to take a pause for the cause. Even blogging-mental breakdowns need intermissions.
So until i return with more ...
...
UPDATE - The moment has passed. This is the end. I came up well short of how much I wanted to post. But I'm back to stable and no longer looking to overexpose myself like this. I do think the "blog concert" idea could stick though. Just have to polish up the concept and organize a little.
Anyways, we will be returning back to the normal abnormal-TAN transmissions.
