vendredi, septembre 09, 2005

God did not intend for the wicked to rule the world...

Praise the beneficent for the Mighty Mos. Sincerely.
Quit being cheap nigga[s]. Freedom ain't free.
Whet your appetites:
It’s enough to make you holler out like
Where the fuck is Sir Bono and his famous friends now?
Don’t get it twisted man I dig you too
But if you ain’t about the ghetto then fuck you too
Who care about Rock & Roll when the babies can’t eat food
Listen homie man this shit ain’t cool
Mathematical facts.

MP3 mined from SoulSides
This just in:

Everybody loves the sunshine but not all can bask in it's rays even when armed in ultra violet deflective melanin. I spoke with Roy Ayers today finishing up an interview cut short a month ago. His energy is the feeling you get when vibe out to his music. Shoo bee doo. For real, for real. With the taut numbness I had managed (with loving help) to shake by Wednesday escalating, Mr. Ayers brought me back to one. It makes me think of how ludicrous if aesthetically pleasing it be to make a song that makes all the dope boyz go crazy. Make a song to bring them back to themselves, back to life, fuck it, back to reality which although hard is more than trappin'.

I love Mary J. Blige. I have loved her since she sported silver lamé bra top and matching leggings to remind me of a love I had yet know. I got a flash back, unh, counter attack. Mary killed it on the BET telethon. She traded the VH1 Divas Live holy ghost harlem shakery, for herself. She belted. She balled. Tearing through her delivery of "My Life" with Katrina revised lyrics. It was so real. Mary is near and dear to me not cause she was there for me in '95 and '97 and many other moments but because SHE IS when a bout with addiction, ghetto lineage, tatted upness, and gold toothness, scardom, formal educationalessness, and unrefutable blacknessness would she say that she isn't.