"Shackled and chained in this body with rusted melanin.
They say man was made in the image of God.
So when you grow up black,
Jesus broken up on that cross was just,
a man with cross hairs at his back. "
I'm a young black man.
And therefore,
a target.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
It's Warm Out...
This tape is the most ridiculous thing I've had the privilege of hearing recently. I got put on to J. Cole from hearing his name being thrown around with Drake's as a versatile artist - actually the original quote I heard that got me interested was "Drake is like a watered down version of J. Cole..". Personally I think Drake does what he does well, so I had to figure out who this cat was. Long story short, I datpiff'ed it, copped "The Come Up" hosted by DJ Envy, and became a fan after I heard him destroy "Simba", the 2nd track on the tape. He's a Southern rapper with a certain East Coast influence; considering he did 4 years at St. John's in NY that isn't all that hard to believe. And the previous statement holds true; J. Cole is a better lyricist than Drake; however Drake is the better songwriter. But truth be told, ever since I let Comeback Season run its three week long course, I haven't listened to it since. Fast forward to the Warm Up, dude's songwriting has definitely improved; the Come Up just seemed as if he wanted to tear every track he jumped on to shreds, and although he does it on this tape, some of the more subtle, virtually unnoticed shit on the tracks add to the whole experience. My favorite cuts so far have to be Grown Simba, Dreams feat Brandon Hines, (who laces the hook with Cole), and Heartache. Point blank period, download the tape. It's free. To hear it go here:http://www.imeem.com/jcolemusic/playlist/d01w-kyR/j-cole-the-warm-up-music-playlist/
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
http://www.zshare.net/audio/5967680530f6e007/
This is my intro.
To my mixtape.
That I thought would never see the light of day.
Please, excuse the quality.
This is my intro.
To my mixtape.
That I thought would never see the light of day.
Please, excuse the quality.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
this looks so cool..
*UPDATE* I really don't even know the full tracklist yet...
its finally coming together too..
Airborne (Produced by Black Milk)
I Gotcha
Aggression (Produced by Allarouna Productions)
Youngin's Dream ft Anthony Hamilton
Voicemail Interlude # 1
Closer Remix feat Goapele
Gravity (Produced by ???)
Aviator Skies (Produced by Blackmail)
History (Produced by J. Dilla)
Pressure feat Weapon X (Produced by Black Milk)
Voicemail Interlude # 2
Ego (Produced by The Klasix)
Everything You Lose (Produced by Insrumentally Sick)
Outro
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
so its been a while..
... and I figure I should give a little recap to the two audience members this blog potentially entertains;
1. I've stopped all work on my book "Eden, Shattered" indefinitely. And by indefinitely I mean it. Kind of. It originally started out as a way to express some repressed emotions but, with recent developments in my own life, I've come to realize that it isn't necessary anymore. Maybe it represented my search for forgiveness in myself, and with me finally being able to, I don't need to write it anymore. At least, not in the direction it was originally going to head in. I think maybe, due to the encouragement I've been receiving from everyone to finish it, that I eventually will. But its going to take a completely different direction.
2. Kid Cudi is my new favorite artist. Drake has taken a backseat as I realized his mixtapes don't have any replay value after the first couple of weeks. Reason? No substance. I could care less about hearing the girls hopping in and out of his leased Phantom or how much liquor this nigga consumes before he hits the booth. His flow? Effortless. But he's overrated. Yes Jimmy of Degrassi fans, I said it... who wants a problem? Cudi, on the other hand, has amazing replay value. Reason? I can relate to his shit. And I mean, isn't that what's important? He's a regular dude who talks about regular shit in a dope way. Sorry Drake, but I don't wear Jordan sweatsuits as my flight closed, nor will I ever be fortunate enough to board a plane after the ticket agent draws that fucking elastic band in front of the gate door.
3. Not anymore.
4. I'm not good at this whole single lifestyle. I realized this, actually, sitting in the shower a good half hour ago. Probably where I do my best thinking. Mos Def, on the Bill Maher show, said something to the effect of "We as human beings are hardwired to be passionate about something. Its our nature." So I sat down and thought what the hell I'm hardwired to be passionate about. Yeah yeah, I love running. I'm good at writing but I'm only passionate about writing about well... love. I'm passionate about love. Or rather, a profoundly deep connection between two individuals. A mutual respect, admiration for the ability to be vulnerable and sacrifice that spawns from that type of emotion. I mean, its just dope. The world itself needs love all around.
I'm going to stop writing now. Because I'm bored with it. Peace.
1. I've stopped all work on my book "Eden, Shattered" indefinitely. And by indefinitely I mean it. Kind of. It originally started out as a way to express some repressed emotions but, with recent developments in my own life, I've come to realize that it isn't necessary anymore. Maybe it represented my search for forgiveness in myself, and with me finally being able to, I don't need to write it anymore. At least, not in the direction it was originally going to head in. I think maybe, due to the encouragement I've been receiving from everyone to finish it, that I eventually will. But its going to take a completely different direction.
2. Kid Cudi is my new favorite artist. Drake has taken a backseat as I realized his mixtapes don't have any replay value after the first couple of weeks. Reason? No substance. I could care less about hearing the girls hopping in and out of his leased Phantom or how much liquor this nigga consumes before he hits the booth. His flow? Effortless. But he's overrated. Yes Jimmy of Degrassi fans, I said it... who wants a problem? Cudi, on the other hand, has amazing replay value. Reason? I can relate to his shit. And I mean, isn't that what's important? He's a regular dude who talks about regular shit in a dope way. Sorry Drake, but I don't wear Jordan sweatsuits as my flight closed, nor will I ever be fortunate enough to board a plane after the ticket agent draws that fucking elastic band in front of the gate door.
3. Not anymore.
4. I'm not good at this whole single lifestyle. I realized this, actually, sitting in the shower a good half hour ago. Probably where I do my best thinking. Mos Def, on the Bill Maher show, said something to the effect of "We as human beings are hardwired to be passionate about something. Its our nature." So I sat down and thought what the hell I'm hardwired to be passionate about. Yeah yeah, I love running. I'm good at writing but I'm only passionate about writing about well... love. I'm passionate about love. Or rather, a profoundly deep connection between two individuals. A mutual respect, admiration for the ability to be vulnerable and sacrifice that spawns from that type of emotion. I mean, its just dope. The world itself needs love all around.
I'm going to stop writing now. Because I'm bored with it. Peace.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
... and i use her name for all my passwords
Chapter of my book, "Eden Shattered".
The olive green door frame, which weathered many intense slams from the discontent preluding this, cracked from the collision. Panting and ensued with bitterness, Jaiden staggered recklessly across his apartment, blindly searching for some form of clarity. Fine crimson lines intruded around his iris, none too critical of the tears they let slide past and down his face. He reached in the cabinet beneath the sink, succumbing to his all too familiar crutch; the dark liquor not quite able to invade his liver fast enough. Between each swig he glanced to his front door in hopeless denial, or rather anticipation. The night two years ago began to replay in his thoughts, turning his logic to nothing but scattered ambience. He saw the past; himself scrolling through his phonebook, pausing as he past Ayana's name, then skipping ahead to her's. He saw himself raise the phone to his ear, remembered the sweet nothings he whispered slyly, cunningly, vengefully. Another swig propelled his collapse into memories he had buried long ago. He saw himself steal out the front door of his house, entering his car, and pause before starting the engine. The drive in silence came to his thoughts as he placed the nearly empty bottle on the counter and reached to his pocket to light a cigarette. He remembered sitting in her driveway for a time, briefly acquainting himself with guilt before ignoring it completely and opening the door, starting the short trek to her front door. She opened it partially, and he remembered entering darkness, with the tail end of a silk garment brushing past him, grabbing his wrist, and pulling him close. He remembered the inital embrace, the poison of her lips, the venom on her tongue. His eyes closed, he saw clothing scattered, heard moans and screams, and with each thrust inside of her felt love slipping slowly from his bones. His climax caused him to writhe in pain, laying tarnished and in utter disgust, next to a body that wasn't his, his arms falsely wrapped around something unfamiliar, something surreal. Her words of security fed his guilt, and it gorged without concern, prompting him to dress in silence as soon as she fell asleep and slip away eagerly in the night. He remembered sitting in his car, all his rage escaped him, and tears doing the same soon after. He saw blurs of time, then Ayana's face clear as day as he confessed his unfaithfulness. He saw her soul in her eyes, shattered, in countless pieces between them. The yells and screaming at ridiculous octaves, curious looks from passerbyers and her abrupt exit from that lonely room was nothing compared to that instant he saw the consequence of his actions. He saw himself sitting with his back to the wall, and in that instant felt the walls begin to break the ground around his heart, embarking on their journey to all but block it from feeling since that moment. Walls weren't the story of his life, just his darkest chapter. He realized that now, presently, these same tears that slipped from his eyes were only a continuation from that moment two years ago. He, in his insecurity, vengfulness, and selfishness, had slaughtered love. Ayana's attacker in his dreams, who hadn't known an identity until now, he realized was himself. It was he who left her on the dirt path, crushed from his own rage. The epiphany sent him reeling to the floor, finally breaking down with his face in his palms. Two years rushed out all at once, and he sat there as the sole comfort to himself. Or simply, alone.
He never heard the rattle of the hinges. Ayana entered the apartment quickly but certaintly, led to his spot on the kitchen tile by his muffled moans. She loomed over him for a second, saying nothing, then kneeled down to hold him close. He welcomed her comfort without hesitation, her arms shouldered his hurt, head nuzzled in his neck as they sat cuddling in silence. He cried until the pain began to subside, leaving him instinctively clutching at his chest. She raised her head from the safety beneath his own and began to look into his eyes. His voice stifled as tried to find something to say, nothing willing to land on his tongue. Instead he found himself looking right back into her own. Then he leaned forward and kissed her. She didn't object as he found her lips' warmth, inhibition declining its last stand.
Her neck tasted of midsummer sun, his lips anxiously pressed against her skin, hers grazing gently against his ear. Their tongues defined rhythm as they met, hands tiptoeing unconsciously as they sat together on the kitchen tile. He stole a glance into her eyes again, confident he was truly lost in them, and left his aggression unchecked as he stood her up. Her slender fingers sent his cardigan falling lazily apart, then removed it, her hands stealing feels of his arms as the sleeves slid beyond his wrists into nothingness. She lifted off his shirt, then kneeled down and began to run her tongue across his chest and abs as he moaned slightly. His hands whisked through her hair as her kisses found their way down further and further. She felt his hardness protruding in the confines of his denim as she teased his waistline with her tongue. Her own lips had been gone from his for too long, so he lifted her up, anxious to feel them again with his. Belts soon unbuckled as fingers stumbled clumsily with the buckles themselves, heartbeats climbing and hands forever exploring. He became familiar with her contours again, lifting her shirt from her head, pushing her against the kitchen counter and then effortlessly lifting her on it. Her nearly bare back fell against the wall, her thighs flirting with his biceps, his jeans caught in a pile by his ankles. He held her hands in his own and outstreched their arms, leaning forward as they kissed passionately. Her hands found their way around his neck as she looked up into his face, his dick throbbing in unbearable anticipation. She moaned as his tongue teased her nipples, her legs constantly adjusting against his torso. They found comfort yet again on his biceps as he moved her wet panties to the side, sliding his shaft in. Her gasps and moans were all they heard against the backdrop of their heartbeats, every thrust inside leaving his dick more drenched and her nails gripping tighter into his back, until she finally came.
"... I love you so much Jaiden..." as she grinded her hips into his own, between breathless expressions. "I love you too..." he uttered, stroking deeply as she screamed in pleasure. Their bodies were meant for each other. He lifted her up from the counter and cradled her close as he walked to the bed, laying her on it. He climbed over top of her and entered her again, porous skin leaving their sweaty chests sticking as they breathed. Her legs wrapped around his back, hands clutching hard at the sheets and moans carrying through the thin sheetrock walls. She came again, her legs shaking uncontrollably, light headed from its intensity but still urging him on. He pressed on harder now as she worked her pelvic muscles, tightening up against his dick with each thrust. He pounded away with her encouragement, lost in his love, hate, and everything in between for this woman. She was the counter of his soul. His balance, other half, and gravity. They came together, and exhausted, finally found comfort and sleep, wrapped naked in each others arms.
She rested still in his embrace until his eyes closed. She watched him sleep for a while, gently caressing his head and tracing the outline of his lips with her finger. The clock by the nightstand read 3:50, and she knew it was time to leave. She stole away from his arms, and gathered her clothing that lay scattered around the apartment. Doing so silently, she slipped back into her clothing and headed back towards the bed. Ayana looked once more at Jaiden as he slept peacefully, then kissed him gently on his forehead and hurriedly left towards the door.
She felt traces of him on her body as she walked up the lengthy flights towards her own apartment. Her drive across town was torment, and yet admittedly, enjoyable. Tears fell occasionally, and what made them persist was her knowledge that they weren't from guilt. She knew what she expected to feel. She instead cried from a certain satisfaction that only he could provide. No one else made her feel like he did. He bought out her very best, her absolute worst, and she loved him for it all.
He woke up with a familiar cold that crept over his body. Ayana was no longer there with him. He glanced over to the clock, squinting to make out the time. The analog shown brightly; 10:11. He stood up and grabbed some shorts from his dresser drawer. Throwing them on, he walked over to the kitchen, noticing an off-white envelope on the counter, addressed to him. He picked it up and pulled out a thick sheet with a fancy gold print. The air left his chest as he read the words once, then dropped the stationery at his feet.
The stationery, in gold lettering, had simply read;
"You are cordially invited to celebrate the union of
Ayana Bevele Tomas
and Fidel Allen Galloway
on Saturday, the 26th of June at 6 o'clock,
followed by a reception. R.S.V.P.
Eden had shattered.
The olive green door frame, which weathered many intense slams from the discontent preluding this, cracked from the collision. Panting and ensued with bitterness, Jaiden staggered recklessly across his apartment, blindly searching for some form of clarity. Fine crimson lines intruded around his iris, none too critical of the tears they let slide past and down his face. He reached in the cabinet beneath the sink, succumbing to his all too familiar crutch; the dark liquor not quite able to invade his liver fast enough. Between each swig he glanced to his front door in hopeless denial, or rather anticipation. The night two years ago began to replay in his thoughts, turning his logic to nothing but scattered ambience. He saw the past; himself scrolling through his phonebook, pausing as he past Ayana's name, then skipping ahead to her's. He saw himself raise the phone to his ear, remembered the sweet nothings he whispered slyly, cunningly, vengefully. Another swig propelled his collapse into memories he had buried long ago. He saw himself steal out the front door of his house, entering his car, and pause before starting the engine. The drive in silence came to his thoughts as he placed the nearly empty bottle on the counter and reached to his pocket to light a cigarette. He remembered sitting in her driveway for a time, briefly acquainting himself with guilt before ignoring it completely and opening the door, starting the short trek to her front door. She opened it partially, and he remembered entering darkness, with the tail end of a silk garment brushing past him, grabbing his wrist, and pulling him close. He remembered the inital embrace, the poison of her lips, the venom on her tongue. His eyes closed, he saw clothing scattered, heard moans and screams, and with each thrust inside of her felt love slipping slowly from his bones. His climax caused him to writhe in pain, laying tarnished and in utter disgust, next to a body that wasn't his, his arms falsely wrapped around something unfamiliar, something surreal. Her words of security fed his guilt, and it gorged without concern, prompting him to dress in silence as soon as she fell asleep and slip away eagerly in the night. He remembered sitting in his car, all his rage escaped him, and tears doing the same soon after. He saw blurs of time, then Ayana's face clear as day as he confessed his unfaithfulness. He saw her soul in her eyes, shattered, in countless pieces between them. The yells and screaming at ridiculous octaves, curious looks from passerbyers and her abrupt exit from that lonely room was nothing compared to that instant he saw the consequence of his actions. He saw himself sitting with his back to the wall, and in that instant felt the walls begin to break the ground around his heart, embarking on their journey to all but block it from feeling since that moment. Walls weren't the story of his life, just his darkest chapter. He realized that now, presently, these same tears that slipped from his eyes were only a continuation from that moment two years ago. He, in his insecurity, vengfulness, and selfishness, had slaughtered love. Ayana's attacker in his dreams, who hadn't known an identity until now, he realized was himself. It was he who left her on the dirt path, crushed from his own rage. The epiphany sent him reeling to the floor, finally breaking down with his face in his palms. Two years rushed out all at once, and he sat there as the sole comfort to himself. Or simply, alone.
He never heard the rattle of the hinges. Ayana entered the apartment quickly but certaintly, led to his spot on the kitchen tile by his muffled moans. She loomed over him for a second, saying nothing, then kneeled down to hold him close. He welcomed her comfort without hesitation, her arms shouldered his hurt, head nuzzled in his neck as they sat cuddling in silence. He cried until the pain began to subside, leaving him instinctively clutching at his chest. She raised her head from the safety beneath his own and began to look into his eyes. His voice stifled as tried to find something to say, nothing willing to land on his tongue. Instead he found himself looking right back into her own. Then he leaned forward and kissed her. She didn't object as he found her lips' warmth, inhibition declining its last stand.
Her neck tasted of midsummer sun, his lips anxiously pressed against her skin, hers grazing gently against his ear. Their tongues defined rhythm as they met, hands tiptoeing unconsciously as they sat together on the kitchen tile. He stole a glance into her eyes again, confident he was truly lost in them, and left his aggression unchecked as he stood her up. Her slender fingers sent his cardigan falling lazily apart, then removed it, her hands stealing feels of his arms as the sleeves slid beyond his wrists into nothingness. She lifted off his shirt, then kneeled down and began to run her tongue across his chest and abs as he moaned slightly. His hands whisked through her hair as her kisses found their way down further and further. She felt his hardness protruding in the confines of his denim as she teased his waistline with her tongue. Her own lips had been gone from his for too long, so he lifted her up, anxious to feel them again with his. Belts soon unbuckled as fingers stumbled clumsily with the buckles themselves, heartbeats climbing and hands forever exploring. He became familiar with her contours again, lifting her shirt from her head, pushing her against the kitchen counter and then effortlessly lifting her on it. Her nearly bare back fell against the wall, her thighs flirting with his biceps, his jeans caught in a pile by his ankles. He held her hands in his own and outstreched their arms, leaning forward as they kissed passionately. Her hands found their way around his neck as she looked up into his face, his dick throbbing in unbearable anticipation. She moaned as his tongue teased her nipples, her legs constantly adjusting against his torso. They found comfort yet again on his biceps as he moved her wet panties to the side, sliding his shaft in. Her gasps and moans were all they heard against the backdrop of their heartbeats, every thrust inside leaving his dick more drenched and her nails gripping tighter into his back, until she finally came.
"... I love you so much Jaiden..." as she grinded her hips into his own, between breathless expressions. "I love you too..." he uttered, stroking deeply as she screamed in pleasure. Their bodies were meant for each other. He lifted her up from the counter and cradled her close as he walked to the bed, laying her on it. He climbed over top of her and entered her again, porous skin leaving their sweaty chests sticking as they breathed. Her legs wrapped around his back, hands clutching hard at the sheets and moans carrying through the thin sheetrock walls. She came again, her legs shaking uncontrollably, light headed from its intensity but still urging him on. He pressed on harder now as she worked her pelvic muscles, tightening up against his dick with each thrust. He pounded away with her encouragement, lost in his love, hate, and everything in between for this woman. She was the counter of his soul. His balance, other half, and gravity. They came together, and exhausted, finally found comfort and sleep, wrapped naked in each others arms.
She rested still in his embrace until his eyes closed. She watched him sleep for a while, gently caressing his head and tracing the outline of his lips with her finger. The clock by the nightstand read 3:50, and she knew it was time to leave. She stole away from his arms, and gathered her clothing that lay scattered around the apartment. Doing so silently, she slipped back into her clothing and headed back towards the bed. Ayana looked once more at Jaiden as he slept peacefully, then kissed him gently on his forehead and hurriedly left towards the door.
She felt traces of him on her body as she walked up the lengthy flights towards her own apartment. Her drive across town was torment, and yet admittedly, enjoyable. Tears fell occasionally, and what made them persist was her knowledge that they weren't from guilt. She knew what she expected to feel. She instead cried from a certain satisfaction that only he could provide. No one else made her feel like he did. He bought out her very best, her absolute worst, and she loved him for it all.
He woke up with a familiar cold that crept over his body. Ayana was no longer there with him. He glanced over to the clock, squinting to make out the time. The analog shown brightly; 10:11. He stood up and grabbed some shorts from his dresser drawer. Throwing them on, he walked over to the kitchen, noticing an off-white envelope on the counter, addressed to him. He picked it up and pulled out a thick sheet with a fancy gold print. The air left his chest as he read the words once, then dropped the stationery at his feet.
The stationery, in gold lettering, had simply read;
"You are cordially invited to celebrate the union of
Ayana Bevele Tomas
and Fidel Allen Galloway
on Saturday, the 26th of June at 6 o'clock,
followed by a reception. R.S.V.P.
Eden had shattered.
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