The E Train Chronicles

This is why I try not to ride the E train after 10pm. There is always some shi* I just cannot explain. I encountered these 2 last Thursday night. There are so many questions that I have I don't know where to start. If they looked like homeless people it would not have been noteworthy. But since they are dressed like college professors or members of a country club I had to wonder why they were so spent? or bent? and why were they riding a Jamaica bound E train after 10pm at night? Did someone roofie them? but why? I could go on but I guess certain things are not to be explained.

The "Whoa!" Remix Challenge

The "Whoa!" remix popped up on my ipod the other day as I was enjoying a nice shuffle. It isn't the first time this has happened. and I'm always tempted to listen to it because of the beat and because of how hard Rah Digga comes in on the first verse. But it's always a mistake. Your nostalgia and general respect for the original "Whoa!"by Black Rob may tempt you to listen to this remix. But you'd be making a mistake. They should change the name of the "Whoa!" remix to the "Bring-your-wackest-verse-or-your-least-favorite-rappers-rhymefest circa 2000".. It's terrible. and you know it's going to be once you realize someone let Lil' Cease go second. or at all. and it continues to go down hill from there. I tried to get all the way through this 8 minute fiasco but by the time I got to Black Rob's verse and realized he didn't even have any respect for his own remix I gave up. So I challenge you. See if you can make it through this entire song really listening. Not facebooking or emailing or planning lunch while it's on in the background.  If you can do it, you win an invitation to listen to the original "Whoa!".

"My Panama niggaz hold me down like WHOA, my New York peoples hold me down like WHOA" 

Life Outside the Matrix... A Comedic Tragedy

For the purposes of this poem

The Matrix (may-tricks), noun; is defined as…

-A place on this earth, where people enjoy the whimsy and simplicity of living with short or non-existent memories of unpleasant or inconvenient truths

This is about the misfortune of living just outside of the Matrix

Where I live.

‘bout half mile from the McDonald’s…. Any McDonald’s

Close enough to know many people that live inside

But far enough to know I can’t live inside myself

Outside feels like the kinda place

Where the raw sewage that they aren’t supposed to dump into the river would flow

It’s desolate, quiet.

More muted than naturally quiet

It rains a lot, but few things grow

There are no children here. Or there shouldn’t be

It gets cold it gets hot

Rarely is it just right

We can only enter the Matrix with our masks on

No one inside wants to be reminded of outside.

Our own little District 9

Those of us who live outside wouldn’t have it any other way

Despite how much we bitch and complain

Somehow we still feel more fortunate

Like an exclusive crew of hapless misfits

In our place, our position

Outside the Matrix

We are now renting space with the option to buy

Poet Like

I have a poem in my head

And I can’t get it out

I have a poem in my head

And I can’t get it out

I have a poem in my head

And I can’t get it out

Which is ironic because I’m not a poet

(it’s 2AM…maybe I am a poet)

po·et/ / [poh-it]

–noun

1. a person who composes poetry. (yea ok. that’s helpful)

2. a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression. (now that’s more like it)

I am not sure if it’s a gift

But I have a lot of thoughts

Some imagination

Sporadic creation

Questionable eloquence

Expression.. I can do expression

“I think therefore I am”

But I write. Therefore I-AM- ILLer...than most

There’s this poem in my head and I must write it down