Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
I'm going to be one hundred with the world right now
I'm drowning in tears and Mccormick and gatorade right now.
I don't have the patience nor the desire to relay the entire course of events that have led to my current condition but I will try my best to give you a brief overview.
All I ever wanted in the whole world is to be heard. For people to take what I've restlessly trained to travel between my heart and mouth and feel every clause, word and intonation as it was felt when inspiration impaled through me. I've had this inherent desire to hold an audience interned in my being since adolescence. The hallow-cheeked man-boy with mile-wide gestures and the abysmal voice that seems to have an opinion on everything is the same froggy stresses emitted from a small boy, fifteen years ago, whose daily goal was to have the most laughs out of the few comparable jokesters of his caliber. I've bore and shed artistic, literary and political aspirations throughout my lifetime but one thing that has remained despite the seemingly unending evolution of Rodney Blu Wilson is his need for an audience.
Today, I've been denied everything I've set my sights on other than life I hope for every night if I'm fortunate enough to arise the next morning. The university is threatening to deny me the means of attaining the education I'm existentially entitled to, every employer I've actively sought out by means of my aching, blistered and cramping size thirteens, denied me an opportunity to prove my contribution and worth to, repudiated my requests - when all either of them had to do, whether the university or, at least, one - just one! - of four employers I implored, had to do was listen to me.
I'm saying something, I know I am.
I mean, I hate to look at my impending inability to attend the University of not only my, but my mother's choice, as any benefit to me, however it goes without saying I've always felt the American Education System was a trap - attempting to lead me and those like me to believe that our unbridled patronage to a state institution through money, time and dedication will better my standing in the working world when in reality it's just keeping those who seek to have the biggest impact on society for accomplishing what we all know we can achieve now. So their verdict to withhold my financial aid dispersement (preventing me from paying a steadily rising tuition), deny me my academic transcripts (preventing me from enrolling in a less expensive and probably more productive community college) and revoking my ability to use a number of student resources (preventing me from assessing my situation with the guidance of academic counseling) over a $60 parking ticket that was never issued to me shows me the priority of the institution I've sold myself to. I refuse to smile and say I'm no longer a student because of a $60 parking ticket because that's fucking sad. It'd probably be in my best interest to seek out some means of paying them sure, but I'm an idealist. And before I consider bending over backwards to meet their unmerited demands, I've taken time to assess whether or not an organization so petty as to deny me the pursuit of an education is even worth a funky ass $60. It's hard for me to write about this because I'm so ashamed. I'm not a dropout. I refuse to be. I work tirelessly everyday to find an avenue to voice the discrepancies in the system but, like life has shown me throughout these last two decades, just because you need an audience doesn't mean you'll receive one. Thus, my lamentations have gone unheard.
As meaningless and fraud as the totem of currency has become over the course of American History, it is undeniable that individuals, entities and the very structural foundation of our society is fueled by the rotation and exchange of dollars. And as unfortunate and debated as the fact is, an individual's worth in society is determined by not by his output of labor but his accumulation of funds. I know this, undertand this and have lived this for quite some time. Since reaching the legal age of employment I've sought and maintained it and it wasn't until more recent times that it has become an ordeal to find occupational opportunities. I've used every deductive method in my arsenal to solve for why I fail in finding steady employment. The numerous entry-level positions for which I've inquired have standards that offend my personal proficiencies but because that's what's made available to me, employers have the leverage to dismiss my requests despite my over-qualifications. Gas stations. Restaurants. Bars. Retail establishments. All have turned me away for no other reason than they just don't want me. My schedule has never been an issue, I have a respectable work history for a 20-year old "college student", I'm articulate and professional and despite my mane and prepubescent facial fuzz, I'm clean-cut at every angle therefore, most of my denials are often shielded behind such defenses as "come back in two or three weeks." or "we're not hiring at the moment but we're accepting applications." or "we'll call you when something becomes available." blatantly affronting my time, effort as well as my intelligence. I hate to sound pompous but anything that requires only a stable work history, weekend availability and a high school diploma/GED is beneath me! Nevertheless, in my efforts to assimilate into the systematic abuse of human labor known as the Work Force, I have and will continue to seek opportunities within these cesspools of mediocrity until I attain something that will temporarily line my pockets. (sighs)
On the contrary, however, I wrote today. I wrote my skinny little fingers off because I had something to say and in face of all that befell me today, against the page - a dependent verification form, to be exact - against that page I emerged victorious.
Everybody doubted me and said I wasn’t cut for it,
But I refused to let discouragers take away my love for it.
I suffered and because of it I’ve felt the worst and made it through,
No one gave me a chance so I decided I should take a few.
I don't have the patience nor the desire to relay the entire course of events that have led to my current condition but I will try my best to give you a brief overview.
All I ever wanted in the whole world is to be heard. For people to take what I've restlessly trained to travel between my heart and mouth and feel every clause, word and intonation as it was felt when inspiration impaled through me. I've had this inherent desire to hold an audience interned in my being since adolescence. The hallow-cheeked man-boy with mile-wide gestures and the abysmal voice that seems to have an opinion on everything is the same froggy stresses emitted from a small boy, fifteen years ago, whose daily goal was to have the most laughs out of the few comparable jokesters of his caliber. I've bore and shed artistic, literary and political aspirations throughout my lifetime but one thing that has remained despite the seemingly unending evolution of Rodney Blu Wilson is his need for an audience.
Today, I've been denied everything I've set my sights on other than life I hope for every night if I'm fortunate enough to arise the next morning. The university is threatening to deny me the means of attaining the education I'm existentially entitled to, every employer I've actively sought out by means of my aching, blistered and cramping size thirteens, denied me an opportunity to prove my contribution and worth to, repudiated my requests - when all either of them had to do, whether the university or, at least, one - just one! - of four employers I implored, had to do was listen to me.
I'm saying something, I know I am.
I mean, I hate to look at my impending inability to attend the University of not only my, but my mother's choice, as any benefit to me, however it goes without saying I've always felt the American Education System was a trap - attempting to lead me and those like me to believe that our unbridled patronage to a state institution through money, time and dedication will better my standing in the working world when in reality it's just keeping those who seek to have the biggest impact on society for accomplishing what we all know we can achieve now. So their verdict to withhold my financial aid dispersement (preventing me from paying a steadily rising tuition), deny me my academic transcripts (preventing me from enrolling in a less expensive and probably more productive community college) and revoking my ability to use a number of student resources (preventing me from assessing my situation with the guidance of academic counseling) over a $60 parking ticket that was never issued to me shows me the priority of the institution I've sold myself to. I refuse to smile and say I'm no longer a student because of a $60 parking ticket because that's fucking sad. It'd probably be in my best interest to seek out some means of paying them sure, but I'm an idealist. And before I consider bending over backwards to meet their unmerited demands, I've taken time to assess whether or not an organization so petty as to deny me the pursuit of an education is even worth a funky ass $60. It's hard for me to write about this because I'm so ashamed. I'm not a dropout. I refuse to be. I work tirelessly everyday to find an avenue to voice the discrepancies in the system but, like life has shown me throughout these last two decades, just because you need an audience doesn't mean you'll receive one. Thus, my lamentations have gone unheard.
As meaningless and fraud as the totem of currency has become over the course of American History, it is undeniable that individuals, entities and the very structural foundation of our society is fueled by the rotation and exchange of dollars. And as unfortunate and debated as the fact is, an individual's worth in society is determined by not by his output of labor but his accumulation of funds. I know this, undertand this and have lived this for quite some time. Since reaching the legal age of employment I've sought and maintained it and it wasn't until more recent times that it has become an ordeal to find occupational opportunities. I've used every deductive method in my arsenal to solve for why I fail in finding steady employment. The numerous entry-level positions for which I've inquired have standards that offend my personal proficiencies but because that's what's made available to me, employers have the leverage to dismiss my requests despite my over-qualifications. Gas stations. Restaurants. Bars. Retail establishments. All have turned me away for no other reason than they just don't want me. My schedule has never been an issue, I have a respectable work history for a 20-year old "college student", I'm articulate and professional and despite my mane and prepubescent facial fuzz, I'm clean-cut at every angle therefore, most of my denials are often shielded behind such defenses as "come back in two or three weeks." or "we're not hiring at the moment but we're accepting applications." or "we'll call you when something becomes available." blatantly affronting my time, effort as well as my intelligence. I hate to sound pompous but anything that requires only a stable work history, weekend availability and a high school diploma/GED is beneath me! Nevertheless, in my efforts to assimilate into the systematic abuse of human labor known as the Work Force, I have and will continue to seek opportunities within these cesspools of mediocrity until I attain something that will temporarily line my pockets. (sighs)
On the contrary, however, I wrote today. I wrote my skinny little fingers off because I had something to say and in face of all that befell me today, against the page - a dependent verification form, to be exact - against that page I emerged victorious.
Everybody doubted me and said I wasn’t cut for it,
But I refused to let discouragers take away my love for it.
I suffered and because of it I’ve felt the worst and made it through,
No one gave me a chance so I decided I should take a few.
Friday, January 21, 2011
the best thing that could've happened to me in recent times is falling in love with a beautiful, strong black woman.
*correction: MY beautiful, strong black woman.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
I really don't even know what I'm talking about right now
The return to Denton last night produced a bitter-sweet reception from me. Winter Break served it's primary function just as its title denotes - a break from the harsh realities of living independently. I haven't had the opportunity to transcribe all the mishaps I fell into my previous three months in Denton in my blog but I can assure you that walking through my front door only to witness a full psychological breakdown taking place, sitting on the hood of a Nisan Altima going about 65-mph up a residential road and spending 12-hours in city jail alongside a man pleading a felony automobile theft charge to me THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT one, isn't the best way to end a semester and two, isn't a memory you want clinging to you at the beginning of the next.
Regardless of the lingering cobwebs I'm attempting to shake off upon my return, commencing the break will allow me to attempt to effectively reestablish a grip on my life. This means finding employment (-___-), finding an adequate living space for me and my boy Devlon, maintaining the chapter of our shared community organization and recording more tracks while looking for open opportunities to perform - all of these which, are second only to maintaining good standing in school.
Ugh, something about expressing that last statement made me hold my breath.
Of course it means the world to me that I'm finally surrounded by my crew again. The warmth that seemed to envelop me when I was reunited with Devlon, John and Tiny was incomparable to any feeling I've experienced in recent times, matched only by the feeling the company of my Lioness produces. I love these kids so much and they understand my hustle like no one else does. There are few people in the world who can truly comprehend how success-hungry I am and even fewer seek to. I fuck with those who seek.
I miss Desiré a lot. I barely got to communicate with her today and that is a huge and sudden shift from the norm established during break - that being we begin and end everyday with each other and rendezvous at various points in between. I hope things continue to go well for us. She's on such a defined path right now. I mean, of course we all have our loose ends that occasionally need maintenance but she's on her way to graduating, has a steady job and is actively seeking another and plays a big role in her sorority. Sometimes I feel a bit inadequate, because in most aspects, the strong cord she's weaved with her life makes mine look awfully frayed and weak. I admire that about her but it worries me that if I don't match the successes she's met as we progress as each other's counterpart, that she'll grow tired of my struggles and fallacies and find a better match elsewhere - someone closer and probably more refined than the mutt she's with. This, is one of my many motivations to get my shit together, I guess, to remain fit for someone as fastidious as Desi.
I've always been the underdog in a sense. I skated by in high school with as minimal tangible hard work as possible. I've always felt like my contribution to any circle is beyond black and white. I express, share and create more than I've ever physically produce and I guess that's the next step. I refuse to skate by on potential even if there were an avenue in life that allowed such a gesture. That's cheating. I have so many paths in front of me that would allow me to see the triumphs I dream of but it takes literal hard work to attain them, something that, up until this point, I didn't have to utilize because of my existential work. Now it takes a little more than to just be there, success requires a little more dirt under my nails. A little more than I've put out in the past and a little more than the required average because I expect so much from my existence.
Am I rambling?
I guess this entry is more an introduction into this phase of my life. Throughout the break I've been dealing with the bitter realities of adulthood and the occasional stabs inflicted by past misfortunes and now that I'm back on my own and in the position to stand fully erect, I can begin the long task of rebuilding. This may not make sense to anyone reading it and for that I apologize but will not seek to clarify because I know what the hell I'm talking about. lol
my girlfriend is IM'ing me dirty things by the way. ;)
Just because real life has kicked back into gear doesn't mean I will dedicate less time to posting, however (not that anyone cares). Unsung is an extension of me. If these pages (along with few other social media that I subscribe to: @_bornfree, refayabornfree.tumblr.com, etc.) don't express how I feel, then it's because my feelings have gone unexpressed. I use this blog along with twitter, tumblr and my facebook artist page occasionally, I don't know, as a sort of therapy I guess. Every tangible moment with people isn't an opportunity to freely express the intricacies of how I feel - not even with my crew. We bullshit around, talk noise and share ideas and thoughts but it isn't everyday that we immerse ourselves in the thoroughness of the paths our minds lead us at the commencement of the day's objectives.
A slice from Crooked Crust sounds really good right now for some strange reason
Musically, if you haven't been keeping up with my tweets or youtube account, then you probably don't know that some lineup changes have been made to my release schedule. No longer will The Resistance and Bullet be the second and third singles, respectively. The order has changed in an attempt to accomodate an issue that has been pressing against me for some time now, therefore, the single following Heart will be a project entitled, Speak Up. I'll post another installment of Behind The Lines in order to inform you to what specifically inspired both the song and change of priority.
Well, I guess I'm done here. I don't know what purpose this post served other that to just provide an update as to my current condition and objectives. I felt like I needed it though. Everything here doesn't have to mean much, sometimes I just like to remind myself that I'm human. Don't you?
Regardless of the lingering cobwebs I'm attempting to shake off upon my return, commencing the break will allow me to attempt to effectively reestablish a grip on my life. This means finding employment (-___-), finding an adequate living space for me and my boy Devlon, maintaining the chapter of our shared community organization and recording more tracks while looking for open opportunities to perform - all of these which, are second only to maintaining good standing in school.
Ugh, something about expressing that last statement made me hold my breath.
Of course it means the world to me that I'm finally surrounded by my crew again. The warmth that seemed to envelop me when I was reunited with Devlon, John and Tiny was incomparable to any feeling I've experienced in recent times, matched only by the feeling the company of my Lioness produces. I love these kids so much and they understand my hustle like no one else does. There are few people in the world who can truly comprehend how success-hungry I am and even fewer seek to. I fuck with those who seek.
I miss Desiré a lot. I barely got to communicate with her today and that is a huge and sudden shift from the norm established during break - that being we begin and end everyday with each other and rendezvous at various points in between. I hope things continue to go well for us. She's on such a defined path right now. I mean, of course we all have our loose ends that occasionally need maintenance but she's on her way to graduating, has a steady job and is actively seeking another and plays a big role in her sorority. Sometimes I feel a bit inadequate, because in most aspects, the strong cord she's weaved with her life makes mine look awfully frayed and weak. I admire that about her but it worries me that if I don't match the successes she's met as we progress as each other's counterpart, that she'll grow tired of my struggles and fallacies and find a better match elsewhere - someone closer and probably more refined than the mutt she's with. This, is one of my many motivations to get my shit together, I guess, to remain fit for someone as fastidious as Desi.
I've always been the underdog in a sense. I skated by in high school with as minimal tangible hard work as possible. I've always felt like my contribution to any circle is beyond black and white. I express, share and create more than I've ever physically produce and I guess that's the next step. I refuse to skate by on potential even if there were an avenue in life that allowed such a gesture. That's cheating. I have so many paths in front of me that would allow me to see the triumphs I dream of but it takes literal hard work to attain them, something that, up until this point, I didn't have to utilize because of my existential work. Now it takes a little more than to just be there, success requires a little more dirt under my nails. A little more than I've put out in the past and a little more than the required average because I expect so much from my existence.
Am I rambling?
I guess this entry is more an introduction into this phase of my life. Throughout the break I've been dealing with the bitter realities of adulthood and the occasional stabs inflicted by past misfortunes and now that I'm back on my own and in the position to stand fully erect, I can begin the long task of rebuilding. This may not make sense to anyone reading it and for that I apologize but will not seek to clarify because I know what the hell I'm talking about. lol
my girlfriend is IM'ing me dirty things by the way. ;)
Just because real life has kicked back into gear doesn't mean I will dedicate less time to posting, however (not that anyone cares). Unsung is an extension of me. If these pages (along with few other social media that I subscribe to: @_bornfree, refayabornfree.tumblr.com, etc.) don't express how I feel, then it's because my feelings have gone unexpressed. I use this blog along with twitter, tumblr and my facebook artist page occasionally, I don't know, as a sort of therapy I guess. Every tangible moment with people isn't an opportunity to freely express the intricacies of how I feel - not even with my crew. We bullshit around, talk noise and share ideas and thoughts but it isn't everyday that we immerse ourselves in the thoroughness of the paths our minds lead us at the commencement of the day's objectives.
A slice from Crooked Crust sounds really good right now for some strange reason
Musically, if you haven't been keeping up with my tweets or youtube account, then you probably don't know that some lineup changes have been made to my release schedule. No longer will The Resistance and Bullet be the second and third singles, respectively. The order has changed in an attempt to accomodate an issue that has been pressing against me for some time now, therefore, the single following Heart will be a project entitled, Speak Up. I'll post another installment of Behind The Lines in order to inform you to what specifically inspired both the song and change of priority.
Well, I guess I'm done here. I don't know what purpose this post served other that to just provide an update as to my current condition and objectives. I felt like I needed it though. Everything here doesn't have to mean much, sometimes I just like to remind myself that I'm human. Don't you?
Monday, January 17, 2011
So while the world, or at least the black world and the media who only seeks to satiate the attention of blacks as minimally as possible, celebrate MLK Day or his birthday or whatever
consider Aaron Mcgruder's interpretation to Martin Luther King, Jr.'s opinion of modern African-American society.
Nick Marz (@NicholasMarz) "Now it's pain when I write, excuse me if I draw tears"
Name: Nicholas
Hometown: Capitol Heights, Maryland
Hustle: MC'ing and Real Life Shit
Interests: Music, Art, Photography and Traveling
I find it interesting how some people, often dubbed kindred spirits, without even being in immediate contact with you, can impact an individual existence so powerfully as to sometimes even seem closer than kin. Nick is one of those cats - my brother lion. I met him on Tumblr (refayabornfree.tumblr.com) and was under the initial impression that he was just some pretty boy motherfucker with an expensive camera and a handful of groupies. And although, in following him, I learned a little bit more about him and could relate to a number of his experiences, I kept my distance because of an inherent mistrust for dudes.
It wasn't until I posted a picture and the meaning of my tattoo on my page and he reblogged it, that I could see what kinda cat Nick was. He was a light-skinned Bornfree. Hahaha, no but seriously, from that point on, I dropped all inhibitions in communicating with him and found more common ground in this long-haired cat from the East Coast than I'd found in most cats down here. And our shared brotherhood only intensified when I found out he was both an artist and MC like myself. Since, we've discussed working together and have every intentions on making it as a team. I crew with NicholasMarz because he's an honest hard working dude whose goal in life isn't extravagance, attention or even the conventional standards of success. Like Bornfree, homeboy just wants to be heard. We'll get there homeboy, we just gotta take it a day at a time.
Ladies and Gentlemen, My Brother Lion, NicholasMarz.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
People Tend To Ask Me Where I'm From Rather Often...
I am a product of an untamed love between two young adults with no given direction in the world, one of which, my mother, having passed away a week after I turned eighteen. I feel I am destined to impose positive energy through music, philanthropy and universal respect to all living things in the world some day. Hopefully more sooner than later. Everyday for me is a struggle to remain upright as, in my attempts to be above the petty trivialities of the world strengthen, the weight of said nothingness increases making staying afloat in the tempest of bullshit a task of Homeric implications. But I am sustained through my faith in the inherent goodness of humanity and confidence in my ability to unlock and harness that buried quality in our species.
This is where I'm from.
Black, born in Dallas, Living in Denton: This is how I am defined, I suppose.
This is where I'm from.
Black, born in Dallas, Living in Denton: This is how I am defined, I suppose.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
One of my Biggest Supporters and by far my Biggest Critic
is my girlfriend (@DesireDavis)
I hold so much respect for her musical opinion because she has unmatched taste. Although she may not have as big a bank of hip-hop knowledge as her man, she is exceptionally aware of modern, young hip-hop embodying artistic integrity, substance and style. This includes the likes of J. Cole, Wiz, Chiddy Bang, Yelawolf, Dom Kennedy, Blu, XV, Freddie Gibbs, etc - basically, the circle of individuals that I, as a twenty year old MC of my caliber, will mostly be surrounded by if I'm fortunate enough to create significant buzz in the Game.
So she's particularly tough on my work, as she should be but often to my frustration and dismay. I understand that in order to have even a fraction of the impact I dream of, not only on Hip-Hop, but society as a whole, I must perfect my craft and Desiré is the pilot of that ship. When everyone else will cream and gawk over how amazing I am as a lyricist, Desiré is guaranteed to the single voice amidst the clamor to point out my poor breathing, sub-par delivery or whatever else she's criticized me for in the past. At the time, yeah, it stings but I understand that she wouldn't take the time to critique if she didn't have any stock in me. I secretly think I'm her favorite MC, she's just too much of a toughie to admit it, especially considering my library of work consists of one living room-studio single and a slew of webcam-bred facebook videos.
Which brings me to the subject of the current entry. I recently slaved over the first verse for an upcoming song called "On The Shoulders of Giants" The song is gonna be beautiful, I know it but my drive to continuously outdo my last verse in the engendering of another made this particular verse exceptionally hard to recite. I was prompted to write it as I was browsing instrumentals in my iTunes library and upon stumbling across one by a Datpiff user named MG, I felt compelled, like I had no choice, but to write against it. I spent eight hours of a Thursday writing and reciting, writing and reciting, writing and reciting. Initially, I was super proud of it, I couldn't believe I was ripping as hard as I was. But as time progressed and the verse became harder and harder to convey, I began to grow increasingly frustrated in it. I went the whole eight hours without eating. Just wetting my pallet with water from my favorite canister and contorting my words in a fashion that only Bornfree can.
Eventually, I frustrated myself to the point where, although both my brother and father commended its progress and delivery, I just gave up. I'd almost thrown up upon three various recitations of the piece and I shamed myself for writing something physically impossible to convey. When my illa brother, Rikki (@RikkiWorld_) asked me about its progress, I simply replied that I had intentions to scrap it - something I haven't done since I was, like, seventeen. He immediately rebuked me for even considering giving up on that verse and although, at the time, I felt "man he just doesn't understand. I worked myself to death on that verse.", it was Rikki's persistence that I get it right that rekindled not only my work on the verse, but my belief in my ability as an MC.
It would be crazy cinematic for me to have arisen the next morning and gotten right back to laboring over the verse, however that isn't the approach I took. To myself, I'd just recite the verse - a line at a time. No matter what I was doing. Making a sandwich, walking through town, poking motherfuckers back on facebook, taking a shit - whatever, I continued to silently engrave each line into my head until it flowed effortlessly from my lips.
Soon I was ready to record it and share it with the world. So I set up photobooth, recorded myself spitting only once and immediately uploaded it to facebook, tagging the usuals. Within an hour and some change, eight people had commented and fifteen had liked it. Comments ranged from friends to other artists and an old flame saying things like "Fiyaaa!! Keep it coming! (:", "Doing great man, would love to hear this recorded." "you rap faster than twista" and so on - but it wasn't until three and a half hours after posting it that I'd received the most powerful affirmation of my work to date (not to disregard anyone else's appreciation however).
Desiré Davis had not only commented my video, she complimented it. Note that this is the same individual who, because of her criticisms, had me rerecording my current single "Heart on a Record" over a handful of times just for the rough draft.
It shocked my little system realizing her approval so much that, during our chat that night, I went through every aspect of her usual criticisms: Delivery, Content and Comprehension, and demanded her grade on each. She checked them all (although I kinda expected a letter grade - I mean really, when's the last time you got a check for a grade? C'mon now, baby.).
What I'm trying to say, I guess, is, I have both my brother and my girlfriend to thank if the ultimate outcome of this song is successful. Thanks Rik for not letting me quit and Desi, you set the standard, believe it or not, I am a better MC because of you.
I hold so much respect for her musical opinion because she has unmatched taste. Although she may not have as big a bank of hip-hop knowledge as her man, she is exceptionally aware of modern, young hip-hop embodying artistic integrity, substance and style. This includes the likes of J. Cole, Wiz, Chiddy Bang, Yelawolf, Dom Kennedy, Blu, XV, Freddie Gibbs, etc - basically, the circle of individuals that I, as a twenty year old MC of my caliber, will mostly be surrounded by if I'm fortunate enough to create significant buzz in the Game.
So she's particularly tough on my work, as she should be but often to my frustration and dismay. I understand that in order to have even a fraction of the impact I dream of, not only on Hip-Hop, but society as a whole, I must perfect my craft and Desiré is the pilot of that ship. When everyone else will cream and gawk over how amazing I am as a lyricist, Desiré is guaranteed to the single voice amidst the clamor to point out my poor breathing, sub-par delivery or whatever else she's criticized me for in the past. At the time, yeah, it stings but I understand that she wouldn't take the time to critique if she didn't have any stock in me. I secretly think I'm her favorite MC, she's just too much of a toughie to admit it, especially considering my library of work consists of one living room-studio single and a slew of webcam-bred facebook videos.
Which brings me to the subject of the current entry. I recently slaved over the first verse for an upcoming song called "On The Shoulders of Giants" The song is gonna be beautiful, I know it but my drive to continuously outdo my last verse in the engendering of another made this particular verse exceptionally hard to recite. I was prompted to write it as I was browsing instrumentals in my iTunes library and upon stumbling across one by a Datpiff user named MG, I felt compelled, like I had no choice, but to write against it. I spent eight hours of a Thursday writing and reciting, writing and reciting, writing and reciting. Initially, I was super proud of it, I couldn't believe I was ripping as hard as I was. But as time progressed and the verse became harder and harder to convey, I began to grow increasingly frustrated in it. I went the whole eight hours without eating. Just wetting my pallet with water from my favorite canister and contorting my words in a fashion that only Bornfree can.
Eventually, I frustrated myself to the point where, although both my brother and father commended its progress and delivery, I just gave up. I'd almost thrown up upon three various recitations of the piece and I shamed myself for writing something physically impossible to convey. When my illa brother, Rikki (@RikkiWorld_) asked me about its progress, I simply replied that I had intentions to scrap it - something I haven't done since I was, like, seventeen. He immediately rebuked me for even considering giving up on that verse and although, at the time, I felt "man he just doesn't understand. I worked myself to death on that verse.", it was Rikki's persistence that I get it right that rekindled not only my work on the verse, but my belief in my ability as an MC.
It would be crazy cinematic for me to have arisen the next morning and gotten right back to laboring over the verse, however that isn't the approach I took. To myself, I'd just recite the verse - a line at a time. No matter what I was doing. Making a sandwich, walking through town, poking motherfuckers back on facebook, taking a shit - whatever, I continued to silently engrave each line into my head until it flowed effortlessly from my lips.
Soon I was ready to record it and share it with the world. So I set up photobooth, recorded myself spitting only once and immediately uploaded it to facebook, tagging the usuals. Within an hour and some change, eight people had commented and fifteen had liked it. Comments ranged from friends to other artists and an old flame saying things like "Fiyaaa!! Keep it coming! (:", "Doing great man, would love to hear this recorded." "you rap faster than twista" and so on - but it wasn't until three and a half hours after posting it that I'd received the most powerful affirmation of my work to date (not to disregard anyone else's appreciation however).
Desiré Davis had not only commented my video, she complimented it. Note that this is the same individual who, because of her criticisms, had me rerecording my current single "Heart on a Record" over a handful of times just for the rough draft.
It shocked my little system realizing her approval so much that, during our chat that night, I went through every aspect of her usual criticisms: Delivery, Content and Comprehension, and demanded her grade on each. She checked them all (although I kinda expected a letter grade - I mean really, when's the last time you got a check for a grade? C'mon now, baby.).
What I'm trying to say, I guess, is, I have both my brother and my girlfriend to thank if the ultimate outcome of this song is successful. Thanks Rik for not letting me quit and Desi, you set the standard, believe it or not, I am a better MC because of you.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Dev (@KaneJetson) "I rob niggas; what the FUCK I need a job for?"
Name: Devlon
Hometown: South Dallas, TX
Hustle: Hard Work and Music
Interests: Numbers, Basketball, Hip-Hop, Kicking It.
My nigga Devlon, man. It's hard to believe that this guy, who I met the summer before his freshman year of college and was introduced to him by my little brother as, The big brother who didn't believe in wearing underwear, has become such an important part of my life. This south Dallas HardHead ski-mask goon right here and I were the first to convene at the Traphouse over a heap of marijuana and school of blunts getting as high as that green eyed temptress would allow. He's seen the height of my extravagance and my lowest pitfalls. And throughout it all, whether good or bad, he's been down for his nigga Bornfree one-hundred percent. If I ever went to war, as I'm sure this music is likely to take me, though I wouldn't think twice before choosing Devlon, he wouldn't even allow me to think to choose him because my motherfucking homeboy would be right there with me, fists cocked ready to dump some fools off for me. It's not often that I run into a cat that's both a legitimate ass homie and a down ass soldier. Devlon is without a doubt, the first. And it's not only his brute that he contributes to the crew, were I not the oldest, he'd be the brains of the operation. Devlon is my second-in-command. Schemes, hustles, details and NUMBERS are all weapons Devlon is well equipped with. A street scholar, especially where we hail, is extremely hard to find, and lucky for me, I roll with one of the very few. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about my homeboy because I refuse to reach any imaginable height without him. I like to think of myself as a big brother to him. I care so much about this dude that I try to not even conduct business without him. Even his own family looks at our friendship as a brotherhood. There's only one person in this world that is more my brother than Devlon and that's the cat who introduced me to him, my little brother Rikki. When I reached the darkest hour of my life and when all else had abandoned, disregarded and turned against me, Devlon was there tirelessly, keeping my spirits up, the liquor pouring and the smoke in the air. I've gained and lost homeboys in the past and even had individuals I personally identified "brothers" fall to insignificance in the wake of misfortune but never has Devlon gave me any reason, even for a second, to doubt his friendship and loyalty to the crew as a whole. I can only say so much that the human tongue would allow to convey the impact Devlon has had on my life. But ultimately, all I can say is: That's my nigga. And there are no other words to convey it.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the brain and the braun, Devlon aka Kane Jetson
Tiny (@_p0ck3tdanc3r) "the day your heart fails you is the day you die"
Name: Ciceley
Hometown: Austin, TX
Hustle: Contemporary Dancer
Interests: Dance, The Office, Harry Potter, Fashion (esp. boots), Astrology
Man, this is my little one right here. Words do not even express how much I value this little woman's existence. I don't tend to keep women in my circle. No offense to the species as a whole, but women are generally too complicated for me to handle as an immediate friend. I've had women as tier II, tier III friends and associates but not often has a female entered the sacred realm of tier I and NEVER has a woman been a homie of mine. Until Tiny. We met via Twitter because, to be quite honest, I was just browsing cool chicks in my area. I stumbled across her profile and followed her, no big deal (Twitter makes stalking so effortless). I'd followed her for some time and it was only until one late Sunday night/Monday morning that I was driving back from a "performance" in Arizona that we really began to communicate. And immediately, just from her first couple tweets in reply to mine, I knew I was dealing with a pekingese with a rottweiler heart. I won't go on and on about the origins of our friendship, however it would be an injustice for me to conclude without at least briefly mentioning the impact she's had on me. I love Tiny and she knows that. She loves me too. And our friendship is remarkable in the fact that she wants so much for me. Tiny has done what very few females outside my mother, sister and Lioness have been able to do. Tiny looks past my bullshit. She sees right through every facade I engender in an attempt to block the world from my weaknesses. She barrels right through the walls I encompass my feelings with and sees what she described as "brilliance" and "genius". She doesn't see my failures and fuck-ups, my fears and faults. She looks into my soul every time she glances upon me and sees a hurt boy who wants to be something to everyone in the world. And she works tirelessly to ensure that boy gets exactly what he's wished for his entire life. I love you, Ciceley. And I know I make you so mad and so worried sometimes, but I appreciate you holding me down, Sweetie. Continue to do so.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Tiny.
We Are All Born Free: The Crew
As much as I like to think of myself as an army of one, a young rogue lion denying the company of the pride, I'm not that. I'm far from that. I have a great team of beautiful, supportive, just down ass niggas behind me and I'm taking the time out in these next few posts to honor each of their contributions to not only my successes, but my existence.
Lets begin shall we?
Lets begin shall we?
Why Do I Let What People Feel Bother Me So Much?
like I know I have the capacity to not give a fuck, but for some reason I care so badly about how those who know me feel about me. Like, I’m the type of person that needs to have people jump up and down when they see me after long periods apart. I’m the type of person that needs someone to be soothed by the sound of my voice. I’m the type of person that loves people so much that were it given a quantity how much I love people, it would be incalculable and I STILL expect people to love me more! I guess I want to be hot shit to the people who are hot shit to me. But maybe I’m not as great as I think, or hope to be, rather. Maybe that takes time. Or a new group of people. I don’t know. I do know, however, that life as a sixth man, life as an extra, a supporting character, even, is unglamorous and hurtful.
FAQ: any reason you picked a hebrew name?
lol see what you’ve done? Now we have a conversation on our hands.
Years of research and study has shown that the Africans who have, for over 400 years, been repressed, oppressed and denied any semblance of a culture outside the legacy of slavery were and are descendants of the historical people of North East Africa, an area understood in common terms as the middle east and more specifically, Israel.
Consider this before you, or anyone else reading, discards this as misinformation. Before the creation of the Suez Canal in 1869, there wasn’t a separation between the continent of Africa and what is known today as the middle east. In fact, the very term “middle east” wasn’t even created, in use in ANY language until the mid-1970’s.
You need look no further than the story (and I call it a story because I attribute very little historical significance to the Bible being that it’s been through so many hands) of Moses in Egypt. If the Israelites’ complexion then was the same as they are as modern-day Israelis, how was Moses able to blend in with the Egyptians who even the Greek historian Josephus depicted as “Black and ugly.” How did Joseph, son of Jacob, do the same amongst a people noted black and ugly.
Simple. The Hebrews were black. (and ugly according to some.) Original Hebrew is an Afro-Asiatic dialect of Arabic. The area known as the middle east was once considered north east africa and Willie Lynch did a hell of a job in writing the playbook of how to convince an entire group of human beings that their lineage extends no further than the bottoms of slave ships.
This is why my name is Hebrew. Because my blood is.
Years of research and study has shown that the Africans who have, for over 400 years, been repressed, oppressed and denied any semblance of a culture outside the legacy of slavery were and are descendants of the historical people of North East Africa, an area understood in common terms as the middle east and more specifically, Israel.
Consider this before you, or anyone else reading, discards this as misinformation. Before the creation of the Suez Canal in 1869, there wasn’t a separation between the continent of Africa and what is known today as the middle east. In fact, the very term “middle east” wasn’t even created, in use in ANY language until the mid-1970’s.
You need look no further than the story (and I call it a story because I attribute very little historical significance to the Bible being that it’s been through so many hands) of Moses in Egypt. If the Israelites’ complexion then was the same as they are as modern-day Israelis, how was Moses able to blend in with the Egyptians who even the Greek historian Josephus depicted as “Black and ugly.” How did Joseph, son of Jacob, do the same amongst a people noted black and ugly.
Simple. The Hebrews were black. (and ugly according to some.) Original Hebrew is an Afro-Asiatic dialect of Arabic. The area known as the middle east was once considered north east africa and Willie Lynch did a hell of a job in writing the playbook of how to convince an entire group of human beings that their lineage extends no further than the bottoms of slave ships.
This is why my name is Hebrew. Because my blood is.
Monday, January 10, 2011
And What The Fuck Is A Snookie Anyway?
and why are all these bitches trying so hard to be one?
whatever it is, I don’t want it.
I want a woman. The mother of civilization, the crown of mankind, a respectable, intelligent strong queen of the blue planet. With a body made to create, hands molded to caress and big beautiful eyes that can only not lie. Skin natural with no chemical additives other than the heredity of the mother before her that bore her. Freckles, gap teeth, nappy hair whatever. I want my woman natural. Like Eve, created alongside man (that’s why she is the rib). I want my woman like me: Born Free.
But y’all would much rather read about Kanye and Nicki and Trey Songz and Tisa and Jordan and The Hundreds and Levis and V-neck t-shirts and Snapbacks and tattoos and body mods and collarbones, right?
fuck what the fuck I’m talking about.
Because only a few will listen. Hell, only a few are really listening anyway. While the rest are silently dying from a lack of substance.
I’ll pipe down. I might as well be on facebook because I’m just talking to a wall right now
whatever it is, I don’t want it.
I want a woman. The mother of civilization, the crown of mankind, a respectable, intelligent strong queen of the blue planet. With a body made to create, hands molded to caress and big beautiful eyes that can only not lie. Skin natural with no chemical additives other than the heredity of the mother before her that bore her. Freckles, gap teeth, nappy hair whatever. I want my woman natural. Like Eve, created alongside man (that’s why she is the rib). I want my woman like me: Born Free.
But y’all would much rather read about Kanye and Nicki and Trey Songz and Tisa and Jordan and The Hundreds and Levis and V-neck t-shirts and Snapbacks and tattoos and body mods and collarbones, right?
fuck what the fuck I’m talking about.
Because only a few will listen. Hell, only a few are really listening anyway. While the rest are silently dying from a lack of substance.
I’ll pipe down. I might as well be on facebook because I’m just talking to a wall right now
Friday, January 7, 2011
Seven Days into 2011
Thus far, the current civil year shows both promise and portentousness. I've seen the heights of elation and the troughs of dismay in the same time it is said that a god took to create the world. Pardon the pseudo-literary/religious reference, but some high reverence has to be attributed to the variance of sensations and situations I have and continue to find myself in dawning the assumed year, 2011.
I wonder if this coffee shop has anything for $2.50...
In the last one hundred sixty-eight hours or so, I've generated slight communal fame for a four and a quarter minute song I recorded in my living room (132 plays in two days on soundcloud - not too shabby), had the very foundation of my existence shattered right before my eyes, was homeless for five hours, denied an employment opportunity that was the very cause of my momentary homelessness, made decent the inside of my immobile automobile only to pile in it the tangible part of these last three months of my life tighter than a shortbus to fat camp, heard a girl sneeze and ignored her, witnessed the already deteriorated relationship of my grandmother and her grandchildren disintegrate to the point where she damned us to hell (and said fuck my song) and fallen in love - like a million times - with the same girl.
yep, that's her. Being interrupted. By Kanye West.
My bestest friend in the whole wide world, Tiny (insert first of many shameless twitter plugs: @_p0ck3tdanc3r) has been increasingly flooding my mentions with her horoscopic mumbo jumbo. And while I normally don't subscribe to the generic tellings sealed into the very fabric of our existence by the stars (and by stars, of course you know I mean run-down self-help 'professionals' with, because of the risen awareness of the uselessness of self-help, no other source of income and no alternative outlet for their 'craft' resorting to fabricating generic all-encompassing prognosis as prophecy), Tiny has been slamming me daily with these projections which, to my surprise, have been not only accurate, but DEAD-ON. Ultimately leading me to raise my enthusiasm regarding how the next 358 days play out. Don't get me wrong, I remain skeptical of the "science" but because of the few I've recieved, I'm paying closer attention to how the small intricate details of my short-termed existence influence the ultimate greater picture. So essentially, you can thank Tiny for this very blog post.
I love watching sign language, by the way. A group of six signers just entered the coffee shop and with them they have a small toddler. How cute. I wonder if she signs as well.
I guess I should next address my short-lived homelessness (lol - wow, how unprofessional, Rodney to insert 'lol' into a blog post - fuck you foo! I do what I want! l-o-motherfucking-l! hmph!). Yesterday, I was invited to venture back to the promised land of Denton by my friends John and Devlon (insert second and third shameless twitter plugs: @rollinballs214 and @KaneJetson, respectively). John had a meeting with his advisor and took it as an opportunity to reunite with two of the least busy Spacecadets, so Devy and I accompanied him on what became a journey of tested friendship, lies and deceit and self-discovery (not really - the only self-discovery that took place was me finding a grey hair on my left testicle during a trip to the bathroom. I didn't tell anyone. Until now. -__- I promptly removed it, by the way.).
As fate would have it, I'd been needing to venture to Denton anyway in order to retrieve my belongings from the Traphouse in light of my decision to not live with a cracked-out, socially inept, pitiful sham of a human being who had me sitting on the hood of his Altima flying down a residential street at an unprecedented 45-55 mph at five o'clock in the evening on a day that will forever go down in infamy as Terrible Tuesday and to prepare for an interview I had the following day, today, at Pizza Hut. Therefore, following John's meeting with his advisor and a Big Gigantic-themed musical interlude, John and Devy dropped me off at the Traphouse for what became a four-hour trek down nightmare boulevard as I removed the relics of every memory created in my quarters, known as the Greenroom, and packed them into my car, affectionately christened The Pirate.
Because I couldn't find the keys to the Pirate, a situation about a month and a half old now, after the contents of the Greenroom had been removed forever (I realized that the landlord removed my disco-themed spotlights and installed a conventional ceiling fan JUST as I was leaving), I had nowhere to go but out. I'd decided that I was going to, hopefully, be granted the opportunity to crash at a friend's place for the night, just so I could make my interview the next day and proceed back to Dallas thereafter. So I sojourned. By foot. All over my little hipster town. To five households. Scattered all over the province. Five different locations. Five different friends. None of the motherfuckers home. I consequently ended up sitting outside on the steps of my Denton-nestled once-estranged homie, Marshall's (lucky for you, no shameless twitter plug here) place roughly between the hours of 7pm and midnight while he ground out his shift at, wouldn't you know it, Pizza Hut.
I'd never in the entirely too long period of time I've known Marshall been so happy to see him. Like the genuinely good person he is, however annoying and bitch-made, he allowed me the opportunity to sleep the night at his place after breifly explaining to what owed him my presence.
You ever get to telling a story and want to quit midway because it's taking entirely too long to convey what will more than likely end up a very anti-climactic point? Never? Oh okay.
The following day, I woke up bright and early around two in the afternoon to the bellowing of Barry White's "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up". This, me waking up at two not being ripped from dreamland by the Darth Vader of soul music, can be attributed to staying up until 5am in communication with the girl who I've found in the last few months, fits every requirement I've ever made in my history of spousal unhappiness for the perfect woman for me.
Yes, her(shameless twitter plug: @DesireDavis).
If you read any of my previous posts or intend to read any of them in the future (I don't see why you would after making it this far through the current one), then you can or will readily attest to the impact that crazy girl above has had and I hope continues to have on my existence.
Nevertheless, I woke up an hour before my interview, cowpooped around the internet for a bit and found that the chapter of the national organization a few of the Spacecadets and I have been working to establish in Denton had been approved by our regional director. Elated, full of love and with the melodies of Jheri Curled soul dancing around my head I entered my interview a whole minute early - just a little beacon of sunshine. Only to discover that the manager, who herself requested that I come in for an interview for whatever available position in her store, didn't currently have any openings. Which translates roughly into, "Yes, you dumb motherfucker, you came all the way out to Denton without a means back to Dallas, walked to five recently-discovered unreliable friends' houses and sat outside in the freezing cold waiting of a fat white boy WHO WORKS AT PIZZA HUT AND TOLD YOU ABOUT AMPLE STAFF OPENINGS, just to be turned around in less than five minutes in the same condition which you arrived: jobless. Have a great day! :D"
This coffeeshop is more of a high school hipster hotbed than I thought. These kids are way too scene for a lonely blogger like me. Maybe if I look perterrbed by their meaningless conversation, arcane behavioral patterns, sexually ambiguous fashion-sense and tendencies to spontaneously whelp in soprano without regards to gender or mass, I might catch some of their "RAD" YEAH! That would be SO CASH! Is that guy's name Lauren?
I guess with all of that stated above, what I'm trying to say is: 2011 will prove to be, as Tiny prophesied, interesting, at the least. I've had my share of bottoms and peaks in the first seven days alone but, for some strange reason and very uncharacteristic of most in similar circumstances, I remain optimistic. I have hope that the positive aspects of my existence (the increasing success and positive reception of my music, the camaraderie and support of my closest friends and siblings (possibly the last shameless twitter plug in: @RikkiWorld_ and @princezzjazzmyn) and the shared affection between me and a woman who seems to be the greatest addition to my existence since mastering the craft of inconspicuously masturbating in public restrooms two years ago) will continue to outshine, outweigh and outnumber the forces of the universe acting against me and the happiness I envision for myself and loved ones.
I wonder if that deaf group is just as annoyed looking at these posers as I am having to listen to them. I ought to tilt my hat low and follow them home just to fuck them up. lol I may just do that.
As always y'all,
love yourselves and each other.
Peace.
(definitely not my last shameless twitter plug in: @_bornfree)
I wonder if this coffee shop has anything for $2.50...
In the last one hundred sixty-eight hours or so, I've generated slight communal fame for a four and a quarter minute song I recorded in my living room (132 plays in two days on soundcloud - not too shabby), had the very foundation of my existence shattered right before my eyes, was homeless for five hours, denied an employment opportunity that was the very cause of my momentary homelessness, made decent the inside of my immobile automobile only to pile in it the tangible part of these last three months of my life tighter than a shortbus to fat camp, heard a girl sneeze and ignored her, witnessed the already deteriorated relationship of my grandmother and her grandchildren disintegrate to the point where she damned us to hell (and said fuck my song) and fallen in love - like a million times - with the same girl.
yep, that's her. Being interrupted. By Kanye West.
My bestest friend in the whole wide world, Tiny (insert first of many shameless twitter plugs: @_p0ck3tdanc3r) has been increasingly flooding my mentions with her horoscopic mumbo jumbo. And while I normally don't subscribe to the generic tellings sealed into the very fabric of our existence by the stars (and by stars, of course you know I mean run-down self-help 'professionals' with, because of the risen awareness of the uselessness of self-help, no other source of income and no alternative outlet for their 'craft' resorting to fabricating generic all-encompassing prognosis as prophecy), Tiny has been slamming me daily with these projections which, to my surprise, have been not only accurate, but DEAD-ON. Ultimately leading me to raise my enthusiasm regarding how the next 358 days play out. Don't get me wrong, I remain skeptical of the "science" but because of the few I've recieved, I'm paying closer attention to how the small intricate details of my short-termed existence influence the ultimate greater picture. So essentially, you can thank Tiny for this very blog post.
I love watching sign language, by the way. A group of six signers just entered the coffee shop and with them they have a small toddler. How cute. I wonder if she signs as well.
I guess I should next address my short-lived homelessness (lol - wow, how unprofessional, Rodney to insert 'lol' into a blog post - fuck you foo! I do what I want! l-o-motherfucking-l! hmph!). Yesterday, I was invited to venture back to the promised land of Denton by my friends John and Devlon (insert second and third shameless twitter plugs: @rollinballs214 and @KaneJetson, respectively). John had a meeting with his advisor and took it as an opportunity to reunite with two of the least busy Spacecadets, so Devy and I accompanied him on what became a journey of tested friendship, lies and deceit and self-discovery (not really - the only self-discovery that took place was me finding a grey hair on my left testicle during a trip to the bathroom. I didn't tell anyone. Until now. -__- I promptly removed it, by the way.).
As fate would have it, I'd been needing to venture to Denton anyway in order to retrieve my belongings from the Traphouse in light of my decision to not live with a cracked-out, socially inept, pitiful sham of a human being who had me sitting on the hood of his Altima flying down a residential street at an unprecedented 45-55 mph at five o'clock in the evening on a day that will forever go down in infamy as Terrible Tuesday and to prepare for an interview I had the following day, today, at Pizza Hut. Therefore, following John's meeting with his advisor and a Big Gigantic-themed musical interlude, John and Devy dropped me off at the Traphouse for what became a four-hour trek down nightmare boulevard as I removed the relics of every memory created in my quarters, known as the Greenroom, and packed them into my car, affectionately christened The Pirate.
Because I couldn't find the keys to the Pirate, a situation about a month and a half old now, after the contents of the Greenroom had been removed forever (I realized that the landlord removed my disco-themed spotlights and installed a conventional ceiling fan JUST as I was leaving), I had nowhere to go but out. I'd decided that I was going to, hopefully, be granted the opportunity to crash at a friend's place for the night, just so I could make my interview the next day and proceed back to Dallas thereafter. So I sojourned. By foot. All over my little hipster town. To five households. Scattered all over the province. Five different locations. Five different friends. None of the motherfuckers home. I consequently ended up sitting outside on the steps of my Denton-nestled once-estranged homie, Marshall's (lucky for you, no shameless twitter plug here) place roughly between the hours of 7pm and midnight while he ground out his shift at, wouldn't you know it, Pizza Hut.
I'd never in the entirely too long period of time I've known Marshall been so happy to see him. Like the genuinely good person he is, however annoying and bitch-made, he allowed me the opportunity to sleep the night at his place after breifly explaining to what owed him my presence.
You ever get to telling a story and want to quit midway because it's taking entirely too long to convey what will more than likely end up a very anti-climactic point? Never? Oh okay.
The following day, I woke up bright and early around two in the afternoon to the bellowing of Barry White's "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up". This, me waking up at two not being ripped from dreamland by the Darth Vader of soul music, can be attributed to staying up until 5am in communication with the girl who I've found in the last few months, fits every requirement I've ever made in my history of spousal unhappiness for the perfect woman for me.
If you read any of my previous posts or intend to read any of them in the future (I don't see why you would after making it this far through the current one), then you can or will readily attest to the impact that crazy girl above has had and I hope continues to have on my existence.
Nevertheless, I woke up an hour before my interview, cowpooped around the internet for a bit and found that the chapter of the national organization a few of the Spacecadets and I have been working to establish in Denton had been approved by our regional director. Elated, full of love and with the melodies of Jheri Curled soul dancing around my head I entered my interview a whole minute early - just a little beacon of sunshine. Only to discover that the manager, who herself requested that I come in for an interview for whatever available position in her store, didn't currently have any openings. Which translates roughly into, "Yes, you dumb motherfucker, you came all the way out to Denton without a means back to Dallas, walked to five recently-discovered unreliable friends' houses and sat outside in the freezing cold waiting of a fat white boy WHO WORKS AT PIZZA HUT AND TOLD YOU ABOUT AMPLE STAFF OPENINGS, just to be turned around in less than five minutes in the same condition which you arrived: jobless. Have a great day! :D"
This coffeeshop is more of a high school hipster hotbed than I thought. These kids are way too scene for a lonely blogger like me. Maybe if I look perterrbed by their meaningless conversation, arcane behavioral patterns, sexually ambiguous fashion-sense and tendencies to spontaneously whelp in soprano without regards to gender or mass, I might catch some of their "RAD" YEAH! That would be SO CASH! Is that guy's name Lauren?
I guess with all of that stated above, what I'm trying to say is: 2011 will prove to be, as Tiny prophesied, interesting, at the least. I've had my share of bottoms and peaks in the first seven days alone but, for some strange reason and very uncharacteristic of most in similar circumstances, I remain optimistic. I have hope that the positive aspects of my existence (the increasing success and positive reception of my music, the camaraderie and support of my closest friends and siblings (possibly the last shameless twitter plug in: @RikkiWorld_ and @princezzjazzmyn) and the shared affection between me and a woman who seems to be the greatest addition to my existence since mastering the craft of inconspicuously masturbating in public restrooms two years ago) will continue to outshine, outweigh and outnumber the forces of the universe acting against me and the happiness I envision for myself and loved ones.
I wonder if that deaf group is just as annoyed looking at these posers as I am having to listen to them. I ought to tilt my hat low and follow them home just to fuck them up. lol I may just do that.
As always y'all,
love yourselves and each other.
Peace.
(definitely not my last shameless twitter plug in: @_bornfree)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Consider Your Perspective
Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, I’m before you today to have you consider a perspective. The future of paradise: beyond the space age and the era of consumerism is the city of tomorrow – the perfect distribution of luxury, technology and commerce. A tropical climate enveloping the bustling city from which empyreal monuments of trade and business erupt from the sands on the marbled streets below into warm water colored skies, encompassing the entire range of the spectrum from the reddest hues and bluest blues.
Welcome to Mumbai, capital of Maharashtra, India. The city consists of seven islands off the mid-western coast of the country that has been, even since pre-colonial times, the setting of many legend and lore. The magic of Mumbai is apparent from the tepid currents of the Arabian Sea that it borders. Mumbai glitters, ladies and gentlemen, and it is undoubtedly gold. The city is a playground of finance; considered by Forbes Magazine among the Top Ten Cities for Billionaires, Mumbai generates a majority six percent of India’s entire GDP, $208.75 billion in 2008. Mumbai’s economy is home not only to many of India’s numerous conglomerates but five of the Fortune Global 500 companies.
You too, ladies and gentlemen, can be here for six simple installments of your personal space for Mumbai is the residence of 14 million of the world’s roughly 6 and three-quarter billion people, making only the SECOND most populated city, second only to Shanghai who dwarfs Mumbai with 19 million residents. Leaves sort of a bitter aftertaste, doesn’t it? The biggest issue facing the fate of the world, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t global warming, terrorism or the end of the Mayan calendar, all of these are directly rooted to, centered around or stem from an environmental condition called overpopulation.
I’m speaking today, however, with the intention of providing an alternative diagnosis. The earth isn’t overpopulated, ladies and gentlemen; you can quit holding your breath. The earth is too DENSELY populated in few areas and barely populated in the majority. Specific regions of the world, “developed areas” have a monopoly on the world’s population when compared to the total inhabitants of the planet. Although it is recorded that the underdeveloped world inhabits more people, the beef with overpopulation is that resources and residual consequences as of now don’t support our growing populace.
I’m making the argument that the solution isn’t contraception, fertilization or population control by any other means. The fairest solution is to rethink population organization. There is an unbelievable amount of unutilized floor space on our planet because these areas are assumed unfit, underdeveloped or uninhabitable and this is simply untrue.
More emphasis and economic power has to be implemented into this crisis. Man will continue to populate these watering holes of the world and, as we have all witnessed on either animal planet or planet earth on the discovery channel, too many feeders at the watering hole and the land experiences a loss of water, resources and ultimately life. We fix the situation by figuratively creating more watering holes, not shooting down the animals.
Granted, there’s a considerable amount of territory that remains uninhabited purely on the basis of survival. Some places have and will remain, by definition, uninhabitable by man, however, I am daring to challenge those in the scientific field, those in the fields of anthropological development to brainstorm means of not only survival but comfortable living in such places because, I’m sure, as they’ll attest, it is feasible. So much focus and research have manned the models of development in space exploration and habitation that, in reality, the bigger issue and more practical assignment is here in our own back yards – population decongestion.
Welcome to Mumbai, capital of Maharashtra, India. The city consists of seven islands off the mid-western coast of the country that has been, even since pre-colonial times, the setting of many legend and lore. The magic of Mumbai is apparent from the tepid currents of the Arabian Sea that it borders. Mumbai glitters, ladies and gentlemen, and it is undoubtedly gold. The city is a playground of finance; considered by Forbes Magazine among the Top Ten Cities for Billionaires, Mumbai generates a majority six percent of India’s entire GDP, $208.75 billion in 2008. Mumbai’s economy is home not only to many of India’s numerous conglomerates but five of the Fortune Global 500 companies.
You too, ladies and gentlemen, can be here for six simple installments of your personal space for Mumbai is the residence of 14 million of the world’s roughly 6 and three-quarter billion people, making only the SECOND most populated city, second only to Shanghai who dwarfs Mumbai with 19 million residents. Leaves sort of a bitter aftertaste, doesn’t it? The biggest issue facing the fate of the world, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t global warming, terrorism or the end of the Mayan calendar, all of these are directly rooted to, centered around or stem from an environmental condition called overpopulation.
I’m speaking today, however, with the intention of providing an alternative diagnosis. The earth isn’t overpopulated, ladies and gentlemen; you can quit holding your breath. The earth is too DENSELY populated in few areas and barely populated in the majority. Specific regions of the world, “developed areas” have a monopoly on the world’s population when compared to the total inhabitants of the planet. Although it is recorded that the underdeveloped world inhabits more people, the beef with overpopulation is that resources and residual consequences as of now don’t support our growing populace.
I’m making the argument that the solution isn’t contraception, fertilization or population control by any other means. The fairest solution is to rethink population organization. There is an unbelievable amount of unutilized floor space on our planet because these areas are assumed unfit, underdeveloped or uninhabitable and this is simply untrue.
More emphasis and economic power has to be implemented into this crisis. Man will continue to populate these watering holes of the world and, as we have all witnessed on either animal planet or planet earth on the discovery channel, too many feeders at the watering hole and the land experiences a loss of water, resources and ultimately life. We fix the situation by figuratively creating more watering holes, not shooting down the animals.
Granted, there’s a considerable amount of territory that remains uninhabited purely on the basis of survival. Some places have and will remain, by definition, uninhabitable by man, however, I am daring to challenge those in the scientific field, those in the fields of anthropological development to brainstorm means of not only survival but comfortable living in such places because, I’m sure, as they’ll attest, it is feasible. So much focus and research have manned the models of development in space exploration and habitation that, in reality, the bigger issue and more practical assignment is here in our own back yards – population decongestion.
Campfire Talk with Uncle Bornfree
I've seen a lot of relationship expectations floating around the internet that propagates dumb shit like chasing her when she runs away or letting her slap you when she’s mad and whatever else a dumbass 12-year old girl would expect out of a boyfriend other than looking like Justin Biebitch.
Now sit down, shut the fuck up and learn something kiddies.
Here’s the real:
Choose a partner wisely and well. We are attracted to people for all kinds of reasons. They remind us of someone from our past. They shower us with gifts and make us feel important. Evaluate a potential partner as you would a friend; look at their character, personality, values, their generosity of spirit, the relationship between their words and actions, their relationships with others.
Know your partner’s beliefs about relationships. Different people have different and often conflicting beliefs about relationships. You don’t want to fall in love with someone who expects lots of dishonesty in relationships; they’ll create it where it doesn’t exist.
Don’t confuse sex with love. Especially in the beginning of a relationship, attraction and pleasure in sex are often mistaken for love.
Know your needs and speak up for them clearly. A relationship is not a guessing game. Many people, men as well as women, fear stating their needs and, as a result, camouflage them. The result is disappointment at not getting what they want and anger at a partner for not having met their (unstated) needs. Closeness cannot occur without honesty. Your partner is not a mind reader.
Respect, respect, respect. Inside and outside the relationship, act in ways so that your partner always maintains respect for you. Mutual respect is essential to a good relationship.
View yourselves as a team, which means you are two unique individuals bringing different perspectives and strengths. That is the value of a team—your differences.
Know how to manage differences; it’s the key to success in a relationship. Disagreements don’t sink relationships. Name-calling does. Learn how to handle the negative feelings that are the unavoidable byproduct of the differences between two people. Stonewalling or avoiding conflicts is NOT managing them.
If you don’t understand or like something your partner is doing, ask about it and why he or she is doing it. Talk and explore, don’t assume.
Solve problems as they arise. Don’t let resentments simmer. Most of what goes wrong in relationships can be traced to hurt feelings, leading partners to erect defenses against one another and to become strangers. Or enemies.
Learn to negotiate. Modern relationships no longer rely on roles cast by the culture. Couples create their own roles, so that virtually every act requires negotiation. It works best when good will prevails. Because people’s needs are fluid and change over time, and life’s demands change too, good relationships are negotiated and renegotiated all the time.
Listen, truly listen, to your partner’s concerns and complaints without judgment. Much of the time, just having someone listen is all we need for solving problems. Plus it opens the door to confiding. And empathy is crucial. Look at things from your partner’s perspective as well as your own.
Work hard at maintaining closeness. Closeness doesn’t happen by itself. In its absence, people drift apart and are susceptible to affairs. A good relationship isn’t an end goal; it’s a lifelong process maintained through regular attention.
Take a long-range view. A relationship is an agreement to spend a future together. Check out your dreams with each other regularly to make sure you’re both on the same path. Update your dreams regularly.
Never underestimate the power of good grooming.
Sex is good. Pillow talk is better. Sex is easy, intimacy is difficult. It requires honesty, openness, self-disclosure, confiding concerns, fears, sadnesses as well as hopes and dreams.
Never go to sleep angry. Try a little tenderness.
Apologize, apologize, apologize. Anyone can make a mistake. Repair attempts are crucial—highly predictive of marital happiness. They can be clumsy or funny, even sarcastic—but willingness to make up after an argument is central to every happy relationship.
Some dependency is good, but complete dependency on a partner for all one’s needs is an invitation to unhappiness for both partners. We’re all dependent to a degree—on friends, mentors, spouses. This is true of men as well as women.
Maintain self-respect and self-esteem. It’s easier for someone to like you and to be around you when you like yourself. Research has shown that the more roles people fill, the more sources of self-esteem they have. Meaningful work—paid or volunteer—has long been one of the most important ways to exercise and fortify a sense of self.
Enrich your relationship by bringing into it new interests from outside the relationship. The more passions in life that you have and share, the richer your relationship will be. It is unrealistic to expect one person to meet all of your needs in life.
Cooperate, cooperate, cooperate. Share responsibilities. Relationships work ONLY when they are two-way streets, with much give and take.
Stay open to spontaneity.
Maintain your energy. Stay healthy.
Recognize that all relationships have their ups and downs and do not ride at a continuous high all the time. Working together through the hard times will make the relationship stronger.
Make good sense of a bad relationship by examining it as a reflection of your beliefs about yourself. Don’t just run away from a bad relationship; you’ll only repeat it with the next partner. Use it as a mirror to look at yourself, to understand what in you is creating this relationship. Change yourself before you change your relationship.
Understand that love is not an absolute, not a limited commodity that you’re in of or out of. It’s a feeling that ebbs and flows depending on how you treat each other. If you learn new ways to interact, the feelings can come flowing back, often stronger than before.
Now that’s TRUE LOVE for that ass.
Love,
Uncle Bornfree.
Now sit down, shut the fuck up and learn something kiddies.
Here’s the real:
Choose a partner wisely and well. We are attracted to people for all kinds of reasons. They remind us of someone from our past. They shower us with gifts and make us feel important. Evaluate a potential partner as you would a friend; look at their character, personality, values, their generosity of spirit, the relationship between their words and actions, their relationships with others.
Know your partner’s beliefs about relationships. Different people have different and often conflicting beliefs about relationships. You don’t want to fall in love with someone who expects lots of dishonesty in relationships; they’ll create it where it doesn’t exist.
Don’t confuse sex with love. Especially in the beginning of a relationship, attraction and pleasure in sex are often mistaken for love.
Know your needs and speak up for them clearly. A relationship is not a guessing game. Many people, men as well as women, fear stating their needs and, as a result, camouflage them. The result is disappointment at not getting what they want and anger at a partner for not having met their (unstated) needs. Closeness cannot occur without honesty. Your partner is not a mind reader.
Respect, respect, respect. Inside and outside the relationship, act in ways so that your partner always maintains respect for you. Mutual respect is essential to a good relationship.
View yourselves as a team, which means you are two unique individuals bringing different perspectives and strengths. That is the value of a team—your differences.
Know how to manage differences; it’s the key to success in a relationship. Disagreements don’t sink relationships. Name-calling does. Learn how to handle the negative feelings that are the unavoidable byproduct of the differences between two people. Stonewalling or avoiding conflicts is NOT managing them.
If you don’t understand or like something your partner is doing, ask about it and why he or she is doing it. Talk and explore, don’t assume.
Solve problems as they arise. Don’t let resentments simmer. Most of what goes wrong in relationships can be traced to hurt feelings, leading partners to erect defenses against one another and to become strangers. Or enemies.
Learn to negotiate. Modern relationships no longer rely on roles cast by the culture. Couples create their own roles, so that virtually every act requires negotiation. It works best when good will prevails. Because people’s needs are fluid and change over time, and life’s demands change too, good relationships are negotiated and renegotiated all the time.
Listen, truly listen, to your partner’s concerns and complaints without judgment. Much of the time, just having someone listen is all we need for solving problems. Plus it opens the door to confiding. And empathy is crucial. Look at things from your partner’s perspective as well as your own.
Work hard at maintaining closeness. Closeness doesn’t happen by itself. In its absence, people drift apart and are susceptible to affairs. A good relationship isn’t an end goal; it’s a lifelong process maintained through regular attention.
Take a long-range view. A relationship is an agreement to spend a future together. Check out your dreams with each other regularly to make sure you’re both on the same path. Update your dreams regularly.
Never underestimate the power of good grooming.
Sex is good. Pillow talk is better. Sex is easy, intimacy is difficult. It requires honesty, openness, self-disclosure, confiding concerns, fears, sadnesses as well as hopes and dreams.
Never go to sleep angry. Try a little tenderness.
Apologize, apologize, apologize. Anyone can make a mistake. Repair attempts are crucial—highly predictive of marital happiness. They can be clumsy or funny, even sarcastic—but willingness to make up after an argument is central to every happy relationship.
Some dependency is good, but complete dependency on a partner for all one’s needs is an invitation to unhappiness for both partners. We’re all dependent to a degree—on friends, mentors, spouses. This is true of men as well as women.
Maintain self-respect and self-esteem. It’s easier for someone to like you and to be around you when you like yourself. Research has shown that the more roles people fill, the more sources of self-esteem they have. Meaningful work—paid or volunteer—has long been one of the most important ways to exercise and fortify a sense of self.
Enrich your relationship by bringing into it new interests from outside the relationship. The more passions in life that you have and share, the richer your relationship will be. It is unrealistic to expect one person to meet all of your needs in life.
Cooperate, cooperate, cooperate. Share responsibilities. Relationships work ONLY when they are two-way streets, with much give and take.
Stay open to spontaneity.
Maintain your energy. Stay healthy.
Recognize that all relationships have their ups and downs and do not ride at a continuous high all the time. Working together through the hard times will make the relationship stronger.
Make good sense of a bad relationship by examining it as a reflection of your beliefs about yourself. Don’t just run away from a bad relationship; you’ll only repeat it with the next partner. Use it as a mirror to look at yourself, to understand what in you is creating this relationship. Change yourself before you change your relationship.
Understand that love is not an absolute, not a limited commodity that you’re in of or out of. It’s a feeling that ebbs and flows depending on how you treat each other. If you learn new ways to interact, the feelings can come flowing back, often stronger than before.
Now that’s TRUE LOVE for that ass.
Love,
Uncle Bornfree.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
“Refaya”
My tattoo means “The Most High has healed” in Hebrew.
I chose the name because in December of 2008, my mother died without warning in her sleep.
It was only a week after I’d turned 18.
I’ve finally come to accept the fact that my mother is gone and I will never see her again in this life. I dedicated my tattoo to the fact that although this is my current sad reality, I AM healed, I AM a better person because of the legacy she left me and I decided to mark my body forever because although I have grown so much in her absence, I WILL NEVER part with her.
Behind The Lines: Heart On A Record
Heart is the lovechild of a number of inspirations. Most notably being the unity of me and the current (and hopeful future) special someone in my life. She became a valued addition to my existence long before she concluded that her and I were fit to share affection. I befriended her originally and fell for her shortly thereafter. She was, however, in the midst of a number of trial and errors with other gentlemen and I forced myself to deny my urge to express my romantic attraction to her. I remained her close acquaintance for quite some time and ultimately, through patience, conversation and a little flirting here and there, we agreed that our hearts were designed with each other's in mind. Additionally, the song's inspiration includes what I felt at the time what love should be. Too often do people find themselves attached to another for little to do with the heart. People nowadays hook up, mess around and fuck when, with love, those terms don't even exist. The relationship of my mother and father, too, attributed to the motivation behind Heart on a Record. Despite all the "strengthening practices" couples in love will inevitably encounter (i.e., fights, arguments, tough times in general), my parents' love for each other was undeniable. My mother's sudden and untimely death broke my father's heart for in losing his wife, he'd lost his best friend of 22 years. I have and always will model my relationships from the height of their love and can only hope that My Lioness and I can share as much as my parents did during their time together. So there you have it, Behind The Lines: Heart on a Record.
Favorite Lines
Hold on, don’t let me build a head of steam, because how much you mean to me can’t be convened in this or any medium for that matter. I had a crush on you, ground that into powder, some flowers sprouted and suddenly I see loving you.
I’m stunting if I claim being my lady is a big deal because, being real, I don’t have much to live for other than the thrill creating music brings a broken soul, truth is, I been a fuck-up but I luck up sometimes and strike gold. I fold before see my hand and usually end up crapping out, I’m a high card but with you I stumbled into a full house.
You should find me in your hands from now until infinity, because even if you decline you still got the best you could get from me.
Favorite Lines
Hold on, don’t let me build a head of steam, because how much you mean to me can’t be convened in this or any medium for that matter. I had a crush on you, ground that into powder, some flowers sprouted and suddenly I see loving you.
I’m stunting if I claim being my lady is a big deal because, being real, I don’t have much to live for other than the thrill creating music brings a broken soul, truth is, I been a fuck-up but I luck up sometimes and strike gold. I fold before see my hand and usually end up crapping out, I’m a high card but with you I stumbled into a full house.
You should find me in your hands from now until infinity, because even if you decline you still got the best you could get from me.
I Usually Don't Have To Explain To People Why We Aren't Cool Anymore
honestly, I’m not the type of guy that does things to lose friends. Friends are all I have. My friends have always been my family even before I realized how fucked up my family could get. I love people so much and value my relationships so intensely, that I can pick up a conversation with people I’ve know since grade school for the first time in years and speak on terms of age-old friends. So if I’m no longer fucking with somebody, I mean if someone is deliberately on my “I no longer fucks with” list, it’s more than likely that this individual has taken advantage of my nurturing nature and wronged me in some unforgivable way. That being said, I’m sorry we aren’t as cool as we used to be, but YOU sir, fucked that up.
My response to the recent decision to revise Huckleberry Finn (http://bit.ly/h8U1yw)
It's revisionist history. Ignorant black people will continue to complain about it being required reading in school and ignorant whites will respond by suggesting and considering alteration an established piece of merited literature to erase racism from the legacy of American literature. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a good work and the use of the N word in it is simply a sign of the times. We can't get butthurt that the terminology was included creative works because to do so would be to deny that there was ever a point in time where it was acceptable in reality. Remove the N word and you too would have to remove the discrepancies between the then-understood roles of men and women, the bigoted and caricature-like impressions of Asian immigrants as well as various other American ideologies that have faded away from acceptability over time.
The truth hurts and this attempt to wipe away the stains of the past is no different than every nation we've ever vilified's attempts to recreate their own legacy. Nazi Germany, Soviet Russia and Communist China had all recreated their histories to a certain extent to appear more dominant, favored or even justified to future generations. And here we are, supposedly god's gift to the world, denying what they used that very god to vindicate in an attempt to shed the racist and bigoted roots of this nation.
The truth hurts and this attempt to wipe away the stains of the past is no different than every nation we've ever vilified's attempts to recreate their own legacy. Nazi Germany, Soviet Russia and Communist China had all recreated their histories to a certain extent to appear more dominant, favored or even justified to future generations. And here we are, supposedly god's gift to the world, denying what they used that very god to vindicate in an attempt to shed the racist and bigoted roots of this nation.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
My Purpose
My music is dedicated the minority of individuals all over the world who, despite the influences of the media and the people that disseminate the information and propaganda we're taught as fact, deny assimilation into a growing culture of submission, aimlessness and material. People who refuse to be labeled as products of a nation or that nation's governing establishment and insist on pushing the world and it's inhabitants in the direction that we KNOW will promote prosperity, equality and justice for all living things, people who have stopped being taught and begun to learn.
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