Fuck You.

spike lee&edward norton2002

tell me how does it taste

One by one seven of us piled into the back of the car like circus clowns on their way to the big top, each clown heavy in make-up and ready to perform that nights disarrayed dance of walking a back their perspective dorm rooms, arms heavy with clenched purses and keys in hand. The distinguishably familiar stench of sweat and a long night lingered in the air surrounding each of us. I don’t remember physically getting into the car but there were at least three girls strode across my lap. My perception impaired; the deep purple lace trimming on the camisole of the occupant on my lap blended seamlessly into her brown back which in turn bled seamlessly into my surroundings. I felt an uneasy sort of lucid dream impairment in which I repeatedly try to awake from my nightmare but nothing changes as I close my consciousness and open it again. Laughter, incoherent conversation, slurred speech, and drunken noise. A mixture of orange juice, vodka, vodka, orange juice, and more vodka was bursting at the seams of my pursed mouth with the great force of a ferocious river meeting the cracks of the dam of my lips. Every time the car jerked and we came to an abrupt stop a little bit more of my raging river leaked from my seems, followed by a “hey are you cool, are you alight?” a divine power willed me to continually reassure “yeah I’m cool” for the sake of the ornate stitching on my more than moderately priced Nikes, the deep blue of my almost pristine unwashed denim, reputation, the leather seats I sat upon, and gag reflexes of everyone in the car. Finally reverse in the order we all got in, we all got out. As soon as there were no clammy, loquacious, inebriated body’s fixing me upright into my middle backseat I toppled over, scrambling for the door handle, my stomach’s bellowing voice spoke out, spilling its contents in protest to my actions, the contents of my night drenching my shoes, my jeans, my hair, and the poor unexpecting trunk of the pine tree I propped myself against.



blog slap:





dl:loose joints(1980)-is it all over my face

loose joints sampled in a cazwell's all over my face

Do you know what today is?

My hard drive crashed and I lost everything I had.
All the memories I had in digital form from my first year of college (photos, essays, music, etc.) are gone.
Perhaps I'll interpret this tragedy as a symbolic slate cleaning of the past in which there is nothing left to do but to rebuild myself in a way I see fitting and move forward.

Alas I must reconstruct my music collection.
Not an easy feat.


First one of the 5 albums I've downloaded thus far:

Raphael Saadiq-The Way I See It (2008)\

Tracklisting:

01. Sure Hope You Mean It 03:40
02. 100 Yard Dash 02:18
03. Keep Marchin’ 02:38
04. Big Easy 03:19
05. Just One Kiss (feat. Joss Stone) 02:32
06. Love That Girl 03:04
07. Calling 03:45
08. Staying In Love 02:54
09. Oh Girl 03:35
10. Let’s Take A Walk 02:28
11. Never Give You Up (feat. Stevie Wonder & CJ Hilton) 04:13
12. Sometimes 04:06
13. Oh Girl (feat. Jay-Z) 03:42
cop it. love it. live ittt.


neo-soul with a 1950's/motown flare

Charlie Ray Wiggins aka Raphael Saadiq aka Raphael Saadiq aka Tony! Toni! Tone! front man aka producer extraordinaire aka newjack soull aka let's get down let's get down aka you should be herrreee

is a beautiful artist

blogslap:

here's a live preformance of Mr. Raphael Saadiq's single "love that girl"



her'es the official music video

vintage pusha man: "Ballerific like it's all terrific" 9/05/07

Before I was strictly butter, I was yo pushhha man.
Last summer when working at Up Against the Wall in Adren Faire mall I would kill the slow morning opening shifts by making runs to starbucks to buy $3.75 venti coffee frappuccinos and write in my aptly titled "Im yo pusha man" blog spot. It's beyond me why I deleted it only to start strictly butter a few months later.

Alas here's something that I wrote about a year ago in it's original glory, untouched and revised from 9/05/07, I'm not sure I feel the same way anymore but It's interesting to see where I was, I think more or less, I'm a different person now.

"Ballerific like it's all terrific vs. maslow's hierarchy of needs:"
It has come to my attention that what has accumulated the over past two months of me working at “Up Against The Wall” is a increasingly consumer driven, self conscious, and materialistic version of myself. I am almost positive that continuous inane conversation about vacuous, empty topics, clothes, and shoes is detrimental to my character. The intellectual side of me has always been at war with the side of me that buys $172 Premium denim; clearly working in the equivalent of a high-end boutique to people who wear Nike Dunks has exacerbated the situation.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely spent, and I like my job, but it’s a slippery slope between spending my paychecks on 10 Deep when I have holes in my socks, and owning competition crushing limited edition “insert bougy street wear brand” x “edgy urban brand” tees, shoes, bejeweled hoodies, or whatever when I’m 20 something and have no car and live in my parents spare bedroom or have student loans to pay off.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that there is nothing wrong with liking nice things, and being up on fashion but consider at what cost you are doing so. I am going off to school very soon and I should be saving my money for books rather than spending it on clothes to look good. Having people compliment, and talk to me about my shoes and judge me solely on my looks and the superficial on a daily basis has consumed me. Now I’d desirably follow blogs about clothes than watch the news.

Referring to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs:



Having such things as a job, place to live, a future and essentially having your shit together are the base of what people need while Nike SBs and Gucci sunglasses fall under “Esteem Needs” towards the top of the pyramid.

It’s beyond me why I feel self conscious, double guess myself and inevitably strive to dress a certain way to impress people who just graduated with me and have nothing but, an on again off again liaison with community college and part time jobs in retail to look forward to into their mid-twenties.

Alas, sadly what now plagues me is not sequestered to me alone, but is more of pandemic affecting much of America’s youth culture.

Kanye got it right:
“I say fuck the police, thats how I treat em
We buy our way out of jail, but we can't buy freedom
We all buy a lot of clothes but we don't really need em
The things we buy to cover up what's inside
Cause they made us hate ourself and love they wealth
That's why shorties holler, "Where the ballers at?"
Drug dealers buy Jordans, crackheads buy crack
But the white man get paid off of all a dat
But I ain't even gonna act holier than thou
Cause fuck it, I went to Jacob with 25 thou
Before I had a house and I'd do it again
Cause I wanna be on 106 and Park pushing a Benz
I wanna act ballerific like it's all terrific
I got a couple past due bills, I won't get specific
I got a problem with spending before I get it
We all self conscious I'm just the first to admit it”

Shimmy shimmy ya

Justin criticized my last post under the pretenses that it was old, or as he specifically put it "like ODB old," alas this assertion is true. I premeditated making the post far before I actually did it.
In March I remember laying on my stomach atop my loft bed in college ten, building four, room 4310, downloading gnarls barkley's the odd couple and forming a blog post in my head about the heavy 60s folk feel-reminiscent of the likes of the mamas & the papas and simon & garfunkel, and 70s psychedelic influence that the album contained but never took the volition to actually write about it.
I never took the volition to write about a lot of things actually.

Perhaps this post has surpassed being shimmy shimmy ya "for any em-cee in any fifty two states
I get psycho, killaaa, norman bates" old and onto creeque alley "no one's getting fat but mama cass" old but at least it's start

Mama Cass Elliot is a beautiful artist, I've always adored her. Following the mamas & the papas Mama Cass branched out into a solo career, her rendition of dream a little dream of meis breathtaking to say the least.


New Blog Slap:
ODB-Brooklyn Zoo


DL ODB-Return to the 36 Chambers
------


in other news:
(9:47:34 PM) im crcbound: sorry in advance for not being a beautiful black woman
(9:48:23 PM) Pale Skin man: its okay
(9:48:24 PM) Pale Skin man: lol
(9:48:38 PM) im crcbound: story of my life really
(9:48:48 PM) Pale Skin man: awww tragic

Beauty thy name is...

John Legend with Andre 3000 on the track


My affinity for Mr. Benjamin Andre is one of those in which I'm far too intimidated to even express, let alone proclaim any feelings I hold deep inside out of utter respect and inferior mere mortal existence.

I am not worthy, I can only speculate what goes on in that beautiful mind of his.

One of my all time favorites of Mr.Benjamin, with the always effervescent Kelis off of Tasty:

who's gonna save my soul