bored college notes 2004

lusty tech
breakneck
spitting destruction at
new fangled texan
royalty with
armchair precision
or studio take 6 the
anger sounds sick
righteous with an
overdrive digital
mic simulator
the future is
now
but recorded in the past
time
remixed to death this
track has gasped its
last breath like the
mixdown is crucial
i'm learning and
prolific at the same time
dark glass
reflecting the
sunshine
selects me
to blind while
walking through
downtown I'm
daydreaming
beats unquantized
in drowned ground and
can't find
my studio seat
to put these treats
down

action is
education
mistakes are
meditation
risk taking makes
for
elegant creation but
planning flows
in the mental
preheat the oven
for the instrument
i'll
be
running for my mpc
a cybog missing
a piece of my body
reattached now
i'm waiting for the
startup sequence
till the match sound spent
triggers the torch crackle
spread the spackle
fill in the holes in my head
obscure flaws into
illumination
bacchus initiation
these fractals are
inflated
sensually flagrant
a vagrant feeling
for his
vocation

Big K.R.I.T. - The Vent...song of 2011

one of the finest, brightest, most inspiring lights in hiphop in recent years.  i know no one looks at this blog.  it's no beef fam.  but if anyone happens to trip and stumble their feet here they at least need to see this...call it chaos theory inspiration, feeling the breeze from the wing flutter.

big k.r.i.t. (king remembered in time) and some of his tremendously talented contemporaries have compelled me to reevaluate my preconceived notions of southern hiphop, poisoned by the years since that bitch with a bandaid - nelly.  his free mixtape Return of 4Eva is, quite simply, a masterwork of unprecedented quality.  the only free release i can compare it to of late is by another head who's hard at work in the UK: wretch32.  very different styles but equally inspiring and thoughtful.

don't get me wrong, the south has produced a bevvy of non-artificial soldiers.  goodie mob, outkast, killer mike, ugk, scarface, etc...i'm not hating, but the lcd radio has been playing that BULLSHIT for years.  when a single hits it's throwing that garbage most of the time.

it's a crime that his video hasn't hit 1 million hits yet but it's gotdamn close.

some youtube digging will dredge up his live performance as well:

look at the fucking intensity in his eyes.  he's ready to blow the whole world up with his talent and integrity.

i'll be watching, and spinning his sounds up til then.

EDIT: here's lyrics for the deaf and the rest.  why not?

a mother lost a child
i tried to ease her pain
it's only god's will
she said she felt the same
it's funny how the sun will up and battle rain
as if the clouds couldn't stand to see me outside the game
wrote a rhyme that was kind with some vision to it
bottom line: it might expand your mind if you listen to it
too much shine can dull the soul
if you feel how i feel then i'll rap some more

how can the devil take my brother if he's close to me
when he was everything i wasn't but i hoped to be
i get a little honest and i ask myself
if the time come, will you save me if i ask for help?
sent my mind on a journey to the outermost
to document what it had seen and cc me the notes
and ask kurt cobain why cuz i need to know
he stopped when he had such a long way to go

i saw love in the eyes of a perfect stranger
she overlooked my caring heart in search of gangster
will we ever be together? only time will tell
she call my phone and talk to me as her iris swell
i put my problems in a box beside my tightest rhymes
under lock and key, buried deep off in my mind
and when it gets too full and i can't close the lid
i spaz on my family and my closest friends

trade my materials for a piece of mind
i'm so close to heaven, hell i just need some time
who cares about life and the highs and lows
maybe i should write another song about pimps and hos
cars and clothes
idol gods
golden calves
louis scarves
i do this for the love and it's free of charge
i don't need jail to be behind bars

this is purely art
in my grandma's household this was surely taught
don't be naive
yeah these times is hard
in the midst of this glamor hope you find god
i never wished to be the burden-bearer
but souls need saving and it's now or never
shock value's all they want to see
it's us against them and it's just you and me

try and to take heed what i say in my songs
forgive me if i ever, ever steered you wrong
most people stop for signs but i've driven through it
if it don't touch my soul, then i can't listen to it

the radio don't play the shit i used to love
or maybe i'm just growing up
i never seen a star on a red rug
if i want to see stars i just look above
to the heavens

*
i know you been down so long
so i'll be stronger for you

i know you been down so long
cuz i been down too

yes i understand
what you're going through

yes i understand
cuz i'm going through it too

i pray that you find your way
and all things old become new

i pray that you find your way
for my sake cuz i'm lost too

yes i understand
what you're going through

yes i understand
cuz i'm going through it too

i lost my friend this morning
woke up screaming her name

she meant so much to me
i'm scared i won't be the same

hope you understand
what i'm going through

hope you understand
when i call out for you

to
vent

rain, bedford park, again

in the random rain
we smoke defeated in the trainstation under
grand concourse and
plot our next move
reduce movements
clutch our bags
reorient
breathe

cars slash water onto the walkway
women tie their hair up and
straighten their work clothes
men pace like failed hunters
commuters collect
around puddles puzzling
the brave wear their fuck-it proud
and plunge into the curtains of current
and the train
lets more
off and

the mire of commuting life
softly collecting behind
curtains of rainwater like
muttering phantoms projected from
their corporeal employment to
reunite in 13 hours
to sleepwalking skins that
will have lost or renewed
this condensation

it's days of this and
we numbly conjure strength for
more days of this

seven years old

the day
dissipates into drifting curls of hair and

maybe i'm lost because
i very clearly can't be there

latchkey kid
in the window of his childhood home

watching strangers


i go there when its fucked
and none of the answers deliver mind clear

and i can't pull away
from what i can't understand enough to fear

tough nut to crack
spoiled brat junkie or clean liver

equipping self-doubt

and i march away with it
fuel for clumsy itinerant motives

spitting lies at the sun
posture incoherent like a stolen gun

shooting at the votives for
target practice till it gets dark

prayer for a blind man
who'll probably never know when
I make my mark

signal

i wrote it in sharpie
and folded it over and over and
placed it the static of
an old composition notebook
then positioned it next
to other books on an old shelf and
lived years

ugly moons
writing songs for old dogs
sitting in midnight parks pulling absentmindedly at grass
drinking inspirations
pissing them out in pathetic shudders
furious masturbation black magic
long fields broken by roads
screaming lies of love in faces slashed with dawning understanding
mischievous joyrides
melting into willing arms and

it remained there uncorrupted
some ridiculous message to self
lost in a move
destroyed
unknown
unread
forgotten in murkier ages and

maybe it's what's missing
a wildcard healing element
something to grasp
through xeroxed days

i just can't remember
what i gave to myself

lunch (part 3)

and we walk in a line down the scant path to the
restaurants along
the idle rich flanking us lazily on sidewalk tables though
they
seem to shimmer and melt into the
pre-fab midtown cafe-culture backdrop maybe
figurants lost
midtown foliage
reclining into frieze

mythic squadrons of every
genus of truck hustle
oriental rugs
organic food
antique furniture and the
rations of commerce

grocery flowers crowd grapefruit growing out of ice crystals
reflecting the calm post-storm sun

hawkers govern folding tables of mass produced pashminas
cellphone cases
DVDs and knockoff sundries

lunchtime human pachinko around deliverymen
jagged old windowshoppers courting sample sales reflected in
insectile ebony sunglasses
the slow bored gait of tourists
annoyed or grateful smokers
churchgoers and teenage theater

the low hum of city glossolalia
high tide audio
and
immediately
the sun is in the wrong place and
my body is a
badly closed window
thwarted by a light breeze
and none of the architecture is real and
i yawn through strong coffee and
i am completely at a loss
of argument
reason
faith

i
don't
really
return

i disrupt
my own escape

lunch (part 2)

and lunch is somehow both
hummus and whiskey
imagination friskier and starved for
intention I pass shadows cast from
undiscovered countries

offices i'll never grok
parking lots i'll never smoke cigs in
bodegas i'll never order mediocre food in
homeless people i'll never give 1s to
subway entrances ignored
drugstores i'll never need
coworkers i'll never politely hate
laugh with
enjoy or
ignore
doormen i'll never share shaky solidarity with
mailmen i'll never cough drifting dryhump smalltalk with
coffee i'll never aggregate quality of
garbage smells i'll never morning fastwalk through
ancient computers i'll never bellyache over
doors i'll never unlock
worlds i'll never speak to
roles i'll never fuck up

and lunch lies and each hypocritical minute
lies shaken and thirty minutes are
a gran mal seizure and
fifteen minutes in
everything is nonsense and it could be
days before i am
grasping the confident
humiliating brass handle of the
entrance and jerking it open with
every last ounce of endurance for
the last time