See these fans can’t resist the rush/they Wu-Tang for life/scared for life they forget the cuts …
Method Man - House of Flying Daggers – Cuban Linx 2
Wu-Tang Clan is moving back onto the Hip Hop landscape again and sometimes it seems like it just yesterday when they were the dominant sound by the summer of ‘95. The RZA’s distinct Shaw Brothers, dark production provided a canvas for each member’s unique style. There was a time when every hood in the tri state area and beyond was booming with one of the many Wu offerings. As almost every group member also signed solo deals with other labels. This business model is followed by almost every modern day rapper crew, one of the many testaments to the Wu’s forever imprint on the culture. Before Culture control belonged to Death Row, Bad Boy, The Roc, or Young Money there was Wu Tang. They have trail blazed in the form of MC’s having their own clothing line, the Wallabee era, music production for the MC fan, (you will routinely get a minute’s worth of beat at the end of songs so you can kick your own shit.) Web sites, video games, and my two favorite contributions slanguistics and the idea of alias ’ each having his own mythology and influences. To only name a few.
Cuban Linx is perhaps the most influential of all Wu-Tang solo projects, Rae was really the first to kick it with that deep cinematic imagination. His creation of a narrative album format revolving around cocaine trafficking, criminal activity, and a rise through the ranks of the illegal industry set the template for Criminology rap. You can see the much-argued imprint on albums from Jigga Reasonable Doubt, Biggie, Life After Death, and Nas It Was Written. Rea was our new G Rap
During the summer I was talking with my dude Julien about Cuban Linx 2 and some of the young bucks were chilling with us. One of them said who is Wu Tang again? That’s Method Man and that other dude right?
Like these cats run around spitting they little lyrics and talking about who is the greatest MC alive and they didn’t know Wu Tang! I almost blacked out on homeboy but instead took the opportunity to school them all on how Wu changed the game when they kicked in the door back in ’93 … and that’s when homeboy was like Marc, I was born in 1995, yo.
RIP ODB … Wu Tang FOREVER!
Aug 19, 2009
Miarandy on blast …
What is good my people’s! It’s MC and I’m back on the seen with my fly ass gangsta lean.
So, my girl Aida (yes she’s Dominican) invited me to her youth group again and since Devon (my ex and so much drama) was home from Job Corps for the weekend I decided to go. Now I ain’t gonna front I was a type thirsting to go back and see that nigga Gabriel, he’s cute but again I have way too much drama going on to add some other dude to the mix. Even though a church boy might be a good look right now Devon would stay trying to play him. I hate him sometimes he thinks he can just make people do whatever he wants them to do. Everything to him is about niggaz respecting him and how they better recognize how he puts it down … what the fuck ever! Put what down? Respect what? I mean I ain’t trying to play him or anything but he JUST went away to get his GED and learn some type of trade, I mean that nigga is 22. I use to worship the ground he walked on, he was so cool to me and he treated me like his princess … but you know shit happens and you move on and that’s what I’m doing. Building a bridge and all that shit.
Anyway her youth pastor, his name is Eli (I thought it was cool that we could call him by his first name) he was talking about how we are all in the family of God and how he knows everything about us and still loves us as his children. Because he’s our father and he loves us more than our own parents and that’s when Eli started looking at me and I could feel the weight of his words on me. I must of looked like he was making some connection because he kept looking at me when he was making a point but my mind was on the 5 train and I was eight years old. We were coming back home from Fulton Street and me and my little sister were playing around on the train. You know giggling and shit like little girls do and my mom was sleeping with her head leaning back and the train came to like a quick stop and start again the they do sometimes and my mother’s head jerked forward and she woke up mad quick. When I think about it now it was mad funny … like my ass is laughing right now … but we weren’t even paying attention to her, we were laughing and playing Powerpuff Girls (it had just started coming on Friday nights on Cartoon Network, that was my shit, yo) she locked eyes with me while I was in mid laugh and her face turned bright red and before I knew it she reached over and smacked the shit outta me. Right in the face like five times and hard as shit, yo. I was sooo embarrassed. I hid my face for the rest of the train ride, yo. I didn’t wanna see none of those people on that train, yo. NOBODY … I could feel all of them looking at me and it made my skin all hot and clammy. The worst part is we were like at 86th street so I still had to get to 149th and there were mad white people on the train to see that shit. Their stares made me feel like savages were raising me. That’s mostly what I know about family. My Tio & Titi are trying but they have they’re own shit and we ain’t his kids. This school year is really important for me, I have to do well right out the box because my junior year was shaky with my drama and all but I know I can do it.
WTF!!! This nigga Devon just hit me up on AIM talking about he wants to take me to dinner to talk about our future!! WE don’t have a future muthafucka! He must think I’m still that stupid lil girl that gave up her first child because he didn’t want three baby mommas …
So, my girl Aida (yes she’s Dominican) invited me to her youth group again and since Devon (my ex and so much drama) was home from Job Corps for the weekend I decided to go. Now I ain’t gonna front I was a type thirsting to go back and see that nigga Gabriel, he’s cute but again I have way too much drama going on to add some other dude to the mix. Even though a church boy might be a good look right now Devon would stay trying to play him. I hate him sometimes he thinks he can just make people do whatever he wants them to do. Everything to him is about niggaz respecting him and how they better recognize how he puts it down … what the fuck ever! Put what down? Respect what? I mean I ain’t trying to play him or anything but he JUST went away to get his GED and learn some type of trade, I mean that nigga is 22. I use to worship the ground he walked on, he was so cool to me and he treated me like his princess … but you know shit happens and you move on and that’s what I’m doing. Building a bridge and all that shit.
Anyway her youth pastor, his name is Eli (I thought it was cool that we could call him by his first name) he was talking about how we are all in the family of God and how he knows everything about us and still loves us as his children. Because he’s our father and he loves us more than our own parents and that’s when Eli started looking at me and I could feel the weight of his words on me. I must of looked like he was making some connection because he kept looking at me when he was making a point but my mind was on the 5 train and I was eight years old. We were coming back home from Fulton Street and me and my little sister were playing around on the train. You know giggling and shit like little girls do and my mom was sleeping with her head leaning back and the train came to like a quick stop and start again the they do sometimes and my mother’s head jerked forward and she woke up mad quick. When I think about it now it was mad funny … like my ass is laughing right now … but we weren’t even paying attention to her, we were laughing and playing Powerpuff Girls (it had just started coming on Friday nights on Cartoon Network, that was my shit, yo) she locked eyes with me while I was in mid laugh and her face turned bright red and before I knew it she reached over and smacked the shit outta me. Right in the face like five times and hard as shit, yo. I was sooo embarrassed. I hid my face for the rest of the train ride, yo. I didn’t wanna see none of those people on that train, yo. NOBODY … I could feel all of them looking at me and it made my skin all hot and clammy. The worst part is we were like at 86th street so I still had to get to 149th and there were mad white people on the train to see that shit. Their stares made me feel like savages were raising me. That’s mostly what I know about family. My Tio & Titi are trying but they have they’re own shit and we ain’t his kids. This school year is really important for me, I have to do well right out the box because my junior year was shaky with my drama and all but I know I can do it.
WTF!!! This nigga Devon just hit me up on AIM talking about he wants to take me to dinner to talk about our future!! WE don’t have a future muthafucka! He must think I’m still that stupid lil girl that gave up her first child because he didn’t want three baby mommas …
modern day lament...
In the park wit strange & pale faces in a foreign country just a boro away/they was all in front of them but they so use to not seeing ‘em that they didn't even see ‘em/that’s visions view of kid's from the hood/they see Jordan's and failure and adults who prey feasting on their souls while over working and below standard living of pay/lil niggaz throw the word nigga so loosely/lil chicks is niggaz now too cuz that's just like calling her yo bitch/it don't matter bout no color, no hue of brown just lil white niggaz missing from the party now/but we know they think they niggaz too and they insides is brown/the word nigga is a funny word/a nigga like me might love to say the word nigga but hate to see the word nigga come out the mouth of lil young niggaz/shit nigga niggaz in the hood ain't changed/tough sledding in the range while she picked my brain became the favorite imaginary bar of every corner store mc/my patience level is low while puffing crime stopper tree top high high high/in the hood is where I learned to master my smarts, master my fly, master the fear of failure, while mastering my high/shazam a muthafucking lighting bolt shot straight through the sky/my powers include the ability to work out multiple payment plans while chasing my dreams ... Phew ... this might be the realest shit I've written today
Aug 17, 2009
Mirandy Candy
Hi, my name is Miranda Dulce[1] and I’m 17 years old but all my peoples call me Mirandy Candy. It’s summer here in NYC and some of these days have been as hot as shit, that’s my word yo. Especially these dog ass days in August … not that I know what that means really but my Tio keeps calling them that.
Anyway I’m from Bronx River Houses (BX STAND UP!!!) right on 174th street the row of stores sits diagonal from my room with the same shit that’s on every project strip. A hair solon/nail place, Chinese food spot, a bodega, laundry mat, Pioneer grocery store, $.99 cent store, and Spanish food place … it is what it is right. Anyway, I live with my Tio & Tia until my parents settle their little “situation” but I’d rather stay where we are because its way less drama.
My little sister is 13 and she’d much rather Mami and Papi get back together so we can go back to the block. We used to live over on Webster; it’s mad wild over there. Not like Bronx River ain’t hot but at least home ain’t just as hot, that’s the kind of shit that make a nigga stay outside and that’s why my little sister Jami wanna go back. Her ass is getting way too fast yo. It’s not like anywhere is a safe place though, gangs are everywhere you just have to know who your friends are. I wanna get out of here though, I mean I like to chill with my friends and shit but I want to do more. Like, I’m Puerto Rican and I can’t even fucking speak Spanish, yo. I do my best work when I ask for “Bestic y Salsa with arrozz con gondules”, yeah I know that’s beast but I like that combination ain’t nothing wrong with a little pepa … I went to my friend Aida’s youth group this past Friday, I’ve never been to one before it was kinda weird and kinda cool at the same time, the music was mad hot yo. I would like to sing like that some day, maybe when I’m older because I have way too much drama now to be up in some church. I don’t think I really fit it but it did feel nice, real peaceful you know what I mean? My shits were fresh that night though I had my white & blue 13’s on, crispy out the box, my favorite Seven Jeans, and my white top with a blue tank top under it … I was killing them bitches, simple yet fly, you know they was hating on this bitch.
Anyway I’m from Bronx River Houses (BX STAND UP!!!) right on 174th street the row of stores sits diagonal from my room with the same shit that’s on every project strip. A hair solon/nail place, Chinese food spot, a bodega, laundry mat, Pioneer grocery store, $.99 cent store, and Spanish food place … it is what it is right. Anyway, I live with my Tio & Tia until my parents settle their little “situation” but I’d rather stay where we are because its way less drama.
My little sister is 13 and she’d much rather Mami and Papi get back together so we can go back to the block. We used to live over on Webster; it’s mad wild over there. Not like Bronx River ain’t hot but at least home ain’t just as hot, that’s the kind of shit that make a nigga stay outside and that’s why my little sister Jami wanna go back. Her ass is getting way too fast yo. It’s not like anywhere is a safe place though, gangs are everywhere you just have to know who your friends are. I wanna get out of here though, I mean I like to chill with my friends and shit but I want to do more. Like, I’m Puerto Rican and I can’t even fucking speak Spanish, yo. I do my best work when I ask for “Bestic y Salsa with arrozz con gondules”, yeah I know that’s beast but I like that combination ain’t nothing wrong with a little pepa … I went to my friend Aida’s youth group this past Friday, I’ve never been to one before it was kinda weird and kinda cool at the same time, the music was mad hot yo. I would like to sing like that some day, maybe when I’m older because I have way too much drama now to be up in some church. I don’t think I really fit it but it did feel nice, real peaceful you know what I mean? My shits were fresh that night though I had my white & blue 13’s on, crispy out the box, my favorite Seven Jeans, and my white top with a blue tank top under it … I was killing them bitches, simple yet fly, you know they was hating on this bitch.
Like a week later the youth pastor saw me on Fordham the other day, I was with Trina, Skinny Jessica, and Jose we were looking for those grey Prada shoes. I didn't even recognize that nigga. I just thought he was some nasty old nigga in the street trying to grab up on me and tell me how his old shit will stretch me out good. So when he reaches out his hand I pulled away, natural reflex I guess. Sometimes I wanna smack the shit outta them busted niggaz. But I ain't stupid enough to acting all rah rah. I see them girls always hitting niggaz but they like to hit back and that shit hurts. Plus they like to play you hit my chest I get to hit yours... Always trying to cop a feel cuz niggaz always wanna fuck. But ain't none of them bum ass niggaz getting me pregnant and leaving me pushing no stroller. I wanna be a lawyer, I told my advisor that I wanna focus on John Jay this year, I either want to do Criminal Law or Forensic Science, I love that CSI, NCIS shit. I watch them all the time, that’s where I got the idea from really. That way I can carry a gun and no one would fuck with me but I don’t have to worry about chasing niggaz around or kicking doors down. That shit ain’t safe.
Anyway the youth pastor talked about a lot of shit that made me think but I don’t feel like getting into all that right now, so I’ll just end here … Mirandy Candy signing off! BX STAND UP!!!!!
[1] Miranda is a fictional character created from the mosaic of young ladies I have worked with over the years as a youth development professional. She can be followed here @ http://marcusjsmalls.blogspot.com/
public repentance
Prolifically I write poetry like a radical mastectomy with a need to get
shit off my chest/assaulting myself, tearing into myself, shading into
myself more than was ever first intended/this has become the new
reflection of myself to me inhaling death into myself like the fresh
effervescent dew of victory/after every newport pull the surgeon
general reminds me stogs contain carbon monoxide/every exhale another
day short from the future's landscape/two sons and a woman to love at
home/but I also have a brother, a sister, a mother, a father, a
grandmother, and cousins I couldn't pick out of a crowd of one/so why
I wanna chase death mesmerized by ass from a block away/her presence
dainty morsels of misery twisted & sal-tayed by self loathing and
unkept promises/I've quit so many times I've actually quit quitting
because simply I need to quit/no more loosie spot loving fresh air
walk break taking watching wherever world I'm in go by/its been longer
than previously scheduled but now I choose to live and pray time
receipts my repentance
shit off my chest/assaulting myself, tearing into myself, shading into
myself more than was ever first intended/this has become the new
reflection of myself to me inhaling death into myself like the fresh
effervescent dew of victory/after every newport pull the surgeon
general reminds me stogs contain carbon monoxide/every exhale another
day short from the future's landscape/two sons and a woman to love at
home/but I also have a brother, a sister, a mother, a father, a
grandmother, and cousins I couldn't pick out of a crowd of one/so why
I wanna chase death mesmerized by ass from a block away/her presence
dainty morsels of misery twisted & sal-tayed by self loathing and
unkept promises/I've quit so many times I've actually quit quitting
because simply I need to quit/no more loosie spot loving fresh air
walk break taking watching wherever world I'm in go by/its been longer
than previously scheduled but now I choose to live and pray time
receipts my repentance
Aug 14, 2009
PK
I am a PK/a preacher's kid, a pastor's kid, a previously viewed under
expectation in some church people's opinion/I am the product of sofa
side church services, a survivor of living room tent meetings/leaving
for school with oil from the horn of Moses dripping from my forehead
and a sore neck from her violent spiritual convulsions/I am Friday all
night prayer, Thursday night youth group, Tuesday evening choir
rehearsals, and three time dope on Sundays/I am the potential
spirituality of my parental prophetic positioning carried low under
the weight of high-minded biblical interpretations/groomed for
succession irrespective of my personal aspirations/I am the rumors in
the mouth of sister so & so and tightly bound hugs in the arms of
Mother White/the son of my father's jazz-fusion and the perceived
apple of my mother's ministerial eye/the pause in reaction to my
grandfather's bishop stare and gentle words in the smile of my
grandmother/a preacher's kid reduced down to a single definition, a
one dimensional reflection of my fears/I could never walk away cuz I
can never get out/I was trained to be planted by the rivers of water
and fought for the right of irrigation/pivot ministries was the pre
ordained ministerial occupation/but my face was set like flint & my
back in perpetual slide/cuz never would I conjure verbs and nouns in
phrases behind pulpits for oracle's of God/a preacher's kid and I'm
slanging my special brand of gospel message
expectation in some church people's opinion/I am the product of sofa
side church services, a survivor of living room tent meetings/leaving
for school with oil from the horn of Moses dripping from my forehead
and a sore neck from her violent spiritual convulsions/I am Friday all
night prayer, Thursday night youth group, Tuesday evening choir
rehearsals, and three time dope on Sundays/I am the potential
spirituality of my parental prophetic positioning carried low under
the weight of high-minded biblical interpretations/groomed for
succession irrespective of my personal aspirations/I am the rumors in
the mouth of sister so & so and tightly bound hugs in the arms of
Mother White/the son of my father's jazz-fusion and the perceived
apple of my mother's ministerial eye/the pause in reaction to my
grandfather's bishop stare and gentle words in the smile of my
grandmother/a preacher's kid reduced down to a single definition, a
one dimensional reflection of my fears/I could never walk away cuz I
can never get out/I was trained to be planted by the rivers of water
and fought for the right of irrigation/pivot ministries was the pre
ordained ministerial occupation/but my face was set like flint & my
back in perpetual slide/cuz never would I conjure verbs and nouns in
phrases behind pulpits for oracle's of God/a preacher's kid and I'm
slanging my special brand of gospel message
Aug 11, 2009
Unbroken ...
From deep inside my fractured soul I spit fire in the form of
quotes/tattered dreams litter potholes sealed with disappointments
from/years lost, ideas squandered, & promises left unspoken/i've
been/crushed by the foot of the cross and branded by calling's scarlet
letter/however clever were my theories & musings/dainty morsels to the
ear of those blinded by their self-righteous mediocrity/but I remain
unbroken/a niggaz gifts shinning a spotlight all on his crusty ghetto
flair/how could I ever prepare for the total disillusionment that was
to follow/spiritual shape shifters, fork tongued prophets, and gossip
stained pork bellyed harlots/all zombie walking with stretched out
hands/memory heeds my mother's warning/not to give away my precious
inheritance/but I remain unbroken/dooped for the location of my
philosophies and personal space by a charismatic con man carrying a
briefcase full of personalized paradise road maps/pointing towards the
alter for the sacrifice of my personal hopes & dreams/but still I
remain unbroken/like a fountain in the middle of the park I spit
publicly/like a mountain to be scaled cautiously when in private this
nigga is a fly vet-teran/scuffled tough terrain from LES to East L.A.
Sac town to Twin Cities and will always rep my prep school
beginnings/because still I remain unbroken
quotes/tattered dreams litter potholes sealed with disappointments
from/years lost, ideas squandered, & promises left unspoken/i've
been/crushed by the foot of the cross and branded by calling's scarlet
letter/however clever were my theories & musings/dainty morsels to the
ear of those blinded by their self-righteous mediocrity/but I remain
unbroken/a niggaz gifts shinning a spotlight all on his crusty ghetto
flair/how could I ever prepare for the total disillusionment that was
to follow/spiritual shape shifters, fork tongued prophets, and gossip
stained pork bellyed harlots/all zombie walking with stretched out
hands/memory heeds my mother's warning/not to give away my precious
inheritance/but I remain unbroken/dooped for the location of my
philosophies and personal space by a charismatic con man carrying a
briefcase full of personalized paradise road maps/pointing towards the
alter for the sacrifice of my personal hopes & dreams/but still I
remain unbroken/like a fountain in the middle of the park I spit
publicly/like a mountain to be scaled cautiously when in private this
nigga is a fly vet-teran/scuffled tough terrain from LES to East L.A.
Sac town to Twin Cities and will always rep my prep school
beginnings/because still I remain unbroken
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