Countin' Backwards 2010 ...

Yesterday, while I walked down 5th Avenue this beauty, so rare walked past my ipod induced daydream but when I turned to see if she, was you, she vanished
(Ten)
I broke my neck to reclaim my unspoken desire and stumbled into a cloud of last Thursday’s fantasy
(Nine)
I saw rice and white dresses, picture bulbs flashed and our sister’s cried, friends laughed and well-wishers wished us well, our first dance and a champagne toast fit for two people blissfully in love
(Eight)
A subtle shove from a frenzied commuter invited me back to reality in the City’s busy streets but my imagination declined to take reality seriously, and I drifted into, stories of your busy day while on our couch in sweats, your pony tailed hair and face radiant from its natural beauty
(Seven)
The melodic sounds of your laugh while we surfed the net for vacation packages, planned dinner parties and decided what we’d do for the weekend, I know you’re not perfect, please don’t get me wrong but shit, I’d …
(Six)
Spend my life loving your wounds, bathing your soul and adoring your body but I might be speeding just a bit
(Five)
Your looks a gift from God but I’m infatuated with your heart,
just then a cabbie swerved, an interruption to my delusional journey before I witnessed your glow when you carried our baby, could there be a more beautiful, delicate pregnant woman?
(Four)
Birthday parties, sleepovers, family trips and school meetings, this ain’t about the here and now, some passé physical attraction, I’m talking soul mates, soul connections and soul survivors 10 year anniversaries and Hawaiian vacations
(Three)
To my surprise I’ve been standing on this street corner for the longest because the thought of you brings all possibilities to life
(Two)
That’s when I noticed that she, was not you, at all, not even close and I’m left with so much to say and only myself to tell
(One)

KNOW THE LEDGE

“Standing on shaky ground to close to the edge,
Let’s see if I know the ledge …”
Eric B. & Rakim

Hungry and still jittery my mind was on a shower, a fat ass blunt to the face to calm my nerves and some sleep, “Fuck the block, fuck the money, and fuck all them niggaz! Man, God what did I get myself into? I fucked shit up this time.” The first L only heightened my paranoia so I rolled up again in search of a more comfortable comatose. Smoker’s candles threw the perfect dim and furniture shadows danced as the cherry moved like an orange beacon through my heavily slanted eyes. After another deep, long exhale sent cumulous clouds towards the ceiling I listened for God’s response. “It’s not like I expect an audible voice and Shekinah glory mist from the heavens, just some help, to figure my way … “ the phone rang and almost sent me into cardiac arrest, “oh shit, Jesus, you on the mainline?” I answered with a nervous excitement “Hello” her voice was warm like fresh Pumpkin bread, “Donte,” with a smile that washed me with thoughts of safety and acceptance. “Mom-Mom?” I pointed towards the sky to show my approval in His method of answer, I consider my Grandmother one of The Kingdom’s best emissaries. “I should sound so surprised, Donte you’re a hard fellow to catch up with. You’ve been in my heart and on my mind for a few weeks now,” that I was on her prayer specific radar confirmed the amount of work my guardian angels had put in to protect me. “Yeah? Well, thanks, Mom-Mom I’ll never turn away prayer,” I wanted to tell her everything, all the trouble and how lost I was in one breath. “You sound tired, Donte. I know you’re a young man now and I don’t want to pry but maybe you should come spend sometime with your Grandfather and I. We’d love to have you.” My Grandfather’s voice called out in the background before she covered the phone, “hold on, say again, Jeremiah? Your Grandfather said he’d meet you at the bus station. Maybe it’d be good to take some time, clear your head and we’d love to talk with you about what we can do to get you back in school...” The line clicked for the door buzzer and my instincts said ignore it, “You know what, Mom-Mom I’m not even gonna front, you’re like an answer to prayer right now. I do need to figure some stuff out, get a change of scenery, ya know what I mean,” the buzzer clicked the line again “but I’ll call you right back because someone keeps buzzing my door, better yet I’ll call tomorrow so we can really talk and figure some dates.” Her tone became heavy with concern, she wanted to say be careful, to make better decisions, use wisdom. “Ok, I hoped we could talk a bit longer, I just got you on the phone and your grandfather is waiting to speak with you …”, wisdom begged for attention.

I am Lady Wisdom, and I live next to Sanity,
Knowledge and Discretion live just down the street.

Just A Lil Bit More ...

When I turned to tell the kid he should go somewhere safe he’d already vanished like a guardian visitation. I couldn’t stay there much longer because someone might come out and become an eyewitness. I tucked the gun in my pocket, threw my terror filled body back outside, ran through backyards until I figured my way to the railroad tracks and hoped instincts would lead me to South Norwalk train station. They hit Bones four times. Twice in the ass, once in the back and once in the testicle not a good situation but sometimes karma strikes back as quick as a bitch. Bones told the cops some guys tried to stick him for his jewels, that I was an eyewitness to his attempted random victimization and where they could find me. His cooperative nature left me just enough time to stash the gun and change my clothes. The beast nonchalantly stomped their way up the porch with super bright flashlights and confirmed the decision to go home as a bad one. They asked so many questions. I didn’t know what to say and wasn’t too sure what really happened. I honestly had no idea where those guys came from or why they rolled us.

I’d only been inside the Norwalk Police Station once before with my after-school program. The interrogation room was much brighter than I imagined it would be. On TV they’re always darker and greener. The cops knew from jump I was in way over my head. They each spoke in a smooth and assured tone about how it would’ve been shameful for my father to lose his oldest son on some back street after all the good he’d done in the community. When they were done the taller of the two placed his hand on my shoulder, reminded me again to do the right thing and slid a pad in front of me for my written version of the night’s events. But I was way too scared to write anything and simply repeated I had no idea what happened nor did I know any of the people involved and basically was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A huge rookie mistake, which left me open to gross exaggeration when they questioned Bones again. For the rest of my traumatized night they showed me pictures of places I’d been, people I had hung out with and smugly reminded me whomever threw shots might try again. It felt like they questioned me for six hours before they politely drove me back to my block in the front seat and placed a down payment on my casket.

Just A Lil Bit ...

I should have closed up shop right there because last time I saw him all this zigzag drama started. We already smoked a few godfather blunts that night when Bones pulled out some sniff. James and I created this Stand By Me type pack not to experiment with a new drug without each other (sounds corny, I know). But when James untucked his gun and did lines with the rest of them like I missed the department memo I thought I shitted on myself. I was so sincerely terrified that none of what I sniffed provided the Superman sensations I prayed for. That’s the same night Bones threw a gun in some winos mouth just to see if he would piss himself. “What the fuck your corny ass talking about, nigga? Been here all day, yo”, I didn’t bother to watch him as he walked up the steps with his usual forty of Crazy Horse. “Whatever nigga, I need you to come with me somewhere.” I took a few quick puffs from the L, grabbed a hoodie and followed him to the car without a question. When I saw Casper at the wheel I nearly vomited. Bones’ face turned dark and I swore smoke floated around his head like Mysterio before little devil horns popped out, “We going to see Earl, that bitch nigga still owe me some money. Take this shit. It’s all set you just have to take it off safety.” It was a chrome .25 caliber, a small little shit. It’s not like I never held a gun before, I fucked around and bucked off on rooftops and shit like anyone else. But this situation was a bit more than some reckless rooftop shit he wanted me to shoot Earl. Earl’s family lived on the other side of Marlin Drive. Every summer we both went to Carver for camp and had an epic still unresolved foursquare dual back in seventh grade. When Earl showed up on the block, like Fredo I rolled with because I wanted show him a good time but Earl had debts and enemies, “You know I grew up with Earl right? What the fuck, Bones his parents are friends with mine … ”, his head whipped around so fast I thought it was on a swivel. The dark brown vessels, which covered the white in his eyes blended with his dark brown pupils and made the backseat feel like total darkness. “Because I don’t believe you, D. I don’t know why you out here, but we”, he made eye contact with Casper and they nodded in agreement, “making sure you ain’t leaving. Now you shoot this nigga or this 12 gauge and me are gonna light your fucking ass up. Best believe that, my nigga.” He was on some evil shit. Fear and frustration told my imagination I could shoot them both dead but the gun felt wet and heavy in my sweaty palm puddles. They had me out of state lost every time we turned another corner. I wanted to stay quiet enough to disappear but the caked on smell of nicotine and weed choked out a cough when I wiped my sweaty nose. Casper crept his brown hooptie slowly beside a huge, mangled yard bush next to the driveway and cut the headlights. The dingy one-story house had shadowy outlines that moved like animation on the front window shade, I sighed a short prayer and started out the car. Divine providence answered in the form of five niggaz with murderous intentions packed deep in a metallic blue, four-door Chrysler. “Get the fuck outta car!!” They jumped out like the A Team with guns pointed sideways “Get on the ground. Face down!!” I recognized the faces but struggled to decide if they were friend or foe when the situation, “All of you” went from danger with few options to death flavored danger. My self-preservation forces were down because I entertained his order for a flash.

“POP, POP-POP, POP, POP, POP”.

It didn’t sound anything like in the movies or on TV. That shit sounded like death. I noticed Bones started to run when they started to shoot. Bullets hit the ground and skidded the fuck wherever car alarms bleared and back windows exploded like we needed stunt doubles. I heard a flesh-thud, hot zip sound when the bullets hit Bones before he fell, “Fuck! Goddammit!! That fucking shit burns Aahhhh fuck nigga!” Sirens blared in surround sound like they staked out the backyard and I couldn’t think or feel. My body moved so fast it levitated off the ground to help me outrun a sinner appointment with Hell. A road sign gave off a reflective flash and broke my trance, which helped me think clearly. I slowed enough to hop a lawn fence in one motion, it seemed like a dream when some kid opened the door and motioned for me to come in and hide. Everything felt cinematic so without a thought I ran inside, crouched by the doorway and professionally fumbled for the gun. My hands shook so bad I almost shot myself, “Why the fuck did I get in that car!” Everything played in my head. How these two duded showed up one after the other. How nights like this had become more the norm than exception. Things had become way too hectic. My nerves were shit. A car backfire, a balloon pop or anything close to the sound of gunfire had my ass leaky.

Tical

What’s good Family?

As I hammered out the first draft of this literary novel inspired by events in my life naive confidence filled my imagination with all sorts of grandeur. Now, as I edit draft number six time is taken to dig deeper into the visions circa ’93-’95 when they flash throw my eyes. I particularly see those Grant Hill Fila sneakers (the kicks Meth has on in the first video below) and my old hood. Which at the time looked extremely similar to every other hood in Rap music videos because LES hadn’t yet been swept by gentrification. Stories fight for more clarity and words mature to fashion my depth of regret for opportunities squandered. So many wasted years wasted on wasted pursuits. I lived like a drifter because I never dropped an anchor or set sail.

Tical was probably the most anticipated album release of my Hip Hop existence. NaS’ Illmatic basically dropped out of nowhere like the best kept secret but Wu Tang Clan and in particular Method Man had been on the come up for almost three years. Meth trooped with me in my headphones, chaperoned by Ron G and Double R mixtapes to the LES and South Bronx then back to Brentwood, LI. His lyrics rang out on street corners, building hallways and project rooftops while we puffed stimuli. I scuffed my Tims on St. Anne's, Clinton, Stanton, Rivington, Sherif's Park and many others long before I walked those same streets as a youth development professional or youth pastor dude. There was a romantic aimlessness attached to that version of me.

I scrap to properly project the pictures in my mind as words on page. So i can share a portion of my complete angst with readers over the misapplication of time in an era long gone. Why did I take up residence in a world I vowed to never become a member of? Why did I trade in my precious road map for a cardboard cut out? As a child I was taught to look towards scripture for inspiration, instructed to study characters that faced similar life obstacles and survived. Like Moses, I killed too soon and found myself banished. At best banishment has produced ambivalence though I do carry the earmarks of solitary interaction with sheep (my kids). You can sense my persona because even if my worldview is large my circle remains small. I’m about the book because the book is about me. Blessings.

M

From. My. Soul.

When my head finally cleared a little this morning I realized I felt like million bucks, a hundred thousand feet tall, like a new,
refreshed version of me.

But I couldn't place where all that good
energy came from until it hit me right in the middle of dishes.

It's you.

It's the massive success of the completed task. The task that you
spoke into existence and then carried through to fulfillment.

On days when you felt inadequate, you pressed on. On days you felt
lost, you pressed on. When you felt overwhelmed and under supported, you pressed on.

And though I've said it I have to say it again because not only am I
proud of you, I'm inspired by you. You've reminded me, just like when we first met that dreams are not only to be chased but captured then set free to chase again.

I. Love. You.

And I can never say it enough.

Next up? I believe that's me ...

From. My. Soul.

M

On & On ...

When I turned eight we still lived in Queens with Bishop Masterson’s family and my mother planned to celebrate my birthday with an elaborate surprise party. She worked hard to make their separation seem seamless but we saw the cracks in our Dad’s countenance when we jumped back in the blue Buick and went home to sleep in our old rooms. She spun through the kitchen, not her favorite room like the Tasmanian devil in an effort to wipe away her mistakes with the same elbow grease she used on the counter top. After Tanieshia and I slid across the floor for the fifth time like it was second base she rushed us outside with orders to stay close. I had just convinced Tanieshia to follow me to Jamaica Park when I received news of my mother’s frantic eruption. She looked in the basement, attic, walked to each end of the block and was about to hit overload when she saw Willie Spence who told her I was on my way to the park. She fussed the whole way back about my hard headedness, how Tanieshia always got in trouble because she followed and how much time it took her to bake a wonderful German chocolate cake. I relaxed after I felt her hand motions were too slow for an unexpected smack and muted her after she said I’d get none of the birthday cake. It didn’t matter because German chocolate was her favorite. That day started a streak of bullshit birthdays, which wasn’t broken up until my freshman birthday season, my first as the mellow weed smoker with a cool sense of self. After a few brutal months at home because of deferred acceptance my twentieth fell on the first day of classes. I roamed campus free as runaway slave and happy to be far away from parental interference.

Finally with the college mix in full swing I planed to catch up with all my high school friends. The first trip without the click took me to the University of Delaware to check Courtney Smith. The initial road trip super excitement died as soon as we hit up his dorm. In typical white boy fashion bitter beer face delights Milwaukee’s Beast and Natural Light were ready for consumption. I was a lightweight all the way in high school. Any game with alcohol and me soon resulted in chunks everywhere. In Rowayton I still hold the record for most failed attempts at Cardinal Puff and most remembered for the night I had to be wrapped in a pop tart bag. But when they broke out the six-foot, fire engine red bong it was heaven. After they pulled the end table over for me to stand on filled with amateur overconfidence I gave the signal to light the bowl. I planned to smoke the whole thing but caught cold feet when the chamber filled. The rush of smoke knocked me backwards off table on to the couch wrapped in a convulsion of coughs. When they ran over to see if I was okay my tears made them look like Sleestacks. All I could manage between short little choke breaths was, “That shit was … dope … can I … try again!”

Like most kids I didn’t listen to my parents because I thought every word out of their mouth was sheer lunacy and lacked relevancy. For a long time I felt they wanted to change me because I was the defective version. Since I couldn’t understand the messengers I disregarded their message and missed out on solid parental wisdom that could have kept me out of rehab on my twenty-first birthday.

Today’s video package features Erykah Badu who is a definite top five on the all-time list of artistic evolutionaires (like that word, I just made it up). Maturation is the name of the game. Peace and blessings manifested with every lesson learned …

M

Can't Forget About You ...

NOTE: If you're reading this on Facebook please click this (http://marcusjsmalls.blogspot.com/)

What’s good family?

When my eyes opened this morning the front row of my imagination was jam packed with themes, ideas and Hip-Hop music videos. What’s new right?

My personal and professional life has gone through significant upheaval and transition over the past four years. I’d say I’m located in some vague area between pariah and phantom. Nostalgia is a hue I wear well. Whenever I think about perceived contradictions housed within a MC, Pac is the first name on my list. Because of the mountain of information via his music catalog, interview footage and the many college classes dedicated to his work Pac is now viewed through a nostalgic lens. But Pac was yet another young black man cut down in life transition. Pac much like BIG was hardly a finished product. Jay-Z and NaS are in their late thirties and early forties respectively while Pac and BIG are remembered on murals and RIP t-shirts.

From the moment I heard NaS’ flow on Main Source’s “Live at the BBQ” joint I’ve been an unabashed (minus Nastradamus) fan and supporter. The Illmatic release date was April 19, 1994. Now, I can’t call it. But I do know after I ripped that wrapper off the cassette tape (yes, I said cassette tape) it was played in every Sony Walkman or cassette deck I could bogart. The ability to simply stay alive has granted Jay and NaS the opportunity to mature in reality and perception. My life path has provided the same opportunities for lane merges and roadway transitions. From roof top blunt smoker into a church leader and back again. But this time I have slightly more than a pot to piss in and a family in my caravan to the promise land.

We’re in the double video bonus round today so we’ll focus on NaS’ career growth from crowned prince of the projects to the rebel voice of a generation. As you watch the second video “Ya’ll My Niggaz” visualize my words on page to be the kid with the headphones on in full jam mode. Like him my message is destined to ring in the streets.

M

How I Got Over ...

What’s good Family?

I’ve been away, I know. I have an awesome explanation but we promised not to stress such things because we love enough not to bore. On the plus side my situation (that’s what we’ll call it) put me on time out from everything except for Twitter and Madden. I’m sure that type of admission won’t elicit any sympathy but perception and reality seldom confirm one another.

Twitter (as I’m sure you know) is an amazing invention, a genius collection of micro bloggers all sharing their vision of reality in 160 characters or less. Right now, it’s also by far the quickest way to network your life genre so not only have I found a group of agents, an agent has found me. Whenever I tweet (which is a lot I'm almost at the 1,000 tweets milestone) the agent receives a micro blog post from me and I’m 99.9% sure she reads them because it's right there on the time line and I’m a witty dude. I have 13 confirmed readers on this here M the Experience blog (with no complaints) thank you all for reading but I have about 118 on Twitter. I’m in my greenhouse way too frequently to still have super math capacity power but those numbers equal a super percentage increase in followers. Which is important because the goals for my literary novel are lofty. My ambition to be a mash up of James Baldwin and Junot Diaz is like a personal trainer who barks encouragement and ridicule. My edit process drives me in search of perfect word harmony.

My life, like yours is layered with themes from environment and experience so my choice to write with a transparent creative license allowed me to dig deep into how I grew up. Hard earned maturity gave a better vantage point on the junk I carried as the black sheep/chosen one and oldest child in a fractured family of Para church ministry professionals. How those themes taste when they blend onto the page for the reader’s deep consumption will determine if I am worthy of the Pulitzer and other awards. Though I do not completely understand the publishing industry I know it’s a business. As an Author the book is my product so financial aspirations are a natural connection for me. Or in plain speak I’m most def trying to get this paper because I have Hip Hop sensibilities (which is the hook my literary novel rest it’s hat on but more on that when we get there). Chapter five is the halfway point of the book and puts me halfway to the next phase (beta readers). But halfway up a mountain is halfway up a mountain the reward is at the finish.

Thank God The Roots new album How I Got Over is in my itunes/ipod! They’ve consistently provided theme music for the ear, mind and soul since Shante (my sister) and I first saw them on Rap City way back in the day. The utter joy provided by Video Music Box, Rap City and Yo! MTV Raps is too large to fit into any blog post (another reason I wrote the book). The Roots can tell you more about themselves through their music than I could in the space I have left. So please sit back and enjoy my departure from posting only Golden Era Hip Hop videos. Though The Roots are most definitely Golden Era artist.

“So breath in breath out and let it heal all your exit wounds …”
The Roots – The Day (How I Got Over)

M

This is it ...

What's good fam?

It’s been a bit of an uphill battle at times but the first four chapters are finally edited. I'm 99.9% sure that it'll require more edits in the future but its solid enough to proceed. The book has begun to look more like the product I’ve seen in my head since its inception.

As you may remember the query letter for this book has bedeviled me for a good three years now. But praise be to the good Jesus my twitter detours have paid dividends. Along with the strippers, celebrities and porn stars I’ve found agents, agent interns, editors, and publishers. My fly-on-the-wall-stealth approach has landed all sorts of cool twitter chat groups. #Queries, #askintern, and #askagent are but a small sample of what's available to peruse.

My ability to contact the other side has pleasantly multiplied and I’ve become a better consumer in the process. I no longer pine for an agent to swoop down from the angelic perch, which all agents live (hyperbole) I now research intently for the proper match for my literary novel and me. I’m reminded how this process has really followed the path I dialogued with God about in our strategy sessions (yep God still takes my calls). I want to develop a solid relationship with my work. I believe that requires people with other vantage points and an eye for detail who give a shit. I believe when wisdom speaks we should pay attention.

#Askintern is a clever chat run by literary agent interns. Agent interns (in my humble opinion) are the drawbridge operators to author-land and the first line of defense against shitty writing for the gatekeepers. I've long maintained that any chance to meet the wizard resides in my ability to wow the person who lets down the bridge. She (the intern whose name I won’t blast off just yet) shared that aspiring authors can send their query letters and she will give feedback at no charge. What!!!! The chance to finally receive unbiased, knowledgeable feedback made my heart skip several beats. And I knew I was good money because I didn't allow my imagination to think this was some pathway to the magical kingdom of authors. I saw it for what it was, a professional critique of my query letter.

Her feedback was rich with the right questions, things I could have thought about on my own but when your close to something it begs for perspective. I've sand bagged my post so I’ll end here but please do come back for more.

On the way out please enjoy the Camp Lo video they're still one of my favorite crews.

So this is it/what/Luchini falling from the sky/let’s get rich/what …

Can't Knock the Hustle ...

What's good family?

I’ve kept my nose to the grindstone, hustled for my dreams and showed extraordinary dedication to the task of editing. But then there is this Twitter addiction I’ve recently developed. When that red light blinks on my blackberry delicately requesting my attention for a brief jaunt into the musings of celebrities, strippers and the latest Lebron James rumors (please dear Lord let Bron-Bron choose the Knicks) I must answer her. Twitter is my side piece she only ask for whatever time I can spare until I actually look at a time stamp and see it’s been forty-five minutes of virtual voyeur practice ... but I can’t stop, I have a problem, I need help ... even though I can quit anytime I want to ... I’m just not ready yet #classicjunkyspeak. See! Even in the blog she finds me! Ok but let me get back to the Knicks.

Saturday May 29, 1993. Game three Knicks and Bulls in the conference finals. The Knicks were up two games to none on the mighty two-time defending champs. 2-0! Held court at home, didn’t let them steal one. It was game time and I sat with my game face on flanked in the day room by Boo, PJ, Tiny and the rest of the New York squad. Our shit-talk to the Chicago dudes was on fire. All those years spent watching mediocre basketball at the Garden with my dad and Shante went to the playoffs while I watched it on TV in rehab. Bob Fennimore, a friend of my father worked for WOR-TV back when the Knicks played on Channel 9. I felt like a season ticket holder we went to so many games at the Garden. We had floor seats behind the basket. Back when they were red. They became lavender when Dave Checketts and Pat Riley took over. I use to go when it was Red Holzmen before it was Hubie Brown before it was Rick Patino and the Bomb Squad. Holzmen was my dad’s dude. Ray Williams, Michael Ray Richardson, Truck Robinson, Sly Williams, Rory Sparrow, Marvin Webster, Bill Cartwright. I was raised on the Classic Roundball logo listening to the Garden sound system blare ‘We are New York and we know basketball, we will win it all, cause we’re the New York Knicks.’

But I was also a tongue wagging-long-shorts-black-ankle-socks-wearing-Air Jordan poster-having kind of dude too. To be a Knick fan and a Jordan lover is pure self-hate. Oh and in case you wondered the last time the Knicks won the championship it was 1973 and I was one. The Yankees and Giants have taken our team/fan relationship to its zenith. The Knicks have continually delivered heartbreak and disillusionment. But in the ‘92-‘93 season Pat Riley had us believing. They were 60-22, the number one seed and on a collision course with the Bulls who had knocked us out the playoffs three of the last four years. And just like Jordan had to go through Bird’s Celtics and Isaiah’s Pistons we knew all roads went through his Bulls. And of course what do the Knicks do in game three? They shit the bed. The Bulls toyed with them. Just embarrassed and frustrated the Knicks. Of course John Starks got ejected when he went after Jordan. Like he was gonna touch the franchise. The Knicks had TWENTY turnovers in the game! The Bulls scored sixty-two in the first half! Outside of Ewing’s twenty-one points nobody stepped up. It was tough to sit through. Most of the bandwagon New York niggaz turned on the Knicks before the end of the third quarter. Starting with that game the Knicks lost by twenty, ten, three, and eight. But game five was the worst! I still see all six-foot-eleven of Charles Smith’s-I can’t-understand-why-he-didn’t-just-dunk-it-ass getting his shot blocked while leaking blood from stab wombs as the refs swallowed their whistles. It still remains in the top five worst sports moments of my life.

These wounds of a life long Knicks fan have healed with time. And tomorrow’s announcement brings the anticipation that one day my dad and I will celebrate with delirium as the Knicks play late into June.

What better video to play?

See you on the other side ...

M

It's a doggy dog world ...

"Forced to sit still for instruction I realized how out of control I was ..."
Donte -

What's good family,

As a child by far my favorite time to shop (besides Christmas of course) was for back to school. The new smell of crispy trapper keepers, notebooks, pencils, rulers and anything else that had an official school feel to it, sent chills of excitement through my little heart. My parents knew full well each purchase would be buried in my locker, under my bed or lost in my book bag by mid November. But every year my mother shopped dutifully filled with hope that this was the batch, which would magically jump-start my procrastination. But procrastination and I were old friends melded together by a deep bond. Why do homework when I can play video games? Techmo Bowl for the NES dominated my senior year in high school every day straight home, to my room, book bag thrown on my bed for my daily quest to the super bowl. By ’93 Super Techmo Bowl came out for the Super NES and I was glued to the television thoroughly impressed by the awesome game play additions (season long stat tracker, post season awards, field flip at halftime and a halftime show with cheerleaders … yes! I’m a football video game geek.)

Back in ’93 West coast Hip Hop boomed heavy from my speakers at the same rate as the East. Cypress Hill, King Tee, Pac was still bi-coastal, and of course Dr. Dre and Snoop. (Lifetime goal PSA: Snoop is high on the list of people I want to puff with.) Life held so many undefined possibilities but I chose the path of dream vagabond and was taught the effects of soul erosion.

Much like his journey from Snoop Doggy Dog to Snoop Dog, time has also provided me an opportunity to change my direction and redefine my image more in the image of me.

Thanks for the company at the table of my mind.

Watch and enjoy one of the coolest Snoop videos ever.

Blessings,

M

check the rhime ...

What’s good Family?

I’m knee deep in the zone over here in my world.

Editing a book is much like mastering an album. Not that I’ve personally mastered an album but I used to be an emcee in another one of my former lives and was very much a studio rat so I’ve engineered through osmosis. Much like the engineer or producer allows the track time to expresse itself my eyes scan for rhythm in word.

I have this hip hop/friendship theory and Boo (Boo I wrote a book and you’re in it!) was the confirmation of that theory. In short if we agree certain albums are fundamental we'll naturally link up by the Jedi-b-boy-force. The Low End Theory dropped at an important period in my slacker life, still early in my smoke career when the whole idea had the new car smell. Back when Verses from the Abstract rattled my whip and I hadn’t yet recognized the sharp curve road signs along the path. When Boo and I chopped it up in the day room up in the mountains of Pennsylvania almost twenty years ago our mutual admiration for A Tribe Called Quest started the conversation. ATCQ is such an important group, pure Hip Hop strong enough to provide a conversion point in two versions of twenty-something reality.

Back then I was too immature to recognize the tone of my inner voice, which was compounded by a reluctant focus towards my own potential energy. I just hadn’t figured out how to be me yet. The book (DSC) is like the music of my human relationships harmonized through memory, my libation for those who travel with me in spirit.

Peace & Blessings,

M

“You on point, Tip?”
“All the time, Phife.”

S*** is real ...

Peace & blessings family,

I know it’s a tad bit late but … Happy Father's Day!

Can you think of another awesomely under appreciated and hot button topic of a "holiday"? I think no other compares. On Father’s Day most Dads are sent to the background in place of angry and bruised memories of men who abandoned their post. Single Mother’s who carried the load are ushered to the front for a shared bill on the marquee. As a Dad I work hard to protect my son’s against swindlers and imposters that filter in front of their eyes. I know first hand how much time is stolen when it’s wasted in the procession of the unproductive.

My father ran a rehab center. 35 Chestnut Street was his first one. That was the house I came home to as a newborn. As I grew up I was convinced my life was void of adventures and empty of characters. I felt it wasn't as vivid as tales spun by the addicts who fought their way to recovery in my father's program. Back then I didn't see life’s contradictions and complications as a process towards my humanity. Time taught me that life is tragic, hope filled, explicit, and blessed. The Divine Sinner Chronicles is my Illmatic, Reasonable Doubt, Ready to Die, and 36 Chambers. It is the reflection from a sketch of my past and insight into my future. Some stories have been shifted to protect the guilty but it’s reality as I knew it and lived it.

So now more than ever the word of the day over my life from me for me for my life is ... Consistency. Consistency is the route from writer to author, tenacity will get DSC off of my laptop and on to bookshelves world wide.

Today as we delve back into the Golden Era I leave you with my main man Mic Geronimo. When this joint came out back in ’94 we still made gritty walk-a-bout videos with blunt guts and assault rifles for all to see without self-edited blur outs. Much has changed in Hip Hop but we must leave more for another time.

I roll up & park it like everyday is a 420 holiday …

Blessings,
M

I am Legend ... Almost

What’s good family? 

I pray you’re all well.  And I’m glad you’re back for another visit into my smoke filled thoughts. 

I’ve edited about half of the book on hard copy so far and like what I’m working with.  It wasn’t like that at first.  After we printed the first draft, it (the manuscript) simply sat on the glass table in my bedroom for maybe three days.  I’m sure you all have the same type of table in your room … the-everything-table.  Mine holds old ticket stubs, prints outs from work, coupon clippings and of course clothes.  I couldn’t bring myself to read it.  I wanted to enjoy the moment because once I started the edit process the paper would bleed.

But now I see a clear path and know exactly what is needed for the project to polish. In my last post I sounded a bit desperate for the attention of a lovely agent.  Now, I still want some attention but I’m ready to take it slow.  Maybe some sample chapters as a first date to see if we like each other.  Before a more serious move like an introduction to family members, the truth is I need a bit more time to shape this book.  So the twenty or so query letters that are in the cyber universe will have to suffice.

Actually DSC wasn’t the first vehicle I started with.  My first idea was named the God of Grace and pulled from my time in seminary.  But then I realized no one wanted to read that shit, I mean I didn’t even finish Seminary.  I dropped out four classes short of my Masters but that wasn’t the right path for me.  To be a little more transparent I was a youth pastor at one point in a prior life … I’ll give you some time for that to settle in.  As a PK (Pastor’s kid/Preacher’s kid/aka Ministry kid) I figured I could run for only so long before I had to give into the family business.  When I received my credentials I became the sixth or seventh generation in my family to throw on the minister’s collar.  It’s a good thing that idea went away though because I would’ve had creditability issues on that one.  I probably would’ve quoted Marcus 4:20 too many times …

The next idea was a graphic novel, which is still on the idea board with three chapters written.  But Science fiction wouldn’t have been a good first book for me, mainly because a fictionalized version of my life is way easier to write.  And with that The Divine Sinner Chronicles was born. If you’ve spent time talking with me you know I preach the message telling your story and chasing your dreams.  This book is the collaboration of both. 

Any good strip tease pulls a little back so here is where I put some clothes back on …

I will be away on Jus’ fifth grade camping trip until Tuesday so I hope to post again after I survive being the male chaperone.  I will however be throwing up some pics and stuff via Twitter (http://twitter.com/MarcusSmalls) please follow … as long as my celly isn’t cut before I get back and pay my bill.  The life of a broke writer on his way to a wealthy Author …  

Tonight’s a daily double.  I was listing to Ready to Die while editing tonight and Big Poppa is simply one of the tightest songs ever.  You can actually pick any BIG verse and dissect it for dopeness but we’ll do with this one tonight because I love the video. And the other is my dudes Black Moon with How Many MC's.

It’s the Smalls baby/who you think it’s suppose to be … 

And if you don't know, now you know ...

What’s good family?


In my last post I said I would try to post daily. I ask for your forgiveness and also ask that we don’t dwell on my broken promises. How about I promise to be consistent that’s a more attainable goal to hold myself to.

I have however been hard at work editing the first draft of the manuscript. The stages of writing a book seem never ending but I learn important things about myself at every stop. Like when I started I thought I could circumvent the process by writing my query, synopsis and proposal first. Then I learned that fiction doesn’t need a proposal. Taking a shortcut sent me the long route. And I’m not sure I feel any stronger about the query or synopsis because everything is done in such a vacuum. The only feedback I’ve received so far from the world of literary agents is silence, which compounds my financial desperation. The literary world feels somewhat elitists and I based that on a few factors. 1) I think I’ve found ONE person of color so far in the land of agents. 2) It’s 2010 and some of the larger agencies still ask you to submit via hard copy with a SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) to send your shit back with if they don’t like it. I don’t know about you but I can’t afford to send some company stamp money when I can use the Internet just the same. Feels like they want to help me self-select. And 3) I can't wrap my head around the idea that I need to spend money I don’t have right now to go to any number of conferences to hear them (agents) speak about the industry while starving writers (me) hang on their every word in hopes of an invitation to submit.

Meanwhile I just want to get into the jam cuz damn I know I’ll slam.


So with my cloud of witnesses and the weight of the dreams of my family on my shoulders I persist. In the immortal words of Puff I can’t stop, I won’t stop.

In honor of calling those things that are not as if they were I’ll leave you with B.I.G.’s Juicy. The street manifesto for the brother on the come up. In this video they were clearly showing us the lifestyle they wanted to live before they really had it. Dreams. Never let them go and never let THEM convince you to do so.

Spread love that’s the Brooklyn way …

M

Ill+matic ...

Hello family,

I'm back again. I won't bother us with hollow apologies because i have a legitimate excuse for my absence. I've put the pen to paper and finished the book. The Divine Sinner Chronicles first draft is complete! It's a novel inspired by true event in my life from childhood up to 1994. I took the Memorial Day weekend to celebrate with most of my family back in the hometown of Norwalk. It's been a crazy ride writing this book.

I've pledge to post daily (pray my strength in the Lord) to update the world at large about the process and journey of taking this book from my laptop to bookshelves across the globe. Dreaming big with flat pockets.

I've already finished the paper edit of the first three chapters, so I'm liking my pace right now. I'm also sending out the query letter. The query letter is the bane of my existence. I've worked it off and on for the past three years now ... it drives me crazy. I've purchased my copy of 2010 Writer's Market a while ago and got advice from my writer friends but I still can't say I feel I've nailed it. I know they'll like the book if they would only read it but the query is the bridge. It's like the first song on the demo tape. You're still alive if they want to hear the next joint. I know it's a numbers game so I'll remain persistent in sending five query letters a day in due diligence.

Now the reason Nas & Damian Marley are the lead on this post is because their new project. If you know me personally you know Nas is in my top 3 of artist in any genre of music. Illmatic is such an important album in my life. 1994 was an important time in my life, a crossroads and Illmatic was the soundtrack in my ears. '94 gave me a few classics ... we'll the stop the train here. I don't wanna give it all away in one day. Small steps, baby steps ...

Enjoy this piece about the Distant Relatives project.

420 is everyday ...

M

reworked w/no name yet ...

Verbally back at it with tele-spaz-matic tactics/heavy like metal jackets and effortlessly charismatic/many who thought they doubted know really they saw it coming/all good cousin/dough always cakes when slow burning in the oven/now let me begin by asking you to shut the fuck up/gliding on crystal eye drops draped in grassy green bon fires/I spit dope like the smack my pops shot persistently penetrating with subversive culture like a rectal intruder/jumped from/assed out dirty bags to home grown wit super powered pressure lungs fashioned from steel casings/certified spliff technician and card carrying green thumb enthusiast/re canting karma dimming activities cuz I'm a nigga with an attitude and a man on a mission/a carbon dated trophy collection from verbal sound clashes bears witness to this phantom menace

more jay Electronnica ...

what's good fam!

another gem i wanted to share. if you don't know you gotta ask somebody cuz this kid is the truth. might have to go all the way back to Illmatic to feel something this fresh ...

MySpace - Exhibit A (Transformations) by Jay Electronica

what's good fam?

Yo, if you don't know you need some of this Jay Electronica in your life ...

please have a listen and be on the look out for that CD ... good music to guide us through this Great Recession ... check your cassette deck/hip hop has not left yet ...

Blessings,

M



MySpace - Exhibit A (Transformations) by Jay Electronica

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Anti-gay bigots plunge Africa into new era of hate crimes | World news | The Observer

what's good fam?

i've been meaning to drop my two cents on this issue for a lil minute.

i wonder why these church cats are going all the way over to Africa to get people merked? why do evangelicals love smashing the Mother Land? why haven't we heard any of the major cats speaking up and checking their brothers? no time i guess when you still pumping the vision like crack ...

click the link below, read the article, and if you want, hit us up with your thoughts ... church people, no sermons please.

hold ya head my people.

M



Anti-gay bigots plunge Africa into new era of hate crimes | World news | The Observer

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Mad old school shit ...

In a former life I use to roll with these cats. See if you recognize the last MC's voice ...

Line up: Rain, Real, Precise, & Miz w/Corey Red on the hook and beats by Severe. Can't front, a bit of a misguided classic ...

M

Listen very deeply ...