Jan 8, 2015
#SteveUrkel
In the kitchen over the pot/bubbles sizzling/imagination on blast while the back rooms crispy with/pounds and kilos of product we developed/even when you pitching them verbs/you gotta watch your shoulders like you really pitching them birds/it's absurd the competition for custies when you pitching God's words/like you playing the curb/back to the wall gat in ya palm like the beef is absurd/oh no/there go M/he be at it again/back in the booth back with the L back with the bullying pen/had to recruit a new hook up/show em how we handle that P/and whip that slab for the cook up/you know how we handle that P/whipping them visions expanded prisms/you know Pamela Lee/metaphors is 50 and similes a C/notes to myself about manuscripts dope bars and scenes/open up take a taste so you can get that freeze/I pitch and twirl for my seeds we cultivate them trees/with my kismet soul we sowing blessings, hope, love and peace/teaching mind be free/I ain't forget you Mom I just honor you with my hustle as I keep keep on/the genitalia of Queens they make the cash machine ring/but they also birth the Queens that birthed ya King and your Queen/they also birthed the bodies that gave America swing/and America says it's cool to attach brown bodies to trees and then swing/and keep an eye out for them Sunday suckers and the drama they bring/and the families they sting with a calamitous ring/then blame their prey in Jesus name can't wait to do it a-gain/but I ain't even looking at you dudes I'm looking through you/the future is so bright because the present is a gift to grind/shiiiiit my spades hand so tight I went for a blind three times/it's been an honest minute since I visited the victory circle/but that don't mean a nigga can't be Stefan instead of Steve Urkel/M
Jun 18, 2014
Splash Diamonds:
I want all that shit I want opulence never forget how hard it is to stay positive when you're dying inside pushing for the better day but it's always raining outside and have to decide that it's best to keep the fire inside burning forever yearning to be upper bracket market valued when parlayed outside/Niggas ain't true as me I spiral a fiery barrel of grace aimed at the cerebral cortex of the culture vulture mind set/All praises due to Gloria grand pops said you raised that boy too wild but we all know you raised a warrior/who understands first hand how goodness and mercy follow us/bitterness and envy will swallow you whole like leviathan if we can't question God then why She listening/knew all about dope fiends and ain't read Donald Goines cuz my pops pushed the retired fiends cure for dollars and coins/hood general with the plan for a change of our general surroundings until that day I'm at you every day all day with this rap Soufflé/devils sitting front row to fade and erase you jam you up and taint you then back up off you/lived hard, so I write hard to expose my flesh scars/even remember the first time I played corners in the elevator...
Oct 5, 2013
Lamentations Pt.1...
Hear my cry oh God I feel so forgotten/grinding at the core of this Apple rotten/are my fears the target miss my dearly departed/Sunday conversation Mom's ya never forgotten/chilling in them Pearly Gates with crystal ceilings, gold streets, Ruby whips & them platinum buildings/I swear I got an angel she can show me the light darkest of night Green Lantern Stewart in flight/give me 10 Hail Mary's & a few Our Father's it's been 7 since my last confession killing these frauds/Life is a Bitch, Can't Knock the Hustle cuz the Smalls is the illest/microphone bully since Kimmy Arnold & Willis/Mr. Drumman in that limousine cruising for black kids to raise/wish he came around our way/I Need a Beat, Milky Cereal, You Jingling Baby, Beastie Boys, Afros, Ultramagnetic baby/it's the Culture that raised me/lyrics visit me crazy/floating trough my mind's eye while I'm changing the baby/Feather in my cap, nah that's the blue Yankee men-tal Last Dragon, Buddah Monk, Apostle Paul/Gen-tile/still in the hood a paradox/Cent-tral/Painted into a corner I'm soul to soul relatable/all praises due to Allah for a faithful few/my family & the love of my woman is what I'm grateful for/turned my other cheek to the the church is what I'm famous for...
M
Jul 24, 2012
I live it, write it down & watch it blow up...
Saturday May 29, 1993.
Game three Knicks and Bulls in the Eastern Conference Finals. The Knicks were up two games to none on the mighty back-to-back champs. 2-0! Held court at home and didn’t let them steal shit.
It was just about game time and we all had game faces on our section was mob deep with Boo, PJ, Tiny and every other New York cat in full shit-talk mode to the Chicago heads. And then Hugh rolls up in the spot with a Bernard King jersey tucked into his plaid shorts, house shoes, tube socks pulled up mad high and his ever-present Mr. Nice Guy-shit eater smile.
“Talked with your pops the other day, talking about his Knicks of course. That man loves the Knicks.”
Everyone knew Hugh used to be a cop and all the rules still applied so I answered him loud, dismissive and sarcastic. “Yeah, I know, Buddy.”
He picked up on my vibe and was eager to push my buttons in public so he got real close to my face, “He went to games one and two. Did you know that, smart guy?
His public display of aggression caught me off guard and scattered my thoughts, I lost my wind for a second and answered meekly, “No. I didn’t.”
His shit eater grin got wider, “Took your sister too. How about that? ”
“He took Tanieshia?” All those years I witnessed mediocre basketball with my Dad in the Garden and Tanieshia got the playoffs. My Dad knew he owed her for the Mets debacle.
“Yeah, he said he never heard the Garden so loud. The sea of white from the playoff towels, just some high caliber stuff. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you.”
Bob Fennimore a friend of my Father worked for WOR-TV back when the Knicks played on Channel 9. It felt like we were season ticket holders we went to so many games at the Garden.
“Nah, he didn’t mention it.” I tried to sound casual but it hurt to miss the games and it hurt more that I had to hear it from Hugh.
“Maybe he didn’t want you to feel left out and here I am blabbing away. Pretty insensitive of me, huh?
“How am I supposed to answer that, Hugh?”
He waved his long, ugly finger in my face, “Carefully. I remember when you used to go to all the games with your Dad. Now you’re here, with me”
We used to have floor seats behind the basket. Back when they were red. They became lavender seats when Dave Checketts and Pat Riley took over. We used 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. We were was raised on the Classic Roundball Revised logo with the Garden sound system on full blast ‘We are New York and we know basketball, we will win it all, cause we’re the New York Knicks.’
I was also a full-fledged tongue-out-the-mouth-long shorts-black ankle socks-Air Jordan posters all over the wall-kind of dude too. To be a Knick fan and a Jordan lover is pure self-hate. In case you wanted to know the last time the Knicks won the championship 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 we believed in Pat Riley. 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 in game three the Knicks 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 could really even touch the franchise. The Knicks had TWENTY turnovers for 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 New York section had turned on the Knicks before the end of the third quarter.
“They suck ass, yo!” “What! I told you the Knicks suck, kid. Ewing is a dunking dummy, yo.”
I was quick to bring the glass half full perspective, “It’s all good. We’re still up two games to one. All we need to do is steal one on their floor.”
“You hear this nigga? D, you swear you suiting up next game.” “Word. Talking all that ‘we’ shit. You ain’t on the team, nigga.”
I just knew the Knicks would be fine, “Whatever. That’s fan speak. But y’all no team loyalty having niggas don’t know nothing about that.” But then I got all outside of myself, “All I know is I garuentee they’ll win out, wanna bet because you don’t know what the fuck you talking about anyway.”
In game three the Knicks lost by twenty, lost by ten in game four, lost by three in game five, and by eight in game six. Game five by far was the worst! All six-foot-eleven of Charles Smith’s-I can’t-understand-why-he-didn’t-just-dunk-it-ass got his shot blocked repeatedly and lost about nine pints of blood from the fouls committed on each attempt as the refs swallowed their whistles. It still remains in the top five worst sports Moments of my life.
M
Game three Knicks and Bulls in the Eastern Conference Finals. The Knicks were up two games to none on the mighty back-to-back champs. 2-0! Held court at home and didn’t let them steal shit.
It was just about game time and we all had game faces on our section was mob deep with Boo, PJ, Tiny and every other New York cat in full shit-talk mode to the Chicago heads. And then Hugh rolls up in the spot with a Bernard King jersey tucked into his plaid shorts, house shoes, tube socks pulled up mad high and his ever-present Mr. Nice Guy-shit eater smile.
“Talked with your pops the other day, talking about his Knicks of course. That man loves the Knicks.”
Everyone knew Hugh used to be a cop and all the rules still applied so I answered him loud, dismissive and sarcastic. “Yeah, I know, Buddy.”
He picked up on my vibe and was eager to push my buttons in public so he got real close to my face, “He went to games one and two. Did you know that, smart guy?
His public display of aggression caught me off guard and scattered my thoughts, I lost my wind for a second and answered meekly, “No. I didn’t.”
His shit eater grin got wider, “Took your sister too. How about that? ”
“He took Tanieshia?” All those years I witnessed mediocre basketball with my Dad in the Garden and Tanieshia got the playoffs. My Dad knew he owed her for the Mets debacle.
“Yeah, he said he never heard the Garden so loud. The sea of white from the playoff towels, just some high caliber stuff. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you.”
Bob Fennimore a friend of my Father worked for WOR-TV back when the Knicks played on Channel 9. It felt like we were season ticket holders we went to so many games at the Garden.
“Nah, he didn’t mention it.” I tried to sound casual but it hurt to miss the games and it hurt more that I had to hear it from Hugh.
“Maybe he didn’t want you to feel left out and here I am blabbing away. Pretty insensitive of me, huh?
“How am I supposed to answer that, Hugh?”
He waved his long, ugly finger in my face, “Carefully. I remember when you used to go to all the games with your Dad. Now you’re here, with me”
We used to have floor seats behind the basket. Back when they were red. They became lavender seats when Dave Checketts and Pat Riley took over. We used 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. We were was raised on the Classic Roundball Revised logo with the Garden sound system on full blast ‘We are New York and we know basketball, we will win it all, cause we’re the New York Knicks.’
I was also a full-fledged tongue-out-the-mouth-long shorts-black ankle socks-Air Jordan posters all over the wall-kind of dude too. To be a Knick fan and a Jordan lover is pure self-hate. In case you wanted to know the last time the Knicks won the championship 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 we believed in Pat Riley. 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 in game three the Knicks 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 could really even touch the franchise. The Knicks had TWENTY turnovers for 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 New York section had turned on the Knicks before the end of the third quarter.
“They suck ass, yo!” “What! I told you the Knicks suck, kid. Ewing is a dunking dummy, yo.”
I was quick to bring the glass half full perspective, “It’s all good. We’re still up two games to one. All we need to do is steal one on their floor.”
“You hear this nigga? D, you swear you suiting up next game.” “Word. Talking all that ‘we’ shit. You ain’t on the team, nigga.”
I just knew the Knicks would be fine, “Whatever. That’s fan speak. But y’all no team loyalty having niggas don’t know nothing about that.” But then I got all outside of myself, “All I know is I garuentee they’ll win out, wanna bet because you don’t know what the fuck you talking about anyway.”
In game three the Knicks lost by twenty, lost by ten in game four, lost by three in game five, and by eight in game six. Game five by far was the worst! All six-foot-eleven of Charles Smith’s-I can’t-understand-why-he-didn’t-just-dunk-it-ass got his shot blocked repeatedly and lost about nine pints of blood from the fouls committed on each attempt as the refs swallowed their whistles. It still remains in the top five worst sports Moments of my life.
M
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