CT, NJ, Harlem, Q-Boro, LES, BX ...

Figured out I went the wrong route but now I'm back/alive on arrival/which simply means my pen game is hella mean/every time I spit a round I drop a pound leaving my metaphysical frame hella lean/that kind of shit makes me a Lion in the hood/with enough Grace to extend Love to the Lambs of the hood/converting raw materials into verbal gems/dumping ammunition like Popeye chewing bullets after a can of spinach/a peak into my imagination is like a Soul Asylum/Pop's shot dope, Mom's carried scriptures in a flask/thank God I got off at the Gateway/hood holocaust survivor/too many years & countin'/but me no slack a minute till this dark path of flat pockets is finished/ain't shit to me I bear my soul on page/in gladiator mode soon to release snap shots of the story on stage/could give a thousand explanations but truth be told I simply stayed way too long/in the title trace the trajectory of all the places I've lived/easy to see I was born to be free/my life is a mosaic of East Coast hardships dipped in luxury/not yet attained super stardom & real nigga quotes/story of my life in 22 bars/God Damn I'm dope ...

My Dialogue is an Alms …

Alms are the highest form of giving. It is the greatest sacrifice of all giving. It is giving from deep within one’s substance, a literal giving of one’s self. This giving opens us up to all the blessings of God. Alms giving are unto the poor who cannot give in return. Any return is directly from the Lord.

Poinsettias on the Pulpit [Expanded Version]

Metaphorically speaking, I went from pitching on the corner to fucking with the heavyweight connect but it's more like Cutty's journey to find Dennis/and yeah, just like moms I've washed clothes in the sink on Sunday before school/that shit might not have been new at the moment but it was always brand new to me/so I took to hanging in lots & on corners with niggaz who hate cuz it's a chance to breathe & breathe for a chance to hate/flash forward/the fact that every tabloid said she smoked crack never mattered when her voice boomed Holiday praise to the infant King for Sunday tithes & offerings/No! She can't sing in the play about His birth. She had sex. And besides if we let her, other kids will have sex and want to sing too. Can't you see? We have Poinsettias on the Pulpit/huffing & puffing like she's the big bad wolf/Bitch! Carnivorous, throwing shade towards every brownstone chick doing time in the hood/doubling down on the eye candy burden/self confidence & self-esteem killer, black face wearer, self-hate promoter/beat biter, dope style taker, tell you to your face, you ain't nothing but a faker/meanwhile I'm giving all praises due like Malcolm to Elijah Muhammad/hated by the shallow shadows for an effortless flash of a few soul deep scars/took a few chances before I spilled a few bars/blowin' down maaad trees like a muthafuckin' hurricane/call me/M breath EZ/figured I'd tell the story of how 7 shots missed me

The Greatest Rapper of all time died on March 9th ...

Enough said. RIP The Notorious BIG. We miss you, my nigga ...

Poinsettias on the Pulpit ...

The fact that every tabloid said she smoked crack never mattered when her voice boomed Holiday praise to the infant King for Sunday tithes & offerings.

No! She can't sing in the play about His birth, she had sex. And besides if we let her, other kids will have sex and then want to sing too. Don't you see, we have Poinsettias on the Pulpit.

Broken English Soufflé

Supremely decorated, part-time hated most faded/become a witness to life nostalgia reupholstered & non carbonated/the dude your pops warned you about mixed with the man your moms wants you to marry /adjectives & verbs my special gift to reverse the curse of life lived in neutral reverse/still hadn't grown up enough yet, learned enough yet or confronted the scars deep within my soul enough yet/just in the pews with gospel flavored candy ears where the Locus & Canker worm chewed me through/now I stay/ bent leaned back like rickshaws stomach full of growls like, fuck you nigga/everybody got they vice, mine is weed & the pen/learned at Pop Dukes knee the schemes to contemplate a veer from the razor sharp teeth of the Pen/though I could never smoke enough to fill the holes in my development/spit knowledge on project rooftops, beat boxed in tenement hallways and stumbled over punch lines in many corner store ciphers/Divine Sinner, yeah that's me, during the come up I make my home in the corruption capital of NYC/where State Senator & son throw tax payer’s paper like Puff on the boat in Hypnotize/CT born but I rep LES to my B Boy stop, till my mind don't plot, which means my casket, dropped

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)

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

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

Posted using ShareThis

sonic transitions

I love music … I know we all love music but I love it in an – its almost hard to find a song that’s not my jam – kind of way. One of the things I love about music is that it has the ability to transport you from where you are to where you were in life when a particular song comes on. What you were doing, how you were living, what you wanted, what that song represented at that time … all of it at the same time. The song is so rich and fresh, transcendent and melodic, that it’s even able to withstand being butchered by our less than perfect renditions each time. Amazing!

Or how about the anthem song? The one that always seems to come on when you are looking for that mystic conformation, its becomes your soul’s warrior cry even after all the radio stations and video shows have played it out. It always will always have that special space in you.

I’m also one of those types of people whose favorite cuts are the album cuts, the ones that never get the light of day in radio play. Even though that is changing with artist taking more control, going independent, and having more control over the selection of their single but that’s not the point right now. I’m feeling nostalgic.

Though tempting, I won’t use Hip Hop as an example because it’s only since the early to mid 90’s that Hip Hop has made its rush to where its everywhere. I’m old enough to remember when we had to wait for Kiss and BLS to bring on Red Alert, Mr. Magic, and Chuck Chillout, (back when Funkmaster Flex was carrying crates for Chuck Chillout). Back then we were happy to get what we got on the radio and buy the tape – yes tape and I had mad tapes. I bought everything, there are some artist that should send me a letter of thanks because I was one of the 37, 212 that purchased the album. Like, Steezo or Paris … see?

And I can’t go old school because most of that was about making hit records. Though you will always have to make exception for artist like Ray Charles, Isaac Hayes, Barry White, Stevie Wonder, Al Green, Curtis Mayfield, and James Brown who twisted genre so much for so long until they created their own. And so I do not act like I’m living in a James Brown song because it is not a man’s world … Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Ruth Brown, Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, Tina Turner, and Patti LaBelle.

Anyway, lets use a song like “Spanish Joint” off of D’Angelo’s “Voodoo” CD … yes, CD. Or “Ready for love” by India.Arie, or anything by Goapele and Amel Larrieux, those types of songs never make the radio but you know the artist made it from a special place and it reaches you at a special place. I will not even bother to argue against the sheer aesthetic and lustful genius of the “How does it feel?” video as a first single choice by D’Angelo because that’s just business right there plus we really have yet to hear from him since. I hope all is well and he can get back to giving us that good soul music.

And music has mood shifting capabilities also, no really it does. Like when I’m on my – Hov, hustler, half a billie in the bank roll shit – or my – Kweli, Black Thought, Mos Def “Fake Bonanza” shit.

And that’s just the Hip Hop side of things. There are so many songs that have the ability to change my mood before the song is even finished.

I also am the kind of person who has lyrics from Rap joints constantly floating around in my thought stream, like …

“These cats drink champagne to toast death and pain, like slave on a ship talking about who got the flyest chain”– Talib Kweli

“I look into the eyes of the nigga, who fell, I hit my head on the concrete to beat defeat, ch-khaa! Another dead nigga in the streets, bulls eye direct hit don’t miss, now how many MC’s must get dissed” – Black Moon

“Hold up, call the coroner, there’s gonna be a lot of slow singing and flower bringing if my burglar alarm starts ringing” - Biggie

“Black fresh from Iraq, wild look in his eyes missing part of his arm, what the fuck is the prob, oh lord fake bonanza” – Mos Def

I’m the guy that knows all the words to all the songs in my iPod, every playlist has like 300 songs because I can never stay on course. So, no playlist has ever been heard to its completion but I cannot apologize because I love it. I can leave the TV off all day (after the Yankee highlights from the game I sat and watched the night before) and just listen to my iPod play all day long. There are some shows that will have K very confused because he’s going to think that when the characters speak to one another they sound like Nas, Sly Stone, or Jill Scott because I leave the shows on with the music playing.

Dialogue replaced by lyrics, you’d think I’d love musicals too but sadly enough no I don’t and there is not enough space to explain all of that. Ruthie and I have already started a playlist of all of our favorite songs, so they can all be played at the wedding party but when you have a reputation for creating playlist that can last 4.5 days some songs just might not make it.

Jus loves Kanye, so the cycle is starting all over again. What will Hip Hop give my boys?

I figure they have an advantage because when Hip Hop and I grew up together, she was always the friend that my parents didn’t trust me hanging out with. But for them they have a father who knows that Hip Hop is a grown woman, making her choices and working her way home.