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
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 24, 2010
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
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
Aug 28, 2010
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
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
Aug 12, 2010
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
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
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