Love Talk With the Un-Invited Guests Evil Mind, Bad Heart, Secret Foe: The Enemies of Mindful Talk & Self-Loving Action

I. Il Ne M'aime Pas

I've been upset for a few weeks now over a guy situation that I wanted to work which is not going to work. It's not meant to work. Also dude is a total bastard based on the evidence. It's a situation where the person he's been in my head in no manner resembles the real human being but I had to figure it out on my own.

Now the thing  is when you've miscalculated a man's character with such deadly imprecision the greatest damage and hurt is the hurt you've done to yourself by elevating a person onto a pedestal where he so truly does not belong.

I have a rule for mindfulness and self-talk that most days I'm rather good at obeying: 
Don't ever speak to yourself or of yourself in an abusive/derogatory/belittling manner or even in general negativity - speak your words aloud. 
Would you ever speak such deeply hurtful words of cruelty to your best friend...lover...mother...father...sister...child {insert person here}?
If you even heard some toxic person speaking that way to someone you love, wouldn't you already be defending the friend of your heart from such abuse by this sick stranger who seems to enjoy wounding others? You know you would. 

It's a very simple equation: if you would never speak harmfully, hurtfully, reckless disparaging commentary  words to another person whom you love--

  *{eg: critical accusations  and belittlement in tones full of bitter sarcasm....insults & epithets aimed at wounding the human spirit/denigration of the human soul which mirror one's own feelings of inadequacy  eg: stupid, ugly, dumb, worthless, I'm not good enough, who would want me... ....meanness, criticism with no edifying purpose (criticsim period!)}

 -- then those words, the ones that you only just spoke to yourself in the privacy of your own head may not be applied to one's own personal self critique  

If you would never allow such degrading, demeaning  negativity to poison the ears a Beloved, then you may not/cannot/must not....you are forbidden from treating your self with such wickedness, cruelty, self destruction. 

Mindfulness is about self care, self awareness, consciousness of the human spirit on the road to discover a little bit of betterment and  enlightenment. 

It is about the practice of Love;so, first and foremost, you must love yourself even if you  don't know what that means  or how to do it...even if, you have to learn from scratch what love means, what it looks, feels like. 

Even if you are familiar with Love only in the most general manner. Welp! You gotz to start somewhere!!

Start here: if the words hurt, if they sound ugly, if they make you feel badly then stop using those words, actions, thoughts!!  Don't punish yourself and then swallow the lie that pain is purifying your spirit, that you've given yourself a lesson in self-correction. If you are supping at every meal from the platters of suffering, then you are walking the wrong road toward the land of self destruction; you must turn back and cross into the land of Love no matter how silly it sounds or how unworthy you feel. If you don't love you how will you ever attract the love of others particularly if you don't even know what true love means...how it feels...?
************************************************************************

II. Ain't Fuckin Witchu


However I had to take some time to check myself because I'd been saying some harsh shit to myself...and it made me so much sadder...and I felt badder than ever. Shit that I would never say to another woman or man but here I am bullying me....To say these things to/about myself while  in such vulnerable, unhealthy, unhappy headspace just now --when I'd be scrapping violently if I heard someone speak these things to a person I love (in this mood I'm in?! Oh no, I would be in serious danger of  jumping up and knocking somebody's chrome dome off!)

 What things, you ask?
Oh the usual run of the mill self loathing...

I'm so stupid.
I'm just being crazy.
I'm not pretty enough. Damn, that {insert list of flaws here} disqualifies me from love/ dating/affection anyway.#Flawed-est 

But the truth is pretty simple. The truth is that I feel bad because I got rejected. And it hurts terribly. But the rejection doesn't make me a bad or worthless person. (So why does it FEEL that way then??) Now I'm a smart lady...rationally I know these things and don't need anyone to reassure me that this is so. Except somehow, on the inside, I do need the reassurance....emotionally speaking...well the rational mind  and passionate feelings-part of me are really quite estranged, have very little in common and have nothing much to say to one another. Which is why it's so easy to cross the line  of what is permissible in self-talk: when you feel badly enough the heart is hyper prepared to spill all its secrets in an entirely indiscreet, uncensored whisper fest and rumor epidemic to your brain. 

Betrayed by Heart and Mind. And it can make you feel so badly.

That's why you can't sleep, of course, because the Brain and the Heart are having a fucking sleepover, and you know full well nobody actually goes to sleep at a pajama party.

Right, you think. Cute for you, Brain and Heart!! I see you running around together with your precious friendship... but I need you to shut the fuck up so I can sleep--

"Fuck you, ya dumb bitch!! We stayin UP!! That's why he don't want you ANYWAY---" said  Bad Brain.

"Ahaha-ahahaha-hahahahaaHAAAAAAAAAA--" That was the Joyful Heart laughing -- such wickedness and joy! BAD Heart!

The Brain joins in the laughter and they begin loudly repeating the chorus to  Big Sean's hit IDFWU--



"HE AINT FUCKING WITCHU---!!! HE AINT FUCKIN WITCHU---!! The Brain and Joyful Heart are nearly incoherent in glee at this point and you sit tearfully staring at your hands, shaking the mean thoughts from your consciousness---

"I don't give a fuck about you or anything that you do!!" Evil Mind and Bad Heart sing louder than ever.

See that's the problem with self-talk that every person practicing Mindfulness must understand: The powers of the Mind, Spirit and Emotions are enormously strong;and even when in a weakened state caused by trauma or injury or heartbreak we aren't always strong enough to resist the madness of punishing feelings or the grief that follows disgrace and helps diminish our spirit; these are forces dangerous and fluent in cruelty and unkindness: this is why we have to practice loving ourselves as a primary skill in Mindfulness in order to become proficient in treating our selves with the helpful, consoling, gentle and loving reassurance that is so desperately needed and required in cultivating the soul/spirit.We learn to love ourselves in order to begin to love others with all the power of nourishing nurturing, blissed out enlightenment...

There is one very quick and simple way to test the quality of your thoughts as you cultivate Mindfulness: If your self-talk includes negative language and content that you would never, under any circumstance use to your Beloved, then you are endangering your spirit as you journey on the sometimes dark and mysterious road of Mindfulness. If your self-talk is not loving then it is not useful and it may well be a blocking your progress. If your self talk feels downing rather than comforting or uplifting, then you must begin banishing those wrong words...thoughts...actions...and beliefs from both your mind and heart/ If your self talk is contributing to your feelings of hurt and diminishment you'll know by the continual lingering shadows of weakness, sadness, despondency etc -- this then is not true practice of Mindfulness at all as long as you are cultivating negativity, and you are being lead astray by impostors. 

III. Evil Mind, Bad Heart, Wack Friend & Secret Foe Walked Into A Bar --Stop Me If You've Heard This One...

If your self talk is destructive rather than uplifting then you are not practicing Mindfulness; indeed, if you are merely practicing the reinforcement of negativity you are engaged in a dark, destructive and dangerous activity from which you need to start running hard and fast in the opposite direction. 

There's a lot of hatefulness, sadness, anger, and meanness in the world and it will often find you when a person is weakest but if you can fight it-- 

Ah!! If you can fight it then you begin to win!! And when you are winning your self talk changes dramatically, does it not?

That's when you begin to hear encouragement from voices in you and around you. Words of strength and urging you to victory.IF, however, the words from the Mind and Brain are utterly different and of a darker hue and tone then you must divest yourself from their power long enough to get your shit together, long enough for you to remind yourself that if you won't love you, then who will? Sometimes you just got to say--

Because, Satan, I aint fuckin witchu !! Just, nah. Nah, bruh. Bruh.

You'll find as well that once you get your own personal self-talk issues together that you will be less likely to accept unnecessary negativity from others. Including whoever you're crushing on/ have-had- a-crush-on-for-a-long-time-but-now-maybe-you-see-why-everyone-thinks-he's-an-asshole and--- Oh!! My bad!! I was talking to me!! *cough,cough* That's me and my, um, situation.

But I'm fixing that. I'm working on that shit. I'm going to win this war in the end. I'm going to capture the love in me and a whole load of love from elsewhetre and I will not be denied. Not this time, Satan! Not today.

Because a veritable glutton for punishment we are not, and should not be mistaken as such by any loitering sadists.

And, sometimes, particularly in situations of love and romance there's always someone be it stranger or "friend" or foe who can't wait to hear that some poor sucker is in love so that s/he can tell you what a dumb mutherfucka you are.

Look, the Bad Friend is that person who sees that you're in pain and agrees with you one hundred percent when you say "God, I'm so fucking stupid. He doesn't give a shit about me."

"Girl you are so right!! He does NOT give a shit about you!! I used to be like you but now I'm not!!" says Bad Friend. Ah, misery loves company but do not ever think misery hasn't got subtlety. Because if he's got you weeping on the shoulder of every human you see then chances are that he's a complete bastard in which case he does not give a shit about you because he never stops long enough to give a shit about anyone but himself. 

But the risk you take in engaging this conversational diva the Bad Friend is that this person will find you a sad state of mind and heart, will eagerly psycho-analyze What Your Problem Is and by the end of your talk, when s/he has confirmed every negative thought you ever had about yourself no matter how secret...it's then, at your weakest and lowest ebb that you begin to feel quite certain that you're much better off -- the world is better off -- if you never leave your bed again, if you could just waste away and die

Do you see?? Bad Friend encourages Bad Heart and Evil Mind. Now, you were perfectly adroit at punishing yourself with evil tidings on your own and now this ill omen-ed wretch has invited himself to assist you in an endeavor of the utmost dubiety; indeed, s/he adds to your sufferings, increases their agony in pitch and tone by stealthily discovering flaws that so far had never been acknowledged in your mind. This "friend", my love, has got to go to hell away on a broomstick with the quickness, do you see?

And you'll be sitting, sharing together all the ways and means of your failed life and utter folly in tricking yourself to believing you could be loved, all the while thinking: how did I get here? How did I come to this? Why? Why me? Why bother living.

But you forgot the Golden Rule, didn't you, Silly-head --

Aha!! I see, you've perked up. 

Finally, getting the hang of this? Took you long enough. Okay, so: Remember that with self talk and mindfulness we never say to ourselves the things we would never say to a beloved and grieving friend. That little voice in our heads can sometimes get confused and take on the character of a tormentor when we feel oppressed by life's ebbs and flows. Sometimes when we are the most needy  and at our weakest that we acquire new "friends".

Sure, he's funny when you've had a few to drink.

Yeah, nobody plays trombone like her.

Totally the sex you have sometimes is strings free and damn satisfactory.

Fuck that. Mindfulness is about how you relate to the world while trying to walk a righteous path and you cannot stay rooted to the path while you keep company with thoroughly unrighteous sons of bitches. Trust. It cannot be done.

If you have a broken heart you need love more than ever. Don't short-change yourself. Love is a need just like water, shelter, warmth and food. Like Bergdorf Goodman and pink sapphires and fluffy furs in winter --

What? *a woman that you've never seen before pops into the room, interrupting the narrative*

Okay so what?! Maybe my needs are different from yours!! *yelling back and forth with this unidentified woman* You know what? You are meddling so just-- FINE!!!

*Politrixie, our narrator gets loud with the woman* FINE!! BERGDORF GOODMAN PINK SAPPHIRES AND FURS ARE NOT NEEDS!! Happy now?!?!? *shouting loudly, turns and flops down facing the away, turning back to our discussion*

"Shacondria" says Politrixie with an eyeroll before continuing--

The reason is clear. If you don't love you who will?? Divesting yourself of assholes -- would-be lovers, wackass hurtful people, liars, cheaters, non-letter writing back bastards, whoever! -- look at divestment as a sort of assignment in Mindful Manumission!

Neither your heart, nor your mind, nor your body nor your soul can be enslaved or enthralled to anything but that which is truly love. And you can't create love from that which is by nature and content made up of darkness and no light at all.

The first and most important Act of Love that must exist before you can bond yourself in love to another is Self Love -- self care, self talk, joy, solitude, the practice of being happy for you. As you practice mindfulness long enough you'll begin to see in others the light that is indeed shining and signalling within you as well. Trust your self. Love your self. Be good to your self

Practice these tenets of belief and faith on yourself. Watch yourself catch a Not Friend in the act of telling you how trifling you are! It's an amazing experience. You dont really even get mad at the person; after all, that is a case of an asshole being itself. Even the hurt of rejection by the lover who largely exists only in your mind stings just a tiny bit less than it would have before you came to Mindfulness.                                      

So, now you know. You'll know the right lovers and the true loving friends by the fruits they bear. Be good and accept those gifts that they offer. Don't deny loved ones the opportunity to do for you what pleases them so! Let them see that you know this and offer yourself willingly -- the reward will be loving. And that's all that you wanted in the first place and now here it is in front of you.
.

PostScript: Hey Dude I Used To LIke. That hurt. I aint fuckin witchu. 

THE END

For Women Who Are Difficult to Love ~ Written and Performed by the Incomparable Goddess Warsan Shire

When my head gets twisted up, particularly at the hands of some man, then I find La Shire to get me straight, to tell me the truth in the dizzying brutal and lyrical way that is her trademark and so un-difficult, so easy to love

For Women Who Are Difficult to Love

written and performed by Warsan Shire

You are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
****

Overheard at the Quickie Mart

Man #1: Hey bwa!! What's up? What you bout to get into??

Man #2: Ay, man. I'm bout to roll up to the crib. 
               You know I'm on house arrest.

Me at the Freezer Grabbing Ice Cream Sandwiches:

No. I didn't know that. 
Hmm.
Oh.

#CriminalMasterMind
#DumbandDumber
#ConspiracyTheory

New Title Page Model??? Maybe...Still Undecided...

"That White man's chino is the devil though" The Cocoa Jungle's Amatoribus Community Endures Its Deadly Plague With Dignity

A new installment from the Trixie Raconteur fictional series. Herein  we learn a bit about the seedier side of Trixie Raconteur's city, Metropolitan through this local news report.The rap group Junkie's Revenge has lately made the drug mochaccino quite popular despite its deadly effects....

"Cuz Mister Wonka when it was just him, he didn't know. He didn't know that chino could be like this.But Mister Charlie knew." ~Chocolate Dick

They call themselves the comedentis cocos - The Cocoa Eaters. Sometimes they are known as amatoribus cocos, the Cocoa Lovers. Here in the Cocoa Jungle, this once proud neighborhood now overrun by predatory chocolatiers whose consciences are replaced by profits that soar higher everyday, mochaccino has become the most popular form of cacoa, that deadly and most addictive of all the substances sold here in the Jungle. The mercatores cocos are dead eyed and alarmingly wired, most likely from ingesting much of their own product, mochaccino being a stimulant that is notorious for its days wide-awake side effects. 

But the amatoribus cocos are a kind and generous community in spite of the violent anxiety and deadly addiction that is ever with them but I find that one does become inured to the jittery, jumpy eagerness before too long. The amatoribus are a literate, lively bunch, nothing like the Chino Zombies one associates with the Jungle. They talk about movies, books, art and music. They speak quickly and display twitches, pacing restlessly as they talk to me. 

I've come here to the Cocoa Jungle to talk to a 42-year old mochaccino addict called Chocolate Dick. Chocolate Dick tells me that he has been addicted to mochaccino (called mocha or sometimes chino, for short) since he was in 17 years.

 It is the devil he abhors and adores and the evidence of its ruin runs through his face and body and in the melancholy of his voice as he speaks, which he does in an eloquence of sorrow and remorse.

I asked Chocolate Dick to tell me about his life as an amatoribus; after a long silence which I at first took for refusal he began his tale in his grizzled fashion illustrating an entire generation's identity expressed in terms of cocoa and mocha and chino. Always the chino. 

Chocolate Dick didn't mind telling me his story, he said, but he preferred to write it out. He promised to meet me back at the unofficial city center of the Jungle, next to the Jungle's oldest purveyor of chino, Starrfux later that day with his essay. We agreed on a time and I had time to wander the Jungle's streets and talk to other residents.

Graffiti in the Cocoa Jungle

My name is Richard but everybody calls me Chocolate Dick cuz nobody knows more about chino, mocha and cocoa than me. That's a fact.

That mochaccino is the devil. And if I love the devil then I cannot let him bring me down and down into degradation, anxiety, fiending and Xanax addiction. I must FIGHT ...for? this love? against it?? I dont even know no more.

Ahhh the very contradictory sensations in loving the devil, ahhh...!! But I have so far had only ONE cup today, and I plan to KEEP my Chino abuse addictions within my grasp. One minute at a time you know...like they say in MA. My name is Chocolate Dick and I have a mochaccino problem. But I can beat this. One day I'ma beat it, I know.

But I'm saying, man, this mochaccino they got out there now on the streets. Man, it's powerful stuff, lemme tell you. It ain't like it was, the way it used to be when you were a kid, and could trust your local neighborhood chino dealer and know that he wasn't giving you some ole wack shit to get you strung out all your life....

Now they got mochaccino going by all kinda of crazy concoctions, wild shit, strong'r than strong, strong'r than anything got a right to be, too strong for no damn reason!! Like that Bath Sugar Salt Chino...that was some hot shit. 

Made you know how it felt to be for Charlie when he took over from Mister Wonka and changed everything, making chino. Cuz Mister Wonka when it was just him, he didn't know. He didn't know that chino could be like this.But Mister Charlie knew. He knew. Man that Bath Sugar Salt Chino...felt like you were King of Charlie's Chocolate Factory! It had me trippin but it was fun you know? That's when it was still fun. Before it got to be bad times. That was good times.

They got that Chronic Mochaccino This shit's muthafuckin cray man...had me thinking I could FLY. Can't nobody FLY that's human! If it hadn't been for my friend who don't do Mocha...*sad headshake*...I mighta got hurt or something. I had that MMAD too, they callin' it Mochaccino Madness.

That White man's Chino is the devil though...I had to stay away from that shit/ It's bad stuff man, real bad. 

It was Walter White that made that shit. I heard he was coming out with a new Mochaccino gonna blow all the competitor's away....gonna wipe the floor with all them other petty lll mess. All the young heads coming up now...that's what errybody takin is that White Man's Chocolate and the kids...I mean, it aint no kinda life to be sick this way. 

Make me worried for the young heads comin up cuz I know that couldn't nobody tell me nuthin when I was young. Now I'm a old head still got that monkey, jack. Know what I mean? Still got that chocolate muthafuckin monkey on my damn back.

I'm tryna stay clean. I went down to the clinic this morning, got my Mocha-done...but it aint no real way of livin' tied to the devil like that. You know what they say bout the Devil rides a pale horse and it's name is....yep...Mocha. 

Says right there in the Bible, the Lord told Adam:"And unto Adam he said, Because you have listened unto the voice of your wife, and have eaten of the cocoa bean, of which I commanded you, saying, You shall not eat of it, you shall not have no cocoa beans thusly accursed is the all the cocoa of all the world for your sake; in sorrow shall you eat of it all the days of your life."

Why the Lord gonna make something like the cocoa bean and the coffee bean, then curse man to suffer for it? I just don't know.

Why, man? Why?

Fuck Mister Charlie. He ain't had no love for nobody else why did he make that chino?? Mister Charlie made slaves out of all us. Chino slaves. Now all we got is monkeys riding us all hard. 

Yeah, fuck Mister Charlie. He don't care about the cocoa ghetto. He just don't care....

Sherlock Knows What Buttons to Push

If you're on Chrome and having trouble seeing the social media buttons please let me know! All day I've been battling Chrome, Google+ Blogger....

Yeah just about the entire evil empire against moi.

Not sure if it's my machine or what but everything is looking good from Firefox.

This mystery is solved.

MISCHIEF MANAGED!!
(Yes I do realize I'm mixing my Potter references with my Sherlock...if you didn't know before now that I'm a big geek then shame on you)

I swear that man can fix anything!!

PS: I really do need new wallpaper tho

UNDER CONSTRUCTION/TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES/PLEASE EXCUSE OUR MESS

Politrixters be patient with me, we're having some technical difficulties that require repair because Blogger is an evil platform built to confound and test all bloggers through trials, misfortune, stupidity, robbery, irrational programming, and general bastardy.

In other words, for some reason best known to Blogger itself my Share buttons and Social media buttons have simply....whoosh...disappeared. I have tried literally everything except the most drastic of all fixes which requires me to reset the entire template. And that I don't want to do but apparently it's the only solution. And it's utterly destroying me...

Yes, darlings I honestly feel like it. I am bereft. Inconsolable. There's no telling how much sweet potato pie I'll need to consume to heal my suffering. Because HTML is not my strong suit.

So basically we're under construction while I figure this bullshit out and also re-plan what things will look like around here. 

My mother wants me to change my title image of the lady with the marionette man but I don't think I can bear to part with her. 

But certainly some new wallpaper is long overdue as well.

And you Benedict can shut the fuck up! I heard you got that woman pregnant!! You have lost all commenting privileges.

John why are you always the last to know?? His girlfriend is already showing!! It's some bullshit, for real.

 I am the only one who should have brought the Golden Child into the world!!

Jesus why do you look like sex?

Hell yes!!! My blog is broken and substandard because Blogger is substandard and I need to change over to Wordpress but that's all kind of drama!! And you--!!

I don't have the time!! You're a bastard and--

Oh--!!

Aight.

Right. So Politrixters I'm...um...working on my business. 

You know, the blog! The blog!! I'ma fix that. I AM!!!

(I heard that smirk goddammit!)

I'm working on ....the blog...and I'ma..um...fix it---

Right after a little..um...pick me up....

I'm small. He's not. He can pick me up for sure!!

And you can shut the fuck up with yo jealous self!!

If that aint the truth!!! 

Blogger betta get with it because Wordpress is looking sexier to me every-damn-day!!

Hysterical Love

Laurel Burch First Kiss

I was looking for love 
but damn, baby, did I mess up
I thought you were the one
because you always made me come
and now I discover that you are not a lover
who you be? and what you need?
I do not know but God knows it ain't me
I'm not the first to be addicted and cursed
with enjoyment of that dick
and addiction we know is a sickness
just as love is a fierce plague and disease
that flares up on occasion
and weakens the soul
burns feverishly in the body
burns me betwixt the legs 
and destroys the very common sense and reason
all up in my brain and head
I'm not thinking well
and I can't speak or tell nobody nothin
about this infection
about my desire and affection
for you and your ways
even tho I know now that it's not me
that you want but what do I care?
I'm still here I'll take what I can get
And learn to live with it
Because that's what hysterical love does
it takes me from myself
and transports me to a sweet warm homely hell
despite popular opinion
hell is a place where all you desire is free
I desired to have you with me
and now I must burn forever
until time ends and you defect to heaven

Janelle + Erykah = 1 Politrixie Anthem

I discovered Erykah Badu in college when she first came out. When Baduizm, her first album, dropped it was on rotation constantly in my friend's dorm rooms and there were constant arguments between people who thought she couldn't sing and the people who felt her message was deep and liked her image as well. This was back in the day when she was rocking the 3 foot tall turban on her head. But everyone agreed on this point: Erykah was never boring and she always came correct on message with spirituality + politics + love of self and culture. She was not to be judged cursorily and dismissed. And over time even some of my friends who didn't get it succumbed to her charm eventually. 

Mama's Gun is high on the list of my anthems. But to see her team up with Janelle Monae who is still young in years but wise and old in spirit in the same manner as Erykah was herself? Lemme tell you this video just brought me to tears when it dropped. I watched it over and over. 

Both Janelle and Erykah are so deep and cool in their creativity that if I ever met either of them I wouldn't even talk -- I'd just feel so unworthy Remember Wayne's World devotion to Aerosmith: "We're not worthy! We're not worthy! Yeah I feel them. That's basically my entire emotion toward Janelle and Erykah. Beauty + Talent (50,000) + Je ne sais quoi + Soul = Queens

And Janelle is strong, knows what she's aiming for creatively. Check out the lyrics of her rap at the end of Q.U.E.E.N.  Her shit is so tight it almost shames the listener into raising her consciousness but in a badass motivating manner that requires a beautiful skill and so much wisdom to deliver the message in a tone that pulls you in rather than repelling you from what would have been a self-righteous, blow hard message in anyone else's mouth. Janelle doesn't work that way; she's just doing her thing, spitting game and telling truth:

Janelle's Rap

I asked a question like this
"Are we a lost generation of our people?
Add us to equations but they'll never make us equal.
She who writes the movie owns the script and the sequel.
So why ain't the stealing of my rights made illegal?
They keep us underground working hard for the greedy,
But when it's time pay they turn around and call us needy.
My crown too heavy like the Queen Nefertiti
Gimme back my pyramid, I'm trying to free Kansas City.

Mixing masterminds like your name Bernie Grundman.
Well I'm gonna keep leading like a young Harriet Tubman
You can take my wings but I'm still goin' fly
And even when you edit me the booty don't lie
Yeah, keep singing and I'mma keep writing songs
I'm tired of Marvin asking me, "What's Going On?
March to the streets 'cuz I'm willing and I'm able
Categorize me, I defy every label
And while you're selling dope, we're gonna keep selling hope
We rising up now, you gotta deal you gotta cope
Will you be electric sheep?
Electric ladies, will you sleep?

If you ain't know, baby, now you know.

This video makes me so joyful I can't even tell you.

And as for answering Janelle's question at the end? 

Oh baby, lemme tell you. 

I'm just tryna preach, love

Peace. 

Only God Can Judge Me: A Stroll Down Time's Musical Memory Lane To the Sweet, Sweet Sounds of My Own Private Background Music

Even Ignorant Heads Gotz Love for Hip Hop/What I Learned From Weezie/and Strolling Thru Life To the Sweet, Sweet Sounds of My Own Private Background Music

I. Coming Out: Full Musical Preference Disclosure

I was never a hip-hop head, not really. Not hardcore. But in the 90s when some of the most iconic rappers were dropping their best and most legendary music in rap & hip hop that was always the background music in my life. 

However, I had a secret: you see, I was primarily focused on grunge and alt-rock. and pop. This had to remain a secret because this preference was generally considered wack and altogether strange among the black folk who would have dismissed this fetish with one withering judgement: that's so white!

So I was a rocker and emo pop lover in secret. In Junior High I was devoted to Mariah Carey but blessedly recovered from that error in taste by high school. I remember Sinead O'Connor's first album The Lion and the Cobra was bliss -- her signature song Troy is still brilliant demonstrating her extraordinary vocal talent and showing that she was unique then and now. Sinead was nobody's pop tart and 25 years later she's still creating and showing the young ones how is has to be done.  

George Michael: what can I say, no amount of embarrassing tales of his public sex habits will ever cause me to divest myself from his music, not ever. 

Prince, of course lives in a category all his own. I used to insist that Adore   would be the music to serenade me down the aisle to my beloved husband-to-be and every date I've ever gone on I secretly judged whether he could be the One To Be Adored. Was so depressed at the end of each date, in each relationship because it was so clear that this one was so not the one I could adore. I'd add a link for you to hear one of my favorite songs in life but we all know Prince lives in the Dark Ages as it concerns the interwebs *eyeroll* The only thing one can do about this is to shrug and say "Nigga please." If you are of the Paler Nation then you should not say that, so I have used my privilege and said it for you. You're welcome.

(On a sidenote I did finally meet him, the one I adore to whom I dedicate this song.... Yeah, that's all I have to report at present. Since finding him was half the battle, there is still time for further development -- I hope?-- but so far it's looking bleak, truth be told. ...more on that subject some other time perhaps.) 

All the Soul and R&B of the 90s was just perfection but somehow when the calendar turned over into 2000 true Soul and R&B the legacy of Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder et al died a cold, lonely death. Back in the day R&B was a genre of artists raised on church music, when R&B vocals and music had to have that quality of soul that could produce chills and seemed to be the sole trait of  only a Black Americans. The 90s gave us Mary J Blige, Erykah Badu, Angie Stone, and D'Angelo and for me this was the music that connected me to hip-hop and the old school traditions of Soul/R&B. All of these artists are still killing it, still staying true to roots but constantly creatively evolving.  Hell, I could spend all day talking about this but I'm pulling off the top of my head and those artists still to this day are giving that Old School flavor. Rap I was never into so much but the hip-hop music scene I was all over that shit. And some may say that the two can't be separated that they are so interrelated as to be essentially inseparable. They are two sides of the same coin. 

I dabbled in a little of folk here and there: Ani Difranco can do no wrong in my eyes.

I love and revere 80s pop music so hard -- I'm looking at you Duran Duran! And I heard that eye-roll, fuck y'all, only God can judge me!!

Michael Jackson will ever more live in a strata of the musical astral world that is possibly untouchable. I'm spinning Human Nature right now as I type.

College introduced me to trip-hop: Portishead. Tricky. Morcheeba. Roll me a blunt and turn that shit up loud. All my memories from 18-22 are backed up by the sounds of trip-hop.

Michelle N'degeocello is such a badass goddess that I went to her concert in Philadelphia and experienced two hours of such intense sexual confusion and goddammit I crave the opportunity to be so conflicted again. Anytime. Her cover of Love You Down is one of those rare instances of brilliance when a remake is better than the original.

In terms of alt-rock and the short lived grunge era I didn't discover the Pixies untill college but they are now, until the end of time the gods of my music boxes. Smashing Pumpkins. I was addicted to Pearl Jam in my high school Sophomore and Junior years. At 14 my best girlfriend Courtney gave me U2's Rattle and Hum on CD(this was when CDs were new and if you can't remember such a time you are a baby -- I'm talkin to the old-heads right now)  I loved that CD so much I can't even make you understand it; I lived with that CD. Still have it and it's proof that they don't make products the way they used to it because it is scratched and beat down severely from bouncing around in my car, in my Diskman which I still use (fuck technology, the Diskman is all I need, son) and that CD still plays.sly. 

But it's strange what time does to music, I listened to it recently and felt a bit underwhelmed. I dont know if I was having a bad day or if the sound that was old school U2 is just way too syrupy to be taken seriously.  Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun is divinity transformed into sound and Chris Cornell just turned 50 years old and still looks like a Greek god. Nirvana's first album was major but I never thought they were worth the hype, not really. 

So I was into just about everything but hip hop and rap. 

My point is that even though every morning on the drive to school me and my carpool were all nodding heads and bouncing in sync to Snoop Doggy Dog (remember when he was Doggy Dog, not just Dog or his newest incarnation as Snoop Lion...whatever) and Dr Dre introducing us to the apparent elixir properties of Gin and Juice. Nevertheless my musical preferences were decidedly a little bit rock, and a little bit pop. But the beautiful lesson I've learned is that there are so many roads to hip-hop; you may start out as far from it as you please and one day you find yourself felled by something creatively ingenious even against your will. 

My mentor teaches a course at Fordham University called from Rock and Roll to Hip Hop which he began teaching nearly fifteen years ago - the year after I graduated. Ain't that some shit. I don't know much but I'm still learning, no shame in that.

II. Finding Rap Nirvana

I was messing around on Youtube one day during that summer when Adele had just dropped Rolling in the Deep I was surfing all the artists who covered the song -- because  I was, still am obsessed by that song --and there were many, many covers. Adele hit everyone in the heart by creating a piece of art all the bitterness and trauma that you suffer from a damaging love; she encompassed all those things you wanted to say to an ex yet never could have  expressed in the same manner of beauty and emotion and eloquence that Adele achieves. 

John Legend's cover sucked completely and I hate it hard, but in fairness I'm not all that impressed by John Legend anyway. Linkin Park's cover was quite interesting, a very stripped down acapella that is surprisingly lovely. Chester Bennington's clear tenor adds a masculine pathos to the song that demonstrates once again what LP does best in their style of mixing the hardcore elements of rock and rap to somehow produce music that is emotional without sacrificing the nasty-ass grit that is required for both rock and rap -- and they earn their respect. In other words, they manage to make hella tasty ear candy that has all the genuine elements of talent creatively, musically and lyrically for an earned declaration to all that you-can't-fuck-with-us. (Full disclosure: I love the shit outta LP. Don't judge, don't even come for me, bruh.)

Okay so here I am surfing secretly to satisfy my obsession with Adele's song -- the lyrics!! Even more than the music itself and her vocals the lyrics just kill me, it's one of those millions of things in the world that I did not write and wish to God in his Heaven that I had done myself. 

Surf surf surf and what do I come across in the search for Rolling in the Deep covers but Lil Wayne! And methinks: WTF?! I couldn't resist taking a listen...

.... and thusly encountered one of the most extraordinary listening 
experiences of my life.

First of all, Weezie isn't covering the tune, he samples the baseline and as soon as the first beats open the song you realize that he was extremely clever to choose this as a sample. In the video when you see the drummer under the staircase just busting shit up with the foot treadle and his snares so that upstairs on the second floor the glasses of water are rippling along with the rhythm. So Weezie was wise in his choice:  that drum beat is straight luscious. And the first three or four seconds as his version opens alerts you that you are in for a truly unique experience.

 My first listen through I was so deeply appalled that I slipped into clinical shock and certain to sustain lasting trauma. 

Ain't Nobody fucking with me
First degree murder, you can get your degree
Motherfucker
And you ain't gotta wonder 'bout me wonder woman
Tune gonna ball, money tall, Paul Bunyan
Real nigga shit, pussy niggas gon hate
Pound of the Kush call that bitch pound cake
I hit it from the back
And make that bitch about face
And then I gotta split
I'm sorry baby, sour grapes
She wine, baby don't leave
I duck that bullshit, bob and weave
Everybody tripping, but I ain't never tripping
Leave your ass flatter than my new television---

My first impression was clear, definite and certain: Sorry for the Wait by Lil Wayne is the vilest,

most profane piece of rap I have ever heard. I was frozen through by how utterly nasty this song was. And to use Adele's masterpiece in such a cavalier fashion---!! It was sinful.
I had to listen to it again. After my third and fourth listen-throughs I sent it to one of my best friends who is a die-hard rap and hip hop fan -- "fan" doesn't even really capture his devotion but we'll go with that term anyway -- I sent it to his Facebook "Can you believe this song? OMG it's sooo obscene!! Like seriously this is beyond-the-beyond in terms of vulgarity. It's..it's...just raunchy filth!!" sez I. 

And then I went and listened to it some more.

After a week of uninterrupted listening to Weezie I was aware of a strange change occurring to me. I had found a lyrics video on youtube so that I could read the lyrics in order to demonstrate to others how profane, how vulgar, how nasty this song was. 

Even though I had to admit (silently, only to myself of course) that there was something approaching brilliance to his imagery. And there are a lot of lyrics, how he remembers them all I can't imagine. 

But he succeeds in making some extraordinary illustrations. Clever doesn't capture how damn talented he is. I am not a monster, I was prepared to give credit where it was due and there was no denying that he was due high and heavy props.

'Im talking about money and the power
Power and the money
This shit is magic Stan Van Gundy
Ima run this shit till I'm the last man runnin
Mack light that shit, then pass that to me
Young Money motherfucker yeah
We the shit, yeah Weezy go hard like Cialis
Don't love that bitch, I fucked that ho
She pop X I smoke O's tic-tac-toe
And I stink cause I got alot of shit on my mind
They say numbers don't lie, is that a 6 or a 9?
I stand infront of the clock
Cause I'm ahead of the time
Knock your pussy ass off
And send your head to your mom

First time I heard this I could feel my eyes widening in alarm, my heart racing in disbelief at what I was hearing. And, so, shivering with outrage I put Sorry for the Wait on repeat. At this stage perhaps it was denial that shielded me from realizing that a pattern was forming. Soon I had to listen to the song every morning as a wake-me-up. Whenever I was sad Sorry for the Wait helped get my head straight. I never ever have been able to listen to it just one time and move on; no, I would listen to it six or seven time in a row.

Soon I had to write my friend and make a serious confession: Weezie is the shit and Sorry for the Wait is by far the most joyful selection of the rapper's art that I have ever known. Weezie's skill as a lyricist is perhaps beyond compare. Weezie's creation had become the single most respected piece of rapping delight to me. The vulgarity, the skilled playfulness, the surprising metaphors and similes that he juggles so deftly -- all of it -- Lil Wayne's Sorry for the Wait is quite simply the shit. 

Lyrically speaking, you cannot fuck with this creation. It is pure fancy, dirty as you wanna be and full of ideas that link to one another and create something new and seamless.

I ain't playing with niggas, no sir not me
And they can't blindfold what my third eye see
Yeah I was locked up, but like a bird I'm free
And the coupe transform, no Tyrese
Hello Goodbye, where are you Wayne?
I'm somewhere inbetween joy and pain
And I reach for the stars, got stuck in the clouds
Got high as a bitch and left my love on the ground

No, sir I kid you not -- Lil Wayne won me over and over and over - just the way I play the song everytime I listen. At this point I can recite with near perfection along with him and I have to be careful when I put on my headphones in case anybody walks in while I'm up in the floor in the midst of my performance. Others may   not understand you see, so I am writing this for future reference. Nothing gives me greater happiness than to listen to Weezie spitting his game hard as shit. I feel joy even unto the six or seventh listen through. There have been hard, sad, scary things I've needed courage to endure and Sorry for the Wait has a power over me that is almost magical and I am ever grateful to Weezie for this charm of strength.


Vile and nasty as the lyrics seemed in the first hundred listens or so, it has become the one thing that can make me laugh and smile under any circumstance. I am no scholar of rap, and pretty much any person age 6 and up probably knows more than I. You may wish to challenge my passion for this song by pointing out that indeed other rappers have created much nastier, far more vulgar and meaningful pieces of art. I care not about your challenges. 

I give you this much, those of you who would challenge my assertions: I find it difficult to look at Weezie. It just-- I'm saying, it's just-- he's like--- I mean, you know what I'm sayin??

But there is only one Weezie and this is his masterpiece. I would let him teach an English class on

how to form metaphors. Yes, I said it!! I said it!! What?! 

I genuflect to his brilliance.

Straight up this is an example of a rapper at the top of his game, snatching wigs, killing without 
remorse. I'm talkin bout rap genius. 

Church.