"And I regret what I swept, Jesus wept for my grace/ Hail Mary's fulla shit, thas been etched on my face/ Just in case they wanna place all the blame of this game/ I'll rat race you rodents and call y'all "muthafuckas" the same/ I'll back chase you like prey, I ain't changing my lane/ I'll control-alt-delete the fact you even saying my name/ And itz a shame that...I ain't made yet/ But when it comes, I bet I take the match in straight sets/ This is the volley in the valley of the depths of my mind/ Where I'm in search of - any piece of truth I can find/ I ain't braille blind, no Abu Grab on my eyes/ I ain't hell bound, the devil can't sell me the lies/ I'm the pot where the chicken fries harder than thugs/ But the plot's kinda thick so they be crying for love/ Fine line til itz hate and your mate is obtuse/ To the fact that I'm acute and prone to reboot the air/ Shooting flares like 380's, playing "Sadie" to soothe/ The fact I care in my heart, but my soul needs sum proof/ I take off my kool and rewind every scene that I fear/ Cuz I'm closer to my death than the breath of next year..." -Mo.Jey, "The Mirror Freestyle"
*SCENE I: "The WAKE UP Show..."
...I had a dream two nights ago that shook my soul in ways I've never experienced. In the dream...my beloved son, Ahmir, was hit by a car in a parking lot. It..........it didn't knock him in the air or to the pavement. It was like, he was glued to the front of the car as the driver, a young teenage girl, came to a stop. His eyes were still open when he got hit. I remember him looking at me with the same look he gave me during his first year of soccer this past fall...the 1st time he got the wind knocked out of him when a kid from the other team kicked the ball on a direct shot to Ahmir's stomach. He immediately ran for his daddy. I knew he was hurt immediately...and part of me wanted to move as slow as I could to the field on that day, cuz you know......if you play sports, you WILL get injured at sum point in time. But...the paternal part of me said:
"This kid is 5 years-old and this is the 1st time he's ever been injured."
It wasn't even an injury, really. He just got the wind knocked out of him. But.........this is a very little 5 year-old boy. He's tough, indeed...but the kick to the stomach shocked the shit out of him. So I made my way to him to calm him AND his breathing down...and that was that. But in this dream...he was pasted to the front of a moving car...and that same look of shock meant a totally different thing this time. It happened so damn fast, in slow motion. I remember my father ran to the car first. When I made it to the car, the teenage girl who was driving was absolutely hysterical. She wasn't speeding. She just simply didn't see Ahmir until he was hit by her car. I remember screaming at her repeatedly...
"IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT!"
...until my dad began to peel my son off the front of the vehicle. My father, is a former drug addict and alcoholic, turned the Reverend Brown Thomas Jenkins, 6 years ago. I could hear him mumbling a prayer as he was peeling my son off this car. I couldn't make out the words. And thas when I noticed Ahmir's eyes were closed...my father crying...blood escaping my son's nose, ears, mouth and the corners of his closed eyes........and then I woke up.
It was all a dream...
(*NOTE: This is the 3rd such dream I've had like this, in regards to my son, Je'Mani Ahmir. I'm seriously searching for sum answers. I need CLARITY on what these dreams are supposed to mean.)
*SCENE II: "Volume Me"
...Are you AWAKE now!?
My left brain is constantly fighting with my right brain...
"Move over right brain, you taking up too much space!"
Like...on one hand, I understand - everybody has their own separate "grind" (that's a word thas starting to get TIRED real quick for me)...and nobody's grind is the same. So...I respect people. Even if/when I don't agree with someting or someone, I still respect whus presented before me. But.......on the other hand...I be seeing shit sometimes and it just annoys the hell outta me. Like - I was always told to RESPECT women, regardless of her hue or how she presents herself. But then, I be peepin' summa the things some (NOT all) of the women be saying, like, on Twitter and it literally makes me shake my damn head. NOT that everything has to be serious or profound OR thought provoking (hello @sweeteebs...lol, I heard you Sis)......but, I mean, really...
"A spade is a spade."
So if you present yourself as a shallow muthafucka in one blink, but in the next blink - you want people to take you serious as an actress...or as a singer...or just as a person, PERIOD......you may wanna lock yourself in the bathroom so you can thoroughly look at yourself in the mirror.
"When U-N-I-Verse...at War, muthafucka" -Black Thought & Common
My right brain is like...in regards to the things I write...my right brain is on sum, keep it kool type shit. But my left brain.....is on sum rogue emcee type shit. Thas the side of me that wants to start sunnin' the very people who inspire me. Not on sum backstabbin' shit either...but more on sum...
"Maaaan, I just paid madd respect to you and you gon' ignore a nigga!?"
Conventional wisdom says: "Well Monty...keep yo calm level at a nice pitch. - becuz in essence, I am NOT known to "the masses" yet. But then my other hand says "damn being politically correct"...and I'm just gon' start...
"SNIPING"
...people, if I feel they're lame and disrespectful. I mean....I ain't Billy Badass........................(let that hang there for a second, so y'all don't confuse my approach)..................................but I CAN thoroughly obliterate a person's whole aura, with one scathing verse, if necessary. And maybe thas just my competitive side coming to the surface. Or...maybe thas my hungry emcee side coming to the light. The point is...I'm gonna advise people to start paying attention NOW. Turn my volume up now...before the sun comes: UP.
Cuz one can't run or hide when God allows me to send heat rays that sting in one's direction.
"PYOOM"
*SCENE III: "RE:Niggas..."
I'm looking at my surroundings. Never judging. Simply assessing. I think about the Malcolms and Martins and Hueys...and what they stood for. What they faught for. And what they, ultimately died for. And the ones before them.
I think about Assata Shakur...STILL in exile in Cuba over sum shit she didn't even do! Itz LONG past time for her to be pardoned in the state of New Jersey! I think about these people everyday.......and how, Hip-Hop is connected to them.
HIP-HOP. Would NOT. EXIST...
...if it wasn't for the people mentioned above (and many more), laying their mortality on the line...for us and future generations - to simply exist. So.......with that said, I'm wondering WHY summa these lame ass emcees spit the hot garbàge they spit? Like, okay...my time is near, so I'm gonna have the same opportunity summa these artists (using that term LOOSE, like baby bowels) have......but for the life of me, I can't connect the dots to how they just jack-off the opportunity they've been blessed with.
Don't paint me disgruntled either...I'm good where God is telling me to stand. I'm just saying...WE have the opportunity to IMPACT many-many generations to come, with the words we speak or sing........so why not use that opportunity, responsibly. Hell...I ain't saying - don't make songs people can dance to. Muthafucka, I overstand economics, marketing AND the music business! And I ain't dumb enough to think everybody can come with the type of lyrics I'm coming with! Or that Lupe Fiasco comes with. Or Jay Elect...or Mos Def...or Kweli. I don't expect every artist to have the intelligence that David Banner has...or Tyrese. And yes...there IS room for everybody to shine. But...
"A spade is a spade."
...I just feel like summa these cats are setting our asses back with these songs they putting out. And to me, y'all are being labeled as RE:Niggas becuz y'all were summa the same ones hollering...
"We want a CHANGE!"
...and brandishing Obama '08 signs before the November 2008 election. Then y'all reverted back to the very bullshit thas killin' hip-hop. Y'all sum hypocrits, major. I told y'all up top, I overstand economics, marketing AND business...
"Muthafuckas"
...so I DO know, a lotta times itz about money. I know itz dollars over sense...and shit, in that case, my babies gotta eat TOO! So maybe saying any of this makes me either self-righteous or just a fucking fool. Not for me to discern. What I'm saying is.........don't tell me I CAN'T get paid and still keep my integrity. I'll prove your ass wrong. Hell YES, I wanna get paid for being an artist...that goes without saying. But.......I also want sumthin thas a little deeper than being a millionaire artist on pasted in a cookie cutter for consumption. I want sumthin more than making an appearance on MTV Cribs (fuck THAT...I'm too private for that shit to EVER happen). I want a legacy.
When I'm old and gray...at the end of my road.....hell, before I'm old and gray! I'm talking 10 to 20 years from now...when my kids are become teenagers and then adults. I don't want their peers to say...
"Damn yo, your dad put out sum REALLY wack shit!"
I want them to be PROUD of the music I create...so they can look back and say...
"WOW! My dad DID that!"...OR..."Thas my daddy's song"
...and NOT be embarrassed by the shit they hear coming outta my mouth. I don't wanna FUCK every girl in the world...I mean damn, not only would my dick fall OFF at some point.......................................(lmao...let that hang their for a second)............................but also, WHAT kinda message would I be sending to my son AND...my daughter!? Yeah-yeah-yeah, I know...sum are gon' say I just took a blog shot at Weezy & Drake. Bullshit! I own & like both of those cat's music...I just used that song as an example. So...what it becomes is this: A conscious battle with my conscience. I just wanna be "successful", but at what price...cuz I damn sure ain't gonna put on blackface for a buck. I cannot and will not be RE:Nigga'd. Spin my records in the clubs and on the radio at your own risk...
-Mo.Jey Sense Birth
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