"It was all a dream, I was just escaping the scene/ How could one predict, shit would be raping my team/ Taxing my green, I mean - what the fuck have I seen/ To kiss karma on itz lips, and behave like a fiend/ Leaning left, same spot where I left stressed breath/ Leaning right, on the corner where - I test death/ Shoulder colder than the Arctic, yes I arc this so listen/ No rewind, I'm getting older, older friendships are missing..." -Mo.Jey, "Deliverance"
*SCENE 1: "Surface Speak"
...As if my eyes had no meaning, they saw no reflection. They only saw 41 tattoos on my skin, which does not equate to a deeper look within. The ink on my skin tells stories, beneath the surface...
"If my blood's flow could speak."
But, a blind man reading braille can see clearer than "they". On the surface, I am a "starving" artist who made roast, mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables for dinner last night.
"You STILL think I'm starving? (LOL)"
But to me, an artists only starves when they choose not to feed their creativity. I eat creation, 3 times a day and pray to my Creator when I arise...and when I lay me down to sleep. On the surface, I am not a star...but underneath, a star was born many moons before you started reading this piece.
"His time is near."
But the root of it all, has never been about fame or money. I'm honest enough to tell y'all...
"Aw, hell NAW, I don't work for free"
...but ultimately, thas not what drives me. What drives me is well beneath the surface of my physical being. What drives me is creating the very best albums or films I can possibly create. For me - as an artist, my intent is to get better at what I do, every time I do it. And I hope y'all come along for the ride to simply witness my growth. Not just as an artist. But as a grown man...
*SCENE 2: "HolloWood & Vine"
...and WTF!? I'm not THAT busy that I won't respond to y'all. LOL.
Nah, really. I'm not gonna touch on that. Hollywood is a taj mirage (a made up term, thank you...lmao). It ain't what people around the world THINK it is. I know...I lived in Culver City for 2.5 years. Hollywood is actually...kinda dirty. But when you think movies, when you blink 3 times away from Kansas, with Toto in a tutu drinkin' bottled water...you think...
Hollywood!
I know niggas........who say I'm gonna go all Hollywood on them once the name I go by, is known. And I say, do NOT peg me for a shallowness I would never claim. I do not subscribe to the hollowness of what the media says is celebrity. I'll play the game enough to position myself to be able to call the shots I wanna call...and leave the rest to shallow muthafuckas to fight over. I AM an artist. I paint the canvas with characters I play when I'm cast in a role. I paint in very vivid hues. I AM an artist. I paint the canvas with words & lyrics that allows any random person to hold the mirror up to themselves...and maybe they can dissect themselves as I did when I took the time to carefully write the shit down. There is no room for hollow halls to reside in my mind. Period-point-blank, my mind is sharper than the sharpest ginsu. Hollywood can be a slippery slope at times. That much I have learned. There is no courtesy from itz inhabitants. No one will open the door for you and say...
"Come on in Mr. Jey! We've be expecting you."
So...in the thick of the night, I lurk in the shadows. Patiently waiting for the right moment. The Wood is Hollow, indeed. And when the moment is perfect, as stated by my Creator...in the words of the great Christopher Wallace, I will...
"Kick in the door, waving the 4-4."
Either that...or I slice my way thru...with the razor blade under my tongue.
*SCENE 3: "Say No More Freestyle"
*TRACK: Say You Will (Kanye West)
My collisions, deep inside this life and this time
Is like the war of Love and Hate, for control of my mind
And my left brain, shoots real rockets at my right
Right brain returns fire ta spark these thoughts in the night
When I tryda sleep...but I can't
Cuz insomnia is the canvas for vivid pictures I paint
Say you are but you ain't, on the level I dwell
Cuz my travels toss javelins that pierce the edges of hell
I could sell you my dreams, but you would bust at the seams
Then blame it on my name, like I pissed on the scenes
I'm kinda pissed cuz I mean, to be the best I can be
Swear, sometimes the ones who love me tryda take that from me
And I agree to disagree, that I'd be wrong if I leave
You can't price tag my time, and what the fuck, itz time to breathe
I'ma grieve for this hour, kinda sour how itz gone
But if it comes to dust, trust, we'll survive cuz we grown
Muthafuckas claim they know, what it takes to make it right
Same muthafuckas fake, when in the heat of the light
I can spit it in the mic, but rather spit it in yo ear
So you hear me loud and clear, i'd never live in my fear
I been 2 years running, from the sun of morning's ring
And stress dun started showing, so there headaches when I think
If the kids gotta suffer, then a change is truly due
I ain't scared to view my mirror, but itz reflecting you too
What the fuck I'm s'posed to do, if I ain't happy at home?
What the fuck would y'all cats do, if you were standing alone?
On the stage wit a page, of yo pain and yo pride
Tryna realize every dream, you ever had on this ride
If I abide by the rules, I fear my early demise
Thas my fore-sight of the future, seen it wit my own eyes
And I ain't blind to the fact, she ain't happy like me
She ain't said it to my face, amazing grace has a fee
And I don't feel free, I'm locked up inside my heart
If I repeat the fuckin' beats, I'm sure to fall apart
A part dazed a part distant, unamused by the tears
I'm sorry mama, swear I'm tryna re-reverse every year
The reverb's always near, I count cowards and sheep
I count dollars and weap, silently - before I sleep
Ahmir and Chy running deep, in my visions of wealth
But if I obliterate myself, thas no good for my health
Whus my shelf life like, am I deferring my dreams
Did I calculate the shit right, when I created this team
Dearly beloved, I'm tryna get it right in THIS life
Sometimes Love it turns to Hate it, sumthin gits sacrificed
And with this fuckin' ring, I thee wed all my sins
If we don't separate the ends, we may never be friends
Lord please forgive my bold face, delivery today
Never meant to make you sad, only meant to make a way
And I stood befor you and vowed, til my death
But if the shit don't fit, you must acquit my next step
Thankfully I haven't left, so my work here ain't done
So I'ma ask that You guide me right back to square one
Cuz my life ain't been fun and I been meaning to smile
Kinda hurts my mama said, I ain't smiled in awhile
And if this is the part, where we both break our hearts
Then all I ask is for the strength and a chance to restart
Amidst the chaotic realm, that my soul is entrenched
Inside my mind, where the star's been benched
And life's a bitch, that I really don't feel so rich
Like I'm the batter who can't hit a curveball pitched
Am I supposed to feel, like the robot I've become
Shiddd I been flying auto-pilot, and my soul dun gone numb
And I'm so, sick and tired of being tired and sick
Like I'm the number one pick, and you drafted my dick
And I regret what I swept, Jesus wept for my grace
But hail mary's fulla shit, thas been etched on my face
Just in case they wanna place, all the blame of the game
I'll rat race you rodents and call you "muthafuckas" the same
I'll slow 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 it yet
But when the time comes, watch for niggas placing they bets
On my MasterSpeak, deep from the depths of my mind
Where I'm searching for ANY piece of truth I can find
I ain't braille blind, ain't no Abu Ghraib 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
And my breath's in a gear, fast pacing, racing
Prone to think quick/fast, bout the shit that I'm facing
Yep, itz Kanye's track, that I'm inclined to re-lacing
Lemme straighten out the Naps, tender heads start bracing
Am I hallucinating, I was contemplating my life
In sacrifice, suffice to say this beat equals my wife
Making love melodies, while I'm steady hating the price
Of love's lockdown, and I can't live this life twice
Going down's a vice, and I got a good grip
But reality starts to slip and I ain't taking this shit
No more, before, I was holding the door
But now the door's tryna slam, lemme settle my score
What the fuck you lookin' for, if yo eyes can't see
What you tryna listen for, if you can't hear me
Suffocating in degrees, nigga PLEASE pay the rent
Cuz the jaded side of mine says, all the money is spent
And the bitter side is fine, if the feelin's get pent
But the fatal flaw of lies, in the truth's got me bent
Like I'm fetal, in position, tryna climb IN the womb
Cuz it all goes dark, every time a bitch just assumes
And at times I be, blowing fumes
From a wet cigarette, til my lungs get consumed
And the sweat don't pour, it just rains from my veins
Try in vain to go insane, but God's making it plain
I can complain OR, I can change
But either way it goes, know my living is not in vain
I'ma, father my kids til I can't lead them no more
And the rest God Bless, there's better days in store
So I be, spitting flames
An emcee for higher, who ain't playing no game
Cuz life's what you really tryda make it in jist
Either I quit or I stand, and raise both of my fists
I could complain, or...I could just change
Either way itz s'posed to go, I ain't living in vain
I'ma father Chy and Ahmee til itz my time to go
And the rest is God Blessed, better days are in store
Say no more...
Copyright © 2010 by Monty Jey
-WhoIsMo.Jey...?®
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Volume I/Part 19: "MicroHard Windows 2010 (Wordplay)"
"You don't believe yourself/ why should I believe you/ Why would I...follow suit/ you don't believe me, push reboot/ Scoot, ski-daddle, rattle/ run, hum this round yo mind/ If you hum on ANY nigga's nuts/ RE-reverse yo present grind"
*SCENE I: "Clear & Present DANGER"
The inhabitants have been warned. But, my unknown valor paints the canvas w/colorless colors (PROPS to summa y'all who CAN see the colors in the pics I'm painting, vividly). Thas just my healthy realistic observation. Candid like...
"What makes you so special that you think Hollywood and Hip-Hop should elevate you to stadium status?"
The answer is kinda too simple to digest in a blog, but hell-fuck man, I'll blog it anyway. What makes me THAT special is I am whatever you say I am. To borrow from @SaulWilliams (twitter peeps SHOULD KNOW this man!):
"I'm TOO fly not to fly."
I said that, from a humble standpoint.
The clear and present danger I'm eluding to is the very fact that sum people have been blessed already...with a certain level of notoriety...and itz taken for granted. I do not subscribe. I've observed sum cats........sign a recording contract, have a hit song and then BOOM: Instant Richard Head Syndrome...like, all of a sudden, you're entitled.
Entitled to what? I mean, let's speak "big font" here...contracts are made to be broken! Don't believe me...google the subject of the keys Christ took back from Satan himself...and then let's define a binding contract. OR that person who does one film and then believes they're entitled to the same "perks" Denzel is receiving. And to THAT train of thought, I borrow from Ol' Dirty Bastard and say...
"Nigga Please!"
Clear and present danger, because there's people like........well, like the person writing this blog you're reading...who are totally anonymous at this time, but lurking on the side of the "stage", in the shadows. People who have sharpened their skills for years in anticipation of the moment in time when God says...
"It is YOUR time to shine."
People like me, who eat, sleep, shit & breathe their craft. I take it serious...or as serious as one can - playing make believe (as an actor) or speaking words into a microphone. The clear and present danger is not only the "entitled" behavior of certain entertainers (awwwww man, y'all know who you are. Look in your mirror & BE honest with YOU!). The clear and present danger is:
"You can be hot today and placed in a metaphorical DEEP freezer tomorrow."
There is NO SUCH THING as an untouchable in the Hour of God. So......the 100 Million Dollar Man today, can be placed on a homeless human being alert - if that person is not humbled by his or her blessings. Hopefully, I ain't sounding preachy, becuz thas not my intent (I'll leave preaching to Rev. Brown T. Jey, my dad...LOL). I'm simply saying...I don't hide what I was sent to earth to do - which is to move you thru whichever artform, I'm choosing to use. Just don't say I didn't warn y'all that I was coming to...
"Yo...Bum Rush the Show!"
*SCENE II: "MasterSpeak Theatre"
...My ink never leaks. Not even when reality speaks daily to blood stains on the pavement. In NAPalm...they spray agent orange on dilapidated mindstates. So much so, that niggas forgot how to erect the buildings for the community.
"When U-N-I-Verse @ War"
So much so - a dope ass artist like my brother-in-arms, @rustymk2 is respected and well known...but when I tell cats at the barbershop to cop his shit, because it is REAL hip-hop, they pick everything BUT a Mudkids cd. And these are the very muthafuckas who complain about hip-hop being ringtoneish. The contradiction! The irony! (And believe me @rustymk2 AIN'T losing no sleep over it...but I do.)
It ain't utopia. But still...I pause to tryda dissect, why we choose not to UP:Lift each other. Not just artists...I mean, shit's waaaaaaaaaay bigger than that. Why don't we choose to uplift each other, as every day people. It could be as simple as a smile, instead of a frown. Or simply telling a person...
"Hey...don't give up!"
I could be asking way too much of human beings in 2010. But damn! If we don't uplift each other...if we don't uplift our kids. If I can genuinely root for the next actor, even though we're both up for the same role(s) - or root for the next rapper who's putting an album out the same day I am...does that make me a fool? Or soft? If the answer is a bona fide yes...then, I'm seriously questioning the hearts and souls of men and women in this world today. It doesn't make me less competitive. I'm still gonna compete hard when I do a scene with another actor...or if I'm on a track with another rapper (or singer)......itz just......I have human side that truly enjoys seeing other people do well, too...
I assess myself, like my very next breath
Sum assess their wealth but can't take it at death
Thas a cashless depth, so I'm adept when I speak
This breath could be the last, in which God do you seek?
Cuz the meek shall inherit every beat on my left
Greedy niggas never share it til the shit becomes a test
That I pass from the past, now the future's got a pulse
In case a hail mary nigga forces me ta have ta roast - him
Convulse the whole game, wit the words in my frame
My attic's like an uzi, thoughts spray it wit no shame
I ain't racing in my lane, I ain't even on the ground
My mile high cruising altitude's a club you haven't found
If itz over your head, you prolly standing under a storm
I give you umbrella-ella-ella and BREAK you from the norm
I TAKE you where itz born, cuz I'm just playing my part
The over/under for the summer's heating up in my heart.
Copyright © 2010 by Monty Jey.
*SCENE III: "My Comical Valentine (Or Why You Don't Follow Me)"
...She don't hate me, she simply has a problem with believing in the sincerity of men. I'd like to thank all the previous cats, wanna-be pimps, punks and pricks who came before the eye in "I". I told you in the last blog, I don't blame her for tryna be: Free like me. I only blame the confines of her mind, by way of past moments in time.
I "crush" her in liquid epiphanies. My dreams of her, never diluted...though, in time - I compute it with computer love...zapped directly from the forefront of my conscious conscience. The ritual, come 2/14 whatever year, is to see her smile and know...
"She is loved in appreciation of her femininity."
No new feeling to be discerned. Life IS, what life is! I choose to keep it breathing rather than to clichè her days with "keep it real". Maybe becuz I'm atypical. Or then again, maybe becuz erotic fantasies require air, just like fire. My funny valentine feenin' a release, unfocused on a single day in the shortest month of the year...
"The IRONY of that!"
...but on a daily bred rebirth. Maybe for the Rave In color coded wagers that says...
"He couldn't possibly be..."
...or maybe for the simple fact that she becomes aware that I actually care...the way her heart. Beats. And if love is admiration and admiration is respect, then we must respect the fact that...if we keepin' it real...2/14 can happen on any or every one of the 365 days in a year. 366, when the year leaps. No...she don't hate me. She's just waiting for my colorless colors to become as vivid as a sunny day in Trinidad & Tobago. Waiting for them to become as necessary as every very next breath.
(AND YES...a rapper ACTUALLY wrote this...LOL).
-WhoIsMo.Jey...?
*SCENE I: "Clear & Present DANGER"
The inhabitants have been warned. But, my unknown valor paints the canvas w/colorless colors (PROPS to summa y'all who CAN see the colors in the pics I'm painting, vividly). Thas just my healthy realistic observation. Candid like...
"What makes you so special that you think Hollywood and Hip-Hop should elevate you to stadium status?"
The answer is kinda too simple to digest in a blog, but hell-fuck man, I'll blog it anyway. What makes me THAT special is I am whatever you say I am. To borrow from @SaulWilliams (twitter peeps SHOULD KNOW this man!):
"I'm TOO fly not to fly."
I said that, from a humble standpoint.
The clear and present danger I'm eluding to is the very fact that sum people have been blessed already...with a certain level of notoriety...and itz taken for granted. I do not subscribe. I've observed sum cats........sign a recording contract, have a hit song and then BOOM: Instant Richard Head Syndrome...like, all of a sudden, you're entitled.
Entitled to what? I mean, let's speak "big font" here...contracts are made to be broken! Don't believe me...google the subject of the keys Christ took back from Satan himself...and then let's define a binding contract. OR that person who does one film and then believes they're entitled to the same "perks" Denzel is receiving. And to THAT train of thought, I borrow from Ol' Dirty Bastard and say...
"Nigga Please!"
Clear and present danger, because there's people like........well, like the person writing this blog you're reading...who are totally anonymous at this time, but lurking on the side of the "stage", in the shadows. People who have sharpened their skills for years in anticipation of the moment in time when God says...
"It is YOUR time to shine."
People like me, who eat, sleep, shit & breathe their craft. I take it serious...or as serious as one can - playing make believe (as an actor) or speaking words into a microphone. The clear and present danger is not only the "entitled" behavior of certain entertainers (awwwww man, y'all know who you are. Look in your mirror & BE honest with YOU!). The clear and present danger is:
"You can be hot today and placed in a metaphorical DEEP freezer tomorrow."
There is NO SUCH THING as an untouchable in the Hour of God. So......the 100 Million Dollar Man today, can be placed on a homeless human being alert - if that person is not humbled by his or her blessings. Hopefully, I ain't sounding preachy, becuz thas not my intent (I'll leave preaching to Rev. Brown T. Jey, my dad...LOL). I'm simply saying...I don't hide what I was sent to earth to do - which is to move you thru whichever artform, I'm choosing to use. Just don't say I didn't warn y'all that I was coming to...
"Yo...Bum Rush the Show!"
*SCENE II: "MasterSpeak Theatre"
...My ink never leaks. Not even when reality speaks daily to blood stains on the pavement. In NAPalm...they spray agent orange on dilapidated mindstates. So much so, that niggas forgot how to erect the buildings for the community.
"When U-N-I-Verse @ War"
So much so - a dope ass artist like my brother-in-arms, @rustymk2 is respected and well known...but when I tell cats at the barbershop to cop his shit, because it is REAL hip-hop, they pick everything BUT a Mudkids cd. And these are the very muthafuckas who complain about hip-hop being ringtoneish. The contradiction! The irony! (And believe me @rustymk2 AIN'T losing no sleep over it...but I do.)
It ain't utopia. But still...I pause to tryda dissect, why we choose not to UP:Lift each other. Not just artists...I mean, shit's waaaaaaaaaay bigger than that. Why don't we choose to uplift each other, as every day people. It could be as simple as a smile, instead of a frown. Or simply telling a person...
"Hey...don't give up!"
I could be asking way too much of human beings in 2010. But damn! If we don't uplift each other...if we don't uplift our kids. If I can genuinely root for the next actor, even though we're both up for the same role(s) - or root for the next rapper who's putting an album out the same day I am...does that make me a fool? Or soft? If the answer is a bona fide yes...then, I'm seriously questioning the hearts and souls of men and women in this world today. It doesn't make me less competitive. I'm still gonna compete hard when I do a scene with another actor...or if I'm on a track with another rapper (or singer)......itz just......I have human side that truly enjoys seeing other people do well, too...
I assess myself, like my very next breath
Sum assess their wealth but can't take it at death
Thas a cashless depth, so I'm adept when I speak
This breath could be the last, in which God do you seek?
Cuz the meek shall inherit every beat on my left
Greedy niggas never share it til the shit becomes a test
That I pass from the past, now the future's got a pulse
In case a hail mary nigga forces me ta have ta roast - him
Convulse the whole game, wit the words in my frame
My attic's like an uzi, thoughts spray it wit no shame
I ain't racing in my lane, I ain't even on the ground
My mile high cruising altitude's a club you haven't found
If itz over your head, you prolly standing under a storm
I give you umbrella-ella-ella and BREAK you from the norm
I TAKE you where itz born, cuz I'm just playing my part
The over/under for the summer's heating up in my heart.
Copyright © 2010 by Monty Jey.
*SCENE III: "My Comical Valentine (Or Why You Don't Follow Me)"
...She don't hate me, she simply has a problem with believing in the sincerity of men. I'd like to thank all the previous cats, wanna-be pimps, punks and pricks who came before the eye in "I". I told you in the last blog, I don't blame her for tryna be: Free like me. I only blame the confines of her mind, by way of past moments in time.
I "crush" her in liquid epiphanies. My dreams of her, never diluted...though, in time - I compute it with computer love...zapped directly from the forefront of my conscious conscience. The ritual, come 2/14 whatever year, is to see her smile and know...
"She is loved in appreciation of her femininity."
No new feeling to be discerned. Life IS, what life is! I choose to keep it breathing rather than to clichè her days with "keep it real". Maybe becuz I'm atypical. Or then again, maybe becuz erotic fantasies require air, just like fire. My funny valentine feenin' a release, unfocused on a single day in the shortest month of the year...
"The IRONY of that!"
...but on a daily bred rebirth. Maybe for the Rave In color coded wagers that says...
"He couldn't possibly be..."
...or maybe for the simple fact that she becomes aware that I actually care...the way her heart. Beats. And if love is admiration and admiration is respect, then we must respect the fact that...if we keepin' it real...2/14 can happen on any or every one of the 365 days in a year. 366, when the year leaps. No...she don't hate me. She's just waiting for my colorless colors to become as vivid as a sunny day in Trinidad & Tobago. Waiting for them to become as necessary as every very next breath.
(AND YES...a rapper ACTUALLY wrote this...LOL).
-WhoIsMo.Jey...?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Volume I/Part 18: "Eveything Under the Sun"
"No man, woman or child can anticipate the impact or power of what I have been destined to deliver thru song, prose and film...by way of my Creator's blessings...given unto me: In My Lifetime." -Monty Jey
*SCENE I: "Look Up at the Stars"
...Oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that the very confines of time can become the source of a soul's demise. A slow, methodical death and a blink. And for many men, the thought never comes to pass that...
"the clock has no hands."
The clock has no hands...and as it stands, I know many-a-muthafuckas who truly don't know what time it is. I, no wonder - to subscribe to the topic of the Mayan calender, which illuminates the year 2012. Peg me no fool, however...I'm not ignorant enough to say it can't be true. I'm simply smart enough to know...
"NO MAN KNOWS the day or the hour"
...God will say He's had enough.
I'm not willing to touch on the Super Bowl and how the Saints marched in and smacked my beloved Colts in the grill. I'm not willing to retouch the subject of certain unnamed entertainers NOT responding on a social network, like Twitter. Not willing, becuz those subjects are so trivial...I could blink myself away and tomorrow, neither would matter. But I will touch on where people's hearts truly lie. And since I do consider myself an entertainer, among other things, I'm gonna link the subject with what I see from summa the very entertainers I happen to respect.
...and the ones I do not respect.
I take a look up at the stars on any given cloudless night. And what I see, bares no names like Shawn Carter. Or Sean Combs. Or Kanye West. I don't mean that disrespectfully. I happen to dig all three of those cat's music or business prowess (or both). What I'm saying is, now days...itz so easy to become a so-called "star", it kinda diminishes the meaning of the word, as we relate it to entertainment. Don't agree with me, I have two words for you:
"William Hung!"
I am a hip-hop artist, but I'm more of a throwback, mentally. I go back to - well before hip-hop. Back when, making music was for the purpose of building a quality catalog of solid, soulful records...that could & would stand the test of time. The mere thought of attempting to achieve such, today, in hip-hop - is so foreign to today's artists...the simple fact that I am even writing this would probably be laughable at best. And the irony would be this:
I know a man named Ahmir Thompson, better known as Questlove. A man whom my son shares the name Ahmir with (that was partly why I named him that). A man who I KNOW treats the art of making hip-hop records the exact same way Berry Gordy treated making records at Motown. And I have adopted that same sensibility and approach to the art of hip-hop. And that same mentality, when I am writing whatever it is I choose to write, creatively. And that same mindset, when I have been cast as a character in a film. To me, it is the attention an artist pays to WHAT they're creating that makes them a "star". Because, when the finished product is delivered...the attention paid to the art translates so vividly. Itz what makes an album like Things Fall Apart a fuckin' classic.
So...why am I saying all this shit?
I say it because, as I am literally looking at the landscape of hip-hop today...I can feel itz pulse. It is alive. But.......................there's a lotta unfocused shit happening in hip-hop. Seems most rappers are more interested in making a hit song than they are, a solid album. More interested in being blogged about...(LOL)...than making sure their live show is top notch. More interested in being at the hottest parties...than staying on top of their business (even IF you have a manager, you STILL need to be on top of YOUR business).
"Look up at the stars."
I am a hip-hop emcee. I am college educated with 2 degrees, yet...there is a bullet wound on my right leg & scars from witnessing a childhood friend murdered before my eyes. I possess no fronts. A 2-sided coin.....yet, not so complex to be misunderstood. I do not claim to be hard. Or gangsta. Or a thug. I keep it real, but not to the point where reality intersects with entertainment at the crossroads of...
"no return."
I stand for honesty in my lyrics...whether itz shining the spotlight on my own shortcomings, flaws, faults and/or weaknesses........or I'm exposing yours. I'm looking up in the sky tonight & I see the stars. And though I appreciate and admire...even though I admit to being a fan of a handful of emcees in the rap game....when I look up in the stars, ain't nunna y'alls names written on 'em. When I look up in the stars, I see the sheer beauty of what God has created. I see another blessed day that has become a cold, winter night in Naplantis. I see my own face, created by the alignment of those stars. I am blessed........and it is...
Time for me to introduce myself to y'all.
RE:Newed, Daily...
*SCENE II: "The Corner of My Mind"
NOTE: This prelude to a poem I'm writing, entitled "The Corner of My Mind" is factual fiction written and based on fictitious facts
On the corner where the tired and poor don't fight no more, is where I reside in hiding. On the corner where my father lost his way in the cracks of the pavement. Enslavement, perhaps. On the corner where niggas forgot how to smile and love. So they view me like the very bitches I despise. From lies.
My 1st child was aborted before I was told. Told after the fact that the deed was already complete. God bless the child who would have been, 12 years young. I'm heartless now. If life is a bitch, she's hoeing for me. IF, life is a bitch, she's fuckin' for fees. I'm more cold hearted then, than I am now, because now - I'm just made of stone.
But on the corner I was taught to pray for my brother. Same corner, where I was told to disrespect my mother. On the corner where a lesser man would loathe and lust her. Same corner, where I'd never trust her...til she's gone.
And when the words are never said shit gets misread. Unborn babies grow dead and birthed babies ain't fed. We go from queens and kings to bitches and pimps, pussies and dicks and both genders walk wit a limp. I checked my mirror, cuz I was tryna see ME clearly. In search of undefined reasons why she'd think that she fears me.
But in truth............it ain't really me that she fears. She simply fears the heartbreak and the rapture of tears. Every story she ever hears was passed down from her tree. So I don't blame her for standing on the corner, tryna be: Free...
Like me.
Copyright © 2010 by Monty Jey
-WhoIsMo.Jey...?
*SCENE I: "Look Up at the Stars"
...Oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that the very confines of time can become the source of a soul's demise. A slow, methodical death and a blink. And for many men, the thought never comes to pass that...
"the clock has no hands."
The clock has no hands...and as it stands, I know many-a-muthafuckas who truly don't know what time it is. I, no wonder - to subscribe to the topic of the Mayan calender, which illuminates the year 2012. Peg me no fool, however...I'm not ignorant enough to say it can't be true. I'm simply smart enough to know...
"NO MAN KNOWS the day or the hour"
...God will say He's had enough.
I'm not willing to touch on the Super Bowl and how the Saints marched in and smacked my beloved Colts in the grill. I'm not willing to retouch the subject of certain unnamed entertainers NOT responding on a social network, like Twitter. Not willing, becuz those subjects are so trivial...I could blink myself away and tomorrow, neither would matter. But I will touch on where people's hearts truly lie. And since I do consider myself an entertainer, among other things, I'm gonna link the subject with what I see from summa the very entertainers I happen to respect.
...and the ones I do not respect.
I take a look up at the stars on any given cloudless night. And what I see, bares no names like Shawn Carter. Or Sean Combs. Or Kanye West. I don't mean that disrespectfully. I happen to dig all three of those cat's music or business prowess (or both). What I'm saying is, now days...itz so easy to become a so-called "star", it kinda diminishes the meaning of the word, as we relate it to entertainment. Don't agree with me, I have two words for you:
"William Hung!"
I am a hip-hop artist, but I'm more of a throwback, mentally. I go back to - well before hip-hop. Back when, making music was for the purpose of building a quality catalog of solid, soulful records...that could & would stand the test of time. The mere thought of attempting to achieve such, today, in hip-hop - is so foreign to today's artists...the simple fact that I am even writing this would probably be laughable at best. And the irony would be this:
I know a man named Ahmir Thompson, better known as Questlove. A man whom my son shares the name Ahmir with (that was partly why I named him that). A man who I KNOW treats the art of making hip-hop records the exact same way Berry Gordy treated making records at Motown. And I have adopted that same sensibility and approach to the art of hip-hop. And that same mentality, when I am writing whatever it is I choose to write, creatively. And that same mindset, when I have been cast as a character in a film. To me, it is the attention an artist pays to WHAT they're creating that makes them a "star". Because, when the finished product is delivered...the attention paid to the art translates so vividly. Itz what makes an album like Things Fall Apart a fuckin' classic.
So...why am I saying all this shit?
I say it because, as I am literally looking at the landscape of hip-hop today...I can feel itz pulse. It is alive. But.......................there's a lotta unfocused shit happening in hip-hop. Seems most rappers are more interested in making a hit song than they are, a solid album. More interested in being blogged about...(LOL)...than making sure their live show is top notch. More interested in being at the hottest parties...than staying on top of their business (even IF you have a manager, you STILL need to be on top of YOUR business).
"Look up at the stars."
I am a hip-hop emcee. I am college educated with 2 degrees, yet...there is a bullet wound on my right leg & scars from witnessing a childhood friend murdered before my eyes. I possess no fronts. A 2-sided coin.....yet, not so complex to be misunderstood. I do not claim to be hard. Or gangsta. Or a thug. I keep it real, but not to the point where reality intersects with entertainment at the crossroads of...
"no return."
I stand for honesty in my lyrics...whether itz shining the spotlight on my own shortcomings, flaws, faults and/or weaknesses........or I'm exposing yours. I'm looking up in the sky tonight & I see the stars. And though I appreciate and admire...even though I admit to being a fan of a handful of emcees in the rap game....when I look up in the stars, ain't nunna y'alls names written on 'em. When I look up in the stars, I see the sheer beauty of what God has created. I see another blessed day that has become a cold, winter night in Naplantis. I see my own face, created by the alignment of those stars. I am blessed........and it is...
Time for me to introduce myself to y'all.
RE:Newed, Daily...
*SCENE II: "The Corner of My Mind"
NOTE: This prelude to a poem I'm writing, entitled "The Corner of My Mind" is factual fiction written and based on fictitious facts
On the corner where the tired and poor don't fight no more, is where I reside in hiding. On the corner where my father lost his way in the cracks of the pavement. Enslavement, perhaps. On the corner where niggas forgot how to smile and love. So they view me like the very bitches I despise. From lies.
My 1st child was aborted before I was told. Told after the fact that the deed was already complete. God bless the child who would have been, 12 years young. I'm heartless now. If life is a bitch, she's hoeing for me. IF, life is a bitch, she's fuckin' for fees. I'm more cold hearted then, than I am now, because now - I'm just made of stone.
But on the corner I was taught to pray for my brother. Same corner, where I was told to disrespect my mother. On the corner where a lesser man would loathe and lust her. Same corner, where I'd never trust her...til she's gone.
And when the words are never said shit gets misread. Unborn babies grow dead and birthed babies ain't fed. We go from queens and kings to bitches and pimps, pussies and dicks and both genders walk wit a limp. I checked my mirror, cuz I was tryna see ME clearly. In search of undefined reasons why she'd think that she fears me.
But in truth............it ain't really me that she fears. She simply fears the heartbreak and the rapture of tears. Every story she ever hears was passed down from her tree. So I don't blame her for standing on the corner, tryna be: Free...
Like me.
Copyright © 2010 by Monty Jey
-WhoIsMo.Jey...?
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