"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...?
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