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Haven't really been into Nicki Minaj since Itty Bitty Piggy, which I loved. Starships isn't bad. The Malcolm X thing kinda made me sick. However, this bad little bitch has redeemed herself in my eyes. 

Oh my gosh...
Look at her Butt...

When that douchebag went public and talked about her latest album cover, I didn't expect much out of her, frankly. I am so used to people bowing down and accepting the many hypocrisies of the world. 

My anaconda don't...
My anaconda don't
My anaconda want none...
Unless you got buns hon...

She didn't accept that shit though. She got mad. And her response to that guy (at least to me) is the video for the song Anaconda. That ass is shaking like a salt shaker--like a malt maker--and it is beautiful. 

I'm hearing all sorts of shit behind it. What's this video even about, etc.

The video is a response. And it's a great one. 

Drake's face at the end when she walks away is so damn lustful and sexy. Thirsty
2 weeks in the hot desert and that ass is the only water for miles -- Thirsty


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this vid:)

Shake it...
Shake it...
Shake that healthy butt...
Baby Got Back. 
                                            ~ Sir Mix A Lot


I'm Glad I Don't Live In Ferguson Missouri

Axin' All Dese Questions...

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I have often found myself wondering how some people think. As I writer, it is an exercise I employ quite often in order to create people and make them breathe off the pages.

What does it feel like to feel superior to someone else? What does it feel like to actually judge another human being as less, and even sub-human? What does it feel like to look at someone and immediately judge them a violent, dangerous thug, for instance? What kind of person would you have to be to see a person killed and then look for a reason to justify that murder--like they were stealing candy or cigars.

How does that kind of thinking work? And more importantly, what does it feel like?

Does it feel good? It has to, right? There has to be some kind of comfort in it-- a sense of security maybe.

I think that maybe the German people surrendered to this kind of feeling when they were killing all those Jewish people in all those concentration camps--both those who actually became Nazi's and those who sat around and let that horrible shit happen. The Jewish people were less. The Jewish people were all sorts of things. The Jewish people were bad. The Jewish people deserved to die for any little insignificant thing, but, mostly, for the crime of being Jewish.

It must feel good to think you're better than someone else and that their life means less than your own.

I see a terrible, grotesque, kind of weakness and insecurity in that kind of feeling, but I must be wrong, because so many people surrender to it so very easily. As history works to repeat itself, most are acting like it's the first time all over again. And again. And again.

This could be such a beautiful world. But we steal from each other, rape each other, hold one another down. Make up things to hate one another for. Bash each other. Starve each other. Harm, hurt and hate one another. And still consider ourselves some kind of superior beings on this planet because we can destroy it with such a beautiful, well-thought out, and pointless kind of viciousness.

We create diseases to kill off other human beings.
We make dirty bombs and clean ones.
All kinds of warfare fighting over pieces of a planet that belongs to all.
And I sound like some kind of hippie because I see it and long for it.

What the fuck is wrong with humans? That question's been asked forever and a dark day because we've been fucking this up forever. Most are praying to a god they couldn't possibly believe in when they do the horrific things they do to other people and then justify that shit by saying that that person is less in the first place and deserved it. Sons of Cain. Homosexual. Female. Jew. Gentile. Butcher. Baker. Candlestick Maker. Apache Chief. A thousand labels. A million different divisions from the whole -- so there's always someone to shit on. BECAUSE SHITTING ON SOMEONE ELSE SEEMS TO BE THE MOST IMPORTANT THING OF ALL.

I am better...
I am better...
I am better than you...

I can take your life. 
And nothing will be done
Because you're nothing...

I am everything. 

I am better...
I am better...
I am better than you. 

We live in a very savage world on a mental and emotional level. It's covered up quite nicely by a very thin veil of civility. .We've got a whole bunch of technology, a whole bunch of material things and toys and shit to play with. But, I think we like best... to play with one another. And we like breaking our toys. Breaking them makes us feel good, better, SUP-fuckin'-PERIOR. 

So pathetically childish when there are so many better things to be doing. 
So sickeningly REAL


If They Gunned Me Down -- Tre's Song

 photo 1270745475-smoking-gun_zpscf0f32c2.jpg He was just a kid. At eighteen years old, he was six feet tall and thin. His skin was dark, the color of almonds. He had gold eyes that girls liked to drown in. He was late for work and annoyed by his own lateness. He wanted to keep this job. He needed it. Tuition was sky high and he intended to graduate from college and not owe his soul to the loan companies afterward.

Tre was dressed in all black. He wore an inky hoody that his face was practically dissolved into. He looked like a walking shadow as he strode the dark streets quickly in his rush to get to where he was going. He had his boss on his mind. The speech he would have to hear for being late today rang in his ears. He hadn't heard the speech often, but he'd heard it enough. The high-pitched inner voice lent a spring to his step.

He crossed the street into the relatively affluent neighborhood in which he bused tables at a prestigious little restaurant. It had always amazed him how the simple crossing of a street could change one's whole world in the city. Behind him lay darkness, busted streetlights and decay, and ahead of him was a brightly lit tree-lined neighborhood that looked like Heaven in comparison.

He didn't see the cop because his mind was on his job. He heard the slight mechanical whirring sound that cop cars make when they pulled up behind someone, and froze instantly.

In the night, a song began, and that song was grounded in the noise of Tre's frantic heartbeat, combined with the cop's heartbeat, the noise of the cop car's engine, the whisper of the wind, the sound of a toddler laughing, and the low, hitching sadness of a woman crying. There were many other sounds too in the making of Tre's song ...

...a far away car alarm...
... a soft but intense argument between a husband and wife...
...the sound of water trickling into a rain gutter...
...a stray cat's desperate, hungry noise...

The cop gets out of his vehicle. There is something nervous in his walk as he approaches the walking shadow that is Tre. The determined footsteps of the walk joins the song, and the music swells until it is rich and deep and throbbing with heartsounds of these two people in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" is the first lyric.
"Going to work," slightly defensive ... is the second.
"Let me see your I.D," is the hook.
"Why?" is the chorus.

A rather raggedy car trundles past leaving a mean drum beat in its wake as the song swells toward eerie, orgasmic crescendo.


An unarmed teenager was killed today is beginning to be something I am, personally, becoming numb to. There are so many levels to this type of thing that it makes my head hurt trying to figure out how something like this happens and why it's this often. So, I'm not going to name the names that inspired the writing of this particular post or tell the story of the boy who was, most recently, shot by the cops. I'm not going to ask why people can't just see other people as human beings just like themselves, or why the media, dependent on world view, paints a victim in whatever shade of funeral garb suits their particular agenda. I'm not going to judge it at all. 

It's simple for me. A dead kid is a dead kid, and that is sad. And unarmed dead kid slaughtered in the streets is worse. Whatever happened to: "Stop, or I'll shoot?"

Life means less and less everyday. That is a fact. As the division between rich and poor grows ever wider, people without money are going to be ground up for meat soon enough. Their lives mean nothing. Throw some gang signs on them, and it's their own fault they're dead. They deserved it. 

This post is about  #IfTheyGunnedMeDown 

It's a smart way to see people in all their clothes. Meaning, some days I'm a thug and some days I'm a princess. All days I am the same person. 

And I don't deserve to die because I wore a hoody on Tuesday of last week when I was feeling funky and wanted the whole world to know that I was tuning them out by hiding in the waves of my hood. Or posing with some menace. Or throwing up a gang sign that I don't really understand or care about --- shit just looks cool, man. 

Check out the #IfTheyGunnedMeDown pics. See that people are just people. 

Favorite song: