So Fox News recent attack on the rapper Common’s 2007 performance on “Russell Simmons Presents: Def Poetry Jam” due to his invitation to the White House for a poetry reading for kids is just another case in how todays major news organizations aren’t really that organized. They receive information and don’t fact check it with the whole body of work, most recent body of work, and most importantly. Take time out to semi-understand it before they speak on it. Case in point, they call Common’s music misogynistic, gangster rap, and con-traversal. That seems to be a word that is thrown around a lot lately. For people who are fans of Common, wether it be his music or movie roles have to laugh at the attack because it just shows that those who speak about him as if he is a bad person just don’t have a clue. His poem on Def Poetry is not a highly memorable event to the average Common fan like myself. Especially when you take into consideration his classic albums like Resurrection, Be, and Finding Forever. And even more so because Def Poetry has been off the air for years and was more so a platform for unknown artist more so than the familiar ones.
Fox news found some old ass video of Common performing at Obama’s old church connecting him to the now infamous Pastor Jeremiah Wright and the Def Poetry piece and labeled him something that he is clearly not.
John Stewart’s Take on the story: http://www.worldstarhiphop.com/videos/video.php?v=wshhswCH5Ee87YLo1xte
Voice 1: I use to think it was unusual to feel alone until the voice in my head said
Voice 2: Its okay, we all are
Voice 1: Who the fuck is we. Theres no such thing as collective consciousness and this body of mine is an island and my life is a dream where nothing makes sense but everything seems to mean something. The only place I can begin to feel free is outside of my mind
Voice 2: Usually that requires drugs… 1 is at the mercy of recognition. Not getting any helps you develop if you let it. After all, public recognition is absolute and private is arbitrary. Don’t worry there’s never a trip so horrible that someone’s not already on it or wont take it with you.
Voice 1: But I think my mask of sanity is about to slip. I’m loosing all human emotions to attach myself too. Nothing matters.
Voice 2: Everything matters. We think that we have tools that can measure uncertainty. It’s the uncertain events that define history and are lives. Things tend to happen precisely because they weren’t suppose too.
Voice 1: Which there is no defense for so why bother. Cause and affect is a good tool but at best its foundation builds a prison.
Voice 2: Or it can build faith. That the unknown events are meant to work in your favor in the end if you are willing to see it through. Passing through the unfamiliar should be a humbling experience. Humility is the zenith of humanity and life. The journey to reach that is the loneliness that we all share.
Voice 1: Faith is meant to be a great consolidator. Yet our reality is that we are obligated to death so what is the purpose of belief when we ultimately return to nothing. Every breath I take brings me closer to my death and further away from my birth. Why build when things ultimately are forgotten, lost, or destroyed.
Voice 2: You sound like you just don’t want to get to comfortable or you’ll forget all the shit to complain about. seeds don’t die they are just transformed into a different type of life and that seed at one point was too small to notice until it grew. Death is just something we aren’t meant to understand until we reach it. Like age, you’ll never know what it feels like to be 110 until you are 110. There are severe limitations to our learning from observation or experiences . Knowledge is as fragile as glass. Life has aspect which are so personal yet everyone has the capacity to share the same feelings and events in time.
Voice 1: Well shit since you put it like that. I have some more growing to do.
This window of opportunity is no wider than heartbeats. I’m fighting the moment when action becomes possible and the moment when it becomes pointless.
This woman (next to me) is gorgeous. No doubt I’ve gotten ahead of myself by imagining times with her that play like scenes in a romantic comedy as well as a porno. Yet I can’t draw on the courage to let my voice touch her ears and her eyes to connect with mine.
Me waiting to approach her has less to do with her than it does fighting need vs. desire.I’m scared. Scared to puncture this shell of self sufficiency. I’ve been a lot of done a lot of things. I feel as if I don’t need much more than what I already have.If anything giving her this much thought is an example of me needing to work harder focusing on the important things like: getting this $, advancing in my career, and getting the hell out of this city.
Yet her being here makes me want her. I just can’t ignore how sexy she is. Coming across a beauty like this is an occassional accident at best. The weight of chance matters as much as the weight of #’s. 1 +1 are not 2 if they never meet.
Of course I’m afraid of rejection…She probably has a kid; shit she probably already has a man. But with my kind of luck she’ll probably be a lesbian.
Then again she may have goals as ambitious as mine. She could speak another language,play an instrument, or maybe even enjoy sports and like to workout.
It’s easy to lounge in the luxury of doing nothing, to avoid dealing with impotence. But the future will pivot on the smallest change. Maybe she is that change.
I would hate to throw away the bottle that was meant for the message.
To often I find myself daydreaming.
I live in this alternative world because quite frankly this real world is fucking boring.
I think about how things would be if I could make a difference. If things could be as I envision.
Yes little shy me. The kid who was taught to speak only when spoken to then was never spoken too. Yes me the one that has left so many women feeling like they would never be good enough because deep down I was afraid to love them and only them…
I dream, I dream of a different world.
I dream of a place where the strongest weapon for those who often feel powerless is their smiles. And they smile all god-damn day; as if they just smoke a pound of purple kush that they got from the police for being a good citizen; as if they were having an orgasm with each step; smiling like they just won the lottery and have the winning ticket in their pocket; smiling like they know they will always have someone who loves them waiting for them, and that’s all they’ll ever need
Then I start to wonder what if tomorrow is a holiday to celebrate those who have felt tired and defeated for longer than they want to remember yet survive beyond the outer limits.
We would celebrate the bum hanging out near the gas station who was once a former war veteran that now feels ignored and betrayed by his own country and now clings to his empty bottle of vodka and his nightmares when he can find a decent place to sleep.
How bout a holiday for the young woman that just found out she’s pregnant by the man she knows will never marry her and now she has no help and no hope of being half the mother that her mother was to her.
A holiday for the nerds who spend most time online jacking, the handicapped, poor, and those trapped in their parents basement, retirement homes, hospitals, and the closet who never come out. A day where they along with everyone else who has been marginalized to the point they don’t even fit on the paper that would have them as a sad statistic. Just one day they get noticed. More than noticed, one where they have someone that can look the in the eye, put a hand on their shoulder and tell them despite all the bullshit, I see you.
I live in this world. I dream of this world.
Where wheel of fortune isn’t just a 30 minute game show but everyone’s friday night. Where not having money means you don’t give a damn about being a consumer as much as you care about investing in common sense. 100 pennies earned from dirty sidewalks will still be $1. And fuck you McDonald’s and your value meal if this; the hardest earned currency isn’t good enough for you processed shit.
In my dreamworld the mentally ill are hedge fund managers, investment bankers, and commodity traders that think it’s perfectly normal to make $300,000 bonuses on top of the millions in salary. Fuck you and your private jets.
I dream about making a difference like Langston Hughes dreams of rivers. Like John F Kennedy dreamed of going to the moon. Not because it is easy but because it is hard.
I live in a place where people don’t speak unless they have actions to match there words. Willing to sacrifice convince to see the most precious aspects of life flourish. Even if that means forsaking traditions of the past for the uncertainty of the future.
This is how, why, where, and what I dream. To go beyond the universe as we know, to go to a world within worlds. To inspire that great action that was just an impossible thought. To feel the joy of being human