Friday, November 07, 2003
Today I’m gonna write some really important shit that’s gonna hit you right where it counts, your heart your soul your ass your medulla oblongata, all that shit none of that shit. it’s gonna seep in so far and so deep you’ll be like thinkin “damn that beyatch I saw on the internet really had some like intensely pejorative type shit in his mellon and how kind of it was it of him (if he’s really a guy) to pass it on to me in such a disciplinary yet tender manner?”
That will be so in the forefront of your thought process that you won’t notice when I sneak in your backdoor and raid your pantry. Your peter pan peanut butter, your smuckers, your fucking saltines, your goddamm minute maid, your bitch ass yoo-hoo, stockaded up like ragnarok is right around the corner, every last bit of it will be in the trunk of my car and I’ll be fukn peelin out of your driveway and like three days later you’ll see me on the side of the road in some back country backwater selling all your shit and makin bookoo cash money.
And ain’t shit you can do except get physically violent, and that will only make me the winner in a metaphysical sense, so resistance is futile if you really think about it, which of course I’d rather you didn’t, it makes it easier for everyone involved, myself included, but shit we can do this the hard way the easy way or the sloppy way and don’t think that the three are necessarily mutually exclusive or non invasive not saying they are not saying they ain’t.
I was hanging out with this guy named OG Ratbone the other day, and despite his name, he’s really not as hardcore as you’d think, but that’s not really the point of the story, not that it has a point, but even if it did I prolly wouldn’t get a chance to get to it with all these kids asking me all these questions but let me get back to what I was saying. Ratbone said something that I’ve been pondering atlantis style for basically every nanosecond since he originally uttered it. this is what he told me.
“Keith,” he said, keith not being my name necessarily and it not necessarily being not but that’s what he calls me so stay with me don’t get sidetracked, “Keith, I’m not sure, even at this advanced stage in my life, about whether I care not to know or know not to care, but it’s definitely one or the other.”
Then he took a slow drag off his cigarette and stared off into space, possibly nestling into his squirrel persona, possibly remembering the days when his wife was still alive and deeply in love with him and their three little wiener dogs.
And I thought, it’s nice to at least know that you’re one thing or the other, rather than one or a thousand out of 8 billion, ideas and rationales of thinking that is, cuz I often don’t even know what I wanna eat for breakfast be it bread, fish, taco bell, or potato salad on some (most) days and if I could just whittle it down to like two options the cool thing is I’d be able to eenie meenie miney moe that shit and move on with my day with a certain sense of peace and nonchalance.
Thursday, November 06, 2003
Sometimes I think how cool it would be if everybody that had beef with each other could just squash that shit. like, say there’s this feller that you just wanna strait up beat down his dog, but ya dig, ya stay copacetic at the copacabana and ya just strait chill out for like 5 clicks and suddenly maybe it won’t seem so bad.
unless of course this famous horse is E-40 or the guy that made that shitty call in the Raiders-Pats snow game a few years back. I mean, in that case, sorry my dawgs, but time cannot heal some wounds.
This despite the fact that I found myself enjoying 40 water in the car on the way to the DU concert the other night, he snuck into my consciousness as a guest on a rappin 4-tay track, which found its way into the cd player due to my desire to get some bay area rappin in my noggin to prep for the show & my inability to locate my sons of the P disc at la casa.
Shit is funny that way. But 40 water ain’t off the hook, don’t even think it, let’s just call it a reprieve from verbal abuse and be done with it at least for the nonce.
I ain’t got shit to say besides that at this juncture so take that for what its worth which is probably approximately 32 cents.
And yeah I lied about hiding at clipper all week. Sue me, I can’t stay away from the spotlight. I’m an attention whore like that. assalamalakum.
tony’s site this blog which is some person documenting the writing of their novel for this national novel writing month thing.
So it is actually a legit & real thing, they even have a website for it. I guess the idea is that you write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, to be done by midnite November 30th. You can even like register and shit. I’m not gonna register, I’m not much of a joiner, but it is a pretty damn cool idea I think. Shit it’s managed to get me off my pile ass and write something beyond just spitting random ass horse manure at the friendly and dearly appreciated contingent, which, shit, is the bread and butter my peeps, cradle to the grave lbc jurk storr all that good stuff.
Oh yeah, so anyway, I did a word count and was surprised to find I’ve got 4,387 words so far. So I’m like, whut, one twelfth of the way there? So like, not really on track, but decent. The problem is that I think this thing is gonna go a good deal more than 50,000 words, cuz it hasn’t even really got started yet. I’ve got the characters down, um, kind of, but I have really no idea what the fuck they’re gonna do beyond the immediate or any central idea or even any clue as to what additional characters are going to come in and what the hell they‘re going to contribute, if anything. Maybe I’ll just have them drive around and talk yang to each other for 200 pages. Maybe they’ll fly out to, fuck, wherever, and meet some important dignitary. Nah, that ain’t gonna happen. No aliens either. I’ve at least decided that it’ll be semi real, as in the devil ain’t gonna suddenly bust outta some guy’s ass on the side of the interstate, unless it’s in the theoretical or hallucinogenic sense. Hmmmm.
Anyway, I’m gonna keep cranking it out, but I’m not gonna stress about the deadline, but I am gonna just keep um hammerin away at that keyboard and see whut the fuck happens. Oh yeah I already said that.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Prollem is ain’t got shit to say and less (more) time to say it. shit, that is. The flanks are shanked and the skanks are banked. It’s shearing time at the woolery and chuck is late as usual. Furthermore you can never trust his version of events, he always goes over the top with that shit.
By the way, the lyrical selection wasn’t any diss on dre or snoop, at least not on my behalf, it was a jab at the world in general, but really specifically my own flambayed mindset at the time, which has made a not so marked improvement into the realms of mildly copacetic.
Have you ever had a day where you didn’t feel like doing jack shit except like staring at a giant um ball of wax or like an elephantitisized ear? Imagine an ear like the size of a bob big boy statue. Ok I should clarify. Like, as big as a man, a medium sized, say 5 foot 9 man, an ear, yes an ear, a nondescript race unidentified ear, standing on its bottom section, just staring at you. no jewelry, no hair, no ear wax hopefully, just an ear, totally disparate from any other being or sentient entity, just like, existing existentially for your viewing pleasure.
I think people would pay to see that. I’d drive maybe 25 miles off of an interstate highway to peruse that and probably drop a fifty cent piece in the donation box to boot.
I’m not even supposed to BE here today, like the clerks guy, I’m supposedly on strike, not like the clerks guy, I mean, it’s not my day off perse, but I wanted to stick it the man, the man being myself in a better mood. Yeah, that would really get my goat. It’s like I’m joe & I’m pissed at Keith cuz he let Alfred get away with pissing in the pool.
It was all so perfect until the jurk storr called. Suddenly the whips were striking the saddle bags were out and the cavalcade was marching right up to my door, ready to suckerpunch an aging gangster with nothing left in the tank.
“Real Muthafuckkin G’s”
(bits & pieces)
Muthafuck Dre, Muthafuck Snoop, Muthafuck Death Row
Yo and here comes my left blow
'Cause I'm the E-A-Z-Y-E and this is the season
To let the real Muthaphuckkin G's in
You're like a kid you find the poop when you open up your diaper
But tell me where the fuck you find that anorexic rapper
Talkin' about who you go squabble with and who you shoot
You're only 60 pounds when you're wet and wearin' boots
It's a trip how a nigga could switch so quick
From wearing lipstick to smoking on chronic at picnics
And now ya think your bigger
But to me you ain't nothin' but a bitch ass nigga
That ain't worth a food stamp
And at Death Row I hear you're getting treated like boot camp
Gotta follow your sergeant's directions,
Or get your ass popped with the Smith & Wesson
Learn a lesson from the Eaze
Stay in your place and don't step to REAL MUTHAPHUCKKIN G'S
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
Digital Underground was off the chain, serially. That was honestly one of the best hip hop shows I’ve ever seen, werd, and I’ve been to a few. To my peeps who flaked, yo, you lost money, lbc, every last one of yall, but shit I didn’t mind kickin it up in the hizzle solo, na mean? S’all good.
Two moments stand out in my mind. The first being right after the DJ drops the beat for Tupac’s “I get around,” ya know, the track with Shock G & Money B? yes of course you do. So Shock grabs a bottle of Hennessy and starts pouring some out right on stage for his homey aka Mr. Shakur. Fukn nice. And he didn't skimp, Shock poured out a good amount, I watched it splash and plop on the platform, getting a nice soak in there. Shock has got this dead serious look on his face, looks up to the sky, and it's like chicken skin, ferreal, you could feel pac in the room. (cough bullshit all you want, and yeah i'd had a few, but it was a moment, ya dig?) This gets the crowd all amped, after which we rap all of Tupac’s parts and Shock and Money just strait flow the rest. Shock G puts the satin on the panties and it is all good. Dizope. Strait up dedication style.
The other moment was of course the Humpty Dance. Shock was wearing like jeans with all these funky patches on them and an aloha shirt, but when the DJ drops the beat for the hizump, Shock grabs like this leisure suit blue jacket, puts it on, and the crowd goes nuts, and then he reaches in the pocket of said jacket, and you KNOW whut the fuck he’s reaching for, and there they are, the horn rimmed glasses with the big ol’ honkin nose, a bright green one, and he puts that shit on and he becomes Humpty, strait up & down, it’s like homey changes personalities. Crip as muthafuckin hell. I was wondering how he'd handle the switchbacks between personas, but it was smooth as hell, basically he kicked the humpty hump and then they went strait into dowhatchyalike, and after hump's verse, he took the jacket, glasses, and nose off, and that was it, humpty had left the building.
Oh and also one of the guys from the Luniz was on stage too, so they played “I got 5 on it” and sparked like a big ol’ ell right on stage and passed it around the crowd, and the dizzle was fizzled. The DJ then announced that the club had specifically told them NOT to blaze onstage and share with the crowd, but they'd done it anyway, one love for the Hawaiian scenesters, werd to tha third.
So anyway, they proceeded to play for like an hour and a half. They didn't start until about midnite, but it was WELL worth the wait. Duwhatchyalike, kiss me back, freaks of the industry, and they got all the classic shit out of the way before delving into some of their new shit, which, surprise, was fucking crackin! I was impressed, I mean really fucking impressed. And you gotta understand, this is Honolulu, so it’s a mellow scene, so literally, I was right in front, I mean the crew was right there, all slappin hands with the crowd, and it was a good sized contingent, but not insanely packed or anything, so you had plenty of room to groove and and shit, they even had the little kid from “no nose job” all grown up and on stage rappin his ass off.
Seriously, if you ever get a chance to see these guys, they are the real deal, and they are still keeping it just all about the hip hop, no fucking wack ass bling bling bullshit, all about the love, fucking musical masterpiece type shit. The bay was represented QUITE nicely.
Thank you very very much, DU, for a fantastic fucking show.
Tha jurk storr
Monday, November 03, 2003
article about it if you don’t know who they are or would like more info on the show if you just so happen to be in the Honolulu area tonite, cuz I know how common it is just to be passing through, na mean? Of course you do.
Well it is almost time to say adios to the cattleranch, which is very importante for muchas personas including little old me so this will be one of my famous and patented five minute posts. Literally and figuratively, well actually more in the realistic and concrete sense of that it is actually happening it will be precisely involving the timeframe of 5 minutes.
And suddenly I get like brain freeze. That is majorly fucked! This is a vital moment of expression via my hizzle and I flake on a playa like that. my apologies extended ad infinitum.
Don’t you love the way that um puff daddy’s Mohawk is just so damn jeed up from tha feet up? I know I do? And I know it’s horrorcore to go on TRL and like hang out with Britney. I’m not talking yang just talking slang off some shit I peeped in people magazine, which is about as peeped out as you can get without being named tom, na mean? Now don’t holla at a playa like I meant uncle tom, ferreal, I meant peeping tom, fa sheez, it’s not about separating paradigms on a racial tip it’s about perversion via scopin out vittles through windows with like binoculars and shit. that kine style. I don’t care if you’re Portuguese slash Zimbabwean up in this vernacular, if you came to represent the mighty mighty dee arr then mi casa es su casa, at least until the jurk storr calls.
Ah and your five minutes are up. Thanks for playing. Tell em whut they’ve won Johnny! A brand new oven mitt! Check the mail at 3 pm this Friday and it should be there. Peace.
I’ve got this comic book sitting in my desk that I haven’t even read yet. It’s like a little world all ready for me to invade and it’s like, I control when it happens. I’m drunk with the power.
I had a really nice long motorcycle ride on Saturday. I went real fast on the freeway. I wore my helmet. I stopped to get gas. I spilled some of my 40 on the curb for my dead homies and went on my way. Not really, though, cuz I don’t imbibe coqui 9-ball and ride, not my style homey. Ferreal.
Watched Seabiscuit and Wonderland this weekend. One movie’s about a horse and one’s about a guy hung like a horse. The parallels prolly end there, but I guess you could say they both are representative of the American condition at differing times in history. And one has WAY more cocaine in it than the other one.
Have you ever had one of those days where you have absolutely nothing to say, but your fingers keep moving anyway and random dogshit gets spewed nonetheless? For me that day was yesterday. Oh wait, no it wasn’t, it’s today. And tomorrow. And next Tuesday. Set your calendars. And your stopwatches. And your alarm clocks. It’s gonna be important, huge, monumental. You’ll laugh you’ll cry you’ll stop momentarily your crack game of marbles and listen to that of which I speak, despite it’s nonexistence & irrelevance. For the simple reason that the Schwartz is powerful and the force is up in the hizzle like franklin Delano.
Some people listen to some pretty shitty music. It’s kind of a coincidence that their office is like right next to mine. Hello, sting, it’s relevance and hardcoreness, we miss you buddy, maybe you could stop tantrically fucking yourself for five minutes and like maybe play a guitar lick with even half a testicle? Mahalo. Oh and the Police are burying their heads in the sand ashamed to be associated with you. at least they should be. Pieces of shit. you suck. You and e-40 should do a fuckin tour together. Long beach.
I gotta take a piss.