Friday, August 31, 2012

The Summer League June, 1991

And Boston the biggest determent to a real drop in the crime rate was the weather. And it happened annually. And during those frigid months kids weren’t outside shooting at each other. And some of this rolled over to even Astori, “incidents” became more prevalent in the summer. And since the Red Paint, incidents were everything I was trying to avoid. I didn’t want to go through that again, I’d already been run over by a lawnmower and just wanted to play basketball and have cash for the occasional trip to Legal Seafood’s in a neighboring mall town.

My sister Brook was now sixteen, this would be a dangerous summer for her. She’d drifted away from figure skating albeit the Haydenett’s, she’d broke up with the Justin, great guy, in the end the age gap we prove too much conquer. She had it all allot to lose. And she was me I was her. She was extremely athletic and above all, funny. There were very strict rules with the gang when speaking of Brooke. The girl had back and crazy friends too, often I thought crazier, certainly whiter. One thing I was certain of was this, there were fucked up people everywhere I looked. And I was one of them, but I wasn’t, it was a big conspiracy I had to believe my own lies to justify my own complete disregard of all laws in Astori. Brooke always held down a job, skated and studied, but this last year had rattled us all a bit more off course. She’s hold it down, but the one consistent grip in the mayhem was slipping. Of course I thought we’d both be fine. In my mind we were crushing high school. Summer was here – I’d made it to the 10th grade, this expectation I could count as an accomplishment, the mantra of a conniving child, set the bar so low you get credit for the smallest shit.

Summer League (Basketball): 9-1, as freshmen, I had to work hard this summer, because Coach Farias told Wells, Santo and me, he thought we could help him next year. It would kick save my mothers depression. It would wash all of these incidents and allegations aside, it was pure, my heart & Soul. Plus it was the way into college accomplishing the bare minimum academically in high school. Basketball, basketball, state title, Dreams in Astori. Getting back to ball with the scratching atoms of summer and hyperactivity anxious to burst there’s only one thing above all that now dominated my thoughts. Getting UNLV into the famed Astori men’s summer basketball league. We were in high school now and they had to let us play, I thought they just had to, we were ready. Back then the town came out for summer league games in the basketball bastion, the revolutionary hamlet of Astori, it was fantastic run. It was made up of current and former college players, D1, 2 and 3, highly competitive league. All scholastics from the 70’s still played, guys that played pro overseas, played @ big time college programs spanning all decades. Or smaller schools, local schools, here, there, it happened all of the time. Each team was comprised of people in the same or closely held years, and it reached back. If you won the summer league, crowed champs amongst the former players that propelled the powerhouse locally when it was there time. It was the ultimate nod of respect. Sometimes we’d even joke about wanting a summer league title in high school instead of a state. It was something that had only ever been done once before. A team of current high school kids winning the summer league. The college and older guys were just too big and strong, it’s not that those current varsity men would not make ru7ns, they just never certainly as long as magic and I been watching could close the door. There was tremendous pride, especially on the older side. And that’s what made it special. What the town was able to watch outside underneath the lights on a summer evening after a winter of thrills inside the gym a couple hundred yards down the street.

And we saw the greats and all’s we ever truly wanted was a stab at this league, our crew our grade all together. Of course we were tiny, no one had grown out, we’d look like midgets in the circus against some of these teams. They’d always told me hanging around as a kid that you had to be in high school to be able to play.

Letter I wrote with my dad who seemed just as excited about this as me. Dear aspiring Young Gun,

Congratulations, you have been pre-selected to be apart of the inaugural Young Guns summer league basketball squad. Although we have not yet been approved for participation by the town I’m confident that this matter will resolve itself shortly. A small fee will be due and unfortunately at this time I cannot furnish you with any actual numbers, keep you posted. By signing beneath you will enter into a contract. A contract that states as a Young Gun you will be responsible for upholding all of that which we stand for. To play solely for us, to play as we’ve been born. Sign below if you have the love and are ready to show this entire town what we’re really about. Thank you and with regards, Charlie Paradise Team leader

Everybody’s come back within days except one, Magic who last summer became the youngest player to ever win an Astori Men’s summer basketball league championship. Before he knew what I had planned to start he signed a one year deal at the league minimum. He was looking to become the youngest player to win back to back summer league championships. In character to the fullest Magic’s game hyped fodder into the Dream vs. Magic discussion. His championship made me excited for the spotlight, a forum, a year of high school ball behind me and I was prepared for the whole town to finally meet us on the floor. Even though he had a good reason I was still pissed at Mike and used it as a platform for my “Mike’s a sell out speech.”

Anyway I had collected $40 from everyone from the league fee as well as uniforms I ordered. We were naturally 2 be, the Young Guns. I had a check in hand and a filled out application, my father drove me down. And I was nicely rejected. I was furious I couldn’t believe it I started to cry and then kick saved exhaling my cheeks and turned that inside out into anger. I went death state as if to convey if I match up that face to an address I will break your windows. In the middle of the night and I will never get caught. And always come back. We turned and left.

Arriving home the hits kept coming. Adding insult to injury my dad now back on the scene full time delivered another bone crushing unforeseen gargantuan bombshell. Apprently I had a job downtown Boston fourty hours a week all summer long. At fourteen I was astonished this was suggested, much less put into action..

“But dad I’m only fourteen?” “In East Germany they start em at five, your lucky bunky.” Always with a smart answer I feel like he feels like I should be ecstatic about this. “How much am I going to make?” Since nothing surprised me I always had to ask general questions.

“Why yes! Bunk you could make a thousand dollars a month and start savings young like I did. I saved.” “I know dad.” Hand motioning, “you saved 20 thousand before you were 21 delivering papers.” “It’s a great country.” “I know. OK” Like Rick Moranis agreeing to let Egon take a sample of his brain tissue in Ghostbusters I’d agree to anything, I had no choice. Besides the money sounded good in a sentence but quickly made no sense in execution.

“Mom its summer vacation, I’m just a kid!” I would yell after three weeks of getting up at seven AM and getting back into Astori at 6:30 via the bus from the subway in Cambridge. My best friends parents all applauded me wondering, I’m sure how creative and forceful they need to be to get their son to be productive for at least one summer. My first week I probably gave all my money to bums typical of a suburban kid spending his first real whole days lost in the combat zone. In Astori if a homeless drifter had made his way to us the wonderful police department put him in the car and took him back to Alewife (the nearest city subway) and kicked the problem back in the bean. The fact that most of the homeless were black strengthened a festering hatred of the white man. My dream was to be assassinated by clan. It would make me famous. I liked downtown crossing, Boston downtown hurried a love for the city. The best part were the politics behind it. A quickly learned how powerful that could be, something like having a job. I’d never received so many compliments in my life, Monster assured me I wasn’t missing much. I loved a couple of women walking around the law firm. I always flirted.

The next day

My mother had come into my room right before my X-wing was about to crash and help buttress me to see this summer job through. It was touching until she said, “And Carl Eric” very serious eyes signal the nourishing of my excitement during this “session” had skidded to a halt. “This is where dad works, your not going to steal anything, right?” Getting around the next day and news of my summer job had already hit the Cajun ticker that swallowed Astori. “Congratulations on the job Dream.” Deaded in my tracks my jaw drops wearing some hoody baggy ass sweats with the tags still on them. It was the school nurse Ms. Kennedy. I hadn’t even worked a day. It was distracting which was good. I was nervous to ask the Big Guy for help, it was our only hope. Bumping into Scully I was relieved he found me, I thought he was going to “puss” out. No way I was walking up there alone. “Dude I’m having a heart attack, I’m not going up there to talk to him.” “Why not” thinking that I wanted to say something more I barfed out, “fucken homo is it always going to be like this?”

“Listen Carl, it was terrifying enough last time. You know I think I might have those” waxing on and off with his hands while circling his neck, “those panic attack things too.” The kids up there are crazy. ACE is where they send you if you get thrown out of other public high schools in the area.” ”So?” “I don’t know, I don’t think he likes us especially, you know?” “Me?” “yeah” “Great, What about the Young Guns!” I snap angry and very much wanting to throw his head into a machine that turns tree stumps into mulch. “You’re the” now I want to make a scene and begin yelling to the sell out, “biggest fucking pussy on the planet” Scully cut me off. “But you’re the team leader! This is you know the stuff that leaders have to do” “Fuck your right, good point Scully” I was silenced.

I trudged forward and up. Up the stairs into the ACE program ACE was like the desert in Casino, “you never knew if you were going to come back alive.” Just entering was unsettling you had to walk down a dimly lit thirty foot long dark hall. It was actually right above our grades lockers in the G house main hall. The upstairs sport a fascist like line of classrooms that stretch across the main building. Everything was the same, door, little classroom, door, little classroom and they all looked the same besides ones with doors that UNLV still hadn’t come off of. We just had to clean C House which like New Orleans and hurricane Katrina was the hardest hit. Then you came to the door of ACE. No classroom if you were cavalier enough to risk even looking down the corridor. The door was all knifed up chalk full of pure juvenile delinquency. The kids that inhabited ACE we saw seldom, some had visible behavioral disorders, my favorite definition of what I “had” but most were simply outcasts. No one hung out or knew them and down this hall with its maze like unknown collection of classes and secret doors designed to keep them away from the “main stream” of normal high school kids in Astori I approached. ACE was equipped for survival all just through that door. Kids went in and would disappear for days months, years or we’d see them only a couple times and never again. A few weeks ago when my and the boys got a possible clue about our varsity status next year I noticed a sink, couches old Zenith TV’S and like I said empty doughnut boxes. Coach Throbashke had a grand desk separated from the tables and couches next to a corner window that looked directly out over the entire student parking lot, internal shrill. “He must know everything.” Thinking that he sat up there eating doughnuts all day screaming at his subordinates watching the student parking lot freaked me out. Unguarded walking up Han Solo I pray to Jesus and find confidence only through the pureness of my requisition.

Walking towards ACE I’m looking for a life raft or a favor from Jesus, I can hear the Big Guy, I wanted to turn around. I needed him, this was crucial. Inching closer I almost fainted and wiped the slave like sweat from my “facial torso.” Reminding myself to not say things like facial torso I remind myself to approach it like a free throw simple and easy.

“Yo look its Mr. big shot! Carl, what the hell did you do? You in trouble? I hope not cause I can’t help you.” Before I’ve even said anything and just when I’m about to now nervously speak, “Gibbsy call the police I don’t want to be involved, not dragging me in.” “ah nah, nah, nah, I mean why ya’ll think of me like that.”

“Congratulations on the job this summer Carl.” The last man to win a state championship in Astori and also my hero Coach Sullivan said. “Thank you Coach I’m excited about it” Coach Gibbs my coach last year who I adore jumps aboard with a warm inspiring smile in the middle of a gum chew says, “Yeah Carl that’s great your going to be working in Boston, that’s awesome hey Bob did you hear about it?” Feeling all of sudden very comfortable Coach Gibbs has just called him by his first name, “Shut up Gibbsy, don’t call me Bob.” I’m devoured by panic. “Yeah I heard about.” Repositioning himself on the bigger of the two couches in his office he said indifferently, “Yeah so what?” I’m finally given a second to speak and inform him angrily but coherently about my situation. Asking for his help he can’t believe it In a good way, ☺

He begun laughing which paved the way for anger which then steam rolled “You know what Gibbsy it blows my mind.” Coach Gibbs essentially up there to ask “what?” to his flood of unusual questions, “What?” Sitting up which is a brief struggle for him he’s laughing audaciously however controlled, “I started this league twenty years ago for high school kids, I started it, me. That’s why I through my weight, (winks at Coach Sullivan) behind it. Astori, what the hells wrong with everybody? I started this league twenty years ago for the kids and now they’re telling one of my own they can’t play?” Ending with his patented “it’s unbelievable.” Watching my former basketball camp proprietor Broadway, comedian and head coach in his natural element was instantly overwhelming and beyond expectation. “You know what Sully?” “What?” Coach Sullivan in fact every adult up in ACE was up there for this purpose. He pondered saometghing a second later and nodded his chin profusely saying, “Gibbsy get me the town rec department on the horn, tell em its me.”

And as fate would state or have it the Big Guy made a call and just like that the Young Guns were formally accepted into the 1991 edition of the men’s summer league in Astori. The only dissenter as earlier reported was Magic. Or “cock rider Magic” as I said in the moment. And as June came, I had a job and team.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Santo, the heart & Soul of YG, 36 today, Still w/ us everyday, thanks

The very next night April 3rd, 1993

Now I lay me down to sleep my boy is gone and I’m here to weep When I’m taken, when I die, god just tell the fellas I said goodbye. Cause that’s the word I long to hear and why you took a young bright boy I’m still not clear But love I will shit, still and forever cause things in life, shit can only get better In my heart you’ll eternally remain until we dance again in heavenly rain Good night my lord Amen, amen Don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again. I miss you Matt, already

“Carl, hunny wake up Carl, wake up,” It was a touch after midnight, I was dead asleep, and my mothers soft hand was rubbing my head. “Ma?” I was puzzled as my mother thanked the lord every night I was home soft asleep at a reasonable hour and not out causing mischief with my friends. My father always said that success was measured in terms of how many hours of rest one got the night before. “yo” I was miffed and asked wiping that staple cold out of collapsed eye lids. Then I quickly became alert seeing a different kind of the pain in her voice. “Carl,” her tone was changing, as if oral anesthesia had been administered causing word deliverance to physically shift. And with her breath would come the end of my life as I knew, “Carl, Matt was in a car accident tonight.” “Yeah” “And” her voice cracks, “And he’s hurt really bad Carl” The tears now unable to be held back, the pain of having to tell me something she knows will evict the compass I’d found in the ACE program with Coach Throbashke she courageously honors her duty and says, “Matt’s dead.” “Santo?”

Tears swell her Edison’s as she weakly nods. I was a still life, just like the lawnmower rendered me numb to the cutting and sharpened blades pain, I was in a state of shock. “I’m so sorry Carl, I’m so sorry.” The seconds stood still as I just couldn’t believe what my mother had just woken me up and said. At the same time I knew it was true. Confused as to what to do and needing this “now” moment admonished, I tightly clenched my fist and punched a wall in my bedroom. The worry in my mothers face observing the train wreck of my volatile law breaking youthful confusion scared her. “I’m” but I couldn’t get another word out, and as my mother cried and hugged the most emotional kid on the planet, I sat up and just stared blankly across the room. I looked up, and I looked down, I forced myself to cry but it was forced, I was too jolted to share in my mother’s resignation. “Oh Carl, we loved Matt so very much. He was just over the house on Wednesday playing with little John.” Holding my mother and stroking the back of her neck filtering my fingers through her recently lightened brown hair I still had nothing to say. My mother who’d lost so much was being as strong as she could be under the personal pain she felt losing a big part of our gang. She loved them all just as much. They filled the same void for her, we were her boys, she’d never give anyone of us up for anything.

I was calm, too calm, and if it was true, and even if I knew it was true, I just couldn’t yet believe it. I punched the wall again. I sat down both of us in silence. Soon in the darkness of my bedrooms night the illumination of car headlights scanned across my walls. Sniffing up emotion that a second ago was not present a small tear fought gallantly to be exposed and when, my mother looking up notices this first real tear she asks, “what baby?” and I said only, “that’s Magic.” I then knew it was true. Intuitive as always, it was a tough gut punch in the early rounds, I took a deep breath, inflating my cheeks upon exhale trying so very hard not to lose it, but that was Magic. Another deep breath, “I love you mom, I’ll be OK, let’s go downstairs.” Tears so instantly replaced by that reigning king of all emotions, fear, “Oh Carl your not going out? It’s almost 1 AM?” Too many auspices, emotion and track records I understood where she was coming from, but numbed and focused on what lay ahead I calmly hugged her and again, “Shhh, mommy, lets go downstairs, lets see Mike. I love you” We embraced in shock.

“I love you” we walked downstairs to find Magic just walking through the door (with out knocking, none of us ever did) like he had so many thousands of time throughout childhood into our kitchen. “Carl,” he was revved up, dumfounded and wore a face devoid of reason. I had stayed in, he had been out, he’d had a festive night, content, I had a restless night not content, I’d been engaging in a self pity over the fact no one have offered to pick me up at tonight’s party. “Did you just find out?” “Yeah.” My mother sits down at the kitchen table, grabbing her token Zanex bottle and lighting a cigarette I’m looking eye to eye with magic before he breaks the silence. “Carl, this is one of our best friends, 5th Grade Bridge school,!”” “I know” “he was a Young Gun Mike” “I know” “we went back to the 1st grade” “Yup” “Santo’s our fucking boy.” “I know” I got teared up. This was happening. And even my most sophisticated denial practices couldn’t absorb Magic’s last comment. I wanted to play make believe but couldn’t. I kicked save exhaling my cheeks this a tool only for the few, emergency rooms, death and panic were a mainstay in my life, I could kick the emotion aside for a little while even in the face of the saddest thing you ever heard. Deny it

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Gorilla Dunk of the Day + my 2 other fav things On Internet Today, Snyc Diving + Indian Pole Dancing, ah doomz!

Indian Pole Dancing, I haven't been this excited since Break Dancing hit the South Bronx

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Big Shug "I.M.4-EVA" Record Release 7/30/12 - our film crew keeeping it 2 getha N TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! Peep Carmine behind Big Shug and Bumpy @ the Good Life, YG home base, Bean, HOLLA (wurd up to peter) + Orlando in da House! Str8 Unda



Special appearances by DJ Premier, Freddie Foxxx, Termanology & Singapore Kane. Performed at GoodLife Boston. Shot and Edited by Bostonianz617 A dope underground party!




1 Commentgimantalon, August 6th 2012
Posted in Clips

DJ Premier Featured On Venom’s Upcoming Album





I just got this mail from the French artist Venom, he will have a new full album in 2013 with productions from DJ Premier, Buckwild, MC Zombi, Azaia and thankfully himself (because he’s also a good producer). Guest features are from Edo G, MC Zombi & Minuit. Be on the lookout, he doesn’t play!



btw, it looks like Soulkast also will have another Premo production next year…



Related: Venom – Vigilantes (Feat. Blaq Poet) (DJ Premier Remix) CDQ



5 Commentsgimantalon, August 6th 2012
Posted in News

Live From HeadQCourterz (07/27/2012)

Filled in by DJ Eclipse



4 Commentsgimantalon, August 1st 2012
Posted in LiveFromHQ

Slaine Talks About The Friendship Between Him And DJ Premier





The song “Mind Your Business” was produced by DJ Premier. How did that collaboration come about and do feel any kind of special pressure when you’re working with a guy like that?



Slaine: Yes, I do. He’s probably the only person I feel pressure working with as a producer. I’m less relaxed working with Premier than anyone else because he’s literally my favorite producer.



I’ll tell you a funny story. Back in 1997, it may have even been 1998. I stood in line when [Gang Starr's] “Moment of Truth” came out, and I wanted to get my LP signed at the Tower Records. It was one of favorite groups, Gang Starr. Guru was from Boston, so he was a big influence on me. So Premier was just my favorite producer ever, everything from Nas to Biggie to Gang Starr, to you name it. So I stood in line, and it was a long line, and I got to the front and wished him well with the record. And I told him, “I’m gonna work with you one day man.” He was like, “Oh, you think you got it like that, man? We’ll see. We’ll see.”



So, fast forward six years, 2004. I was working with a group I’m in called Special Teamz, with Edo G, and we bumped into Premier in the studio. He had just moved into it. It used to be the old D & D and he renamed it The HeadQCouterz. So we go in there and he asks Edo, “Who’s the young guy in the center?” And [Edo's] like, “That’s Slaine.” And he goes into the studio for about two hours while we sat there, and I was like, “I don’t think he likes me, Ed.” And he’s like, no, it’s fine. And another hour goes by, and he’s like, “I don’t think he likes you.”



So anyways, we recorded a track, and it was the first single we put out, called “Main Event.” When I’m touring, I’m in London and Premier is DJing at this club and we go over to check it out. We went backstage and Premier and Melle Mel come walkin’ out. And Premier’s like, “Oh shit! What up!” And he starts spitting the verse from my song. He starts spittin’ the verse with the Boston accent, and I guess he likes it. He’s like, “Oh man, come here, I want to introduce you to this new artist I’m workin’ with.” And then he introduces me to Melle Mel. And I was just blown away. And me and Premier have been friends ever since that, even though this is the first time I’ve worked with him since then. So I worked with him in 2004 and 2012, but have kept in touch, texted him and seen him around a little bit. He’s a good dude, man. I have a great relationship with him, but he’s someone I get nervous to work with. He has that persona. I used to have pictures of him on the wall when I was a kid.



source



1 Commentgimantalon, July 30th 2012
Posted in Interview

Big Shug – Blue Collar (Prod. by DJ Premier) CDQ





Big Shug new album out today!! Go cop you one asap because you get a rare booklet with it where Shug tells the history of Gang Starr with unreleased pictures and everything, a true collectors item! Plus 18 new tracks and 4 Premo beats. here’s the 4th Premo beat, and the second today! We need that Premo beats haha, enjoy:



Big Shug – Blue Collar (Prod. by DJ Premier) CDQ



Gang Starr Foundation for ever! Here you can stream the full album (only for Spotify users):

The Infamous Bully In This Kayak Ad Is REAL, And Here's His Facebook Profile - PRESS FOR GORILLA DUNK DAILY, YES

click on title for FULL ARTICLE, CLASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSIC http://articles.businessinsider.com/2012-04-19/news/31365669_1_facebook-page-bully-prom-picture#comments

The Infamous Bully In This Kayak Ad Is REAL, And Here's His Facebook Profile Kim Bhasin and Laura Stampler|April 19, 2012|11,563|1

Every ad has a story behind its creation, and Kayak CTO and co-founder Paul English revealed a particularly funny one at Fast Company's Innovation Uncensored event in New York this week.

It's about the popular "Frank" ad that aired last year (in which Frank is banned from Kayak for life after giving the website's founder wedgies in high school) and it all began with Gerry Graf, the creative director whose agency has been responsible for Kayak's commercials since 2010.

Graf, who went to Lexington High School in Massachusetts in the 1980s, remembered a guy named Frank Reardon who "was a bit of a bully in high school," said English. So Graf called him up. He told him that he does advertising now and was writing a sketch, then asked if he could use Reardon's name. Reardon thought it was funny, and so he signed a release (so that they wouldn't have to pay him.)

The character was modeled after a prom picture from Reardon's personal Facebook page (click here to see the page, which English assured Kayak didn't create.) Graf went to a casting agency, and tasked it with finding someone who looks exactly like Reardon. They somehow managed to find his doppelganger and the "Frank" ad was born.

According to the blog Gorilla Dunk Daily, the author of which was friends with Frank's brother Lynx, Frank's bullying might have been featured on Saturday Night Live as well. "Frank Reardon was big and burly and actually attended my alma mata Curry College were he was a four year starter on the football team, and I'm pretty sure made at least a handful of kids eat lightbulbs on the peer pressure tip. When another lexington high graduate legend, Rachel Dratch made it big on Saturday Night Live, Frank was convinced the bully, drunk character was based off of him in her famous Boston prom skits."

Apparently Reardon is now a bartender in Boston who thinks "a lot more hookups happen behind the bar than over the bar"—he met his wife when they were working together; she was his boss—and is famous for making drinks named after celebrities.

Read more: http://articles.businessinsider.com/2012-04-19/news/31365669_1_facebook-page-bully-prom-picture#ixzz24I24b5jL

Concord Magic on Bench 2006 + Post game stuff AND Sully HOF part II of III post Black Knight's Wedding




This is for my best man, magic - kid belongs on a basketball bench somewhere. I actually picked up a basketball for the first time in years on Sunday, and wow it brought me back to youth.  It was me, myself, Rollie and a rim.

Do you want to be a player? the most important day of the season is today?  practice perfect practice, hey if it wasn't for the gout attack I'd of run a couple suicides and fly like moons past.

We asw Coach Farias on Monday at hayden camp, got the audio fROM him famous Monday AM Rollie Speech. The truest friend you'll ever havold. Anyway in today's clip Coach Sullivan takes down Lincoln Sudbury, traditional powerhouse in the dual county. What's remarkable is that just 2 years prior, Concord won 2 games, and in this sequence you can see Coach calling in the scores to the Globe and Herald, they are 11-2, all's this guy does is win, Needham, great Eric Johnston plug, turned Concord around and came within 1 second of winning a state title at the garden with his current employer, the city of Woburn.

So many life lessons in sports, dedication, teammates and perservation.  Please help us move it along pay it forward, make a donation today to www.yg-foundation.org

CHECK US OUT.  Long Live YG 94 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!



HOF, Coach Sullivan part II of III.

Ttitled, better late than ever, listen as I break down the mans hoop prowess / greatness.  Time waits for no 1.  AH DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMZ!



Sunday, August 19, 2012

Chaper next - Trouble on Bike Path!! 2 weeks after Red Paint - #1 Song in the Country, I Don’t Wanna Cry Mariah Carey May 30, 1991

Being re-born from mortem was amazing and for some small reason I could never put my finger on, seemed to happen annually. I’d waded in new waters it was as scary as it was fascinating since I walked. When that paint matched it could only be interpreted as a sign from god. I’d run a candy business already I’d been a small side bookie in the fall, dealing football cards and like my dad understood math. I almost couldn’t to be angry with my parents that long first night under that hot lamp. I knew if the roles were reversed and the odds were calculated verbatim I wouldn’t have believed me. No fucking way. I’d of said paint just doesn’t “match” like that, I’d of said, there are a thousand “reds” out there bunky, don’t give me that crap, how dumb can you possibly be?

But it wasn’t me and they’d gone all in, the police. I’d been exonerated by the very hippies I’d curse in raps. Back then I was a young republican. I’d even joined the Young Republicans club my friend Damon Schmidt started. They bloodied the statue of the man that captained the American rebels and led our nation into the first battle of our American revolution. Kuwait oil and British taxes back in the 1700’s had more in common historically then I possibly could’ve processed back then at fourteen years of age.

And they made their point, and the panic left my throat. I concluded the quickest way to get national TV attention was to vandalize a national treasure. It brought more attention more eyes more looks more faces, scowls, noses blighted, lifted everyone had in opinion about me, and I loved it the attention made me not feel alone.

I don’t wanna cry

The fact it went away so authoritative and frank unwound any lingering anger, I was born again, again. It’s great. Silver linings always it brought me closer to god 2 Jesus. It’s whom my mother taught me to pray to. He’d helped her at her scariest moments, I was happy to hear that.

She’d always prayed and told me she never stopped believing and that’s why she thought she and to a lesser degree, me were never allowed to fall, off the cliff and just die. Naturally it’s whom I begged for help underneath that lawnmower. And during my intensive care stay my church and town prayed, in large numbers, for my life 4 my arm.

Academia: Nearing the end of my freshman high school campaign and I was crawling to the finish line. All of us except Wells were under a 2.0 GPA going from party to panic back and forth high action. It had begun to wear on me and school this time of the year is when I usually threw in the towel. “Fail me please I can’t rally out of it anyway. I’m chilling.” I’d tell myself as a dirty smile enveloped my face not believing that grades like this might have mattered.

Incident #8 1 week after Red Paint

So after school on this particular day I walked home down the bike path with Jay, B-Dawg and Neil whom were all involved in a highly competitive wiffle ball league I’d recently created. We talked shit kept stats loved the game of wiffle ball in a backyard that touted our very own green monster. All walks down bike paths together these days were now celebrations of our high-ranking status in our big gang now in its sixth month, UNLV. We were the runnen rebels of Astori and the fact that UNLV by now had become the trendiest inner city gang name in all of America made being on the right side of the race card all the more rewarding. At that time it was impossible to see who’d take the suspension title, go to real jail, get a PHD or write a book. All’s we knew is that we’d been forcing it lately incidentally our passion.

Wiffle ball was a big part of my life and camouflaged the fact I should’ve been playing baseball for the freshmen team with Santo, Scully and Wells instead of running now with these fools. I kept detailed statistics on our back yard games that I entered religiously into my word processor. My back yard was perfect for Wiffle ball and since I started the league and lived off the high school’s bike path, it’s where we played. The backyard had a fifteen-foot high green hedge that insulated our field. Ted Williams, Jim Rice, Yaz and now me, left field, the hedge. It’s what we used to determine home runs. The yard also was equipped with a sprawling new deck that easily sat seven loungen peeps. There was once a massive weeping willow tree in the yard that obstructed everything. It also covered a detestable screened in porch that should have been repossessed in good taste many moons since past. Thankfully that porch had met its death a year earlier in the midst of slight hurricane.

I can remember that glorious day like it was now. A massive weeping willow was badly damaged in a hurricane and we all decided it was a good idea to cut it down. So Brooke’s twenty two year old boyfriend came over to anchor the operation at his fourteen year old girlfriends house. He even floated me the end cut. It was to be the final chop and I fired a bullet hack into the center seam of the sap. Stepping back I watched this tired legend meet her fate as it reminded me of the super cruiser going down in Jedi. Titling to one side a little more momentum and then as soon as it makes that undeniable piercing creek, she’s cracked herself in two. And in two seconds she would rise no more. That morning my mother filed an insurance claim. Two months later we had the ultimate in high tech, spacious outdoor decking. For us four high caliber and marketable youths playing wiffle ball against this backdrop of seasoned allure with a Fenway theme was indeed a privilege.

Walking to Wiffle ball, bubbling with a surface tension of unrest a very pretty upper class blonde headed, long legged jogged towards us in long, tight spandex. Immediately I checked to see if they were Adidas. Neil looked angry, hitting Jay he screamed “dude look! That’s the bitch from Lexpress yesterday.” I knew the tone out of Neil and loved it, I didn’t know the day before they had been kicked off the Lexpress. And I’m sure as she jogged towards us she rolled her eyes and said in her head, “great freshmen delinquents, please Jesus let them be slightly mature.” But that wasn’t going to happen, We’d been out of school approximately four and a half minutes before the shit hit the fan. Our nature walks had gotten to a point where it wasn’t enjoyable unless someone did something crazy. Like when kids can’t enjoy a happy hour without cocaine it had become a problem. And it happened in a millisecond, “watch this.” And as we parted the sea, which was the center of the bike path Neil reached back violating her vag as she past and suddenly there was a scene. She collapsed. Neil ran, Jay ran, B-Dawg waited for me as I froze. “No!” She was screaming. “Dude, let’s go.” But I couldn’t. “Get away from me!” She screamed, “Look I didn’t know, look I’m sorry, are you OK? Are you OK?”

“Get away fro me!” She emphatically roared. And just then I noticed a pack of after school kids coming up our Lincoln Field rear on the bike path, they were a year older the same kids that got me kicked off the soccer team when I was in the 7th grade. The type of kids that weren’t strong enough to challenge me but would join the collation of the willing the moment it presented itself. I turned left, and I turned back around and looked down at the fallen jogger. I looked up at B-Dawg. “Let’s go.” “Let’s go!” And B-dawg punched my arm and I we took off into hyper speed

We super sprinted home and played a delightful three hours of Wiffle all. That evening the cute jogger in the pink spandex went to the police station and filed rape charges against Neil and me. It wasn’t pretty. Of course just sprung off red paint and feeling good for days and now this. She explained to the police that I too had put my hands on her and was trying to calm her, with the broader agenda of a gangbang. I did put my hands on her in a good way regardless it was something that I would flat out deny. This incident alone brought two out of my top three rules I live by ever since. Which brings me to my three rules of life.

1) you can’t touch people without their consent. 2) You can’t get naked in public 3) fake it til you make it.

Rush, Rush June 3rd, 1991

The next morning Neil paged me, Rush, rush, 911 from his father’s 911 brand new black Porsche just outside of the town police station with the bulletproof windows. “Just deny everything dude.” Neil reciting that to me after getting us into this latest mess on the quick heels of extraordinary exoneration had me steamed. “Shut the fuck up Neil, you don’t think I know that? I’m getting dragged into this thing too fuck face.” “What did you do?” I was flabbergasted which was the most common personal emotion of my entire four years in high school. This whole situation couldn’t have come at a worse time for me but then again rape cases never do. I can see it now, the police will call our house and time bomb.

“You sick little maniac hand molesting girls with Neil on bike paths. Wait until dad hears this one.” Chuckling with a grin she receives a rare moment of happiness however unnatural laying this one on pop. I in the hailing chunks of another personal panic barely deciphered her verbal reaction. To myself this one wasn’t even funny but I also recognized that if any of this and I mean broad strokes bothered me, I’d think about it. And I couldn’t afford to be off. After the Red Paint which I just got off in the most bizarre situation I really felt black. I had zero faith in the legal system after that and realized ultimately if it did go down I couldn’t stop it. And this was the charge they’d been waiting for. And before we even got a call from the police it was def con five scenario in my head. And I’m trying to remember all the names i can think of that begin with the letter "H" between remembering exactly what Neil did. fuck A) I’m with Neil the only kid in my grade that could possibly have a reputation as bad as me. b) I’m no attorney even at this point but I know rape is mad illegal. I run back upstairs to call Neil BACK ON HIS FATHERS CAR PHONE AND BERATE him for his lascivious and lateral movement away from the rules of the lay up stuff that even I knew not to do.

“Neil?” “Carl don’t say anything dude.” “Hey Neil are you kidding me here?” “just deny it dude, UNLV.” “Fuck you.” I hang up the phone and walk down stairs. My father was home and my mother was laughing. He looks tired, worn out and just plain frustrated. “Let’s go again kiddo. Jesus Christ.” Walking out at least he’s not laughing like Mr. Savage. “Those god dam pricks.” I mutter angrily thinking he’s finally in on this god dam conspiracy before, whack! “Watch it mouth the only prick around here is yours.” Voice rising to a scream “I’m going absolutely insane” “Me too!” My mother sits quietly unsure of anything to say. My dad lightly tapped me on the head, signaling it was time to go. That’s where we were at, just a tired smack in the back of the head, this is the pits. The car ride was silent and felt cold. Once back at the station whose novelty was wearing off to again face the latest charge. No cops, jail cells and home calls here. Rather private rooms, suits and court room like demeanor. “Jesus Christ.” The private room for our special offense unit, the suit and the sight of Neil leaving before we entered claimed responsibility for the surreal.

Jesus Christ Panicked I whisper inside to myself.

But it wasn't the "read Paint" so it wasn't like that. This was some basic police on the bike path out of bounds kids stuff. I was relieved to see the regular patrol uniform and shield.

The cops furious body language put up my guard. Officer Gabbenelli was out to make a point. This is some sort of cops instinct I imagined Gabbenelli thought he was tapping into. I could see from the jump this officer was excited to have a crack at me. “Carl why don’t you sit down kid, dad you can stand.” “Thanks.” My dad sarcastically answers peering sardonically at him as the copper laser beamed into my eyes. “you know what this is about don’t you? Don’t you? You know what this is about” “of course not.” Looking down I say low brow confused and tired. “That’s not the right answer Carl!” My dad now a bit facially creased due to Gabbenellis tone and demeanor says, “Officer hey take it easy, what are you charging him with, what are you saying he did.”

“See this is where he gets it from, a girl was touched by multiple boys how should we say this, irregularly last night on a bike path Carl, she came in here and said that his best buddy Neil and him” pointing at me “ and the other psycho’s Jimmy Brennan and probably Steve Lee grabbed her inappropriately too, they wanted to try a um a gang bang.” “That’s not true!” I stood up and stomped as survival mechanisms kicked in. This was getting out of hand. It was the first time I’d ever thought we should’ve stayed in Wareham. “That’s a lie, you guys always try to do this stuff to me!’

My dad rolled his eyes over my dramatic TV league like denouncement. “Shh Carl settle down, Jesus Christ shut up.” He’s simply heard too much of me for too long not be heard on this point. “Officer unless your charging him we’re leaving. It’s Saturday.” My dad already privy to Astori cop retardation after the red paint incident had simply seen enough. “Guilt by association, better get an attorney, you’ll be hearing from us Carl, you and your buddy Neil is going down will be seeing more of us.” Walking out and bolstered by my fathers back heeding I look back disgusted at Gabbenelli and say, “I was just trying to help her.” “So you do know something!” “Shh!” But it was too late as my dad pushed me out of the door. “That guy was an asshole.” “And you never know when to shut up.” My dad had made a valid point. “That cop was a jerk a real waste of good tax dollars.” Shaking his head with blood shot eyes shaking his head, “guilt by association, I told you, keep hanging out with some of these guys and your not going to make it.” It was a jolt, and a big point for the adults to find out that, I could be charged criminally for we I hung out with?

Later in the week charges were dropped but not against Neil. And he took a plea, and the victim didn’t want to drag it out but still contended I was in the wrong to police who conveniently conveyed this to my parents. Neil would deny it but then cop the plea when he realized what a guilty verdict carried, c-ya. And part of that plea was to remove the ugly wording of the charge from his permanent record. And juvenile records are sealed all until you’re a recovered addict clean for six years trying to get your first born daughter back into the country sixteen years later, crazy. And on record I denied ever touching her believing Jay and B-dawg would not only lie but be excited about it. I’d built up the coolness of dressing up for court with UNLV after my fireworks pinch. And that’s how I thought. It never even dawned on me that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Rather ritual took over and I pictured it in my head how I wanted it to be and that was it. I preached and practiced strong denial regarding everything. Summer was right around the corner and in a few weeks my freshman year would be in the books, literally.

And it’s worth noting in a trophy generation of modern day suburban children, you have to keep careful. Ands not everything is going to be OK. You can make one little mistake as a kid and it can cost you more than you’d ever realize as an adult. It’s real in the field, not everyone get’s a trophy everything’s not going to be OK. It’s largely up to you and the decisions you make. Juvenile records are sealed until their not. Thank god those hippes turned themselves saved my family from tearing apart.

cross your toes if you have to lie on the stand

Saturday, August 18, 2012

The Retar Crew is GOING CRAZY I....N SCOTLAND!!! And it's wonderful

for me, especially at work, when I need a break from cold calling on say today. It's three o'clock I'm almost there no one's around, it's August, DC, markets are thin, it's Friday, business is slow, Europe's off rioting about having to, I got a gout flare up, I'm a google the fellas. I've done it a couple times today, but they are in Scotland letting them have it, Ok, I'm gonna check then call viola I stumbled upon this little gem, Huffington Post (UK) "The Edinburgh Fringe Festival is well and truly up and running now. The Royal Mile is a no-go area for anyone who doesn't want to be chugged by interpretive dancers, everyone's got a throat infection and we've all had at least one very late night drinking session with the Othello The Remix guys."

Day made. These guys are leaning into what JQ once called Africa for white people, and it was great to picture in my head the yuck fest taking place by hero's w/ another smash of sickness on they hand and dam, Onyx!

Jeez I should've fedex'd four fedoras from the hat store in San Fran this past weekend, but I'm selfish, and I didn't. I should've have - and these rap-ap-tations they create plays a more important role in the culture than we're aware of. It takes them to a very profound level with art, that of crossing over for a purpose than the platform for which yourself you assigned. It's some Ali shit. It brings kids to the table for Shakespeare, finally. The golden question of all Shakes production houses over the last forty years esp. US.

So they have that going for them which is you know, Greg. I'm happy Scotland got them for a month. Because it is ridiculous. Always great to watch professionals in action. And I'd never seen anything like it from the first time I met JQ when him and Pete Nice were sixteen Chicago, IL. I was nineteen with a unique introduction to mob chi town crew, and it's funny, the first time I met JQ it was a wrap audition over illest person I'd ever met. I went back to Lexington and Dorchester just telling everyone about him. The beat box, freestyle, production, head spinning (yes the first time I met him in a park on a piece of cardboard)and it just happened so quick for those guys and the kicker they first blew up re-writing SHakespear into hip hop. And from 45 Bleaker Street, to LA, movies, TV the world and back. And they are back, the best one yet. The first tragedy they've done, Othello, the remix

If you catch this 1 you've seen a great show. The quartet at their best, the show it's tightest. All born to perform they've crafted their flagship (Willy Shakes)hip productions into the best piece of theatre they have yet to produce. With Bombitty, and Funk it was roller coast ride of laughs at a neck breaking pace. You stepped out knowing you loved, they crushed it and you had to talk about it. And it was truly for all ages. And what a cool idea. And maybe our educational system our country will be all right. Othello, the remix manages to brings big laughs but so true as always to the actual stanzas only translated the dark moments come and crescendo in a deafening silence that permeated a gifted old hand crafting great art. You could hear a pin drop, and as a veteran of everything Q brothers you behold the might of rap as a modern day blues and how well this genre translates the tragic.

Gorilla Dunk Daily 5 ****** stars five stars. From License to Ill, Footloose, tennis, foul mouthed poet you must like Ferris said pay attention, you might miss something aka a classic reference. Pos is a beast as Othello, in the role of his life to date, so perfect is the direction and casting this cast like any good thing only gets better. Jackson D as Casio, it was all just meant to be. Good guy kids with good spirits by their side get set to get punched in the face with life. And in this old reporters bones, there's nothing better than that.

watch the whole entire thing here over six camreas in Lodon, HD, http://space.org/items/e000066n And 2 Othello himself, word up, congratulations, I heard you got a son ;)! Here's some other classic shit of them, off their album and random skits like this.

If they don't do you won't eat that lightbulb soon I'm die digesting 1.

Friday, August 17, 2012

LH1215200B+A1-2 all in.mov - Gorrilla'n A Doc... baby steppen w / a full...

Before 7AM, up and grinding it down. You may recognize this footage, LHS hoop fans, had to remix. I'll save you the Gore of why let's just say this is like the book itself a massive undertaking i.e. feature length documentary by 1st time filmmakers whom were home schooled by each other.

This will be a big score for learning disabled kids all across the country when we fucking rip this shit in toto no promo no homo all love in the air. We'll be getting some Coach Farias footage at Hayden camp which he still does on Monday. We need the Rollie speech, if you don't know you don't know.

A couple points, 1) this Belmont team went on to win the D2 title this year. This was a very good high school team albeit D2. So funny to think if Lexington ever dropped down a division through the years like all of their Middlesex league counterparts how many state titles would they have won? A dirty dozen. In a way it's happy sad for me. I love happy / sad, let me laugh and cry each and every hour. But you'll see the Belmont coach in the first scene, their program lost a player who innocently enough was caught up in gun fire getting off his late bus (METCO bus). And they went to the Garden to Worcester and they did it. They couldn't beat Lexington once over the past two years at this point, but they won it all, amen, they did it for their angel. Gun legislation needed badly. Little man was an all-american kid and a good basketball player.

We lost our best friend and power forward, but it wasn't 2 guns, we lost allot of people back then, dam. Our center got hurt and my own off balanced life, well, we were never ever able to bring home the state title, the only dream I ever had as a kid sans famous rapper. In spite of time and evolution barring black inner city youth I whole heart believe times are actually simpler for kids, in Lexington anyway then they were early 90's, 80's, 70's. Micro managed more money post Columbine freedoms stripped and lessons learned the world around make growing up these days quite boring. Maybe we all would've been better off.

MId August - love mid August maybe because everyone else is tired of it. Go the other way you know? Or maybe like basketball and the program itself I'm enamored by one old Bob fact: The most important day of the season is today. And also what a women, home owner told one day when I was landscaping her crib, she said hard work to me is defined by what you do when nobody's looking.... true. I was weeding like a mickey fickey and she was watching out of a bay, curtained window in her mansion. I was trail blazed , hands and knees, walkman, blasting Steve Wonder 4 once if my life, man, I was bringing the war to the weeds! And she had to step out comment and commend, have pride in whatever it is that you do.

Also lex - if your local head down to Tricon and pick up 1 of our Welcome 2 Fabulous Lex-Vegas T-shirts. All PROCEEDS support the YG foundation. It's a triangular cross fire of our video prowess, the LHS hoops movie. The telling of my own coming up as a novel / memior / blogger type of thing but what ties it all in, it's all a lesson drenched in rich material, is the YG Foundation, UNLV 94 came home to roost pay it back and then launch it forward. I'm hoping we at the very least inspire others. And in the meantime raise that 100K for the charities we believe in, kids, sports, community our 3 core beliefs. Who would've bet on that back in the day, answer = 0.

Maybe Mr. Steve Bogart, Maybe Mr. Paul Barstow and maybe even the late great Larry Robinson short and distinguished three. The hundreds of other teachers, probation officers, therapists, parents, doctors, um, no - and there in lies the beauty. Long story shirt, go pick up a shirt, take a picture and post! We'll get it out there and helps us tremendously. + T's are cajun, rock it proud, it's quite a place. And crazy to think what that town produced back then, basically the people running the world packed with mad artists that went BIG. And so many we lost which gave birth to the rich tapestry that spawned such outliers. You can't be funny without being scared without having lost - remember the greatest comedians are the saddest people in the world.

Big shouts to Coach Farias my structure, and thanks for reading and thanks to the kids that are still trying to get it right, it's much easier to blow when things are normal on your homefront, bills are paid, parents are together homework gets done. Let us never forget the crazy people submerged in adolescent that inspired a personality and seeing eyes that processed the cliff you never wanted to jump off of.

Other than that Happy Friday. Things are slow in the FX markets in August, big election year here in DC. BTW did you know the stock market has gone up every election for the past hundred years between Aug - Dec????? So that being said, it'lkl go up despite so many bears so much tepid economic #'s worldwide.

Also did you see how I predicted Facebook's plunge, Groupon's plunge, Pandora's plunge, I mean how could chaps not see???? 2000 WAS NOT THAT LONG AGO! WTF!!!!! Doesn't take a smart person to understand billion dollar valuations for companies making little or no revenue is not sustainable. That being said, these things are getting close to buys as their share price falls out of the sky. Don't let school get in the way of your education! I learned none of this in school all outside, people, books, jobs and practices, holla.

You know if the economy is the most important thing in this election, then we ought to teach more money classes in public protocol. I mean we start french in the 3rd grade? WTF??? We start typing in the 6th, music in the third, wood working in the 6th, come on! No wonder I sold candy, no wonder I was a high school bookie, I wanted that knowledge because it's such a stress in my home coming up like so many, teach more classes about the economy, the fed, inflation and what 2 look 4 N public offerings.

This greater awareness of the economic pistols that spark our economy to life would bring greater awareness to voters regarding the economic policies that work. The ad campaign of both Romney and the president reveal one thing, just how far public education has fallen in this country. You are dealing, pitching or selling to an electorate that's clocking drop out rates that have piled on and up for decades. it's gross, most of the country is not NYC, DC moi frere, just took a road trip myself. You must go low to get the attention of the uneducated voter.

In closing I'm writing today's column in replace of Charlie Paradise whose off somewhere, good riddance :)

Please enjoy - we'll keep em coming, time to slide on the spandex 1991 style center courts and bike to work from Columbia Pike down past Pentagon against the Potomac across Memorial bridge past Lincoln turn head right see nations Capitol down Constitution up 17th peep the white house turn left on Penn AVE bitches and arrive at an office I started for an existing brokerage house with my boys. Yes, our own show with bosses in Cali (sigh).

*PS - i might start posting call recordings I make for training purposes here, I'm a down right lunatic on the phone, how I'm selling to an uneducated American populace, selling money, foreign money to multi national corporations AND mom and pop shops that import and have exposure to rates of exchange. I ween them off and take on the big bad bailed out banks. Citi bank knows shit, sad and true, the death star as the treasury department once referred to them as. I'm the robin hood of foreign currency believe me, I'll never change.

"This album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothen and all the people call the police in my building when I was trying to feed my daughter, it's all good baby baby" BIGGIE IT'S YOUR DAY IF YOU WANT IT - I DO. Last quote just to be funny and because it popped in their from the King in the classic Coming to America, "Son I know I've never asked you this but I assume you've had sex with your bathers, I know I do." HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Love it. Stay off the sauce when the gene ripples through bloodlines or at least try and keep that shit in check, mate. Get it, 2-pac's pac's??????????????? 1 These posts pertaining to hoops and old memoir are intended to help support the YG foundation and bring awareness and funds to our cause check us out and please donate even five bucks helps us - www.yg-foundation.org by a T today!!!!!!!!!!!!! Also trying to help further put us on the map, now sing it, OVY!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, August 13, 2012

April 27th, 1991 Fragile Union + Joy Ride aka Red Paint part III of III

Fragile Union April 27th, 1991. Astori MA “We all we got.” G-Money to Nino Brown-New Jack City

The next week in school I didn’t say a thing or move a muscle. I had a “preliminary” court appearance Friday regarding the red paint on Captain John Parker our national monument. During this week of horror I’ve experienced the most acute panic attacks that I’d experienced to date. I’d recently thanked Jesus just in case he had anything to do with the abundance of medication concealed inside my mother’s medicine cabinet. Whenever I’m in my mother’s medicine cabinet I know it’s bad. I hate pills and am still pissed that my school thinks that in order for me to receive my right to an education I have to eat one every single day to attend!. Adults are the worst and police officers are adults so you unwind the calculation light bulb.

I already had this curtain peorto Rican Marco attack me in G House screaming “do you know what you cost this town?” UNLV stomped him out but I was getting bad vibes everywhere. The good news is I was back with the gang so its great. As much as I was scared it made for yet again, explosive rap lyrics.

Shit’s going down! It’s wartime and kid I’m nervous. I gotta come correct before my ass is out of service. I recognize the game and what it’s gave me, profit is profit but loot can’t save me. My nine is my buddy til death do us part cause when it comes my time in hell is where I’ll rot, but that’s the mentality of this crazed individual when shit goes down 187 is the ritual and fit you will ht punishment for the crime that you’ve committed pull a crime do the time now who has benefitted? Song 4 on my first 2-$mooth album. Shits going Down

Lately it was important that I continually reminded myself that “I don’t give a fuck.” It’s the only thing that would make me feel any better. All week on the news they are reporting in what has become a small national story that a suspect had been taken into custody. My mother had been breathing out of a brown paper bag all week and during emergencies naming all of the peoples names that begin with the letter R. Even though they can’t release my name because I’m a juvenile everyone in town knows I did it. . In Astori that’s enough to get the few mothers off your list that still allow their kids to hang out with you. The paint match story was of course some how leaked, what you think it would come from my end? I want them all to fuck each other. UNLV hung tough albeit a bit tempered by my wounded spirit. The leader was quiet, drained. This incident had exposed how the weight of the mighty towns “opinion” worked against me every single time. Their love plus this “incident” gave me a rap confidence (at least something) I’d never experienced before. They all became what I referred to as “incidents.”

It’s no lie and on the sly I be rhymen and briben all the time, genuine is how I like to drop, will it stop? A scale for a crop, not careful it pops like Boston adults make me lost and I say one time I’m writing on paper, this brutal little caper where the kids that got pushed were the kids that shot back. Never recognized yo these fucking kids snapped! Saps step away, can’t hear me yet? Just a set there’s hope for you yet in a basket of eggs never make just one bet. Energy of any sorts had left me, defeated. They won, I couldn’t take it. I fell asleep thinking my childhood just died. Joy Ride May 1st, 1991 “Would you believe not guilty, filfthy devils tried to kill me!” Ice-Cube

Friday morning I awoke to a strange sensation. Opening my crusty AM eyes to my mom good by kissing my forehead. I wanted to close my eyes. I preferred sleep to vigilance during those past few plus it was a court date. I knew what was coming. I’d cop a plea to avoid a costly trial I’d lose. The paint match to my shutters made DYS inevitable. Not a big deal just a hug and a kiss peace seemed restored.

Wait, that was a happy kiss?

Mental levity piques my curiosity. “Good morning angel, mommy loves you so much.” “What? “Oh Carl, I’m so sorry, they dropped the charges baby! Mommy’s baby, oh smash a head, I so sorry, so sorry for notg believing you, I love u so much.” She was in tears that sent nervous chills down my spine, “what?”

Moments later I was made privy and exonerated. The culprits? My other arch nemesis, “hippies.” A group of original “hippies” were protesting our troops in Kuwait who had recently left for the first Gulf War and turned themselves in publicly Chanel 4, NBZ was airing the story. I watched in disbelief from my kitchen. They surrendered on the steps of the state houses golden dome across from the Boston Common and the statue of the famed 54th regiment of Boston, the good 54th, they turned the tide of the civil war. And I just couldn’t fucking believe it. I’m back baby

I walked downstairs to my prepared breakfast and for a silent moment everything was how it was supposed to be Pleasentville before the techno color. “I’m so sorry baby, mommy love her very good boy, I knew you could’ve never disgraced the country!” Laughing to herself, I felt like I just hit the lottery. "That's great ma plese no one in this house speak to me for two weeks, nope, shhh! shhhh."

I’d now forever be frightened of how things could be framed to hang you. I hadn’t yet realized my prized reputation was to blame, and that was something I could control. Back to school was entirely different and a legion of people who didn’t have their facts right caused me to walk right by them with some hip in my step. And a condescending laugh shaking my head pondering their race to judgment in the holy court of sculpting public opinion. Everyone thought I did it, I’ll never forget what it was like that week for an entire town to hate you. Jesus, anyway charges and case dismissed meant it was over and my spring as well as high school career at Astori could continue.

Saturday, August 04, 2012

HOF Sully - Coach Sullivan, Lex-Vegas Hall Of Fame

GDD Vid and greatest BEAT of the month fitting for such a tribute to my man above, track is called me, show me the good life capture the day - GDD been on vacation in cali all week, we'll be back strong next week. More video's as I complete my high school story and LHS Hoop flick.. :)