Tuesday, February 28, 2006



it is totally irresponsible of me--socially and otherwise--when i don't officially recognize the passing of one of my kindred.

rest, ms. butler.

(thanks, karsh)

oxford u.
seattle post-intelligencer

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

and ya don't stop

(northern state)

i wish i could give you this feeling, or, (asinine) reasons why i think the brown v. the board of education of topeka, kansas decision should be reconsidered and/or repealed.

white girls.
(if you continue to read, don't say you weren't warned.)

last night, the mad rapper (aka nahmix) and i went to see our fave emcee, common rock out the hob for the eighth time in the last sixth months (that is only a slight exaggeration). and, as usual, the show made me realize that though i'm often disenchanted by it, mourn the loss of it, etc., etc. i will always in some way lightweight fuck with hip hop. which, i suppose, also means that 25 years from now nahmix and i will still be at the hob mad early trying to get good position in front of the stage at our 500th the roots concert. but i digress.

now don't get me wrong, i know hip hop ain't mine no more. in fact, it never really was "mine"; certain things you can't possess. though i miss and occasionally lament the loss of h.e.r. with incoherent and seemingly sempiternal diatribes about it all, i'm pretty much "over it" (not really). despite my healing, i'd like to take a moment to make following commentary.

see here's the deal. there is a short list of acts i will (pay to) see in concert; there are hip hop acts on this list. therefore, i will be in attendance at some hip hop shows. since hip hop is youth music, american music, __(insert bullshit here that deniggafies hip hop in all ways except the mad ignorant and problematic ones)__, i understand the crowd will not look like me. in fact, there will be a slew of white girls (and asian girls, and "black" girls suffering from hbs) in the muhfuckin' house. since i am an ignorant-ass snob with a chip on her shoulder, as a general rule, i don't think such folks should be allowed within 500 feet of the venue. since this is merely a pipe dream, i understand that i must come up with a plan b. therefore, as a public service to myself and people like me, below i've provided a list of guidelines for these hoes when attending rap shows. please keep in mind ladies, these do not simply make my concert-going experience more tolerable, but it will further enhance yours, as i will not smack the shit of you because i find you and your friends absolutely insufferable.
  • friends don't let friends drink at hip hop concerts. listen, i know there's a bar. and i know you got the plastic to open a tab. but please, keep the beverages non-alcoholic. see, i assume you haven't noticed this, but the more you drink, the whiter you get. that bothers me, because you start swinging your stringy ass hair everywhere, and fucking screaming that "woo hoo" shit at the top of your muhfuckin' lungs right into my left ear. and if there's anything i hate more than hearing that one white girl voice so many of you have (seriously, where do you learn how to talk like that?) it's hearing your paroxysms of excitement while i'm tryin' to ignore how "hot" you think mos def is. if there ever was a moment for me to just want someone to shove some exotic, black dick into your mouth this is one of them. seriously, bree, if you keep this shit up, you're coming out of that halter top (uh, dude, i know it's uncharacteristically "warm," but it is february in chicago), and it's not for a girls gone wild video.
  • i'm tryin' to catch the beat. um, look, a hip hop concert is not a spectator sport. therefore, it is imperative that you learn to clap, snap, sway, move on the 2's and 4's, and not on the 1's and 3's. by doing so, you will (temporarily) have what black people like to call rhythm. please note: this does not mean you can dance. it just means that when the emcee or hype man is moving the crowd, you're not swimming against the current. if you learn rhythm and how to mirror the nigga onstage, you will not spill that vodka and red bull--which i told you not to get in point number 1-- on your or my arm. i suggest a pre-concert practice with your black friend monica/danielle/meka (hey, sometimes ghetto names make it to suburban black chicks). though she asked to borrow your blue eye shadow, chances are there's enough fried chicken grease left in her dna for her to have rhythm. (unless, of course, she and her asian sister were adopted by the same white family. basically, if you and monica/danielle/meka use the same hair products, she can't help you.) keep in mind: if you're instructed to bounce, don't listen. you just stand still. you look stupid. in fact, i have a question: do you ever look in the mirror when you dance? maybe if you did, you wouldn't.
  • you are neither brandy, nor 4 flat tires. everyone knows your backpacker and/or black boyfriend wanted to come to this show, and you only came because you knew there would be other, white, stringy-haired, halter-topped, drunk out of their fucking minds chicks like you around. look, man, even if he is black, your boyfriend's credibility is prolly in question for a variety of reasons--trust, he's prolly no hip hop cognoscente (quiet shout out). so... don't try to be down. we understand your knowledge of "old skool" hip hop to be "nuthin' but a 'g' thang," "california love," and "bust a move." thus, there is no need to oprah** to what the dj is spinning. thanks.
  • ready to wear. don't try and dress the part. you look fucking ridiculous. e'rybody sees the blonde streaks under that kangol. we know you consulted your black boyfriend's sister regarding your outfit for tonite. (btw, she can't stand your ass.) though kimora lee simmons thanks you for your valiant effort, an abercrombie and fitch baby tee similar to the one you wore to coyote ugly yesterday night would've been perfectly fine to rock to the show. btw, i'ma shoot whoever sold you those red, black, and green wristbands.
i feel better now.

that is all.

**oprah: v. to lip-sync very badly.

oh...an actual entry about this most recent rumor will be up tomorrow.

the management.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Monday, February 27, 2006

start a rumor monday: choose your own adventure

a rumor told in pictures

this rumor goes out to two bloggers in particular...alii and the blogger currently known on my blog roll as, bailey's irish cream. (this may be a bit inside baseball for many of you, but i can fill in the blanks later.)


who is this woman?

is she...

(a) a friend summer m. picked up from the hospital?

(um, who got fucked up at the club, smashed out at ihop, and couldn't find the way home?)

(b) summer m.'s new fiancee?

(does summer m. still have her clothes on?)

(c) summer m.'s rap partner from the early 90's duo, aunt jemima's nieces?

(who's that lookin' mad gangsta in purple (comma) yo?)

(d) summer m.'s first lay in a while? (therefore taking care of one of those pesky new year's resolutions.)

(looks like two happy campers right thurr...)

(e) all of the above.

(f) none of the above. meaning: make up your own.

let's see how creative you are.


language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

summer m.: a look back

it's my birthday. and though i'd like to post 26 wishes (that'll happen friday), i'm gonna post pics of me over the last 10 years. this isn't my own, self-centered idea. hell, i barely even look in the mirror when i brush my teeth. a while ago, phoenix (the one with the longest shout out on my blog roll) suggested that i post pics of me from the last ten years. just to show, iono, that for three semesters in college i tried to be a girl. so here goes...


the kid.


yeah, basketball gear and shit.


what you know about senior pictures? (peep that nike, playa.)

if you wanna see it, click here. if you don't wanna see me at my girliest, don't go there. warning: this shit will be removed by 1900 hours central standard time.


fresh perm (comma) yo.


what's that on my lips?


still a bit, um, girl-ish.


yeah, nigga, fuck you.


my birthday 2003. that's one of my best pals, candace.


keeping it gangsta during a chicago autumn.


iono, playa.


fyi: i cut my hair the other day.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Monday, February 20, 2006

start a rumor monday (the return)

jesus talks.

we should start calling jesus the mad rapper...because he's mad. if his last freestyle on fecundmellow was any indication, the real j-hova ain't playing. and his guns are blazing.
just weeks after kanye west posed as jesus on the rolling stone cover, jeezy clapped back with a dis record much more dy-lan than cam'ron's recent jab at jay-z. hay-suse and crew came by the fecundmellow offices this morning, and dropped off an advance copy of jeezy's protege, j-bap's new album (he was paroled earlier this month), submerge, which contains the single, "jesus talks". on it, both jeez and j-bap drop verses dissing several "emcees" in the hip hop game. jeez's verse opens the track, and he verbally assaults kanye west--his former replacement disciple-- over his own beat.

here's a transcript of the savior's verse (thanks, harold):

i don't need to recruit soldiers/
god's soldiers are my soldiers/
and i'm at war/
i'm at war with republicans...these mega churches...fuckin' mel gibson...and most of all, i'm at war with kanye west

jesus talks/
nigga fuck kangay/the devil won't even take him now
jesus talks to thee (to thee to thee to thee to thee)

this nigga kanye west is/young and reckless/
needs to see that JEEZ is more than freeze on that necklace/
fuck gangsta niggas, JEEZ is pale rider respect this/
it's tithing time and JEEZ is here to collect this/
you're gonna need more than a prayer before breakfast/
crucify your career so you can't resurrect it/
*gasping for air*
try to catch it
*gasping for air*
kinda hard
getting choked by the savior make you wanna say god/
nigga who the fuck is you rockin' a crown of thorns?/
when i'm the only muthafucka who can get ya reborn/
i leave pussy niggas like you with souls ripped and torn/
blasphemus for blasting us nigga you was warned/
recall that you and john legend are just ordinary people/
i see how y'all get lifted and you poke him with your steeple/
but fuck that, nigga, god's children created equal/
a metal jaw won't help you nigga, my shot nothin' but lethal/
i should send you straight to hell for trying to be in the bible/
when the star of the story is now your biggest rival/
most divine catechism can't guarantee your survival/
i'm king of kings alpha omega and you just false idol/
there was a line in the sand, my nigga, and you crossed it/
stop bucking up your chest, my nigga, just cross it/
i'll take that spot in between your eyes, my nigga and emboss it/
treat your salvation like john legend's ass and just toss it/
you can't save hip hop, playa use it to cop ya wealth
'cause when you dis jeez you dis ya'self, fool

in other news...

1) my birthday celebration begins tomorrow (who wants to see my prom picture?)
2) ask fecundmellow still taking questions. leave them here.
3) at least one person missed me: I LOVE HAROLD GIBSON. <-- read that shit.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Friday, February 03, 2006

about o week

there will be a post later today, and some shit next week.

i confess, i fell off...again. but, um, is anyone else having problems with firefox?

the management.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison