The scene: 7am rush hour traffic in the city of wind last Friday. Since Maegs had elected to drive us to the southside so that we could catch the bus to MDW, I missed "Morning Edtion" and was hence subjected to the musical selections and other material of the characters who make up "urban" talk morning radio shows. The following is a slightly messy paraphrase of a rant I gave after listening to these niggas talk about child support issues over some beats that sound like every other song I dislike. And, yes, I do cuss this/that much:
[And] this is what pisses me off. Think about this shit. We come from people who picked cotton and tobacco and shit in the fucking sun from dawn to dusk, who made up songs that meant something, had multiple fucking meanings. You know, shit like, "This way to freedom," or "Make a right at that tree over there," and "Massa ain't shit." But when this nigga says, "Walk it out," that's all he fucking means...It's like so much time on our hands has made us uncreative. Fuckin' freedom.
...Or something like that.
Thank God for Ga. Anne Muldrow, I guess.
Labels: random bullshit
language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison