Just My Thoughts

America needs to get off the pacifier. We have been pampered and babied for so long, we don't realize what we have here in opportunities and possibilities. We have created a generation that believes every one deserves a medal. Everybody is a winner. And the government, credit repair specialists, Betty Ford, your parents and everyone else for that matter are here to fix your problems when you mess up.

We have a bail out generation that wants handouts, welfare, tax cuts, universal health care and help paying their over-priced mortgages, but no one wants to pay for it. As sad as it may seem, everybody can't own a home and everybody is not a winner. It sucks sometimes, but it is true. And while everyone screams about universal health care, I don't hear to many volunteering to be the first in line to help foot the bill so that the single mother doesn't have to uses the ER as her kid's general practitioner.

This economic meltdown may very well have been what the doctor ordered. Since 1982, we have experienced some of the greatest economic prosperity that the world has ever seen. We have a ME ME ME, NOW NOW NOW attitude that puts no value on the ability to delay gratification or a desire to conserve. While there is a pill for every problem; somewhere along the line we lost our way, our ability to deal with problems and put more value in things than we each other. We have leveraged our future by gambling with what we speculated we would have left over after we spent most of what we made today.

I don't have all the answers, but if someone yells at the top of their lungs, "your basement is flooded, your toilets are overflowing and their are rats in your living room," maybe someone will realize that we have problems and need take a serious look at ourselves.

Sell Your Dreams

Sell your dreams! Sell your dreams! Sell your dreams! And as odd as that may sound, I besiege you to sell you dreams.

We have all dreamed of doing something great or grandiose, even bigger than life; but usually somewhere along the way someone or something happened that made you think that dream was unattainable. When you were a child you never said, "I want to make $100,000 a year." You said, "I want to be the richest man in the world." Along the way you compromised and decided that you just needed to get to a respectable tax bracket. I beg you, even plead with you to recall those childhood dreams that for so long you thought were unrealistic.

After you remember that dream and take ownership of it, I then ask you to then sell it to whoever will listen, whoever will help facilitate it, whoever you come in contact with. And I realize at this point you may be perplexed and utterly confused about what the hell I'm asking you to do. What I have come to realie is "that all we have is us," and "no man is an island." In layman's terms, we all need each other and to make those aforementioned dreams a reality, you must sell them to others and turn them into full fledged believers, card carrying Kool Aid drinking members.

Everyone who has ever done anything great, or of any magnitude sold their dream to others. Without this act you are dead because a man who has nothing to look forward to has nothing to live for. What do Jesus, Ghandi, Martin Luther, Bill Gates, Oprah, Cornell Sanders and the list go on and on have in common? They all started with a dream, that may have seemed a bit overly ambitious to everyone else, and they all sold that dream to start a movement and turn their belief structure into a reality. It is time to become better salesman.

So your mission today is to:
1. Remember and take ownership of those dreams that you forgot about from childhood.

2. Figure out who can help in your pursuit to turn that dream into a reality and sell it to them.

It is Bigger than Us

It's bigger than us. And by us I mean the 21-35 generation x kids who grew up watching 106 and Park and TRL and barely can remember when rap music wasn't on MTV. It's bigger than us. Because we didn't have to walk on Washington and we sat in the back of the bus because that's where we wanted to sit, not because we were forced to or have to riot because one of our leaders was assassinated. Since we had no political leaders that related to us, we turned Tupac into our revolutionary and rappers became the voice of a misguided generation that had nothing to hold on to or nothing to look forward to. A man is a dangerous animal when he has nothing to live for.

And with that came the rise of American Gangsters and dope boyz in the trap and drug dealers became local legends and later in their careers music moguls. While single mothers in the hood told little boys and girls you can be anything you want to be, you don't have to be like the rest of them. Drugs and basketball aren't they only way out. And some replied yeah I'm going to be a rapper. And she told you that's not what she meant, you can be president. And I myself was one of those children and looked at her and thought this lady is on that shit, because my name isn't Bill or William, or George or any other presidential name and then I thought; if she wanted me to be president she should have started by giving me the right name to start. Then I also realized none of the presidents looked like me and she was just pumping my head with noise because it sounded good.

But as I said when I started it is bigger than us. This moment in time, while we pivot role in it was not really for us. It is bigger than us. It is for our grandparents that day dream and have nightmares when you mention things like Selma, Willie Lynch, a young Atlanta preacher named after a catholic revolutionary Martin Luther, Montgomery Bus Boycott, Malcom Little aka Malcolm X aka Malik Shabazz. This moment is for then for everything that we took for granted, that they indured. This is their time to rejoice and praise God for the dream that has come to fruition. More importantly this moment is for the next generation, for my two year old son Davin that will never question me when I tell him that he can be anything he wants to be including president and he doesn't have to have a presidential name or presidential background to win. This moment is for my son who is to young to get it yet, because 2am is way past his bed time. This is for our kids that we must realize have far fewer obstacles in front of them than our parents did. Kids who not only play football and basketball, but golf and tennis as well. This is for those who will grow up believing YES WE CAN.

This is A Love Poem

One day you asked me to write you a poem
And it took me a while to find something to say.
I wanted to convey something, but I really wasn't sure what.
Remember this is a love poem.

When you need inspiration because you can't find yourself in the person and the life you have created for yourself.
Or when you feel your emotions are on trial and the world is the plaintiff.
Or even when you're tired of going through trials and tribulations
and asking God, "why me" and receiving the same answer, "why not".
Remember this is a love poem.

I wrote this for the times when you question mankind.
And you are left with the realization that everybody except you is out of his or her minds.
Or those situations where you may start to believe, "maybe it's not them, maybe it is me".
Especially when you feel God can’t hear your cries or when you feel trapped in a valley of lost souls
Those are the times that I want you to read this.
Remember this is a love poem.

Even though it may not speak of roses or violets.
And pays no mention to long summer days.
It makes s no comparison of your eyes to oceans or your beauty to a goddess.
While this may not be filled with flights of fancy.
Or promises of bliss and splendor.
Remember this is a love poem.

It is accepting and understanding.
It is not overbearing or hurtful.
But, it is altruistic and open to interpretation.
It can be taken at face value or as deep as you would like.
The words have been written for you and no one else.
They will not change or leave you.
They will be there as long as you want them.
Love is as love does and God is love.
So it is quite obvious there is no greater gift than love.
For God so loved the world that he gave.
As I have give this to you.
Remember this is a love poem.

Somewhere in the middle of Everywhere

Nestled between the dreams and screams of adolescent teens who yearn to grow older and alcoholics who yearn to grow sober.
There is a place where heaven and hell meets, where angels and demons take seats and discuss the problems of the day and put them in a way that small children can understand.

Where the inner child meets the man and confronts him with such issues as, where did we go wrong and why do you keep singing the same song, talking about I could have been somebody; if it wasn't for this, that and the other.

And single mothers and fathers are really the same person. Or at least that's what she told you, but she didn't tell you that when she met him she knew he wasn't shit and even though he had a girl she still let him hit. And she sure ain't tell you that she had you to keep a man that wasn't her's anyway.

Where night meets day; and dusk and dawn are really the same thing. At the intersection where peasants meets kings and genesis and revelation are really the same thing. Because the beginning is the end and the end is something a little bit more than a fairy tale. Where human souls are being put up for sale. While God and the Devil are merely the brokers.

And speaking of broker, while the powers that be get richer, the middle class is getting broker and broker and broker. Because in reality there is no middle. As we blindly follow the Pide Piper's fiddle down the road of damnation. And we are surrounded by a nation, full of kids who do not know any better. Who would as quickly pull a trigger as they would write a suicide letter.

And the media would like us to believe that we are further apart than we are. As is the distance were measured by stars. You can find us on the connection between hip-hop tracks and gospel hymns and stand firmly on the idea that to be saved you must first realize that you have sinned. And we can be found somewhere between partying late Saturday night and praising God early Sunday morn. By no means are we the norm, bazaar, outkast in all forms.

Pope John Paul of PS 160

On the 24th of December, 1989; a child's innocence was lost. It had nothing to do with finding out the truth about Santa Clause, because in actuality he never really believed in Santa Clause to begin with. For the rest of the world other than being Christmas Eve, that date probably plays no significant meaning. However, for a group of kids in Mrs. Williams' 6th Grade class and one in particular it was the end of childhood, the day the music died and things would never be the same.

Toussaint Verde was a 12 years old that seemed to be a man in a boys body. He had an old soul and it almost seemed as if he had been here before. The summer of 1989 anther little boy moved to Jamaica Queens and eventually enrolled in P.S. 160 also known as Walter Francis Bishop Elementary School. The name made it seem a lot nicer than it really was. After arriving at the school that was surrounded by gates and burglar bars and security guards with their metal detectors and a play ground with no jungle gyms, only a wall that the children could play hand ball on this new student was in a complete culture shock as the standards and practices of the New York Education system. The first friend he made was the before mentioned Toussaint.

Toussaint was Tupac in a twelve year old body, before Tupac was even Tupac. He had a swagger about him and everybody seemed to gravitate towards him. He dressed, walked and talked the part. The girls loved him, the goons respected him, the younger kids looked up to him like the head of state and all the teachers liked him. What can you say, he was a hood legend he was the Pope John Paul of Walter Francis Bishop Elementary school.

The fact that he stretched his hand out in friendship to this new student, made the transition almost seamless; considering the fact that he was being co-signed for by the coolest dude in school. He didn't catch the hell most new kids catch when they enter a new school at that age, until they make a name for themselves. He was ushered in the cool clique immediately because of an act of kindness. And that maybe why the 24th of December 1989 hit him harder than most.

A handful of men involved in a shootout over a drug deal gone bad, let off shots in one of East New York's most notorious projects. This was the type of neighborhood that gun shots didn't really cause anyone to raise an eyebrow or lose sleep. The assailants fired off recklessly at each other and into the air and everywhere in their attempts to kill their adversaries. The sad part is that they weren't good at selling drugs and they were even worse at shooting, because none of them were even hit in the may lay. However, on the 12 floor of one of the project building sat Toussaint Verde looking out the window and waiting in auntie's apartment to get a hair cut. He was shot by two bullets to the head, slipped into a coma, and would never wake up. The ramifications of his death would be felt for many years after that balmy Christmas Eve.

Childhood was never the same after that; and how could anyone expect it to be. It is a sad day when a child realizes that they do have limitations and they are not invincible. Sometimes you don't have to wait for the next episode, Superman doesn't always make it. It took seven years for me to even sleep by a window again and that was only because the dorm I stayed in at the University of Miami, kind of gave me no choice. Occasionally, I think about him and what he could have or would have been doing if he hadn't gone to Brooklyn that day. His spirit has been with me ever since. It was a biographical essay about him that I used to get into college. And it is his swagger and personality I carry with me everyday, and his act of kindness that makes me want to help those trying to make their way through new or bad or difficult situations. I will certainly never forget him or what he meant to a little boy trying get adjusted in a new school and a new city.
TOUSSAINT VERDE will always be the epitome of cool. That was my dude and I'll always remember him.

My Favorite Rapper's Favorite Rapper

Last night the Grammy's awards were given out for excellence in sound. Some think that there are only for music, but in actuality there are many awards given out that have absolutely nothing to do with music; music just happens to play a predominant role and is probably the most entertaining, for a television broadcast. And while watching and betting on who was going to win what award; it left me wondering and contemplating the state of music, in particularly hip-hop, but music in general.

The tragedy of hip-hop music is the same as that of many street-ball legends; some of the greatest will never know the spotlight of fame and fortune and even worse many of them have only themselves to blame. However, a large part of the blame goes to the general public and A&R's and music execs that cater overly-marketed artists and watered down music, so that the general public will get it. The problem is this, at least in my eyes. There are dueling forces that aren't necessarily always going in the same directions. The thing of it is that music is a business, it is also an art form. While many other art forms rely on "experts" (people who have devoted their lives to studying it to decide what is a masterpiece) music isn't the same.

The general public decides what's hot. Seventy-five percent of rap music is bought by 14-17 year old white boys that live in the suburbs. While I'm not knocking the demographic, I just don't think that they are experienced enough to decide what a classic album, record or anything for that matter. Back to the problem. Music is a business. When you start looking at it as so, you start to realize why certain decisions are made; why certain acts are signed and others are not. One of my favorite lines in Purple Rain was when the guy at the club told Prince, "the problem with your music, is that nobody understands it but you." This is the beginning of the conflict between the art and the business. Like I said A&R's have to make music for people that buy music, not for those that love music, but for those that buy music!!! And the sad part is that when they started, they got into the industry because they loved it. But somewhere along the journey many lost their way and became overly occupied with job security. In today's market many would understand that, but it doesn't make it any less disturbing.

I have seen many talented artist go under the radar and or not reach the level of notoriety that they deserved, because those on duty were scared. One in particular, a rapper that hails from West Philly, by the name of Pretty Ugly. And if you have never heard of him, that speaks more to the problem than the solution. In all my years of making and being a part of music, there have been a few unsigned artists that moved me and made into a fan after one sitting. Pretty Ugly was one of them.

While on the Lyricist Lounge Tour one year, my mentor and friend Gregory "Beef" Jones introduced me a young man by the name of Papes in a Philadelphia hotel room. As the blunts circled the room and the smoke rose like Napalm Bombs and I worked on persuading a young lady from University of Penn (that I met at the All-Star game in ATL that year) to take me back to her place so, I wouldn't have to sleep on a tour bus; I found myself and everybody else in the room captivated by a young man, I would later find out went by the moniker of Pretty Ugly. He was what you would call a hood legend. I likened it the the impression I got from Young Jeezy many years later in Atlanta when he was simply known as Rain Man or the magnetic force X used to be, that forced everyone to pay attention to him when he entered a room. To my surprise, this cool ass nigga also rapped and was so serious.

What makes PU's music work is that it is an honest look at the world the way he sees it and he is able to relate his point to to his audience as if it were a one on one conversation. He often says, "it ain't that I'm rapping, it's just that my words be rhyming". Whether you have a beat behind it or you are in a smoke filled hotel room after the Lyricist Lounge, it is always like you are having a conversation with him. That is the beauty of it. While some stumble over words to try and make themselves seem wittier than they really are, he never has that problem. It's honest gangsta music. Sometimes, in music like in interior design less is better. Pretty Ugly is the future of what Pac didn't get a chance to see. He is a story-teller that even Notorious would have respected. He combines the swagger of a Jay-z, the arrogance and confidence of T.I.P. but is as retrospective and gangster as Scarface and Pimp C. The sad part may be that, the masses may never get a chance to enjoy the genius of his work. It makes you wonder when will the rest of the world get the chance to hear the music I rocked to back almost 10 years ago it seems.

There are a number of overly talented artists that may or may not reach there potential and for whatever have not done it so far. This takes nothing away from their God given talent and should not waiver in their fight to make good music or sell out to mainstream propoganda just because some lazy-ass A&R isn't creative enough to see the vision. Remember they wearing suits because they can't dress no more. Pretty Ugly, Lord Nez, Bazaar Royale, Miss E-Wreck, Redcoat and Ricky Ruckus are absolutely unaquivically dope. period. When I was 22 Bun-B told me, "We just wanted to make the music that would tell the story of where we were from, Port Author, Texas". All those that continue to hone their craft remember there is light at the end of the tunnel for Underground Kingz.

"Now personally, I don't give a fuck who forget about me when I'm dead and gone. Cause most of the people who don't care won't even hear this song. I been a lot of place's I thought I'd never ever be. And I seen a lot of things I thought I'd never ever see. My momma told me that these streets gonna be the death of me. I've been in situations from murder's to the burglaries. I'm a pretty dude, why ugly dudes always be testin me I'm a skinny dude, why big dudes always be testin me. I make it happen real fast, unexpectedly. My hood shootouts be exactly like the Westerns be. I tell a judge and jury I was just defendin' me. And intimidation is no relation, only kin to me. I usually ride by myself, there's never men with me. I'm a grown man, I don't need no men to send for me. Cause it ain't no vest on me, don't think you got the best of me. That ain't the way I'm supposed to die, that ain't my destiny." ---Pretty Ugly "I'm Tired"

Bye Bye Miss American Pie

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
And even though gangsters don't dance
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.

But September made me shiver
With every MTV report I'd quiver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldnt take one more step.

I cant remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
Singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that youre in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

I was a lonely teenage broncin buck
With a Cam'ron pink carnation and a Ford pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.

I started singin,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
And singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

Now for ten years weve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin stone,
But thats not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,

Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.

We were singing,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
And singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?

It Is Bigger Than Us

It is Bigger than Us

It's bigger than us. And by us I mean the 21-35 generation x kids who grew up watching 106 and Park and TRL and barely can remember when rap music wasn't on MTV. It's bigger than us. Because we didn't have to walk on Washington and we sat in the back of the bus because that's where we wanted to sit, not because we were forced to or have to riot because one of our leaders was assassinated. Since we had no political leaders that related to us, we turned Tupac into our revolutionary and rappers became the voice of a misguided generation that had nothing to hold on to or nothing to look forward to. A man is a dangerous animal when he has nothing to live for.

And with that came the rise of American Gangsters and dope boyz in the trap and drug dealers became local legends and later in their careers music moguls. While single mothers in the hood told little boys and girls you can be anything you want to be, you don't have to be like the rest of them. Drugs and basketball aren't they only way out. And some replied yeah I'm going to be a rapper. And she told you that's not what she meant, you can be president. And I myself was one of those children and looked at her and thought this lady is on that shit, because my name isn't Bill or William, or George or any other presidential name and then I thought; if she wanted me to be president she should have started by giving me the right name to start. Then I also realized none of the presidents looked like me and she was just pumping my head with noise because it sounded good.

But as I said when I started it is bigger than us. This moment in time, while we pivot role in it was not really for us. It is bigger than us. It is for our grandparents that day dream and have nightmares when you mention things like Selma, Willie Lynch, a young Atlanta preacher named after a catholic revolutionary Martin Luther, Montgomery Bus Boycott, Malcom Little aka Malcolm X aka Malik Shabazz. This moment is for then for everything that we took for granted, that they indured. This is their time to rejoice and praise God for the dream that has come to fruition. More importantly this moment is for the next generation, for my two year old son Davin that will never question me when I tell him that he can be anything he wants to be including president and he doesn't have to have a presidential name or presidential background to win. This moment is for my son who is to young to get it yet, because 2am is way past his bed time. This is for our kids that we must realize have far fewer obstacles in front of them than our parents did. Kids who not only play football and basketball, but golf and tennis as well. This is for those who will grow up believing YES WE CAN.
Posted by H.W. Sparks at 7:54 AM 0 comments Links to this post
Opinion

So Why Would You Walk With Wing?

So Why Would You Walk with Wings?

So, why would you walk with wings?
When you have been given the ability to soar above your situation
When you can transcend, transfigure and transform generations
Living testimonies to the glory of God
So, why would you walk with wings?
When the Most High stepped out of time and space and spoke you into existence
Breathing interpretations of His Word
Ooh prophets of the Lion of Judah rise up and proclaim the truth to the dumb, deaf and blind walking aimlessly in the wilderness
So, why would you walk with wings?
When you were intended for so much more
When you have been given authority over the earth
Because you are a god
You are a god
You are a god
So, why would you walk with wings?
When you do not have to die as a mere man
And the problems of this world should have no effect over you
And angels wish that they could be in your position
So, why would you walk with wings?
When Jehovah himself has given the world notice
To touch not his anointed and to do his prophets no harm
You are the realization of a dream that has been fulfilled
And you have something in you that is so special it will lead your life
To finally being actualized, realized and complete

So why would you walk?
Why would you walk?
Why would you walk with wings?

Live from the Muthafuckin' Pen

Music has moved me. Hip-hop has allowed me to see the world, meet thousands of cool, weird and interesting people, and party in every five-star club and hole in the wall this country has to offer. While I love the music as a whole, southern music has a special place in my heart. The rest of the culture may focus on the Soulijah Boy's and Hurricane Chris' and the other commercial rap music that radio programmers prefer. However, for those that have been raised on this music, know that that's not a true testament of our brilliance.

In 1996, two young men from Port Author Texas created a classic that helped raise a generation of Southern boys to men. Chad Butler and Bernard Freeman spoke on much more than drugs, money and prostitution. While they preached on those subjects in abundance, they painted a mural of southern urban life in a way that we could understand. Tupac was gone and Biggie, while New York right fully loved him didn't connect with us like Butler and Freeman did. Ridin Dirty was narrated from a place to many young black men know to well. The album begins with the introduction of its narrator Smizznot muthfucking D "Live from the muthafucking Pen"; As he tells you of the life that he lives everyday, in a Texas maximum security penitentiary and Butler and Freeman tell you of life in the streets. The similarities of the two stories that should be worlds apart, but aren't is remarkable and shameful at the same time.

The first piece of this journey begins with a soulful Isley Brothers sample called One Day, Butler's production while erie, sooths the spirit and leaves you with the image of late night walk through a cemetery. As Ronald Isley reminds us that "One day you are here the next day your gone," the pair tells stories of decisions that lead to demise of the innocent as well as guilty. They do not fall into the trap that most gangster rap does of glorifying drugs and drug trafficking. It is always last resort of being dealt a bad hand by the circumstances of life in the the hood.

They take 13 tracks to speak on everything from single parenting, drugs trafficking, unsafe sex to poverty and lack of education in the under-developed third-world neighborhoods of our inner cities. Freeman reminds us that our government would rather build prisons and projects than schools and provide job training. The simplicity to which they are able to paint a picture with only a few words is amazing. "A man will commit a crime because the fucking crime pays" says much more than the 11 words would let on. Mass media would rather you believe that the black community is filled with sociopaths and lunatics that are merely criminals that are wired wrong as opposed to looking to why I man would turn to a life of crime to feed his family. Ten years later after I had my first child I truly understood what Butler who at times goes by the moniker of Sweet James Jones' meant when he says, "I got a baby but his momma act like he ain't mine" on Diamonds and Wood.

The sadness of this whole thing is that Butler and Freeman lived more like their ultra egos than most entertainers do. The realness that captivated us to them ultimately lead to the early death of Chad Butler also known as Sweet James Jones but better known as Pimp C. Leaving behind his partner in crime and music Bernard Freeman better known as Bun B to carry on the flag of the Under Ground Kingz as a solo artists. In 1996 UGK release Ridin Dirty on Jive Records and with no major label promotion, video play or radio friendly records and they were still able to influence a generation of young southern boys who were looking for something to hold on to and guide them into manhood. In their attempts to simply tell their story as they knew it, they created a masterpiece. So as that album ended with Pimp C, with his ultra cool never changing voice pleading with us for 3 shout outs for Larry Hoover, I end this piece in memory of him.


Chad Butler 3 shots, free Chad Butler, free Chad Butler, free Chad Butler. Long live the Pimp and Underground Kingz forever.

NetworkedBlogs

Blog:

Momma I Need 2 Write

Topics:

hiphop culture, social commentary, real talk

Join my network