PR1S0N BVS3S L1N3D VP 0N...

prison buses lined up on

side street, waiting to haul off

either cops or protesters

S1L3NT L1B3RT4RY4N...

silent libertAryan

Brotherhood beaming "balanced"

brainwash from above, on high

SONG OF THE DAY: Last Time That I Checc'd

My filter bubble doesn't expose me to a lot of west coast rappers, so I didn't really catch Nipsey Hussle until he smacked up that dude in that viral clip a year or so ago. Then I got bored with everything in my life (as usual, and common, when we consume material cultures as a sense of identity, because it ultimately lacks the sustenance of true culture so we are always hungry and searching and pretend this is expanding our curation of culture when in actuality it is absence of culture) and made an effort to listen to all the west coast shit that had been prominent from the past few years. Nipsey stood out, easily, not only in delivery but in the sedimentary content of his lyrics. He was a deep dude.

In the immediate aftermath of his murder, online realm was convinced it was a government assassination due to the Dr. Sebi documentary. But then people were like, "lolol, no this was a gang shooting." Two theories here, though: THEORY A - killed by govt, as assassination, which is being dispelled as ridiculous conspiracy. THEORY B - he was murdered by another gang-adjacent individual over petty beefs, but that entire biosphere of gangsterism was expanded greatly in '80s with crack import to inner-cities, which destabilized urban minority neighborhoods further than they already were. This was seen as crazy conspiracy when Gary Webb wrote about it 30-some years ago, but it came to be seen as true. So either way, directly or indirectly, Nipsey Hussle was killed by government assassination.

Side notes here - the guy who shot him was laughed about because his name was Shitty Cuz. All his social media referred to himself as Fly Macc. A couple tweets I came across told a story that when he was accused of snitching by gang associates, they raped him, and somebody made a funny comment after raping him which led to his street name being Shitty Cuz. So while everybody was laughing about what a dumb name that was, it appears to have come from sexual assault in that prison-industrial way where patriarchal dominance is applied man-on-man (or men-on-man in this occasion).

Second side note - The sharing of what a tremendous influence Nipsey was having in his own community, choosing to re-invest there instead of disappearing off to elsewhere, that was great to see. But the second wave was people throwing up memes that there's Nipsey's in your own city you don't support. Sorry y'all, but a dude trying to get me to buy a $30 t-shirt I'll never wear at the local hip hop showcase who has his own clothing company is not the same as re-investing actual money and trying to pull your community up. I get that people got dreams and are chasing them, but you demean the actual accomplishments of Nipsey Hussle by trying to associate your hustle with his. But I'd rather you be out there hustling than all of these generally white and often wealth-adjacent promoters who exploit y'all.

Third side note - POC internet was all about that Dr. Sebi conspiracy, and I was actually kicking it with some older progressive white folks yesterday (as a white folk, I know many white folks), and they were talking about a microbiologist or somebody who had food theories that had cured people of some horrible shit, but had to keep it on the down low because pharmaceutical/medical industry would come out blazing if you made claims that challenges their authority. I brought up the theories that Nipsey Hussle's murder was related to Dr. Sebi, an asked if they knew Dr. Sebi. None of them did, and only one of them knew Nipsey Hussle (or at least said anything about knowing him). Again, our filter bubbles are weird, which are engineered in a lot of ways, to keep people separate, so as to consume their identity in different economically appropriate ways.

Which brings me to side note four - the government, at this point, wouldn't have killed Nipsey Hussle, if you assumed that Nipsey's murder was a hit. The police are an agent of the state, and even if Fly Macc/Shitty Cuz was a snitch, the police often put the word out that people are snitches to get them fucked up. Or they turn snitches into assassinations to distance themselves from the act. But police are an agent of the state, and the state is an agent of the ruling class. We live in a corporate oligarchy at this point, so if anybody needs to be silenced or eliminated or shut down, it happens. It's always happened. This is nothing new in the American experience. Social media/internet gives us access to so much more, and people start falling down rabbitholes and want to think they're some brilliant social scientist that has connected all the dots, but fuck man, most of what we connect is obsolete by the time it goes public. We can't figure it all out. But if you pull back and big picture the shit, it's obvious the state is fucked, but it's also obvious regardless of how fucked a state is you can carve out a shadow existence that is out the spotlight and halfway tolerable. The problem with America today is the spotlight is shining all over the place, and everybody feels out in the open and fucked. Everybody's depressed and hopeless and feels like the end of the world is coming. It's not the end of the world though, just the end of an era. So eat right, live right, help and build with your community, and build the tendrils of survival for yourself.

F0RC1NG TH3 S4M3 P4RC3LS 0F...

forcing the same parcels of

Earth to overproduce food

at unsustainable rate

H1D1NG VND3R TH3 BR1DG3 'T1L...

hiding under the bridge 'til

the blue lights stop reflecting

the poor choices we all made

N3VR0L0G1C4L N3TW0RKS...

neurological networks

far more metaphysical

than science has discovered

SONG OF THE DAY: Chuck Baby

Shutting off the outside go-go music at a cell phone store once it got bought up by a corporate outlet has been a gentrification flash point in DC. Sadly, it might be too late. But folks came out in abundance this past week to play go-go music loud as fuck and gather and be like “hell nah” in the public space.

Chuck Brown is the Godfather of go-go, a legit godfather of it so that you have to capitalize the “g”, it’s not just talking conjecture. Hate to think DC is too far gone to where one day there’ll be a statue of Chuck Brown outside of some vegan Mongolian BBQ joint operated by three wealth-adjacent young white adults from Massachusetts who relocated there, and trademarked their combination of consumption of other cultures because they somehow thought that was legally original. They will say they learned Mongolian vegan BBQ from a grandmother, and pretend that their absorption of other cultures is an actual culture to own in and of itself, specifically legally. And these people’s grandchildren, who were raised in the shadow of the Chuck Brown statue, will claim go-go music is their culture, 35 years from now, when all of DC has been sterilized entirely and is a stainless steel mural projected blitzkrieg of “multi-cultural” single-economic class (upper) revitalization/post-modern trail of tears.

Locally, there is an article circulating about an apartment building few blocks from my house, one of the few affordable housing spaces left in the neighborhood, but too close to the bougie restaurants I guess, and everybody is being evicted in order to “make renovations”. A block away a giant mural pretending there’s a wood mill where people where derbies and drink pint glasses of beer after work catches my attention as I walk to catch the free trolley to work downtown. Inequality is being compounded everywhere in this country right now, at an alarming rate, all while people are pretending the economy is great and things are better than ever. (Who is pretending this exactly depends on which set of suits has gotten elected, but one or the other of them is always saying everything is fine – never do they agree to the reality the rest of us see, which means the hopeless keep entrusting political conmen who say “I’m gonna change all this!” who hand us a softball and we throw it at the peach basket and it bounces out onto the floor again and we still lack any prize with our rube mark asses.

It is always the progressive and inclusive who are on the front lines of this inequality in urban areas. I mention trademarking shit up above because of the fire cider controversy, where three young white adults wealth adjacent trademarked an old ass shared public recipe, and because the government patent office is a bureaucratic organization full of the same ineptitude such a thing has always had (America is no exception), they own “fire cider” and have legally enforced that on others. These people think they did no wrong, and also think they are conscious and woke and beneficial to the larger human biosphere. It takes obliviousness to help drive us all to oblivion. And we are moving there rapidly. Without fucking go-go music. Goddammit.

But fuck it. It’s Friday, I am a natural born dirtgod, one who resides in the larger DMV footprint aka the go-go belt, so I might leave work early as fuck, throw on some Rare Essence mixes, cook some fuckin’ leg quarters up, and sit under the eave out of the drizzle in my shitty ass $800 a month basement apartment on a month-to-month lease, sipping on a San Pellegrino sober man’s 40, and try to enjoy my goddamn doomed life for a few minutes, before the human wolves start closing further in.

1N PR1NC3 W3ST V1RG1N14, DVD3...

in Prince, West Virginia, dude

with face tattoos and British

accent got off the train

P0CK3TS 0F 1NDVSTR10VS...

pockets of industrious

old school cash economics

tucked away in metal strip malls

SONG OF THE DAY: Waitin' Round to Die/Kathleen

My latest gofundme is to rent an abandoned restaurant space in an old metal building strip mall where a panaderia shut down, and I’m just gonna offer up fried chicken and pancakes, that’s all, but get one of those working class murals on the outside, you know how the neighborhood was built on people who fastened freight trains together out of the soapstone slabs they dug out the native river forks, and all the old houses of the neighborhood were that traditional cheap company housing but which is still superior to modern building techniques, although most of them are now painted pastel blossoms of property value increases, which has allowed some of the old company houses to be torn down and have new innovative things get built that look like recycling boxes devised by Mr. Miyagi if he opened a school after becoming ego-driven once Daniel-san won as a training mechanism for all his students, “no no no, you are not doing it right, watch, staple… stucco… net. staple… stucco… net.” And then I’ll decorate my new rundown strip mall restaurant in all the quirky old school ways of the 1950s, but without any real consistency. And there will be a jukebox, but it won’t actually play records, just a complete assortment of versions of this song, because I’ll actually have a tiny 4th generation ipod nano I took from my daughter inside the jukebox. I’ll take my fried chicken serious, bread it up just right; the pancakes, not so much, I mean its pancakes. Have some fancy locally harvested sustainably abstained maple syrups, maybe even extreme alternatives like cedar syrup or some crazy shit. This will all be a front to draw in the faux-country crowd who buy $45 “vintage” shirts to dress up like their racist grandfather on a Saturday night, because I’m just gonna work, be all friendly, act like it’s all good and I’m a serious entrepreneur. Then one day, when I have just the right mix of faux-country assholes, no people with trustworthy eyes in sight, and some eastern European looking dude with a Rollie Fingers mustache and a name patch on his work shirt that says “Nicky Boy” asks me how comes there’s no Sturgill Simpson on the jukebox, I’m gonna lock the door and murder everybody, but not myself. No murder-suicide for your boy the Dirtgod. I’ve got a lot of reading to catch up on finally.

3NC0VR4G1NG Y0VNG W0M3N...

encouraging young women

to be fierce in digital

hellhole of nowadays world

SONG OF THE DAY: Kakaiku’s Guitar Band

need more high life in my life

need more high life in my life

need more high life in my life

NEED MORE HIGH LIFE IN MY LIFE

NEED MORE HIGH LIFE

IN MY LIFE 

MYTH0L0GY 0F R3B1RTH...

mythology of rebirth,

that somehow the sediments

of your shit life don't stain you

1F Y0V QV3ST10N 1F 1T'S 4...

if you question if it's a

trap, it's likely a trap; our

whole system's nothing but traps

WH3N 1 4M D34D, 1F 1 4M...

when I am dead, if I am

famous, my memorial

shall hopefully be just trees

34RLY M0RN1NG M0VNT41N P4SS...

early morning mountain pass

somewhere in Montana on

the empire builder (I think)

SONG OF THE DAY: I'd Rather Be With You (screwed)

Back to work Monday but slow down, rushing gets you nowhere fast. Dream chasers hitting the speed bumps/roadblocks of normal work day dreaming about a life full of Sundays. Dreams usually aren’t real – just our subconscious fucking with us, or maybe it is all real just not on the same reality plane as woke world, so idk man, have dreams and chase them but also don’t become consumed by them because as I get older the more I realize how important it is to fuck off, to not be productive at work because they ain’t gonna give you shit but a hard time anyways, and just sit outside and enjoy the spring because what the fuck if it’s your last?

The other night I sat in an old ass metal swinging chair listening to the primordial symphony of spring peepers and assorted other amphibious soloists and at one point it all died down, no discernible reason to my stupid human brain, but I knew they’d bring that beat back, and they did, with gusto. I could’ve slept right there dawdling in that swing looking up at the sky after my eyes adjusted, able to see every tree, forever, just sleep and sleep and sleep, wake up still asleep happily asleep finally rested the life full of Sundays finally in effect.

But Monday beckoned and I had to go wash my clothes and dry my goodwill work clothes on low tumble so they didn’t wrinkle and hang them up and pretend that this was necessary. Half my closet is that shit, at least the hanging part. Delusions, and dead dreams, washed and hung every Sunday afternoon. So slow it down – ain’t no progress to get to, you push the stone to the top and it’s gonna roll right the fuck back down as soon as you stop pushing against it. And if all you do is push against it, you’re gonna wear out way too fast. You’re only human; enjoy that shit.

M4K3 FR13D 3GG S4NDW1CH3S 0N...

make fried egg sandwiches on

corn tortillas nowadays -

nightly dinner when no kids

SONG OF THE DAY: Regal

yesterday was cutlass 

today is regal 

my heart must be drag racing 

the blossoming of the redbuds 

means the aroma of racing fuel 

is not far away 

N3V3R H4V3 H4D 4 P4SSP0RT...

never have had a passport -

just barely scratched the surface

of country where I was born

TR14NGVL4R B4LL C0NTR0L...

triangular ball control

makes better sense in soccer

than small scale basketball court

SONG OF THE DAY: Cutlass

Mumble rap era L.A. gangsta music is a wild ass sub-genre. I mean the hustle remains the same, just instead of solely pushing burned CDs in strip malls, you're pushing your soundcloud through a twitter account. I never understand how high-and-mighty people of self-respectability condemn the new methods of artistic self-hype struggling and striving artists use, because it's the same basic desire as it ever was… you just have to constantly as an artists circumnavigate the gates put up to keep you out without proper vetting, because the industries in place always want the focus to be limited to what they've curated, so they get their mafioso skim off the top. Anyways, I can honestly say I will likely never not love a song that's about basic struggling and striving underclass (meaning most of us) lifestyle that has a hook about a prominent sorta came up hooptie like Cutlass, Regal, Caprice, Civics, and such. Nobody does a song about Chevettes or Tempos or Tercels, because those are the rides you have that get you back and forth but hard to take pride in. (No diss to any hard-working cousin out there riding a beat-up Taurus to their kitchen job, although I know you not reading this, probably looking at Nipsey Hussle memes at the stoplight, but even if you ain't reading this it's gone out into the universe and I ain't dissing you. In fact, internet website readership base probably a higher more respectable class that would judge that. WHO THE FUCK AM I WRITING FOR ANY MORE?) But a Cutlass, Regal, Caprice, Civic, and such, you can put some wheels or wheel covers on, have your cousin fuck up tinting the windows, put a sub in the trunk, and put a little pride in a relatively cheap car by high and mighty American economics standards. In fact it's a common racist joke I heard growing up in southside Virginia, that people would have $1500 worth of rims and stereo on a $500 car. WELL FUCK IT IN MY OPINION, THAT'S BEAUTIFUL. Take pride in your doublewide. Anyways, to make a long blurb short, I bumped the fuck out of this 03 Greedo tape a couple months back as part of my southern born east coast hip hop whiteboy exploration of more recent L.A. gangsta offerings, and this "Cutlass" song was my favorite. 03 Greedo's weird ass name and weird ass angel dust muppet delivery style sort of fucks with you too, because when you see a picture of dude, he's looks nothing like what you'd expect this voice to be wrapped up inside of. Sort of like a Cutlass, to be honest.

TH3 D1G1T4L W0K3 ST1LL B3...

the digital woke still be

ignoring the obvious

poisons outside own window

SONG OF THE DAY: You'll Cowards Don't Even Smoke Crack

Sitting in the back of a training session at work oh fake work the backbone of Americanism, and we have “brain breaks” where we watch jaunty “fun” videos and there was one about coffee and how great coffee is and it’s all white people in here, not dirty white people but clean shineface white people who believe in Americanism still, and idk man I don’t enjoy this life I’ve stumbled into sometimes. Working with crackheads on a paint crew was a lot more exciting. I guess this is progress, but I’m not sure. Sitting at the back of a room full of bonafide white people where I feel completely uncomfortable and out of place and not myself and it’s Friday and I don’t really feel like giving a fuck, makes me wish it was my week to run this training and my brain break video would just be this Viper song.

I have a lot of funny working with crackheads stories, specifically from a period in Farmville which y'all got no idea about small town crackheads vs. city crackheads, it's like a whole different level of comedic behavior from tragic circumstances. But I don't really feel like sharing them openly on the gentrified internet because I fear y'all cowards might actually be too white. I'll be walking around most of the weekend though, catch me at the bus stop.