Where are the imaginary gats flying bullets into camera lenses? Marking showmanship and strength, desire and passion these are words we run from when we imitate our Heroes in front of mirrors and our close contingent. I wake up like I want to do something. I listen to the words of people from another age, another life and another world. I am white and have never held a gat in my life. Music creates a surge of another personality that takes over from timidness as arrogance prevails as imitation and sweeps away insecurity. We have never felt what they felt, but maybe we have felt similar notions that they draw upon with their material. The Chronic, easy E, Ice cubes and Doc’s the snoop D o’ double G’s and the group that said mother fuck the police. The rhythm takes over my body. You see palm trees in Europe and your mind is calm.
I have sung and recreated the struggles of many without having any real strain on my own life and most of the time I have not bought it. I have downloaded and streamed the next episode to form a kind of reality that will never be. I do not live the music I listen to, but what effect does it have on me? How does it change my opinions, how I want to spend my time on this earth, who do I approach and what do I talk about? Yes, I have never held a gun but I have had some form of struggle but how does it ever compare to the lives of recorded voices on digital files passing through our headphones. Is my culture anything to do with my preference? Has my culture impacted theirs? How do I sound? Give me a mic check. One two, one two. How do I sound to you?
What is my life and why is it interesting? Can I be like you? Can I make my hair corn rolled and can I congregate in groups feeling the mellow beats of mellow highs of mellow lives and escapism. Can I listen to what you have to say? Is it my place to relay your lyrical slurs? Can this happen in my room? Can this happen in public? I have so many questions.
Are you the chief Keef? Are you the first or second Rick Ross? Bitch, I’m easy E. You’re just a sound bite. My quest for originality leads me to anger. Why do we get so angry and why does your music help with this? How can someone be called a
bitch on a track but in person it would be much more offensive? I have so many questions.
I can make my own material. I know someone in the neighborhood who has invested in some moderately priced recording equipment. I heard they charge around €45 an hour session. Should I do it? What will I say? What will I talk about? Am I impersonating myself or someone else?
Holla at me if you know.
I resort back to my original mindset as the Police change my mood and oozes my heart. I am not stung by the music nor does it sting me. I have had a free yard. Fam, now I need to unwind with some power ballads. Don’t stand so close to me, today has felt like a long ting man. I take my shoes off.
How do I take this on through my daily life?? I want to make music and I want to make bars.
I have a paper shortage!?
I was looking for some P-money but I don’t get paid until Thursday.
Mans gotta eat.
What if I shop lifted from Aldi? That’s not me. It doesn’t feel like my personality to do these things. How do you blow trees?
How can I keep my high? I’m an awquard customer at best.
The sad thing is I’ve always got a free yard because I live in a studio flat. I don’t generally get anxious about it. I did call up some of the other homies but but but…
they were lounging at someone else's yard. I don’t have enough room for them. I am bound to these four walls. I feel bare shit.
Some of the homies invited me to have a BBQ on the weekend. The burgers were tight I must say. His Mother even baked a cake. I tried to make my personality present. I talked the hardest and gheez it felt good. Jokes.
On the way back on the bus mans wanted my phone. He was well known in the neighborhood. We were sat on the bus. He poked and provoked me mentally and I became shifty, avoiding eye contact. His voice got louder and louder and louder until the people in front turned their heads but instead looked on. Steven sat there next to me.
“If I give you some money will you leave us alone?”
They got off at the next stop. My hands were shaking. My heart was going.
It felt like the time when I was at a friends yard playing football at the park. He is pretty big but jelly on the inside. He doesn’t like confrontation. They surrounded us and I recognized his face. I wanted to fuck him up and knock out the motherfucker. I was with a girl I was linking and they surrounded me with
intimidation as the bike wheels slowly turned enough to keep up right. They asked for my possessions. I said no. They continued they’re circling. It was like a shark around prey. I reached an emotional level and cried. They laughed.
They cycled off.
I just got merked.
When I went back home I looked in the mirror and said all the things I wanted to say to them. Said with no conviction however it flowed off the tongue with an infused passion. This happened a lot. As the anger vents no one really sees it. Mans keep trying to intimidate me when I walked home through certain neighborhoods. They are succeeding. They just laugh and ride off.
Are you LEAN mate? They ask.
I’ll be honest; I didn’t know what lean means. I’m fairly slender; maybe that’s what they mean.
In what starts out as a few bars develops an ingrained personality amongst my natural being. The hardness shown on my face is a layer hiding a smiling one. I want to be happy.
I put my gat away. It wasn’t real anyway. And what. I would not actually end you but I feel doing so. You forget the gun and begin to see a kid who grew up. I become a kid who is now
the early formations of manhood and I am scared.
I am now at the yard. The lack of company no longer has the same feeling. When will the phase pass? Is it me they’re looking for because I really can’t see it in my eyes anymore? And like the moments spent looking in the mirror fighting verbal battles, saying the things I wish I could have said. I would never have said them. Did I mean them? Did I mean to think them? When you see red you see red. But I don’t want to get shanked.
I have too much to live for.