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Forty

25 Jan

My first weekend post birthday was nearly over

by the time I realized my new age.

Los Angeles? More like Lost Angeles

Sitting in the McDonald’s drive thru

trying to figure out the best way to get to the airport.

 

By my calculations, I was nearly 60 in white people years.

Cuantos tienes anos meeester?

Old enough to know better.

 

Every day just got sweeter

knowing we are never guaranteed  to

see another set of birthday candles to extinguish.

 

The existing barbarism  woven deep

within our society’s fabric

has been lying low and dormant,

a fact that we forgot about not because it was hiding,

but rather because we refused to acknowledge it

until it became too obvious to ignore–

Kinda like when someone’s urethra stops itching

only to give way to a  burning sensation.

 

Time to flip the script (again).

The board has changed

and what I’ve suspected and feared for 17 years 

is finally coming to fruition.

I’ve been right all along but didn’t want to believe it.

 

Shifting from apathy to anger, from disbelief to resignation

it was hard to muster up enough grief to feel sad for us.

We were getting what we deserved.

But there was no reason to ever be afraid again

because the worst case scenario was indeed happening.

 

 

Even those fortunate enough to survive the next 4 years

would be leaving something behind that they may never get back.

 

 

The drive thru cashier handed me my coffee

and pointed me in the direction of the airport.

 

I pulled out of the parking lot and took a right on La Brea Avenue

and drove back towards the direction I came from.

 

I wasn’t sure where I was going to end up

or how I was going to get there,

but I had a pretty good idea of where I should start.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

 

 

1995

3 Jan

Some of the best days of my youth

were spent lounging at my buddy Ricky’s house

after school; watching videos on Rap City,

reading Boondocks strip and the Unsigned Hype column from the Source Magazine and

eating tortillas and homemade salsa.

Talking Wu-Tang Clan, girls, Cypress Hill, baseball and girls.

Things were never easier than being alive back then.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

The Most Perfect Rap Song Ever Written

30 Aug

 

nas-statement-on-american-unrest-main-715x582

I can’t front like I was one of the first wave of people to hear “Illmatic” when it became a Source instant classic. The first Nas album I copped was “It was Written”.  Later in the year I bought “Illmatic” but I didn’t really give it much listen til about 1998.  I first discovered Nas my junior year in high school watching Rap City.

It is easy to say that “Illmatic” was a far superior product (fairly or unfairly, this remains his best album), but there is no telling how long it would have been until I discovered “Nasty: Nas had it not been for his sophomore album, and his hit single, If I ruled The World.

Even though the song is 20 years old, it resonates for me even stronger today than when I first heard it. In my opinion, this is the rap equivalent to Prince’s “Take Me With U” as far as constructing the perfect song.

What makes this song so perfect?

Well, the nods to old heads like Whodini and Kurtis Blow, with the Friends sample and Lauryn Hill sung chorus help, but if the lyrics were wack, then it would all be for naught. The lyrics to this song evoke a modern day Langston Hughes, idealistic and inspirational. Only a young man could write a song so idealistic and not have it met with sarcasm or cynicism.

Before he even goes in on the beat, Nas says “Life, I wonder  will it take me under? I don’t know.”

Verse 1 [Imagine smoking weed in the streets without cops harassin’
Imagine going to court with no trial
Lifestyle cruising blue Bahama waters
No welfare supporters
More conscious of the way we raise our daughters

Days are shorter, nights are colder
Feeling like life is over, these snakes strike like a cobra
The world’s hot my son got knocked, evidently
It’s elementary, they want us all gone eventually
Trooping out of state for a plate of knowledge
If coke was cooked without the garbage
We’d all have the top dollars

Imagine everybody flashin’, fashion, designer clothes
Lacing your clique up with diamond Roles
Your people holding dough, no parole, no rubbers
Go in raw,
imagine law with no undercovers
Just some thoughts for the mind
I take a glimpse into time

Watch the blimp read “The World Is Mine” ]

If the first verse were the only rap in the song, it would read a lot like your average 21 yr old rapper’s daydreams. Legal weed, uncut coke, nice cars, designer threads, and a shout out to Brian DePalma’s hood classic, Scarface are interlaced throughout it. Nas is just warming the listener up. The first verse is reserved for the more hedonist fantasies, court with no trial, lots of money and being able to have unlimited unprotected sex was my dream from the ages of 18-21. I can see where he was coming from there.

Verse 2 [The way to be, paradise like relaxin’
Black, Latino and Anglo-Saxon

Armani Exchange deranged
Cash, Lost Tribe of Shabazz, free at last
Brand new whips to crash, then we laugh in the iller path
The Villa house is for the crew, how we do
Trees for breakfast, dime sexes and Benz stretches
So many years of depression make me vision
The better livin’, type of place to raise kids in

Open they eyes to the lies history’s told foul
But I’m as wise as the old owl
, plus the Gold Child
Seeing things like I was controllin’
, click rollin’
Tricking six digits on kicks and still holdin’
Trips to Paris, I civilized every savage
Give me one shot, I turn trife life to lavish
Political prisoner set free, stress free
No work release, purple M3’s and jet skis
Feel the wind breeze in West Indies
I make Coretta Scott-King mayor the cities
And reverse fiends to Willies

It sounds foul, but every girl I meet’d go downtown
I’d open every cell in Attica, send ’em to Africa]

Nas dots the rhyme scheme of verse 2 with more images of good weed in the morning, hot chicks and Benz stretch limos. He even manages to throw a little shade at chicks who don’t perform fellatio. Nas was kinda low key savage.

The bridge of the song, sung by Lauryn Hill,  is an interpolation of the Delfonics’ Walk Right Up To The Sun. It creates a beautiful apex in the song that is almost becomes gospel. Getting Lauyrn Hill on to sing the hook in this track was a genius move. This would be a much different kind of song altogether if Nate Dogg were singing instead–of course no disrespect to Nate. #GodBlessTheDead

Nas goes in on verse 3 though:

[You’d love to hear the story how the thugs live in worry
Duck down in car seats, heat’s mandatory
Running from Jake, getting chased, hunger for papes
These are the breaks, many mistakes go down out of state

Wait, I had to let it marinate, we carry weight
Trying to get laced, flip the ace, stack the safe

Millionaire plan to keep the gat with the cocked hammer
Making moves in Atlanta, back-and-forth scrambler
‘Cause you could have all the chips, be poor or rich
Still nobody want a nigga having shit

If I ruled the world and everything in it, sky’s the limit
I push a Q-45 Infinit(i)
It wouldn’t be no such thing as jealousies or B Felonies
Strictly living longevity to the destiny
I thought I’d never see, but reality struck
Better find out before your time’s out, what the fuck?
]

By this point he has the listener sucked in. He goes #fullsass by describing the downsides of living the hustler lifestyle. Nas is saying that there is alternative to this life and he was fortunate enough to see it crystallize for himself. This is like some John Lennon shit for the hood. Nas is rapping for those dreamers caught up in the neighborhood struggles. This song illustrates to all the folks in his neighborhood that there is another reality, and he knows because he is living it.

 

The video to the song, full of images of everyday hood folk, is a contrast to the lofty fantasy scenarios Nas is rapping about. The only hint of the materialism that Nas aspires for is the lighting during the city shots at night. By filming Nas atop the roof of a limo, its almost if Nas is saying “Yea I made it, but I’m still a man of my people.”

Much like the song, the video has balance. It balances the everyday people from his neighborhood with the newfound things he is privy to with his (then) recent fame. The song itself balances materialism with the everyday desires of people from the working class. Sex and money are great, but so is being able to get through the day with as little unnecessary hassles as possible.

When you come from places like the area Nas grew up, there is an overwhelming abundance of people who want to fuck with you (drug dealers, stick-up kids, the police, even the system itself). Sometimes being able to smoke weed in peace is as good of a moment a person can achieve for the day. The video has elements of empathy sprinkled in with moments of flashiness. Neither tactic is over the top however.

There used to be a balance in the hip-hop world, and funnily enough, 1996 was beginning of the end to that. By 1998, materialism  or “bling rap” would almost completely take over the airwaves; taking Nas’ career with it (though he would come back to the side of the proletariat with later music). Before anyone could “hate Nas now” because of his exclusionary rap lyrics, he wanted to take his people along for the ride. If I Ruled The World was an attempt to uplift its listeners not taunt them. I would be hard pressed to think of another hip-hop song to achieve this without coming off as corny or naive. I’ll take this song over “Ether” any day of the week.

 

BM

Bobby Mickey is the alter ego of writer and poet Edward Austin Robertson. When he isn’t involved in some basketball related activity, actively looking for parties to deejay or venues to perform comedy, he can be found recording podcasts with Craig Stein at Fullsass Studios. Follow him on twitter @clickpicka79. For booking inquiries, send contact info to thisagoodassgame@gmail.com. 

 

Company

4 Jun

So easy to love

the sound of your adorable laugh.

You placated my silly, frustrated rants;

railing about our classmates’ hacky stories

over post workshop drinks at

the bar across the street from campus.

 

We’d amicably disagree over we liked most,

which classmates we found irritating,

whose comments were the most annoying,

and which classmate would make a fun date.

 

For being old friends,

we barely knew each other,

but now was our chance

to share our mutual disasters;

both being newly single.

 

It didn’t bother me that half the time

you asked me to hang out was to push away

any lonely feelings you were having.

 

I liked the company.

Being with you was easy

and it was fun. And for the most part

it was innocent.

 

I loved you differently

than the rest of the girls I spent my

time chasing–the ones you’d listen to me

bitch about while you rubbed my scalp.

 

I just wanted you to be happy.

Most guys back then were terrible for you

(Including myself).

 

When you moved,

you were alone again.

We emailed and talked

(Back when I liked using telephones).

 

I came around when I could.

 

The distance and abstinence

created some funny feelings.

I blame it on the turn of the seasons.

 

When we were drunk and in the hot tub,

I (unsuccessfully) fought the urge to kiss you

because it felt so predictable.

You turned away

and I was worried that the rest of the night would be awkward.

But we held hands in the car,

at the stop lights,

while I drove you home.

“Two hands on the wheel.”

You said,

“The 10 and the 2.”

 

There was no pressure.

I had my own plans after school

and you were living yours.

It was always laughs

until it got serious–

until it got awkward.

Our comically bad attempts at romance

only seem funny now.

 

I’m not sure how many nights of watching

Home Movies in your bed happened, before I started

wondering about what else was out there–

beyond our lunches and dinners–

you begging me to engage you in some entertaining

conversation.

 

And maybe I was unstable.

But stability wasn’t in staying.

The stability was in leaving

because you wouldn’t give me a reason to stay.

 

We both knew the outcome.

I knew the score, and 

I wasn’t going to stay around

for someone whose defenses 

mirrored the ’85 Chicago Bears.

 

As much as I liked the heavy petting,

you can’t win a super bowl settling for field goals.

I saw myself as more of a full time starter

than a stop gap backup QB.

 

I knew that you loved me

but you no longer needed me

and I no longer needed you.

I only needed somewhere I could settle

once settling was no longer an option with you.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

When You Were a Bike Ride Away (For Audrye)

4 Jun

I denied you.

Wrote you off.

Jerked you around.

Fibbed to you.

Took you for granted.

Took advantage of your generosity.

Abused your kindness.

Used your body.

And yet. And Yet.

Our friendship endured.

 

My restlessness,

and curiosity

turned what once was a hike across the cemetery–or a ten minute bike ride,

into a 400 dollar flight

full of questions and complications.

 

I miss the convenience.

The late night walks alone

wondering how you felt, how I felt,

on my way home after

the old movies that I couldn’t just watch with anyone,

the music that I just couldn’t share with anybody,

the dark jokes that only you would roll your eyes at.

I loved that I was absurd, impractical, and ridiculous.

And I think you secretly found it exciting and unpredictable.

 

Your practicality that once repelled me,

only makes you seem more of an attraction.

I once wondered if you wanted enough out of life

but maybe I was too complicated–

shirking anything in life that resembled simplicity.

Maybe it felt too natural.

So easy that it scared me.

 

Had I bought in then,

what would it have guaranteed?

Would you (or I) even believe me if I said

I’m all in now?

So many changes that are

the result of so many failed experiments;

necessary experiences that

only strengthened my resolve

for things I know now to be real.

Your love was not enough then,

and my lust ebbed and flowed with the wind.

 

Fast forward to today.

Where I finally have the space to appreciate

how much we shared.

The real part.

The part that makes me wonder

what it would be like

if you were still only a bike ride away.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

Concentric Circles (For Travis L.)

4 Jun

I instinctively reached out to turn the dial when Glenn Frey started singing.

Brought back memories, that eased my hands back onto the steering wheel,

thoughts of driving through backwoods; similar to the roads back home.

 

Maybe music was just as much about memory as it was taste.

I hated the Eagles.

But I had to admit they were always on the radio

during those times in my life

when we were forced to make interesting things happen

(not always for the best).

 

Sometimes the best parts of the week were spent

carpooling to community college,

crumpling herb on the outsides of CD cases,

rolling doobies on the insides of CD booklets.

Idling through the car wash machine

dropping acid and

plotting the next 2-3 years of our lives.

 

Our social circles expand,

then tighten,

then constrict some more.

 

Phone calls become emails, become texts on birthday,

and special occasions–

which become likes to status updates on Facebook.

And that is life.

It is perfectly normal to still love those who aren’t around

in your everyday.

A thought that willed me to turn the station to something more palatable.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

No Disrespect

25 Jan

But this corny ass, dweeb ass nigga????

This is who she staked her claim on?

And maybe I was suppose to not give up so easily–hang in there a little longer, but goddamn.

How much of her horseshit was I supposed to take, and who the hell would respect a guy like that?

How much shit does he have to eat in order to remain “her person?”

Would you call that patience or insanity?

Or is that just a higher booty tax bracket?

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

Dr. Bobby’s Miracle Hangover Cure

25 Jan

2 puffs of medicinal herbs

1 banana

1 8 oz glass of water

34 fl oz of coconut water

And an aspirin or two wouldn’t hurt either.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

Personals Ad

28 Nov

Mildly attractive, cocky basketball junkie looking for sophisticated, smart, funny, and moderately attractive woman to engage in sexual activities 7-14 times a week, and with whom to possibly travel the world.

 

An appreciation for basketball a plus, but not a necessity. Must be tolerant of sports talk radio, loud music at 2 AM, and the occasional smell of Marijuana coming from the front porch. Intellectual conversations are welcome as long as they don’t turn pretentious, and silence is greatly appreciated (especially during basketball seasons).

 

I’m not much for drama. I live a simple life. that includes work and lifting weights (sporadically). In my spare time I write about, play, and watch basketball. Everything else in life is gravy (including you).

 

Serious inquiries only. Please contact at given address.

Sincerely,

Bobby Mickey

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

Dregs

28 Nov

My apartment smells funny.

It hits me every time I 

open the door to the building.

 

My neighbors are nice enough

though they are either A.A.R.P.

A.A.

or with the Mental Health Association.

 

The apartment manager is a nosey gossip

whose son was stabbed last week

trying to break up a domestic dispute.

 

My newest pastime is wrapping

live roaches into tissue paper

and burning them in my sink.

 

It isn’t the best place I’ll ever live

but at least it’s my own space.

Any noise that I hear I is because I made it.

I’m the only person that I have to clean up after, and

If I bring an ugly girl home, no one has to know about it.

 

I can see the river from my bedroom window

and the sunrise occurs over the park

across the street.

It been ten years since I left college

and I’m not that far away from all those

anxieties and doubts that I felt–

stress dogging me even under the best of circumstances.

 

Although I knew it all would work out,

I would have never guessed in a million years

that I would take the path that I traveled to get there–

here.

 

I doubted myself the whole time

even with the constant reminders that everything was okay.

How could I have known it would look the way it does?

I wasn’t creative enough to know what it would look like,

but I had enough faith to know it could work.

 

This isn’t what I envisioned for myself to be in my late thirties.

But it is also the last time that I’ll ever get to live like a deadbeat

something I’ve turned into an artform–

yet it certainly had an expiration date.

 

It was time to position myself as a breadwinner,

no more promises or projected trajectories.

Just cold hard fact

Ipso Facto

Women my age are no longer wowed by potential

from men my age.

 

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m quite thankful for what I have

the place is almost a step up

from an Eastern Bloc ghetto in the mid- 80’s.

 

There was a time in my life

when I didn’t even need a bed

living like a character out of a

literary (Fante?Carver?Bukowski?) narrative.

 

There was a romantic element in sleeping

soundly in a sleeping bag on the floor.

I was so much younger then,

my joints didn’t scream as loudly from

a bad night’s sleep

 

It is too late to question my subconscious.

I chose to be here

out of desperation, laziness, and being cheap,

out of the need to remind myself

that I’m not quite there yet,

that I have to work just a little bit harder

to wake up to that feeling again

of being where I’m suppose to be.

~Edward Austin Robertson