Lately I have been stuck on rap music. I guess the rap of old is much better than the rap of to day.
There is a lot of anger and aggression presented within the lyrics of old rap..
I have been writing a few rhymes myself, ( now, I am in no way or form suggesting that I am a rapper or can rap at all for that matter, I just happen to enjoy rap and writing rhymes), the stuff I have been writing is seeped with anger and aggression at the place I am living in. I have been sitting down and just forming lines in my head to the point of where I'll say them aloud and they sound like they are sickinsane, the words themselves are innocent but put together they are angry and pissed off.
To say that I am simply saying the words would be a lie, I am in fact spitting them, they hit hard, rough and fast. It is almost as if I can see why or how people like Dr Dre, Biggy Smalls, Nas, and Tupac have written such horrendously angry rhymes, I can see where the lines have come from, I can see where they were formed, from the anger of the place that they are living in, from the anger that they feel over the situations that the might have been in at the time. There have been times when words just flow through me and take over my mind, those times have been times when I just cannot bare to do anything but write the lines spinning in my mind down and put them to the test.
With old school rap there is feeling and emotion, stories, lives, and situations thrown into the mix. With the rap of today there is a lot of rubbish, a lot of sex and drugs, raps with no real sustenance. There is no real feeling in the words, they lack empathy, they are just lacking in general. I can't listen to it without feeling bored to death. Although that cannot be said for all modern rap. Some of it is good, some of it has a lot going for it. Such as Kendrick Lamar, Drake, and of course Eminem.
Anyway just a little musing of mine.
xxxx
F
Friday, May 10, 2013
Thursday, May 09, 2013
Realizations to do with passion.
You know, I was a little skeptical about taking film studies at the start of the year as I thought it was a little bit out of my league, like I would never be able to cope with it or even be able to understand it.
I thought it was interesting, one of the coolest things going but I never knew I'd fall into it so well. I never thought I'd grasp it so well.
I have said in years before that I will miss a teacher or miss going to a class, but throughout my school years I remember the teachers that hurt my feelings, that made my life living hell and only a few of the teachers that made a difference, Mr F, Mrs O'D, Ms O'R and now my film studies teacher and my English lit teacher.
I think I will remember them for years and years to come.
Under their wings I have discovered the things I like and love and the things that I really enjoy. I have found my niche and the places I belong and don't belong, they have taught me how things are meant to be and how things could be, they have shown me the depths of my imagination and pulled me back out of it when I have gotten a little ahead of myself.
These people along with my mooma, have all helped me, tremendously, it has taken a long time for me to realize this, it has taken me a long time to realize how much they have helped me and nurtured me. There have been times where I have been incapable of writing or expressing myself because I felt little confidence or I had no belief in myself, they have dragged me out of that self destructive ditch and have made me who I am today, fearless. I am no longer scared of writing and performing. I am no longer fearful of expressing myself. It takes a lot for a writer to put themselves out there, it takes a lot for someone to show off their art when they are shy, heck my drama performance was terrifying, I thought I was about to develop sudden onset incontinence, I thought I was going to piddle on the floor in front of everyone. I had to go to the loo three times before I went into the exam, just to make sure my bladder was relieved entirely, but I did it, and I never forgot a single line, when my bald head itched I improvised and incorporated a strange scratching into my characters list of idiosyncrasies.
I felt the nerves drain out of me, because I remembered all the people that have pushed me in my life, the people that made sure I never gave up and pushed me on wards and upwards.. god believe me when I say that they sometimes drove me absolutely nuts with pestering and the likes, but it paid off well I learnt to do so many more things and I am all the more happy for it.
In 12 days I am going to be performing a bhangra dance for a lot of people. I have to practice but I feel great in knowing that even if I make a right boob out of myself I will still have tried and worked at it. I would still have given it my all and done so passionately and vibrantly. If I can dance in a club like an epileptic gibbon that looks like it is having a seizure and is on crack. Then surely I can Bhangra.
All is well.
F
xxxxxxxx
I thought it was interesting, one of the coolest things going but I never knew I'd fall into it so well. I never thought I'd grasp it so well.
I have said in years before that I will miss a teacher or miss going to a class, but throughout my school years I remember the teachers that hurt my feelings, that made my life living hell and only a few of the teachers that made a difference, Mr F, Mrs O'D, Ms O'R and now my film studies teacher and my English lit teacher.
I think I will remember them for years and years to come.
Under their wings I have discovered the things I like and love and the things that I really enjoy. I have found my niche and the places I belong and don't belong, they have taught me how things are meant to be and how things could be, they have shown me the depths of my imagination and pulled me back out of it when I have gotten a little ahead of myself.
These people along with my mooma, have all helped me, tremendously, it has taken a long time for me to realize this, it has taken me a long time to realize how much they have helped me and nurtured me. There have been times where I have been incapable of writing or expressing myself because I felt little confidence or I had no belief in myself, they have dragged me out of that self destructive ditch and have made me who I am today, fearless. I am no longer scared of writing and performing. I am no longer fearful of expressing myself. It takes a lot for a writer to put themselves out there, it takes a lot for someone to show off their art when they are shy, heck my drama performance was terrifying, I thought I was about to develop sudden onset incontinence, I thought I was going to piddle on the floor in front of everyone. I had to go to the loo three times before I went into the exam, just to make sure my bladder was relieved entirely, but I did it, and I never forgot a single line, when my bald head itched I improvised and incorporated a strange scratching into my characters list of idiosyncrasies.
I felt the nerves drain out of me, because I remembered all the people that have pushed me in my life, the people that made sure I never gave up and pushed me on wards and upwards.. god believe me when I say that they sometimes drove me absolutely nuts with pestering and the likes, but it paid off well I learnt to do so many more things and I am all the more happy for it.
In 12 days I am going to be performing a bhangra dance for a lot of people. I have to practice but I feel great in knowing that even if I make a right boob out of myself I will still have tried and worked at it. I would still have given it my all and done so passionately and vibrantly. If I can dance in a club like an epileptic gibbon that looks like it is having a seizure and is on crack. Then surely I can Bhangra.
All is well.
F
xxxxxxxx
Passions. Rations are no where to be seen when my tongue takes the reigns.
I have a passion for rhymes, riddles and grime words.
I like sticking them together to make funny sounds and lines. Meddling with words can get people into trouble but I rarely care. It is mind boggling when I speak to fast for the average listener to listen properly. Well, I reckon you should speed up your hearing and listen a little faster, then maybe you'll hear me. Now if I was speaking this you would hear but a blur of words melted together, held to earth by a little string. Don't strain your ears, they are not spaghetti, you are not Donna Leonardoni.
I have a passion for things and I shall drag that passion out. I can tell you now I was meant to be an Eye-Tie, not a Mithai. If there is a product or an object that I happen to like or maybe even a project, you can be sure that I'll murder your ears, like a skilled butcher, by producing exquisite and expensive tasting sentences, with kindest regards to that of which I speak. I can sell you to the side of the devil, or steal all your money, leaving you thinking, to me, your money, you gave.
Words are like sets of equations, they can create metaphorical earthquakes or lead you onto the path to meeting vegan fruit cakes. With a smile or with a great helping of acidic bile, I'll stand and bend your ear for a long long while. So if you see me bounding with energy, I suggest you run a mile, unless you fancy an achy ear, or having to grit your teeth and bear the ghastly unstoppable stream of endless mind boggling nonsense.
How grotesque, obtuse and utterly obese with words my mouth seems to be. I'll probably die if I couldn't babble and gabble..
I like sticking them together to make funny sounds and lines. Meddling with words can get people into trouble but I rarely care. It is mind boggling when I speak to fast for the average listener to listen properly. Well, I reckon you should speed up your hearing and listen a little faster, then maybe you'll hear me. Now if I was speaking this you would hear but a blur of words melted together, held to earth by a little string. Don't strain your ears, they are not spaghetti, you are not Donna Leonardoni.
I have a passion for things and I shall drag that passion out. I can tell you now I was meant to be an Eye-Tie, not a Mithai. If there is a product or an object that I happen to like or maybe even a project, you can be sure that I'll murder your ears, like a skilled butcher, by producing exquisite and expensive tasting sentences, with kindest regards to that of which I speak. I can sell you to the side of the devil, or steal all your money, leaving you thinking, to me, your money, you gave.
Words are like sets of equations, they can create metaphorical earthquakes or lead you onto the path to meeting vegan fruit cakes. With a smile or with a great helping of acidic bile, I'll stand and bend your ear for a long long while. So if you see me bounding with energy, I suggest you run a mile, unless you fancy an achy ear, or having to grit your teeth and bear the ghastly unstoppable stream of endless mind boggling nonsense.
How grotesque, obtuse and utterly obese with words my mouth seems to be. I'll probably die if I couldn't babble and gabble..
Tuesday, May 07, 2013
Being blind....
It is amazing how blind people are... most people are blind, not so much physically..
I mean just look at the people that latch on to others because of the compliments and kind remarks...
Think about it, if some one says 'you are absolutely beautiful' are you going to then just ignore them? No, your face will light up and you are more likely to speak to them aren't you, more likely to trust them, more likely to think of them as friends.
We have this insatiable need to be comforted, loved, admired, and lavished with attention. We all do, even the most meek and mild of people to bask in compliments when bestowed on them. Sometimes these compliments are just that and make our cheeks tingle rosy red with shyness, but sometimes just sometimes we become absorbed in the words, we fall in love with those words and we don't realize that the person uttering them is actually just leeching off of the attention that you are then giving them in return.
They are just feeding on your dependency, the dependency you have developed for the words of falsified joy and excitement at your presence. There is just no way of explaining my irritation with the fact that I let people suck me into their poisonous little caverns of false compliments and attention, I realize only to late that these people just want me for something or another or because I have something that they want but cannot have, it is a double ended sword. I think I feel like becoming more cold and self involved than ever before. I at least will then know that I am not going to get sucked into other peoples compliments and words.
It is the words that attract me, it is the voice that hooks me, that manipulation of some ones intonation, the pace and spacing of the words. I get sucked into the way people roll the words off their tongues. I am tired of it, bored in fact.
Anyway, moral of the story, don't trust everything that everyone says, if someone says you are beautiful, take it and thank them and leave them be, if they constantly say it or push it out there, ignore it. Simple. it saves you the racing mind and constant thinking. It is just plain confusing anyway...
I mean just look at the people that latch on to others because of the compliments and kind remarks...
Think about it, if some one says 'you are absolutely beautiful' are you going to then just ignore them? No, your face will light up and you are more likely to speak to them aren't you, more likely to trust them, more likely to think of them as friends.
We have this insatiable need to be comforted, loved, admired, and lavished with attention. We all do, even the most meek and mild of people to bask in compliments when bestowed on them. Sometimes these compliments are just that and make our cheeks tingle rosy red with shyness, but sometimes just sometimes we become absorbed in the words, we fall in love with those words and we don't realize that the person uttering them is actually just leeching off of the attention that you are then giving them in return.
They are just feeding on your dependency, the dependency you have developed for the words of falsified joy and excitement at your presence. There is just no way of explaining my irritation with the fact that I let people suck me into their poisonous little caverns of false compliments and attention, I realize only to late that these people just want me for something or another or because I have something that they want but cannot have, it is a double ended sword. I think I feel like becoming more cold and self involved than ever before. I at least will then know that I am not going to get sucked into other peoples compliments and words.
It is the words that attract me, it is the voice that hooks me, that manipulation of some ones intonation, the pace and spacing of the words. I get sucked into the way people roll the words off their tongues. I am tired of it, bored in fact.
Anyway, moral of the story, don't trust everything that everyone says, if someone says you are beautiful, take it and thank them and leave them be, if they constantly say it or push it out there, ignore it. Simple. it saves you the racing mind and constant thinking. It is just plain confusing anyway...
Thursday, May 02, 2013
Trainstation Romances... Take a little piece of my heart now baby....
Over the last year and a half I have been getting the bus almost everyday, before now I had only taken the train once, so it is a whole new experience.
but I think I could get used to it very quickly.
The problem with getting the bus is that a) it smells horrible
b) it is full of mutants
c) SERIOUSLY UNRELIABLE
d) comes at stupid times
The train (as far as I can tell) is brilliant because a) it smells 100% better
b) There are a heck of a lot more decent people
c) it is not as unreliable
d) it is much more comfortable and it is much cleaner
e) the ride is smoother and is not interrupted by traffic
f) there are some seriously BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE on the train.
I have never seen so many good looking people that are well dressed yet they have a unique glow about them. The train is a fantastic place to go if you are looking for muses. In the last two days I have seen a good few guys with beautifully curly hair, and stunning foreign coffee coloured skin. I have seen two really really beautiful ladies, one with half her head shaven, the rest long and slicked back, with a stretcher in her ear and two little studs in her lip, she was wearing a suit to top it off, black suit with a silver grey blouse, it complimented her pale mocha coloured skin down to a T.
Just this morning I saw a well dressed lady with her ebony hair slicked back in to a pony tale, her suit was absolutely to die for, I wish I had my camera with me, I would have asked her if I could photograph her. The pencil skirt that clung to her curves looked almost painted on, flawless muscles rippled under the dense fabric, from the front the skirt looked like just your average ordinary pencil skirt but the back spoke a whole new story. A slit going up the middle of the back, high enough to see her backside if she were to bend over, ( tastefully speaking, it could have been a little lower) was topped with a little black bow which was accented with a sown in false pleat going up to the waist band of the skirt. She was B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.
(Have to throw in a little bit of Jim Carrey here, because that is exactly what I mouthed and what went through my mind)
It is amazing, it is just amazing, the way a person attracts you is not by the way they dress or look, it is actually by the way they hold themselves, the way they walk, talk and are, it is the personality that is the attractive part, you can look like a dog but still attract people by your personality, people will still find you beautiful even if you are physically not-so-great looking. I'll tell you something, this lady was dead on attractive, I wouldn't have seen her had it not been for the fact that she walks with a subtle arrogance, with confidence like she knows that she is the royal shit and people are looking at her, noticing her (I being on of those people) It is wonderful to see that a lady can carry herself with strength and conviction, even if it is faked, people still looked and saw her.
Anyway, I might just stop blabbing about my train station romances now and get on with something a little more productive...
Imagine that, finding the love of your life on a platform? or a train hurtling towards some destination that had no actual value to you. That would make a commute so much more worthwhile. Okay, I am going to shut up now.
xxxxx
F
but I think I could get used to it very quickly.
The problem with getting the bus is that a) it smells horrible
b) it is full of mutants
c) SERIOUSLY UNRELIABLE
d) comes at stupid times
The train (as far as I can tell) is brilliant because a) it smells 100% better
b) There are a heck of a lot more decent people
c) it is not as unreliable
d) it is much more comfortable and it is much cleaner
e) the ride is smoother and is not interrupted by traffic
f) there are some seriously BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE on the train.
I have never seen so many good looking people that are well dressed yet they have a unique glow about them. The train is a fantastic place to go if you are looking for muses. In the last two days I have seen a good few guys with beautifully curly hair, and stunning foreign coffee coloured skin. I have seen two really really beautiful ladies, one with half her head shaven, the rest long and slicked back, with a stretcher in her ear and two little studs in her lip, she was wearing a suit to top it off, black suit with a silver grey blouse, it complimented her pale mocha coloured skin down to a T.
Just this morning I saw a well dressed lady with her ebony hair slicked back in to a pony tale, her suit was absolutely to die for, I wish I had my camera with me, I would have asked her if I could photograph her. The pencil skirt that clung to her curves looked almost painted on, flawless muscles rippled under the dense fabric, from the front the skirt looked like just your average ordinary pencil skirt but the back spoke a whole new story. A slit going up the middle of the back, high enough to see her backside if she were to bend over, ( tastefully speaking, it could have been a little lower) was topped with a little black bow which was accented with a sown in false pleat going up to the waist band of the skirt. She was B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.
(Have to throw in a little bit of Jim Carrey here, because that is exactly what I mouthed and what went through my mind)
It is amazing, it is just amazing, the way a person attracts you is not by the way they dress or look, it is actually by the way they hold themselves, the way they walk, talk and are, it is the personality that is the attractive part, you can look like a dog but still attract people by your personality, people will still find you beautiful even if you are physically not-so-great looking. I'll tell you something, this lady was dead on attractive, I wouldn't have seen her had it not been for the fact that she walks with a subtle arrogance, with confidence like she knows that she is the royal shit and people are looking at her, noticing her (I being on of those people) It is wonderful to see that a lady can carry herself with strength and conviction, even if it is faked, people still looked and saw her.
Anyway, I might just stop blabbing about my train station romances now and get on with something a little more productive...
Imagine that, finding the love of your life on a platform? or a train hurtling towards some destination that had no actual value to you. That would make a commute so much more worthwhile. Okay, I am going to shut up now.
xxxxx
F
Wednesday, May 01, 2013
Don't be late for a very important date.
Right so today is already begun as an insanely big mess.
I woke up and I had literally 15 minutes to get ready and ended up leaving the house horribly late. I got the bus at about 15 past seven and got to the train station and got my ticket by half past.
That was all fine and dandy, until that is I stopped and asked for a little help from a lady standing on the platform, that is when the curveball hit me smack in the face, I didn't even see it or feel it coming. I asked which train to get on and she told me that I was in the right place and so being the idiot that I am, I got on the wrong train, I was meant to get on the one after the one I actually got on. Any way the one I did get on was heading towards Fenchurch without stopping. Well shit out of luck I went to Fenchurch and then had to wait around for the train to Grays. I got on one and then got chucked off it was the wrong train that was not meant to be going anywhere. Finally at about ten to nine the right train arrived and took off shuffling along towards Grays, I think I felt my heart jump into my throat when the train just stopped for just over five minutes right before the Barking stop. By then I was already late and feeling increasingly distressed.
I had already emailed my teacher and phoned one of the girls in my class just to let Liz know. Seriously, one of the best lessons of the day and I was going to miss it, that was the turd on the cake for me. I had emailed her while I was sitting and freezing my backside off at Fenchurch station, waiting for that metallic monster of salvation to come rattling in just to sweep me off to a day of being a busy bee.
I eventually passed Barking, and all the other stops that blurred past the window at my side. The train came to a stop in Grays, my belly greeted it with a disgruntled whine, my belly gave of a solitary twang of sharp, disheartening pain, as if some kind of mutated alien had taken up residence withing my belly and was trying to scrub the walls of my stomach with acid and claw its way out in search of food. I was damn hungry, hungry and angry.
I came to the realization that when you are busy all the time you rarely find the time to stop and eat enjoyably slow or even to enjoy having a shower, instead of finding it chore-like to just make the time to have a shower ( I wish there was technology available that meant we didn't have to shower, and would just become clean magically.) Skin eaters, I remember that theory from high school Home Economics lessons. With no time for much of anything, we find ourselves eating things we will later regret while on the go, not having the time to stop and sit down to enjoy the food. Not stopping to savor the sweet, the salty, the bitter or the fiery twang of a curry or a spicy bun. We mindlessly power walk or run, swallowing without thinking, just trying to make that meeting or train, hoping to god we will get there before the doors shut in your face with a nasty twang of 'I told you so, I told you that you would be late, you silly bean.' ringing in your ears, that gut wrenching feeling when you realize that if you had just held on to that morning urination session, you would have made it, or if you had just left the bowl in the sink you could have made that train or bus. Those moments when you realize that you should have listened to that feeling growing in the lower part of your abdomen, that feeling whispering ' You are going to be late, leave that bit of sticky-uppy hair alone, just go. You'll be late otherwise.'
Then there is the commuters dread that grows in your bones, that dread that you are going to be late or miss the meeting with those important people that pay your wages, that dread that settles in and quashes and appetite that you might have had. Sometimes that dread even makes it feel like your morning coffee, that could have contributed to your lateness, is curdling in your stomach, forming balls of sickening frustration in your gut.
I have commuters despair, I feel upset, nervous and ridiculously frustrated when I don't get to the places I am supposed to be at the time that I am supposed to be.
I got to college 40 minutes late with an empty stomach and a very painful head. Tomorrow I will NOT BE LATE.
xxxxxxx
F
I woke up and I had literally 15 minutes to get ready and ended up leaving the house horribly late. I got the bus at about 15 past seven and got to the train station and got my ticket by half past.
That was all fine and dandy, until that is I stopped and asked for a little help from a lady standing on the platform, that is when the curveball hit me smack in the face, I didn't even see it or feel it coming. I asked which train to get on and she told me that I was in the right place and so being the idiot that I am, I got on the wrong train, I was meant to get on the one after the one I actually got on. Any way the one I did get on was heading towards Fenchurch without stopping. Well shit out of luck I went to Fenchurch and then had to wait around for the train to Grays. I got on one and then got chucked off it was the wrong train that was not meant to be going anywhere. Finally at about ten to nine the right train arrived and took off shuffling along towards Grays, I think I felt my heart jump into my throat when the train just stopped for just over five minutes right before the Barking stop. By then I was already late and feeling increasingly distressed.
I had already emailed my teacher and phoned one of the girls in my class just to let Liz know. Seriously, one of the best lessons of the day and I was going to miss it, that was the turd on the cake for me. I had emailed her while I was sitting and freezing my backside off at Fenchurch station, waiting for that metallic monster of salvation to come rattling in just to sweep me off to a day of being a busy bee.
I eventually passed Barking, and all the other stops that blurred past the window at my side. The train came to a stop in Grays, my belly greeted it with a disgruntled whine, my belly gave of a solitary twang of sharp, disheartening pain, as if some kind of mutated alien had taken up residence withing my belly and was trying to scrub the walls of my stomach with acid and claw its way out in search of food. I was damn hungry, hungry and angry.
I came to the realization that when you are busy all the time you rarely find the time to stop and eat enjoyably slow or even to enjoy having a shower, instead of finding it chore-like to just make the time to have a shower ( I wish there was technology available that meant we didn't have to shower, and would just become clean magically.) Skin eaters, I remember that theory from high school Home Economics lessons. With no time for much of anything, we find ourselves eating things we will later regret while on the go, not having the time to stop and sit down to enjoy the food. Not stopping to savor the sweet, the salty, the bitter or the fiery twang of a curry or a spicy bun. We mindlessly power walk or run, swallowing without thinking, just trying to make that meeting or train, hoping to god we will get there before the doors shut in your face with a nasty twang of 'I told you so, I told you that you would be late, you silly bean.' ringing in your ears, that gut wrenching feeling when you realize that if you had just held on to that morning urination session, you would have made it, or if you had just left the bowl in the sink you could have made that train or bus. Those moments when you realize that you should have listened to that feeling growing in the lower part of your abdomen, that feeling whispering ' You are going to be late, leave that bit of sticky-uppy hair alone, just go. You'll be late otherwise.'
Then there is the commuters dread that grows in your bones, that dread that you are going to be late or miss the meeting with those important people that pay your wages, that dread that settles in and quashes and appetite that you might have had. Sometimes that dread even makes it feel like your morning coffee, that could have contributed to your lateness, is curdling in your stomach, forming balls of sickening frustration in your gut.
I have commuters despair, I feel upset, nervous and ridiculously frustrated when I don't get to the places I am supposed to be at the time that I am supposed to be.
I got to college 40 minutes late with an empty stomach and a very painful head. Tomorrow I will NOT BE LATE.
xxxxxxx
F
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