The Takeover

Darling Nikki

I still think Morris Day is one of the baddest mothafuckas that isn't Samuel L. Jackson. Word to Morris Day and The Time.

Nickel Bag of Funk

I'm growing increasingly frustrated with my current home situation.
I'm not one to put the details of my trials and tribulations at home
on public display, but basically I've become the usual scapegoat for
every degree of struggle that my parental units experience. But to be
truthfully honest, I understand. The mischief I've gotten into over the
years has caused a great degree of mayhem within our household,
and I understand if my parents are spiteful. The thing that pains me
is there constant judgment of me as a failure or some type of burden
to their sanity. The way we view how a successful outcome of life
could not conflict anymore greatly. They constantly impose this idea
that I do not understand them and have no care for there well being. But
irony of the situation is that though our ideals may conlfict, I actually
do understand them, but because I don't obey them, they impose
onto me that I don't understand them. Understanding and obedience
are two totally seperate things. I actually just want to be understood.
But unfortunately, I may never be understood by them, because the way
I view the world is unfortunately way beyond their traditional colonial Filipino
rationale. Hopefully, in time I can find a balance between fulfilling the prophecies
that they have for me, and fulfilling the hopes and goals that I have for myself.
Maybe I should threaten my parents with possible outcomes that may occur
if they fuck me up in the head too much... ...Nam'sayin?

Protect Ya Neck

If I don't like you, or if you give me some reason to want to inflict physical aggression through some type of vindictive spite... then stay away from me when this song is playing, or I'll be forced to bring out the Wu-Tang hammer.

Inglourius Bastards

Guantanamera

I was peepin the Funky Dope Maneuvers collection which they had a show for Fifty24SF, and the concept of the collection is insanity: a dream team of street artists (Zephyr, Revolt, Sam Flores...) collaborating with one of the most legendary street photographers, Ricky Powell. Ricky Powell has been doing his thing, holding it down for New York hip-hop street culture since the golden era, and for him to turn over some of his dopest photos to some of the most talented artists holding it down for street art within recent memory is epic.


... are you fucking kidding me? This has got to be the dopest piece out all of em. Jean Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol on a Ricky Powell photo...wow.






This photo wasn't part of the collection, it's a totally seperate Ricky Powell photo. But it's Lisa Bonet, and there's no better way to end anything, than with a tribute to Lisa Bonet.
... to Lisa Bonet, with my best wishes.

New York State of Mind

I want to experience a mad hot New York summer in '94.
Jam wit some fly shorty to a Wu-Tang joint (word to god),
and argue bout whether or not Ghostface had a doper verse
than Masta Killa on Da' Mystery of Chessboxin.


...From Queensbridge to the rugged lands of Shaolin.

S/he

I presented my
feminine side
with flowers

She cut the
stems and placed
them gentley
down my throat

And these
tu lips
might soon eclipse
your brightest hopes

Guantanamera

Da Bichez

First off, as I start this blogspot, I just want to say:

Peace to the zulu nation,
peace to all the gods and the earths,
word is bond...

Now that we have this thing appropriately started, I feel as if it's time for me to begin with the first letter to be sent out at sea...

Today officially began my first journey into diggin in crates. Digging for jems hidden amongst other peoples disregarded belongings has an interesting irony to it, especially for those who dig for therapy... What other people find disregard in, is what I hope to discover parts of myself in. So thank you to those who threw away apart of themselves so things in my day can make a little more sense.


At first I told myself the first record I have to play when I get a record player was John Coltrane's: A Love Supreme. But then I realized that having a preconceived agenda defeats the purpose of crate digging. And plus they only had a new version of A Love Supreme 12", and it was expensive as shiet. In my childlike search, I was able to come across a real gem... A Hiroshima record that was released in 1979. I see it as a pretty successful find.



It's becoming apparent to me now the incredible effect that film and music had on the way I've come to self actualize myself. I find that during times of transition, when nothing makes sense anymore and I find it hard to find something to cling onto, I try to look for indications of where to go in film and music.

The only problem is, Clark Gable wasn't as brown as me, so how would he know?