Blogging.

What an interesting past-time this phenomenon became. I say became because at this point, it is what it is. At one point, blogging was the new thing. New blogs were popping up to the tune of thousands a day. The joy of finding a new interesting blog was unparalleled. Pretty much, it had no parallel.

Blogging was as much a social activity as MySpace of Facebook have become. Especially amongst the Black bloggers. We all found one another and formed and maintained actual friendships (in some cases even relationships) and hung out at Blogger Happy Hours and created new never-ever-seen televisions shows like Homiez. Everyday that I got to work, after going through my myriad news-based websites, I’d hit the blog circuit reading nothing short of 30 to 40 blogs a day. Because of this I met some of my closest friends to date. And since we’re all pretty much Black and live in major cities, I’ve had the pleasure of hanging out with all of them numerous times.

And then, blogging got boring. I’ve been reading over my past, sifting through random blog postings made since my debut in 2004 and I’m amazed at how passionate a writer I was. It’s no wonder that back then I was offered a gazillion writing jobs in random places. I was fun and interesting. Hell, I crack up now reading things that I wrote, nevermind that I don’t even remember writing much of it. But at some point, my interests moved away from blogging. Overall, I got tired of reading everybody’s sites. Folks were saying the same shit over and over and boring the living fuck out of me in the process. People that I used to love reading quit blogging or were clearly forcing it.

And there’s nothing worse than forcing it. I’ve done it a few times. You get to the point where you’re filling in space because people are expecting you to write — for free. It becomes a job and anybody who’s employed like us regular people know that jobs suck ass. Sure, you need them to keep the lights on and food in the refrigerator, but largely, if most of us could be anywhere else than at work, we’d be there.

Fuckajob.

On the other side, some people who began blogging around the time I did have become not only internet celebrities but minor actual celebrities in their own right, which is always funny. You see people popping up in major publications and you know them and remember when you both were starting at ground zero. It’s a good feeling actually. For whatever reason, I didn’t want that shine or that wasn’t my goal. Come to find out, I never had any goals blogging. I just felt like writing because it was fun. Obtaining readers galore was icing on the cake and only served to help fuel the fire I had. That and all of the stupid shit that this world creates daily.

But being a good and interesting blogger actually requires a lot of work. You have to constantly come up with something to blog about which is no small task. You have to constantly be abreast of pop culture and unpop culture. Unless of course you’re writing of very personal nature, which I wasn’t. People got to know lots about me but it was thru reading between the lines and keeping a constantly tally card of all the pieces of personal information I’d placed in the atmosphere.

So I wonder, what happened to the passion I had to write? I still enjoy writing and I’m good at it. Sue me, I’m sexxy. Only every now and then do I come across something that really makes me want to speak via blog. I find myself sticking to my lane of race, music, and relationships; things I know best. And that bothers me to some end. What happened to the cat who was creative and witty and could approach anything from any angle. What happened to the different angles I would always find?

What’s changed? Clearly I’m older but sheesh, that shouldn’t make but so much of a difference. I’m the same cat I’ve always been just with much less time (not coincidentally due to this very blog) and yet, when I read the older posts, I see somebody who was hungry, not somebody who’s been eating for a while.

You know something’s wrong when you want the hunger pains.

And yet I do…

“…niggas say bitches is trife, bitches say niggas is/we just don’t understand our fundamental differences…” - Talib Kweli, “Love Language”, Train of Thought (Reflection Eternal album)

“…Com, I make righteous bitches get low…” - Common, “They Say”, Be

You know you’re getting old when the first thought you have when you hear lines like that is this:

Was saying “bitch” really necessary??

And not to say that I only care when “conscious” rappers say it, I pretty much think its unnecessary most times. And I also know that in the flow of the songs it fit for spacing and timing reasons (try writing a verse to a beat and this becomes a major issue), but still…

Ah, the quandries of over 25 but not quite 30.

What’s next…will I start questioning rappers (and myself) saying “nigga”??

[**Administrative Note: If you're in the DC Area, tomorrow, January 13, 2006, there is a party at Mirror's Nightclub on New York Avenue being thrown by the so smooth party promoters of Stockholm 76 fame. I've been to parties in DC, but the ones thrown by this promoter are some good ass parties...and that last statement has a double meaning. Check out Blue Stockholm to sign up for the guest list for complimentary admission before 11pm and to check out pictures of the crowds. DC/Charlotte/Atlanta and soon to be globally known, DJ 2-Tone Jones on the 1's and 2's. ***]

People say that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. And I wholeheartedly agree with that statement.

I’ve been to Vegas.

Well, I also think that same logic applies to jail. What happens in jail/prison stays in jail/prison. Unless, you were shanked by somebody, in which case the statute of limitations on whipping his ass in the middle of a street is pretty much unlimited.

(And no, I’ve never been to jail. Unless you count that one time in Vegas…I’m lying. Call me now!)

However, given the circumstances of those men who are placed in jail for extremely long sentences, a question became evident one day whilst I was sipping a Mint Julep and having an IM convo on Yahoo! Messenger with the blogless wonder, Xquizzyt. In fact, let me say her name one more time…Xquizzyt. That’s two.

Is it acceptable for a man to be gay in jail?

Umm…not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Can you please place your eyeballs back inside of your head? I’m serious.

No really…and you, over there with the plaid Catholic schoolgirl dress on, please put the knife down.

Are you calm now? Can we proceed?

Thank you.

Now, think about this. People need personal interaction to live in this world. I don’t care how much of a loner you are, we all need some skin-on-skin action in our lives. That’s what prostitutes are for, to provide a service when you can’t get any skin-on-skin action from anywhere else. Much like video hoes, prostitutes do not get enough credit for the service they provide to humanity. There’s a reason why its the oldest profession bucko.

Why would this change in jail? Especially when you have to spend years in a place where the only female might be a prison guard who is only sleeping with the death row inmates. Actually, I think that was Oz. But from the mouth of a former stripper turned gangsta rapper…

“I need that love…” - The Game, “Don’t Need Your Love”, The Documentary

And I took that line completely out of context…in the song he’s talking about Bloods in New York. But who’s splitting hairs?

I’m torn on this thought…but I’m leaning more towards saying, yes…it’s acceptable.

In fact, take me to jail. Lock me up!! Throw away the key!! I ain’t scared to fuck no nigga in his ass…

*scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*

This nigga is trippin’.

By the way, the previous scene is from the movie Don’t Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood, which is way funnier than Friday, but doesn’t get nearly the props it deserves. It’s damn near social commentary.

[***DISCLAIMER: Before we go any further, let me clear few things up. I'm not gay, nor do I live a gay lifestyle...not that there's anything wrong with living a gay lifestyle. I'm not even a metrosexual. In fact, I'm still confused as to what a metrosexual means since my take means almost gay, just doesn't know it yet. Once again, not that there's anything wrong with that. I have no problem with gay people, gay marriage, pink, flamingos, or John Legend. Nor do I plan on going to jail. I just think its a ponderistically interesting topic. ***]

Of course, the other side to the game on this is…what happens when he gets out? Now, amidst the conversation that started this whole though, I wondered aloud if it would be okay if he was gay in jail, for say, 7 years, and then wasn’t gay when he got out. Now, this is in direct conflict with the notion that people are born gay. Then again, jail is in direct conflict with the notion of a mixed genitalia world.

And what with EVERY woman thinking that EVERY man is either gay, gay-curious, or just DL anyway, the thought that its acceptable to say a black man can be gay in jail and come home and be un-gay, might make me eligible to be incinerated at a Ponderosa Steak House. Which is similar to being burned at a stake, only not at all.

I’m also not an advocate of the whole DL phenomenon that may or MAY NOT be as bad as women think. In fact…EVERY MAN IS NOT DL. One ignorant nigga who was a jackass to his family goes on Oprah and the next day, every man is DL. Talk about some women making up for insecurities…

Yeah I said it. In-secur-i-ties. I do think being a DL man is wrong though. I want to go on record with that.

But back to the el pointo (which is not Spanish by any stretch of the imagination), is it even possible for a man to be gay in jail and actually come back out and live a heterosexual life? From a “desire” standpoint? That I do not know. And maybe that is where the answer lies. But…Donnie McClurkin was gay and he turned his life around.

Hmm…that was a judgemental statement that assumed that being gay means your life isn’t going in the right direction being as we only use the term “turned your life around” when referring to any negativity that you pursued prior. I mean when was the last time you heard somebody say, “wow, that Jim sure turned his life around” in reference to somebody going from being a God-fearing Christian to a Satan worshiping cat-screwer?

So, let me rephrase. Donnie McClurkin became…un-gay. Do we believe that a gay man can become un-gay and not lust after the pleasures of the manflesh?

[***Sidenote: I saw the most godawful movie ever yesterday courtesy of my Blockbuster Online subscription, Disco Godfather. The title should have told me to stop, but I put it in despite my education. Well, it's a Dolemite movie, but has to be one of the movies nobody talks about. I mean, there was no ass and titties, nothing. The movie was about cracking down on "angel dust". No hoes, no real kung-fu, and Rudy Ray Moore turned in the WORST performance ever. Anyway, there was a dude in the movie named Sweetmeat. Gay or un-gay, isn't that the most gay ass name you could possibly have? Sweetmeat?? If I ever become a gay stipper, I'm using that name, I'm calling dibs...umm...not that I'd become a gay stripper...umm...not that there's anything wrong with gay strippers. Fuck it, this is totally going in the wrong direction. I need to turn my life around. ***]

LIke I said, I don’t know the answer.

However, for sake of argument, and assuming that a man could become ungay after leaving jail, assuming also that he would be eligible for parole at some point during his prison sentence, but not before at least 5 years…

…is it acceptable for a man to be gay in prison?

Question…and that’s if only I can ask this question.

Can I?

Yes you can!!!!

What exactly is “deep” niggaz fascination with Jimi Hendrix?

And what is it exactly about Jimi Hendrix that can turn a black man’s life upside down, a la Common?

I attended college. That means two things. For one, that means I’ve come into contact with quite a few black people who can actually read. It also means that I came across the “deep” or “earthtone negroes” who love all things spiritual and grass-like…

…and Jimi Hendrix.

And I’m wondering what exactly it is about Jimi that brings people an extra sense of clarity or inner-spiritualism. Granted, I’m a big fan. I love me some Jimi Hendrix. So I’m not questioning whether or not the accolades, fandom, and all around dicksuckery is warranted. He is the pre-eminent guitar playing rocker from the late ’60’s. In fact, I think the government took him out on purpose. Fuck that overdose non-sense. Between the ironically timed deaths of him, Jim Morrisson, and Janis Joplin, I think there is proof of some sort of government conspiracy. I think it was the burning of the guitar that pissed the government off in Jimi’s case.

You do not burn the white man’s instrument of choice…no matter who you are.

I realize that Jimi influenced rock music in ways that no other person has with all of his guitar tricks and techniques. Yet somehow, I don’t think that’s how the reading black folks are influenced since most of us just don’t play a guitar…period.

The reverance for Jimi Hendrix is so amazing to me considering how (as extension of the last post) so many black people do not listen to rock ‘n roll in its traditional sense. And Jimi Hendrix was rock ‘n roll. In the 1960’s and 1970’s I can see how many black folks would have loved Jimi so much being as those were times of free love and shit and rock and soul music often crossed into one another. You can listen to albums by Led Zeppelin and its as bluesy as anything B.B. King would have done. The lines were blurred.

But it’s 200X. And reading black folks who like to wear earthtones love them some damn Jimi Hendrix.

We, as a the rap community, saw what Jimi Hendrix did to the two men who dated Erykah Badu…and lived to tell about it. I mean, Erykah introduced Jimi to Dre and Common Sense, and helped to create Andre 3000 and Common The Chi-Town Knit Kufi King. Which is similar to Sofa King, but not at all.

Hmm…I wonder how many reading black men find Jimi on their own. And is there a difference if a woman introduces you to Jimi Hendrix? For instance, I discovered Jimi on my own per se. It was more of of a “I keep hearing so much about this dude, let me get me some Jimi”…that’s how I got into the Hendrix Experience. Being as it was all on my own, and I wasn’t high, maybe that’s why upon listening to “If 6 Were 9″, the walls in my room didn’t turn purple and psycadelic doves and lillies didn’t bounce to and fro.

But.

What if I had been introduced to Jimi by a woman I was in love with. Mayhaps things would have been different. Gander if you will…

While chewing on a strawberry flavored chewstick and sitting under the cherry moon, with some khaki colored cargo pants, an earthtone green tshirt with a picture of some tree branches and a black fist on it, some khari shells, and a knit kufi, my girl, who happens to be wearing an ankh necklace and a headwrap with a nose-ring and an arm length twisting arm-bangle thingamajig and a wrap-dress causing people to liken her to a sun-goddess says:

“Panama, don’t you just love the grass?”

“Yes baby, it just makes me think of a simpler time when my soul and spirit were one with the Earth. How you feeling?”

“PJ, I feel good. It’s like all is right with the world and you are my God and my sun. The light is shining on you brotha in ways that make the souls of the fallen trees shake and stir beneath us…”

“Baby…you have no idea how much that means to me. I feel like our souls are intertwined like the ivy growing on the side of a a strong foundationed building that has lasted ages beyond its hope and dreams. That’s you and me girl…we’re ivy league.”

“P…the only thing that could make this day better is a little bit of that good sticky-icky…of MotherEarth of course, and some Jimi.”

“Jimi?”

“Yes baby, you aren’t up on Jimi?? Let me expand your horizons and the depths of your consciousness…baby, are you ready to be experienced?”

“I don’t know…I’m a little scared…am I?”

*placing headphones on PJ and gently caressing his eyelids before closing them so that he may allow the good sticky-icky and Jimi to expand his horizons*

“BABY…OH MY GOD…I SEE…PURPLE HAZE??!!!!!!!!!”

“That’s it…just let the spirit move you…inhale the purple haze…and then watch the purple haze…you are now…experienced!”

What if that’s how it happened?

Would I have this deep-seeded esconsed innervision and feeling that made me not only appreciate Jimi, but believe in the essence that is Jimi?

Who knows…

…but I’m trying to understand.

Hey Joe…

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power… the world will know peace” - Jimi Hendrix