Malcolm

Everybody’s nobody, word to XV.

We “grind,” “hustle” and “aspire” to be something that ultimately is a carbon copy of an existing format, all while deriding the very thing we try “not to be.” We strive to “stand out,” become “individualists” and other such irreverent bullshit in a society reared on conforms, yet end up acting, sounding and essentially becoming the very thing we supposedly “ride” against.

Master puppeteers who dangle just out of reach of the cameras manufacture the “gangsters” now. They are no longer bred, cultivated or sown from the seeds of despair, of oppression, repression and depression found in the despondent streets of urban decay. Today’s thug is as gully as what a hotlink, viral video or cheaply constructed musical massacre says they are. Threats and barbs are traded freely, weakening and ultimately invalidating the price of unconventionality. Nobody fears repercussion because let’s face it, a FlipCam and 140 characters will make anybody seem like they’re the front-runner of the Shower Posse.

Nobody ever acknowledges what happened to the leader of the Shower Posse, though...

We dick ride, cock hop and knob shine the latest Johnny Come-Lately who can put together a couple words, quickly decreeing that they’ll be the “next up,” and will turn against him even quicker because they’ve outgrown that box of “critical acclaim” fake fans love to place them in. They foolishly attempt to please everyone out of naïveté, unaware that it is impossible to do so until the dregs come out to play. You ever wonder why a rapper (or anybody) “changes” and stops giving three shits about you? Take a look in the reflecting pool and see the culprit.

Quit trying to convince the world that you’re a part of the “greater good” with gaudy prose, pseudo-intellectual Twitter “wisdom” and garish shock tactics for the 85% who are suckers for that shit. The loudest ones in the room are always the meekest. Get it? Forget it.

I’m talking too much. Or maybe, I’m not talking enough.