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Culture, healing, politics and bullshit - Not necessarily in that order

The general, socio-political and very personal rantings and ravings of a hip hop head from the hood hustling for change... Of himself.

You all know me and are aware that I am unable to remain silent. At times to be silent is to lie. For silence can be interpreted as acquiescence.
—Miguel de Unamuno


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Tuesday, November 07, 2006

30 Days... 30 Posts: Day Seven

It was one of those days that runs into the evening without you even knowing it. You know, gloomy and cloudy and all over when you wake up and then it's time to go to bed. I was still in the office doing heaven knows what when she walked in...

I was dumbstruck like I was was six seconds from getting hit by the family station wagon in the middle of the forest preserve. Before I could even form thought and as she closed the door to my dingy workspace I could smell her.

Damn. Egyptian Musk.

My head swirled in drunkedness as I watched her silhouette come out of the shadows and make its sexy way to my desk. She was tall or was it the shoes? It didn't matter, those legs of hers rose from the floor and made an ass out of themselves. She was a brown coke bottle wrapped in a dull grey trenchcoat. I betcha that was a sweet drink to savor that required an crazy straw. She wore her fedora like a man with that cock to the side, but the long brown locks that draped ever so lovely from the rear assured me that the curvature wasn't lying to my eyes. She had lips that made a man wish there was kissing school because she would be the headmaster and I would need remedial training on purpose. You could see the age in her eyes, but her skin told you something different. She was old school refined but looked like one of the leaders of the new school in her packaging. I was just a busta, my back in the day to hers being an old head masquerading in a young girl's frame. When she stepped out of the shadows she froze me even more. Those brown eyes... The staring pain from the eyes of a little girl who's cat was stuck in a tree, begging you to get em' out as you were running late to your own wedding. I couldn't help but to listen to whatever her problem was. I am a groove theorist and even though I was an artifact these days it was still my job to come on with the come on, get down with the get down.

She sat down and lit a cigarette. I got bold and actually parted my lips to form a question. "What brings you to the south side?" I asked. "Music." She says. "I'm looking for the perfect beat". I looked her in the eye and told her "Look toots, the only thing you'll get over in these here parts is a few samples and the occasional young buck living off the nineties. The new stuff doesn't rock. It's full of a lot of crunk and disorderly joints that'll make you run over to EJ Flavors to get the taste outta your mouth. Is that what you want?" "No" she says, "I'm looking for a DJ. You know sound bwoy, I need to get a hold of the chief selector." I nodded. Before I could respond she blew her cigarette smoke in my face but I played it cool. I didn't know if this beautiful creature was playing with my emotions or just plain old playful.

"A DJ you say? You know I used to spin the hot platters baby, it was a treacherous and naughty thing how I'm old school I am in nature. Yeah, I can put it down to the kids like I'm capri, but it's going to feel like an old house party in 89' and not the def jam... And my name ain't Bilal. So that's what you're asking for?" She smiles and nods and she uses those sexy lips of hers to take another drag on that cigarette.

Not in a million years did I ever want to be a tobacco product, but in this moment I couldn't b-real. I thought of my old friend Krsna, him telling my of a dream he had of being smoked and passed around. I felt as if I were in his tale and not the one I'm telling you. Yep, I was getting smoked by this curvy broad and I can't wake up. I didn't want to even though I knew I was headed for trouble. Damn, I wanted to make her mine.

I watched those lips weave wonderful words about contracts, times and dates while I just sat there and nodded. I haven't had a job spinning since Tribe was waxing poetically with Jarobi bout' the booty, and this was my chance to pay a few bills. I did have a question for the lady and I didn't hesitate to open my mouth, seeing as she came in my office asking for my services. This was a very peculiar thing.

"Look here lady, I need to know what brought you to my digs asking for disk jockeys and such, as you can see from the luxurious decor, business is really picking up..." She interrupted. "Dusty grooves, man." I remember grooving to you back in the day when Jeru, Blahzay and the east was in the house. Oh my God, danger! You were kicking out the hot ish. You made them Pete Rock joints feel like warm bathing water on a crisp fall day. I've never been that wet on the dance floor, with the exception of the reception."

"And how's that working out? Does he know you're in a strange old man's office speaking about getting wet to an old record?"

"He is a thing of the past. Couldn't hang with me on the dance floor"

"Couldn't dance, huh? You know I got a mean foxtrot"

"He couldn't even salsa, mambo or meringue, and couldn't last a mere than 3 records"

"So you've been dancing alone?"

"I haven't even stepped to a James Brown record since those hot Tuesday nights with my girls..."

"At the Rivera" I said.

"Yes, the Riv, remember that?"

"Woman, I was Tuesday nights up in that old juke joint. I made the bodies wind and the heads nod..."

"And that's what I'm asking for. I want you to have this."

She throws a flyer that has to be at least ten years old on my desk and sits back into the shadows. I already knew what it said. It had an older, skinnier picture of me on the front and a coffee stain on the upper right corner. It also had a phone number on the flipside.

As she rises from the chair in front of my desk, I get one last chance to check out her form. If she's at least as old as I am, I was wondering what formula she was taking to keep in perfect form. As she approaches the door she says: "When you get over the fact that you haven't rocked a party quite like the ones I used to throw and you know that you want to be in the house spinning at my next one, use that number. I'll answer if you call."

"You're going to call, right?"


Yeah, right after I vote. Please make your voice heard. If the polls are open in your neck of the woods, then do the right thing and speak. This way you have the right to bitch and complain about the system...

9 comments:

princessdominique said...

I was hooked, before the "being smoked and passed around part". I love it. Waiting for the book.

NegroPino™ said...

VOTE OR DIE

deepnthought said...

nice
I voted already

Luke Cage said...

Hassan brother.. you just keep putting your thing down man. It's a pleasure. Rock on brah..

aquababie said...

i like this, especially your description of the woman.

The Brown Blogger said...

princess:
Thank you. Remember, the book coming out is a collection of poetry. I'm working thru the blog on my fiction writing skills.
Pino:
I know, I know... You see I'm still alive, right?
deep thoughts:
Well good then, now we can fuss and complain.
Frank:
Thanks brother... I'm a work in progress
aqua:
I peeped your pics of your asanas... And I keep going back. Wonder where some of my ideas come from?

aquababie said...

glad i can be of some inspiration :)

Rose said...

As I was reading I kept wondering what is the title of this book...

Kip said...

Kepp it coming Hass Keep it coming

By Chance