Politics & Hip Hop

I miss writing. Now that I am in college, technical writing takes up most of my time, but my college experience should be more than nonfiction objective academic jargon. I wish to submerge myself into the habit of writing things down, posting these thoughts, and having documentation of my experiences. I jotted down thoughts before, usually in a notebook. But when I write in a notebook, I put the notebook on the shelf, never seen by any critic besides myself.

If I post these thoughts to Facebook, then internet code prohibits me to do so since Facebook is not a place to be political or opinionated, which inevitably it is.

Anyway, I will stop ranting about what I want to do, how often I will do this, or what exactly I aim to accomplish because the answers to all of these questions I myself do not know.

I made a friend at Orientation from Taiwan with whom I always have awesome conversations about human nature and politics and the universe and humanity over lunch.

He started our conversation stating how everyone is power-hungry and self interested. I knew we were in for one hell of a debate. We deciphered the Republican debate and how everything there was an aim to further the candidates' own position in the polls even though Donald Trump (arguably the most self interested of all) is at the top. We discussed the topics that we learned in class about statism, the idea of bolstering power in the state to heighten the state's own position in the world. He then made a reference to Kevin Spacey in House of Cards and how Frank Underwood tramples over people to get what he wants, prominent in the political system that we live under today.

With this, I assessed the reality of what my goals were professionally. I realized that humanity has made it difficult to make progress through government, hilariously demonstrated through Parks & Recreation when a group of the citizens of Pawnee blame the government for there not being enough benches to sleep on.

The point is that there are solutions to problems. Although solutions may be self-interested like my counterpart argues, I believe in the power for there to be solutions to problems. History has shown leaders formulating these solutions through strategy and logic. Problems crippled states in the past from economic depression to pandemics. We know that the future will bring about more problems like climate change and billionaires funding government candidates and immigration, and society will combat these upcoming problems by coming up with solutions.

On another note, I love hip-hop. I invest myself in the hip-hop movement because the movement prompts me to feel good about myself. From dance to rap to music, hip-hop fosters both a good vibe and a good community. Hip-hop is filled with delight these past days. For one, Drake and Future dropped their mixtape "What a Time to Be Alive" which has fans scrambling to memorize lyrics and start analyzing them for the sake of revealing the major shade being thrown at Meek Mill.

Today, I had the privilege to rap alongside twelve emcees who have curated their own art-form of free-styling. I stay for the entire session, getting in practice and input from fellow emcees. One young man in a track suit saw us and addressed positive vibes in our group, further drawing input into the art that he invests in on a daily basis. The two major take aways that he left me with were to always be true to the things that you free-style about and to keep the practice going. I always rapped from a point of ignorance, talking about things I had no clue about and a sound that I never internalized. He saw me picking up from my environment, talking about Houston like it was the back of my hand, about the things that make Houston both challenging and great as a city.

The blogs and the videos that I turned to in times of trouble never taught me that. How do other people do it? How do they sit down and write hit songs and make things come out of thin air?

I find that my best content comes from what I know and what I am familiar with. I draw continuous inspiration from artists like Logic and Lil Dicky. Logic talks about how life in Maryland really is and draws from much of the language and social norms that he grew up around. Lil Dicky talks about the life a normal guy, the guy who does not have the money to afford a Lamborghini or a yacht. He talks of a more real experience, one that a whole lot of people are more familiar with.

My endgame for now is hard to really pinpoint, but as I said before: I don't know the answers. That's what I am here for. I'm here for those answers. But I heard somewhere that showing up is only the first step.

Superheroes Don't Exist - Short Story

            Train tracks laid down on the floor of the worn down ground in the putrid outskirts of a city where nothing really happened, a boy played along the tracks holding two balloons and a plastic toy that he bought at the nearest toy store. The toy was an action figure of some superhero of the time. He wasn’t sure which superhero it was, but judging by the cape was made from a worn cloth, the superhero’s name didn’t really matter that much.

            The boy had no idea about the dirt in his hair when they found him in the middle of the road. A pair of larger bulkier people with pale skin bent over to observe the poor creature. The only reason that they stopped was because of the two balloons that were flying over his head that were headed towards them: one red, one blue.

            They started asking him several questions about where he lived and why he was on the side of the tracks, but the boy simply stared at them with a glare of nothingness. The pale lady turned to the paler man, asking what they should do. The pale man pulled out his white cell phone from his pocket and started dialing some number. Once he started to dial and the ruckus permeated the surrounding air, the boy immediately turned his attention to the device in the pale man’s hand, as if he was discovering technology for the first time.

            It wasn’t until after the pale man got off the phone that the sounds of the train started to blare in their ears. The pale man told the pale lady to get the boy and put him in the car. When placed inside, the boy felt around the walls of this pod, all leather and funny when they made that squeaky sound with the two balloons. The pale couple sat on the hood of their car, observing the train passing by.

            Instantly, a sloshy sound vibrated in the air, followed by a dash of red goo splashing upon the pale man’s new shoes. The two balloons fled from the scene into the dark and starless night, knowing the conflict about to arise. When the pale man looked to the source, he found the fallen boy who was in his car earlier, his face almost non-existent, a piece of raw meat torn several ways from existence never to breathe, let alone stand up, again. Following the screams of the pale lady, the red and blue lights approached the train from the other side, the police officers all looking at each other trying to entertain themselves with the local radio station as the train passed.

            Then the train passed. 

Our Tree - Poem

There is a tree in the meadow where we used to play.

Nowadays, I’m not sure where you went or why you went.

All I know is that the memory of our play causes me to weep

about the memory that we created together.

This tree has two large branches that could hold our children.

Two large branches that held us once,

but now hold plastic bags filled with empty beer bottles.

How do I know this?

Mainly because I visit our tree, hoping that you return to it

like I have for the past thirty years.

Hoping that you are on the other side, playing around

when I don’t see you and try to catch you on the other side,

playing around when I don’t see you.

Again and again until the phone rings and I must go back

to the world that I live in alone.

The world that we agreed we would make our own

until you couldn’t muster the energy to even shake my hand.

There is a tree in the meadow where we used to play.

I lied. I know both where you went and why you went.

It was a bit too late when the ashes were given to me in hand

and I had no other option but to bury them where our tree is

and sleep by the tree until that one phone call came again.

The world that turned you to ash and gives me calls every day.

The world that took you from me.

The world that no longer matters to me and is no longer mine. 

What This Blog Is About

I already know what blogging is, more or less, and I like the attention that my movie blog is getting (some, not a WHOLE lot). But ultimately, this is my space to share my more literary works that I'm thinking about.

I write a whole lot of poetry. Some fiction works. All I hope to accomplish here is to entertain the masses and hope that something good arises from here.

I hope you all enjoy!