The Life and Mind of an Only Child
I got to call somebody to ask what are the hot spots in town for the hip hop industry. Maybe I’ll call Windexter and politic with him a little bit. But I don’t know about Windexter, is he just quiet or what, but he don’t seem too interested in becoming my friend. I’ll call him anyway though to see if we can hang out one night that he is off because he claims that he is working two jobs and never has time for anything, but yet he was in the Clue album commercial behind The Lox, and he was on the Clue album cover. So this nigga got time for something besides work.
Niggaz always acting funny, especially stars. Like when I saw Clue in Pittsburg and ask him did he know Windexter, he brushed me off like “Yeah, I think so.” Maybe stars hear so much bull shit in their ear that they get to a certain point where they don’t even listen to mutha fuckas anymore besides their close friends and manager and other stars and what not. How you not gonna know a nigga who smack dead on the inside cover of your records, cds, and tapes?
Windexter know that I rap and stuff. When I first met the nigga, we were all listening to my tape that I made back in 88. Maybe he just don’t want to hook a nigga up. I don’t see why not. Niggaz is funny I tell you. Maybe everyone in every race is funny like that but I wouldn’t know because I don’t deal with other races. I mean if I can help a nigga out in any kind of way I’m gonna do that. Like with Stephen “The Phat Rapper” Collins, my rapper dude, fraternity brother. I’m gonna try and put his name in some niggaz ear when the right nigga comes along. I think he got mad talent and deserves to be on. I think I got made talent and deserve to be on too, but some reason people don’t listen to my shit and say anything about it. They mostly ignore it. Sausha used to say if she liked or disliked a song, but now she doesn’t say anything. She just ignores them. But anyway, somebody gonna listen to my shit one day and put me on.
And another step I got to take is go the tunnel and talk to Flex and/or Big Kap about what can I do to get on. Somebody gonna lead me in the right direction. And maybe I’m rushin’ this shit and should relax and just let things take their natural course; make some friends, and one friend leads to another friend, to another club, and maybe to somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody him or her who knows somebody. This new guy that just started working here he seems pretty cool, maybe I’ll hang out with him to see where he leads me.
This music shit is all I seem to think about. I made this slammin smoothe piano beat last night that I called “Fly Piano.” It is very simple. I’m trying to figure out if I should add anything else to it like a background noise; maybe not since most my other songs have it. I think I’m gonna put some funky moans in it though when I get me an adapter to go to my head phones to use them as a microphone to mic the moans in. I also got to get in touch with my frat brother Lame Culcher. He said that he know some A&Rs he could give a tape to. He ain’t never at home though, and I have left messages on his answering machine for him to call me back but he hasn’t. I also got to call Saul Shompson. He has been here for a while and he should know of some spots, but maybe not he is not Bi-sexual anymore and just straight gay.
I don’t know what the deal is here with mutha fuckas. They always gone and not answering their phones. Like the one Saturday when I was calling Windexter and paging him. He didn’t call me back. Maybe this is a test to see if I can make it all on my own with all new friends and no help from anyone besides the new people that I meet. I told Windexter a long time ago that I was moving to Queens and that I wanted to hook up with him when I got here. I’ve called him a couple of times and talked to him. I even called him when I said I would be looking for an apartment and told him that I wanted him to show me around town. I called the Sunday before I was to come and he was outside fucking around. The nigga has never asked me for my number. I don’t know. Now that I’m here, I’m gonna try and make friendz with the nigga one last time, and if he is not receiving to my friendship fuck him. I’ll see him when I see him, maybe at a release party when he’s rolling with Clue and I’ll be with my own camp of artist who I’ve produced a record for.
I ain’t here to kiss ass of mutha fuckaz who ain’t really trying to help me. It seems like I’ve been running into this shit all my life; mutha fuckaz who don’t want to help me. From my Aunts and Uncle not wanting to rent me a car to take trips for fun. To my own cousin, who was down with my aunt during child hood and the teen years, not really helpin me get a deal. If Sary Kim was really trying to help me get a deal, when I got frustrated and was calling her answering machine leaving messages about the wack artist Motown was signing, she would have eased my nerve with some encouraging wordz. Well fuck everybody. I’m here now and the world is mine to conquer. Ain’t no stopping me you sonz and daughers of punk bitches and bastards.
HAVE YOU EVER HAD A FRIEND OR RELATIVE THAT YOU THOUGHT HAD POWER AND/OR CLOUT BUT THEY SEEMED UNWILLING TO USE THEIR INFLUENCE TO HELP YOU ACHIEVE YOUR DREAM?
One thought on “Jrnl Entry No. 8.2.1999”
Caveat: I notice I use the word “Bitch” a lot. I liken it to a song by “The Geto Boys” called “Gansta of Love” (so misogynistic that it’s caricaturally funny.)
Disclaimer: I do not call women bitches in life or treat them inferior in alpha male dominant low-self-esteem fashion.
As these journals were personal (never to be read until my death or by close family only), I’d read them kin to Holden Caufield, past tense (20 years past) first person singular.