Friday, September 29, 2006

I be a Stones throw Bitch sometimes

Yo Shawn, I know you like that Aloe Blacc so Peep this. Man I wish my life was kicking it with these foolios sometimes. Why I gotta have a regular slave wage 9 to 5?

That ain't Kool Keith Or Dr. Dooom or Dr. Octagon or...

Yo I should be writing my novel but I came across this peice of "Whaddyamean?" and had to raise the wire of the nigganet. Seems like that new Kool Keith ain't all that cool. Ya'll tell me where we're all headed cause if rappers are serving up throwaway lyrics to country labels and getting Aussies and Spainards to remix shit, this Y.G.B. (young gifted and black) might have to start listening to other forms of the negritude diaspora.

P.S. All this return of garbage don't really fly with me anyway. Only Dr. Dooom album I want to see is Dr. Dooom aka Kool Keith vs. Viktor vaughn, aka Mf. Doom

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Check it out...

If you haven't done so already.


Thursday, September 21, 2006

Terry Gross doesn’t know how to deal with black people


Mos Def

Dave Chappelle
Ice Cube

I’m trying to figure out how to say this without being too alarmist, but What the fuck is up with NPR? Nah, more to the point, How is it ok for liberal progressive media to be straight ignorant in relation to smart artistic black men? Terry Gross has interviewed like damn near everyone but sounds straight stupid when she’s dealing with Rza, Dave, Mos and Cube. I mean fast forward to the send of the Cube interview and she’s all “Is it ICE cube or is it Ice CUBE?” What the hell is the master with this woman? Yo, shawn, fuck the printing press, let’s make public access video/audio for negritude.

As for Busta Bus, let me just say, That dude has always been about the loot. Or do we forget his apocalyptic (read spend your money now before the end of the world) proclamations from the coming “There’s only five years left.” through “when this ass here strikes” to that bullshit E.L.E. Don’t hate on Bus. He’s just doing what he’s always been doing, making that ass clap for the loot. Do yo shit Bust. I ain’t lamenting none of these playas.

Eulogy for a Fallen Fellow

“Busta, what it is right now?”

What happened, God? You used to be the geekiest of the AfroGeeks, the most Alterna of the Alterna-Blacks, but look at you now. Where is your pride? Where is your dignity? From Afro-Futurist visionary, to ‘roid-raging noble savage, and this was done without warning. I was taken unawares. You went from rarrgh, rarrgh, like a dungeon dragon to pass the Courvoisier and the change hurt, man. I know you have a few kids, so was the decision to totally leave your roots a financial one or were you coerced into making some of the wackest hip-hop music of the last several years?

Busta, you of the ungodly bpm flow, the human firecracker, the only man brave enough (outside of Wu-Tang) to collab with the O.D.B. to make one of the best remixes (Whoo-Ha) in modern hip-hop history. You were hip-hop’s too cool clown prince, picking up where Flavor Flav left off, but without the borderline cooning Flav has now so fully embraced.
I miss the Busta who used to push out spitballs through plastic straws. I miss the Busta who switched up his bombastic and percussive flow to an almost apocalyptic whisper, letting us know that the end was near, but we’d be partying until the last bomb and/or meteorite fell. I miss the Busta who was so hip-hop that he actually transcended musical labels and became an adjective: “That shit was so Busta.” “That cat was Busta Rhyming at the movies and we got kicked out.”

You were the man but now…I have no idea what you are. A joke? A product used to endorse other products? I’d like to think that you are something a bit more tragic; a man, overwhelmed by a confluence of circumstances, but instead of confronting them head on, escaped to a little pocket universe of banality and corporate sheen. Maybe you are there, biding your time until the stars and planets are in proper alignment, then you’ll pop back into our universe in all of your full, maniacal glory, and put us all back in check.
The Busta Rhymes I knew is dead. Long live Busta Rhymes.

--Shawn Taylor

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Weeds and White women

It is the aspect of labor that truly makes the criminal endeavor worthwhile. I’ve known this from my early days of selling burn bags in Washington Square Park up until today utilizing technology to pilfer programming designed for nothing more than selling me and mine products we truly have no desire for. And while I laugh at Chuck Palunchuick(Sp) for his self congratulatory “You are not your Ikea Furniture’ I find myself reveling, not unlike the harem meat in its fetid anally sadistic dwelling, in my mechanicized ability to pilfer. Still, this is secondary to my main point.

I am interloper of the Showtime program “Weeds”, that is to say it is appropriated by an acquaintance of mine and I peruse it at my leisure weekly. Given that the show is about illicit activity I find a sort of kinship with the characters in that my perusal of it is also clandestine. But it struck me one recent evening night how hypocritical the show is. Advance along this thought path with me as I try to elucidate my point.

The theme song, “Little Boxes” tongue in cheek berates the mediocrity of suburban living, pointing out the types of individuals that live in these unintentional, intentional communities. Though they’ve chosen a new band each week to cover the song this season, the images of the same people doing the same thing to the searing edge of cloning. This is the intro to the show about a suburban woman selling “weed”, originally procured from the most authentic black weed selling family on TV, to her suburban counterpoints.

Now the deviants in each of the cloning sequences in the intro have not escaped me, nor am I dense enough to miss that they represent the diversity that truly exist amongst all humanity, and as a result should be assumed exist in Suburbia; this is not my issue. My issue is the source of the deviance, the originality, the break from the mind numbing monotonies that is unintentional living, once again comes form blackness. Is this not the Dave Brubeck of Jazz, the Emniem of Hip-Hop, the Beats of black radical poetry in the fifties and sixties. “Hark, aging negro scholar, Do you purport to claim negritude holds an exclusive claim on the business of marijuana?” “To assume so would be asinine. But what does it mean, I ask rhetorically, when the only show on television regarding a person living and functioning relatively well dealing drugs, has a white woman as the main character?” I would write more but I have a novel to complete and miles to go before I sleep.

They shot Cornbread! He wasn't doing nothing! Nothing!

They did it. I knew they’d do it but I still can’t believe they did it. Spoiler alert people. I’m about to rant and where I end off is anyone’s guess. Bill Foster is dead. No. Bill Foster was murdered. Murdered by a supposed clone of a White God named Thor. In the Civil War (yeah I’m reading into it, this Afrogeeks, fool! What the hell did you expect, fair and balanced reporting?) Issue number 4 on sale from your white retailer today, you will find the death of one Bill Foster, A.k.a. the black goliath. For those of ya’ll not in the know, Black goliath used to run shit back in the day. Ok well not really. He only had four issues on his own and his only major power was that he could grow really tall. But still, he was one of the few, one of the proud black super-heroes. I and my boy Sinclair were going to make him the father of the new Brother Voodoo in our pitch to marvel. But no, instead I have to write the brother’s obituary. It’s the only combat obituary of the civil war, making me madder than a nun in a whore house.

Strangely enough family, I am not mad at Marvel for this travesty. Writer Mark Millar does not gain my wrath for this ignoble termination. The comic book industry as a whole shall not be made to stand against my wraith. I blame the 3 6 mafia. Why, I hear you ask? What do no talent simple wanna be thugs have to do with the death of Bill Foster, a.k.a. the Black Goliath? Simple. If those dimwits hadn’t recorded and performed that “It’s hard out here for a pimp” song to the praise of white people and the deafening silence of so called Negro leaders, then the world at large wouldn’t be aware of the general apathy of black people. We don’t even care anymore that a black character is killed. Shit, you could have Blade gang raped by the great Lake avengers in front of Power Pack and everyone would bemoan the poor Power children’s damaged psyches for eons before giving one thought to Nubian half vampire’s pride and sphincter.

The truth is Bill Foster deserves no grand epitaph. He was a B-rate character and even less developed superhero. But when I first started working in a comic books store years ago I found all five issues of his series and read them with they type of wonder I listen to old church albums with; “Do people really enjoy this?” My heart is weakened this afternoon because the brother is off the books and there isn’t even an attempt to fill that role these days. The black audience in comics, despite our fierce loyalty is disregarded past the Black Panther, which I do love. Bill Foster, the character was older than I am, created in 66 or 67, but he never had much of a life. In the need a knock off of an Aryan pride symbol cashed in his playa card and only his white boss who organized the lynch squad (Tony stark, Iron man) came to the funeral. No black man should go out like that. Even a make believe one.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Cause kids don't know how to hype they own shiznet

My collab-o is slapping his gums poetically over in San Fran this saturday. Come by if you want to hear him go off on his big black penis as well as other issues, I'm sure. He promised me Black girls who talk white so if any of ya'll are reading this, I'll buy you a mojito or some such afterwards if you say Hi to the grimey guy.

File this under who gives a crap know like Survivor breaking people up by race? Whitney and bobby are getting a divorce. Oh shit, a crackhead and a pothead can't seem to make a relationship work. Or even better, two formerly talented 80's babies stayed together for fourteen years despite the media, substance abuse, and the most offense reality TV show this side of Flavor of Love (Buddaphly is my flav name). While I'm not in the camp that argues that these are the end times, is it fair for me, original afrogeek to exclaim my derision and open hostility at the mediocrity that I am subjected to as a target audience of the 18-35 financially stable black male demographic? Whitney and Bobby divorcing is not news! That shit is expected. See at least with our afrofuturist craziness, you get some new shit, some deviant thinking, and not deviant acting negritude. Fuck the dumb shit. Yo Shawn, let's start a TV show, or a publishing company, or something. The Pharisee on the TV gonna make me Pee...on them.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Are we ready?

I was watching Battlestar (season 2.0) and aside from wondering why Black Men aren’t represented in any major story arc, I also asked myself if Black Folks are ready for a genre show with an all Black cast. Could there be a horror, fantasy, SF series, staring all Black people, that would get any type of ratings? Not to mention, would the show ever get made? Are we, the AfroGeeks and Alterna-Blacks of the world, even ready for this type of televised experience? There is now the Blade series, but the white characters are way more interesting. Kind of a carryover from Blade Trinity.

What are your thoughts?


Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Trek Again!

Hey Good People,

I'm on again about Star Trek because the 40th anniversary of the initial broadcast is Friday.

Continuing with my Klingon posting from earlier...

If real world races had to be assigned (which the probably were) to Trek reces, who would be what? This is not meant to be racist, but to spark discussion.

Here are my thoughts:

Ferengi: Either Arabs or Jews
Bajorans: Jews
Old school Klingons: Russo-Mandarins
New School Klingons: Black folks
Vulcans: Chinese
Romulans: Italian
Cardassians: Dutch
Borg: Americans
The Founders: ???
Vorta: Swiss
Jem Hadar: Germans
Orion Slave Girls: Middle Eastern

That's about it for now.

What do y'all think?


And the winner is...

Who do you all think is the best Black Female SF, fantasy, horror, speculative fiction character in any media?

My first choice would be Lauren Almina from Octavia E. Butler's Parable books.

Your thoughts?


--Shawn Taylor