BAT OUT OF HELL -- THE DROUGHT IS OVER.
That intellectual and ignorant editorial assasin, THE UNDERWRITER, is back for you and yours, late as hell. It took a few weeks, and yes, I feel terrible, but what makes that any different from any day? The weather changes, but the writer stays consistent, even in his absence. I'm always in a bad ass mood.
Chris Rock once said, "Death is my friend." In 2008, death is still the most feared, misunderstood, avoided and ultimately career-defining goal that we all share. But me? I'm so much more afraid of pain than death. I don't want another morning of pain from a wisdom tooth growing against (and breaking) another tooth. I don't ever again want to step on a sewing needle and have it break off inside my foot, deeper than I can pick it out without a surgeon's assistance. Which required another needle in the foot to administer the sedative. And I certainly don't want to break my arm again in three places. Pain sucks. Death happens.
I'm moving towards a seismic shift in my own understanding of my ability. Not many people do it like I do it. Shout to Dallas Penn *again*, Bol, Jacinta Howard, Maurice Garland, Ali Early, Elliot Wilson (sic?), Bonz Malone, dream hampton and all the writers who I always followed when I was doing my duty as an intern and assistant in the music industry publicity machine.
Right now, I'm writing a book. And it's so dope. You will love it when you read it, or you will be another miseducated buffoon that doesn't have the necessary mental setup to withstand the firestorm of hatred, assholery and indignant fuckery that comes with having an unprecidented opinion.
Dude, or baby girl, I'm so crunk on this writing shit right now. It takes a village to raise a child, but it takes a general to move an army. Don't get in my path unless you're ready to follow.
Jumpman Jordan. '08 is leap year.