in the old days, I danced in a cypher. A proper exchange with other humans. Maskin’ Volvd. What used to be frequent became scarce. What used to be scarce became frequent. So, given the times, opportunities to get down are a treat. The pleasure to converse on the wooden panels, the harmony felt between expression and the musician, and in this case, a compilation of the Best of Biggie. The rounds are consistent, the flow is maintained.
The freedom to express is always needed. A therapy, mixed with some meditation, of course, plenty of illuminations, and clearly, lots of hydration. A time to be creative, to be daring, to be me. The hope is still alive.
The understanding of Hip Hop has fainted. The gap is real and needs to be bridged. The younger gens have no idea of who the local heroes are, but their hearts are pure. The older gens are often lost in translation and full of information. The middle gens, just like the middle child stereotype*, brings the People together, deemed patient to attain ascension. What an omen to be carrying such powers, which are forever shifting because we were younger and older. The hope is still alive.
The lakes seem muddy, perhaps the time is to let it settle. The mere presence of a practitioner sets the vibe right. Class is in session, please pay attention. The stories told by this body are not only from this body. The vibrations felt in this body have been written for a least a century… Formations, still misunderstood, still not digested, still not presented, and yet sold to the highest bidder. Let the mud settle. Once it did, an ampere made way, the total eclipse happened, the data transferred, from the motherboards to those who sought it. a flashback from the past. and that’s why the hope is still alive.
*as mentioned in a previous post. Read Siblings.
Glasses & Laces 