wednesday blog blarg
this day has been a a shade uneven so far, ive only been awake for two hours though, so theres no telling yet of weather or not its going to steady itself out. not that im jonesing for predictablility, but at this early hour, im not in the mood for surprises.
i woke up this morning, banged the snooze button on my alarm clock for the umpteenth [and final] time, and peeled myself from the cotton cosiness of my bed. its time to start the day jon, wipe your eyes and knuckle up. agreed, italicised voice inside my head. so i do what a do every morning before i completely emerge from my nightly womb, i yawn, stretch, look around my bedroom and asses the situation. this assesment primarily entails searching for hints of whatever clothes im going to wear that day. today i wore pretty much what i wore yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. jeans and a t-shirt, with shoes that cleverly compliment the color scheme of things.
and right from the get go things were a little off. the moment daybreak clarified itself and my mind fully grasped the circumstance that is wednesday, i realized something curious: i was unbelievably horny.
not that its rare that im aroused, au contraire my friend! i spend a good many waking hours fending off the urge to either viciously tit fuck my girlfriend or furiously whip out my weapon and take matters into my own hands. but its a scarce sequence that i am heated to such a degree so early in the ante meridiem.
and this was no "morning wood" horny, no i-just-woke-up-from a-dream-involving me, amerie, a dozen contortionist midgets-and-a gallon of lubricant horny, no, this wasnt the average everyday morning glory horny. this was blue ball horny. this morning i woke up with fucking blue balls. how the hell did that happen?
instead of quickly rectifying the situation in the shower i chose to suffer through the day and thus, have L-sugar enjoy the spoils of my eager teste's tonight. shes been aching for it [as, according to my swollen scrotum sack, have i] and because my brother has been sleeping in the next room, and because she has to get up early to teach rich people how to properly strengthen their core, and because i, conversely, like to stay up late because that just how i get down, we havent been able to consummate the evening recently.
this usually isnt a problem, but something needs to be done quick. my mind has been wandering to times with past lovers a bit too frequently lately. well, i guess no more than they usually do, but the current fantasies have been accompanied by a desperate desire to relive those unforgotten moments. there has been a physical lust that cant be ignored, like my libido is suddenly ravenous for what i do not have, a starving, sexual itch for characters that have been edited out of my script. this is a very natural urge i assume, there is nothing wrong with fondly remembering the heavenly sins that seasoned your youth. but the thirst this time just isnt worth the poison. nope, so im gonna go home, fuck my girlfriend, and let my voicemail answer the phone. yep, thats exactly what im gonna do. not like i have the option to do anything else anyway.
after this awkward contemplation i got to work and the first message on my phone is bad news. now, ive chosen not to reveal any of the artist i work with nor my actual position in the record industry. not because i am embarrassed of it, or because i am all great and powerful and if you knew where i work i fear whordes of hanger ons, rabid fans, and would be musicians would bombard me with emails and "pop in's," but because i deal with enough bullshit with the rest of the douchbags in this industry already, and i dont need some fool reading my site and telling this fool at that label or that joker at this retail chain that they read me giving a poetic beat down to some wack ass artist on my blog. that being said: god damn this industry is run by idiots.
honestly, i dont think there are more than 10 record labels on this entire planet that are ran by someone with even an inkling of business sense. and these arent the artist i speak of. the artist get a pass because, well, theyre the artist. these are the label managers and marketing managers, the a&r's, and the rest of the schmoes that "run" the label. fucking hell are they are stupid. i dont know why because you have ONE track produced by 9th wonder [who makes some hot beats, mind you, but aint skanned over 200,000 units total] that you suddenly assume your no name rapper deserves a plaque. because he dont. i dont care if he grew up with mos defs brother or if his cousin let Jadakiss hit it. your rapper is mediocre, your beats are so so, your artwork is horrible, and the internet is not gonna get you a gold record. shoot for a copper plaque, or hey, lets be realistic here, go for the wooden jammy.
if i wasnt such a shameless music whore i would give all this shit up and join the NBA. for real real, not for play play.
then for some reason i decided to read tony, which i never do. it was kinda interesting. i wonder if i should link him. i dont read him everyday, but everytime i do he has at least one or two witty things to say. his post are generally super long, which, ive noticed, so are mine these days. but hes good at fleshing out the ideas in his head, which i dont think im that good at yet. i wonder how old that fool is. i know hes black and likes rock so those are two qualities we share [though ive never heard him talk about any other genre of music, but like i said, i dont read him much] and that he like chicks, so i guess there is three. but i mean, if i need to link a black cat that likes hoes and rock music i already got this fool on my squad. i guess i could start the all black guys that like women and rock music link section, which would consist of me, bol, tony and sam. we could go to ireland and start a gang, or a basketball team, or an r&b group [with rock n roll leanings]. it would be fun, in a pink ascot and travel sized copy of Dianetics kinda way.
anyway, if anyone in NYC reads this, you should be eager to check out Platinum Pied Pipers and Roy Ayers for free tomorrow in Brooklyn at Tompkins park on Green at Marcy. it starts at 7pm and afterwards you should go to the BBE afterparty with Ali Shaheed Muhammad at Triple Crown in Williamsburg. it'll be the cats meow. and if you are STILL reading this overly vebose entry, try checking out the Avila Brothers album called The Mood. it has been criminally slept on. for real real, i aint lyin.