Category: Blog

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  • December 10th, 2012 12:47am

    ‘;

    restoredvinyl:

    Souls of Mischief // Limitations (feat. Del Tha Funkee Homosapien)

    My limitations: Forgetting to edit my posts before clicking ‘post.’  Burnt.

    “Understand this man is the grandest —  the mighty dreaded — niggas step and get beheaded.  Shredded, left a battered broken man, chosen hand busted from the tussle from the mic which I ignite.”  

  • December 7th, 2012 11:56pm

    The process of writing a chapter for me is no different from writing any other song; except if I get caught up in a rhyme, with “Trapped in the Closet,” I usually have to go find some clothes to bring that character out of me. Say, for instance, if I get stuck on what Pimp Lucious is gonna say, what his actions are gonna be, I would usually go and get a tight suit and some tacky clothes and put a wig on and get some glasses and a cane, and walk around the studio until I feel like I am Pimp Lucious. Once I put the clothes on and get all up into character, the thing that he’s supposed to say usually comes to me, and I can proceed along with the process.

    —

    R. Kelly, on writing. (via twiststreet)

    yeah, this is pretty much my approach to writing as well

    (via marksable)

  • December 7th, 2012 11:05pm

    mfstrange:

    “I was sentimental about many things: a woman’s shoes under the bed; one hairpin left behind on the dresser; the way they said, “I’m going to pee..”’ hair ribbons; walking down the boulevard with them at 1:30 in the afternoon, just two people walking together; the long nights of drinking and smoking; talking; the arguments; thinking of suicide; eating together and feeling good; the jokes; the laughter out of nowhere; feeling miracles in the air; being in a parked car together; comparing past loves at 3am; being told you snore; hearing her snore; mothers, daughters, sons, cats, dogs; sometimes death and sometimes divorce; but always carrying on, always seeing it through; reading a newspaper alone in a sandwich joint and feeling nausea because she’s now married to a dentist with an I.Q. of 95; racetracks, parks, park picnics; even jails; her dull friends; your dull friends; your drinking, her dancing; your flirting, her flirting; her pills, your fucking on the side and her doing the same; sleeping together.” 

    -Charles Bukowski, Women