Writing Myself Into Existence is the 2nd installment of my organic writing projects. A story, a poem, a song, about identity, written with love.
It is a fact that Hip Hop was manifested by Blacks and Latinos if I am neither then this Mexican is predestined to practice El Teatro Campesino.
But I’ve got Jungle Fever.
I’ve got a passion for rapping
Who gives a fuck how you see me?
I want to transcend how you think of me.
But you just want to follow the leader like “wait you aint black, therefore if E=MC2, then judging by your last name, Martinez, you would be a square emcee.
And you couldn’t rhyme if B didn’t come before C, didn’t come before D." But eventually you will accept me, and Hip Hop won’t be this, and Hip Hop won’t be that. It seems that White Man don’t like my rap ass, and that Black Man, well, he denies my “ghetto pass”
even though I’ve got a ghetto past.
I used to peddle fast passed crackheads in what you would call “the ghetto”, “the hood”, “the trap”.
So don’t judge me before you speak to me.
And don’t cringe when you think of me as part of your community, because this is where I belong, yes this is where I belong.
You see, I dabble in the Black Arts but I’m not a Black artist. I used to try and break-dance on broke down cardboard boxes. And then I started to write graffiti on the wall but that did not work out, not at all. But then, I learned to rap. Yeah I learned to rap. I learned to rap but. But shh. I learned to rap but I kept you a secret. Not unlike an interracial relation our parents would not see fit. So if you don’t , if you’d be so kind allow me to put you all in check right now as I bust this rhyme. I’m reciting these words like God is writing graffiti on the Earth. And I can blow up a beat like a writer can bomb a piece. In Hip Hop, color should not separate us because the artist paints a canvas with such a colorful palette. The artist paints a canvas with such a colorful palette.
Color should elevate, demonstrate us in the most multicultural way. The only separation should be us from those imitate. Those who hate, rape, and do not renovate the landscape. Our landscape.
We are barren we need to grow some more trees.
No one daring to see, or caring that there may be,
yes listen to me, there may be someone that is better than your favorite emcee, like Jay-Z, living overseas. There may be someone better than your favorite emcee living overseas. Imagine that. An Asian B.I.G., An Australian Tupac, An Italian Weezy, A Swedish Jeezy, A Filipino 50. Imagine that. A German Andre, A Jewish Kanye. Imagine that shit—you can’t. So like unforgiving Black Holes from which nothing can escape. Like stars in outerspace, please let me claim my space. Like moles and scars that write stories on our face. Like God in an unfaithful human race, I pray to claim to my space. Like women in a Man’s world please let me claim my space. Like Black folks and immigrant families in a White America please let me claim my space. Like a graffiti artist in political world please let me claim my space.
Yes let me claim my space, In this place that you and I call Hip Hop. “And you don’t stop the rock”
“And it goes on and on and on and on and on and”
“Freaks in the living room getting it on
And they aint leaving til six in the morning.”
released June 15, 2008
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