Archive for the caffeine dreams Category

to the beat of your own (taiko) drum

Posted in caffeine dreams on January 16, 2009 by trace

If you didn’t know, trace is bisexual, but if there were any man to spin me straight, it would be yeezy. below is exactly a bit of what i’d been trying to tell people during the original 808s hate. However, here it is coming directly from the source’s mouth via this month’s VIBE. Please don’t give Kanye a flute, the kids will disappear.

kanyewestvibecover

“I put “Love Lockdown” originally off-pitch to prove a point about life, about religion, about relationships. People always try to be so fucking perfect, and I think that there’s some beauty in imperfection. People should embrace their flaws…your grandmother wasn’t perfect, but you still love her.”

“There’s guys out there, nobody spoke on our behalf before. Whatever about the singing. Fuck all the singing, fuck the Auto-Tune. fuck the He’s a rapper, he’s not a rapper, he’s going through something, he has to get this out of his system, he’s crazy. Fuck all that. It’s men out there who have never had anyone to speak on their behalf about the way they feel in a relationship…we feel hurt…we feel pain. That more than anything – more than the way I wanted to deliver this art – is the message behind it.”

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Lost in the river.

Posted in caffeine dreams on October 17, 2008 by trace

I watch my tears slide down his chest. Picking up speed as they meet his sweat. I can’t fight them, but as my toes curl, I dry my eyes.

It’s been years.

We promised to end this, to tie the laces tighter, to keep the grip stronger… but we both love breaking our word. He’s fucking me now. Hoping to kill every emotion left inside of me…us. I mouth out ‘I love you’ and he tells me to stop. Stop? That would be like fighting the flow of a river. Wrestling waves as they crash. We can admit we never saw this coming, but can we admit we never see this leaving? It’s beyond the worlds of wrong and right. It’s beyond him and shamefully it’s beyond me as well.

I ask when he plans to stop. His lips stay sealed, but the answer still slips. Never. We stare at each other, wondering how the lust melted into love, the love into obsession. How the hell we lost control of something that started off so simple. So damn simple. And now it’s too late. I kiss him goodbye…goodbyes. Only to end up here again. Flat on my back, gripping his arms. Lost in the river.

Let’s Talk Yeezy

Posted in caffeine dreams, speaker food with tags , , on October 16, 2008 by trace

Rap can only take you so far. Yes, I said it. And Kanye said it too or rather, he sang it. Let’s keep it 100. Indeed gritty rhymeplay can make for some dope road trips. Through hoods of despair, down paths of copulation, and even up valleys of consciousness. All great landmarks for sure, but the journey still meets it’s red light. That missing piece of infinity that stretches across a compact disc and knocks your heart to the ground. The tears you don’t care to wipe.

“I’m in love with you, but the vibe is wrong and that haunted me all the way home…” – Love Lockdown

Yeezy’s sobbing. A man who has constantly devoted himself to topping our expectations, sonically (hear “Stronger”), lyrically (read “Diamonds From Sierra Leon”) , and even socially (see http://www.kanyetravel.com) is putting a scalpel to his skin. Not to say that Kanye lacks intrinsic genius or ubuntu, but the man has loved to impress. Now, he doesn’t give a fuck. Our judgements have been tossed in a shredder without a finger of doubt on the button. 

“In the night i hear him talk. The coldest story ever told. Somewhere far along the road he lost his soul to a woman so heartless” – Heartless

Love can paint the world invisible. Loss of love can paint you invisible. And needless to say, dude’s lost a lot. A fiance…a mother. The type of passing and pain that forces personal reevaluation and pulls for epiphanies. R&B serves as the ideal vessel for heartache. Sure Ye isn’t innately a solid singer, or a singer at all, but neither is the average Mariah Carey fan who chokes through “Against All Odds” with cloudy eyes. However, soul moves the both of them, enough to sing without thought or care, because it simply satisfies an urge. An urge to be held. I’d love to hear a rap joint that offered a kleenex. Artists should stand for themselves first and for their audiences second. Yeezy has always made us a priority, promised to top himself as a rapper, smear icing on every track. But this is different. It’s not about us, it’s about him. Everyone has heard love will make you do crazy things, but the lack of it can do the same. It’s not called Rhythm and Blues for nothing.

high on polysci

Posted in black girl power, caffeine dreams, purple cows with tags on September 30, 2008 by trace

 

There’s no doubt that Obama’s presidency would drop like an apocalypse on White America. Systematic ideologies would be crushed and stuck underneath one man’s freshly shined oxfords. That man being a Black man. From a social perspective the opportunity for an African-American to become the Commander in Chief is beyond inspirational in fact transformable. Pools of fragile black boys would finally be cradled with such consistent positive imagery that the bruised generational backbone that has kept the Black community paralyzed may actually be…realigned

Nas – Black President

Obama in fact would be on heavy rotation amongst every youngn’s hip hop playlist…whether they liked it or not. 

Shit sounds like a mild euphoria, but something far more interesting than what we’re expecting may foam from our tiny tims mouths and onto our adult surface. That foam is what many see as a “distraction from the implacable institutional racism that permeates American life.” A quote from John McWhorter’s dope political joint, ObamaKids. It was in New York magazine about a month back, but finally getting a bookcase reunites me with that article. Anyways, (I hated typing that last sentence btw) back to the foam. 

Let’s just say America’s poster-black-family settles into the White House for a whole eight years. Does that ultimately eradicate the racial contract that has defined and divided us since birth?

“We learn the language to which we are first exposed. It will be impossible for young people in this new reality to process race in the way we do now. The performances we indulge in over who’s “playing the race card” will seem antique. For the members of a black generation that grew up watching a black man step out of Air Force One, the idea that they live under the yoke of white supremacy would require more cognitive dissonance than most people are willing to tolerate.”

Tolerate. Hmm. The conundrum to untangle is choosing between system and culture. Both have been stained for Black folks, but truthfully, both cannot breathe on the same surface. 

I feel mad scientist mode coming along. Can’t join Sylvia in the oven. At least not tonight anyway.

I wonder how the hell it feels to be a socially forgotten Native American. All these Black&White wars must severely piss them off…

dude we already knew

Posted in caffeine dreams on September 23, 2008 by trace

The gayborhood really needs to house all those machismo-masked men who keep driving in late at night. The fathers of masculinity damn-well ruined it for them. Such claustrophobic options for manhood. Sigh.

Society will function without your hetero facade dude. So c’mon, fuck patriarchy (i won’t even place a joke here) and live your life free of construction. It’s empowering and you’ll still be a star quarterback. I promise. 

Oh and if I find out you’ve been rummaging in my hole, searching for the fountain of straight. I’ll kill you. I promise.

Come out, come out wherever you are.

A Piece of the Bitter Sweet

Posted in caffeine dreams on September 19, 2008 by trace

Today, my sister turned an airy 18. Meanwhile I caught my first grey sniper. Okay, fine, no. But shit, my Jordan year’s around the corner and well,  I specificially remember being 18 and telling my 23yr old boyfriend he was a soggy old man. Now here I fucking am, choking on womanhood like a fragile virgin.

What to do. What to fucking do.

A list? A list!

8 Favorites of 18

The age of legality strikes a genesis for rash, red-lit fun. Parents? Please. Authority? F you. The potential for evil is high and the potential for sex is higher. But who the hell cares? The immaturity that stains the “teen” in eighteen transcends any initial thought that a freshman could actually be you know, an adult.

Because I’m having a mild breakdown, thought it would be a good idea to cool the air with remembrances of all the dope shit that made up my 1-8. Starting. Now.

1. Me and my Dominican best friend, drunk, ashy and sprawled on the bathroom floor, alternating between laughs, secrets, and sudden spurts of muddy vomit.

2. Watching every good girl turn bi.

3. Kissing every good girl turned bi.

4. Taebo Tuesdays. 

5. Standing on top of a $1000 table…then breaking it.

6. Adderall.

7. Passed out on a random St. John’s bleacher, burping 151, and successfully convincing campus police that I was only trying to take a nap.

8. Dorm room dodge ball.

All done & now realizing that i wouldn’t want to inspire my sister with my inebriated list. Sigh, can’t win em all.

Happy Birthday to my better & younger blood.

Wet Memories

Posted in caffeine dreams on September 9, 2008 by trace

We used to take ridiculously long baths together. Splash cups of our mother’s Pantene ProV until the artificial bubbles stung our eyes with devious joy. Obnoxious laughter danced on the tiles as barbie’s decapitated head clogged the tub. Our tub. Care was an unborn child, but imagination painted our thoughts. Once we were white girls with nappy-free manes happily drenched in warm suds. Another time we were dark ships slicing through the soapy seas with oars of cinnamon flesh. We nearly napped in that damn tub, soaking until shivers wrinkled our skin. We never wanted to get out, but of course we had to. And so we did.

I miss my sister. Damn you college!