ChillSpot Online: Our Art is Life

Number 1, Number 2 or Number 3???
Now, in this space I normally don’t delve into politics, mainly because I find the subject to be akin to how I used to feel when moms tried to feed us CoCo Wheats for breakfast: Utterly disgusted and quite bored. Because truth be told, no matter how much CoCo you put in the wheats, it still tastes like crap! And yes, one can be bored with CoCo Wheats!
But I’ve gone off on a tangerine. Back to the point; politics are not usually a topic which are entertaining (Maybe if Hillary gets elected we can get the spice back into the White House with Badboy Bill!). Senator Larry Craig, the gentleman from Idaho who was or was not fishing for fresh booty in a mens’ room, is going to resign. Now, hygiene aside, was my man REALLY hoping to score some action in a lavatory? He says he’s not gay, but for the heat he’s taking, he may as well have been caught with his weiner out, cause right now his tail is in the wind. Mixed metaphors and all, the republican party is going down hard. Democrats must be salivating at the possibility of taking more seats from the “other” party. Another senator, John Warner of Virginia, has simply decided not to run again, leaving two republican spots in jeopardy during the next election. But what’s more interesting is to look at the week, heck the year, the party is having.
Rumsfeld gone, Gonzales gone amid controversy, Cheney possibly dead and simply propped up on a seat with Frank Oz’s hand up his butt, the war continually eroding confidence, Hillary and Obama becoming the faces of the present, George W. looking more and more like that caricature from the cartoon “Little Bush,” daughter Jenna getting engaged to some corny looking dude (Okay, so that last one doesn’t necessarily affect the country, but really? If George is having trouble at home with the kids, isn’t he more likely to take it out on say, Iran, than Laura?), and there’s still time for it to get worse.
All I got to say is: Folks, get out and vote in 2008, because we REALLY might be able to change the world with this election.

Slumber is over
After watching more monotonous Web Gems diving catches and barehanded grabs than I can fathom, or even wish to, the sports coma I usually enter around June (just after the NBA Finals) is beginning to wane. My senses are beginning to wind into focus. The Michael Vick saga awoke me a bit early, but that only whetted my appetite for the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Football season! Between now and January, I will watch collisions so violent that groups will protest, and try vainly to have an NC-17 label slapped on the game. I will inhale deeply the beauty of Ladainian Tomlinson juking three clowns (it won’t be the Cleveland Browns, thankfully) so nastily that the commentators ask for a replay three times. I will even get pumped when the Browns (my team) win a game, all five times they do it, because it’s the beginning of NFL regular season, when even the palooka teams have dreams of the Super Bowl. Then come NBA time, with my Cavs trying to make it back to the Finals and win one (more on that some other time).
But one thing I won’t do, no matter how far the Indians make it into the postseason, is miss watching highlights of the baseball regular season.

Random Thought
Robert Downey Jr. is going to be playing Tony Stark, aka the Iron Man, in what might be next year’s big summer movie. I’ve always liked Downey Jr., he’s a crazy guy who gets to play crazy guys in movies but never really struck it big, partly because he’s a crazy guy. We’ll see how this will play out, but the pictures look cool. And it’s cooler to know that it’s actually Downey in the suit, and not cgi magic.

She handles it well

As i’m taking a quick rest, Rachel is continuing her search for Alma, the Greater Fiend chick, who apparently sprouted wings and some other, more violent parts. So she kicks ass a bit, mainly human this time, and collects hella funds for doing so.
She goes on a shopping spree (women and shopping: no surprise!) and buys earrings or all sorts for the battle ahead. These earrings ain’t just cute though; they’re power ups. She needs them, cause some of those pissed off black ninjas show up, to loosen her up for the final battle with this weird German-lookin cat with twin Berettas and the biggest trifocals I’ve seen since 1985.
Before they fight, he teases her about her sister. He kicks ass some, shoots her full of holes and sends her to training for a bit. But before she eventually vanquishes him he runs, like a coward…
The sprits awaken me later that day, telling me to return to the scene of my last victory. So I do so, find plenty of goodies, including a new ninpo magic, and wind up, after some twists for sure, fighting but who? Alma. This chick is UGLY! She obviously got the brains, if you feel me. She’s packing magic, wild blue tendrils, pointy yellow, um, ta-tas and some serious skin discoloration. She hurls beams from the monastery at me, as well as pink orbs of deadly energy.
A little bit of stick and move later, I got her where I want her. But before I can strike the fatal blow, Rachel shows up, and asks to let her do it. I back off, and Rachel flakes, but not before this chick blows her top, literally. Blue light shoots from her head and blows the roof off the building, sending the city into panic. I tell Rachel to get away from me, and I dip. But damn Doku shows up and kidnaps Rachel, talkin’ bout using her cursed blood. All I know is this: If he harm the twins, I’m going to cut his blue glowing balls off!
But promises aside; I have work to do.
After my little battle with Alma, the whole city is put on lockdown, and bayonette-waving soldiers are swarming the streets looking for a Master Ninja with hella skills and a bad disposition, (and also SO PRETTY!). So, I’m creepin’ on a come up for real. I take some hits from these crazy fools - who love to try to degut you with the blades on their weapons - but deal with them. The heat is on, and I even sweated one bead of sweat, and almost killed a civilian who jumped out from an alley. Just playin, but it is seriously tense.
Bradley Fighting Vehicles are all over the place, with bug-eyed military men ready to leap out and fire bazookas at me. I can’t say I avoided them all, but I did WAY MORE DAMAGE to the soldiers than they did to me. I have the severed heads to prove it. After all this is said and done, I get to the gates to the rest of the city, and have to face soldiers behind Gatlin guns, bazooke-wielding snipers and a couple regular ol’ foot soldiers. Then, for dessert, I get another battle with fat-metal man, who now smacks me with his gun, has this brutal blitz thing, can create an energy field around his big fat ass, along with air suport (missile-loaded helicopters.).
Again with the stick and move, and again he’s dead. For my troubles I get a stronger bow, and entrance into the rest of the city, to who knows what?

- Ryu Out

Nothin’ but bones left

I trained. And I trained some more. I mean, I really whupped some shadow ninja ass! I slashed and leapt and flung imaginary enemies all around that damn crpyt. And you know what? It paid off. I powered up the twins, Death and Warrant, and commenced to kickin’ undead dino ass. Because I really hate dinosaurs. REALLY. I mean like really, really, like really … you get the point.
So, from there, I’m headed to get a brief breather (30 minutes maybe, cause, damn, even I need a break from this crazyness!), while getting an update on Rachel’s situation. Rachel, since last I’ve seen her, has cleaned up after being swallowed by the slimy tree trunk, and looks quite stunning as she kills overwhelmed soldiers. She even picked up some sorcery, but hasn’t had the chance to use it.
I’m quite interested to see how she does with her crazy half-dead sister. I’ll keep you posted.

- Ryu out

Hip hop with a brain
Copped Talib Kweli’s album - Eardrum - yesterday, and copped Common’s album - Finding Forever - last week (or was it two weeks ago?), and have been pleased that I broke down and didn’t just download a single or two.
Both albums are huge improvements over the previous efforts of both artists, and might as well be on the moon when compared to some of the music out there right now.
As far as Talib goes, I’ve always appreciated his flow, and felt he was an undervalued treasure in hip-hop. On Eardrum, he gets it all together. On the “Beautiful Struggle” I felt he had some tight rhymes and some tight beats, but never pulled it all together.
He nails it on this album, striking the right balance with creative flows (see Say Something for an example this), and thumpin beats, while managing to flip the switch between lightness and seriousness.
Jean Grae and Strong Arm Steady, Kweli proteges, make appearances, and the venerable KRS-One drops lines on “The Perfect Beat.” Norah Jones even shows up, leaving her melancholicly-smooth voice on “Soon the New Day.”
Of course, Hi-Tek lays down some beats, but Pete Rock and Madlib put some work in too, giving the album a fresh feel. The album’s vibe is nostaligic, with lots of old school samples and catchy grooves.
The only glaring omission: No Mos Def. But you won’t really miss him - the album is just that nice. At 20 tracks, you feel like you get your money’s worth, without a bunch of crap to overshadow the quality.
Common’s album is nice, but after a couple listens, it starts to weigh heavy, like the spirit of the late J.Dilla, beat maker supreme, is sitting on it. And that’s fine, but when I think of Dilla, I think of some of those hot ass Slum Village tracks he laid down, or of “The Shining,” and none of that makes me sad, but for his death.
So for Common’s album to go there, it feels at points like a long eulogy. But don’t get me wrong: I love the album, for real. With Kayne doing the production, and some flowing, it’s a solid album, and better than “Be” by a mile.
It flies by too quickly, thought, with only 12 tracks, so on a long car ride it’ll be out of the deck within an hour or so. But again, it’s a wonderful representation of what hip-hop artists can be when it ain’t about gats and hoes, and they put their full creative juices into the effort (which Talib - and Common especially - give the impression of not doing sometimes).
If I had to cop just one, I’d get Kweli, and catch Common from someone else, but you can’t go wrong with either one.

Sidebar
Owning an album is nothing like the experience it used to be, and in my opinion, that has less to do with P2P programs than with the garbage floating in the hip-hop atmosphere (and to the same extent, music in general).
People don’t buy albums because it’s not worth it. The experience is lessened by the fact that having the album isn’t so great, one because it’s garbage, and two, because someone else got that garbage for free, or on the cheap.
I buy only four, five albums a year, and even then I get burned by the artists who have managed to get on my vastly decreasing list of Pantheon performers. So, record company heads: You want us to buy your products? Don’t sue us, ply us with good music. We’ll even buy ‘em from FYE (the most overpriced music store in the world!).

What are The Chronicles?
To my readers who have been forced to try to figure it out, I’ve hired a foreign correspondent, Ryu Hyabusa, who is reporting on his trials as a master Ninja. He sends me his reports via scrolls, which I translate from Japanese for you. For those who don’t know, Ryu is famous for vanquishing the Jaquio in the Ninja Gaiden story. Many don’t know that this story is not a myth, but a real-life tale happening in our own time. I thought it a great idea to allow Ryu to tell of his most recent venture as it happens. And thus, the Gaiden Chronicles were born. Ryu will write periodically, regaling us with his tales of dinosaurs (which he HATES!) and whatever else should cross the path of his sword.

Did you enjoy the ride?
Okay, so Mike Vick is going to jail. Many people may not have guessed prison, but we all knew that Vick was not going to be around long. If you’ve ever watched him play, you just knew that someone as singularly-talented as he would not see senior status in the NFL. Like fellow ballers Jim Brown and Barry Sanders, Vick is unique, even among the unique set of players who make it to the league.
Watching Vick play was like watching a young Tyson in the ring, or listening to Tupac rap; you just knew it wasn’t going to last long, but you were so swept up in the mastery, the artistry, you hoped it would. So it should have come as no surprise that he’s likely done with pro ball in the NFL. My only hope is that the league is not so stuck up as to not let the network show the Greatest Hits of Michael Vick. Because we may not see another like him in our lifetimes.

Random Thought
If I hadn’t sold my soul to the cable Gods, I would cancel my internet service. I mean, not having internet would make these posts a lot harder to get online, and could you all live with that? No!!! So, the cable Gods have my soul in a jar. If you have cable, you can watch it as it sits above the mantle of a fireplace (with what look like feet serving as kindling) on Time Warner channel 666, or on HD with digital sound on 1666. These bums can’t get anything right! Road Runner off, they don’t know why. Call em, they get it turned on, but in days, it’s back off, and they wanna send a technician out, who’s always some shady lookin cat who you figure is casing the joint to rob you later. He comes out, fixes something, leaves and it breaks again in a week. Ah well, I’ll be pushing a boulder up a hill for awhile behind this one…

30-3?!?!?
I don’t usually mention things like this, but 30-3?!?! The Texas Rangers beat the Baltimore Orioles in a BASEBALL GAME by the score of 30-3?!?! It’s so nuts I can’t say the score without ?!?! behind it. The Orioles actually LED 3-0 before several somebodies on the Rangers got hella pissed and went on a rampage. The score was the highest AL score in 110 years, since Chicago set the major league record in a 36-7 rout of Louisville in a National League game on June 28, 1897.
Two Rangers players hit grand slams and finished with seven RBI apiece. It was so crazy that I actually thought ESPN had slipped a football score in by accident (not that the Texans could beat the Ravens 30-3 either, even in the preseason). But no, 30-3?!?! is actually the score. And it happened in Baltimore! WOW.

Killin what can’t be killed

So check this out: I go into the monastery grounds through the hole the slimy tree trunk left, and find more pissed off Fiends, running around. I slice them, they die. Then I head into the structure.

It’s all flying butresses and stain-glass windows. No time for a art history lesson though, cause the Fiends have picked up a leader, and it’s a floating grim-reaper with a sickle, and the ability to phase in and out, reappearing behind me. After a bit of hacking, they’re dead. There are books about the history of Fiends, which I take … because I do enjoy a funny read … and move onto the bishop’s room with the safe. The code to unlocking it lays on the desk, but there’s plenty opposition before I get there.

After spraying the walls green with Fiend blood, I open the safe, take the book, place it in the shelf (I know, how typical!) and leap down the crypt it opens to fight some glowing spirits. These spirits give good cash, so I kill, leave the room and kill again, and again, and again … for a while.

Then I go see my blacksmith, and power up my lunar (staff) and the twin blades. I’m also buying plenty of potions, cause my gut tells me it’s about to get hairy. And it does! A giant boulder chases me down a narrow path, lined with spikes (a la Indiana Jones), leading me into a room with a spiraling path and a HUGE FREAKIN’ skeleton of a T-Rex or something. I get bad feelings about this one… So, down the path, minor opposition - especially with my new and improved lunar - until I get to the room with the shiny cup (they callin it the Holy Grail, any more of this and I’ll swap my ninja gear for a whip and a stupid hat).

In here there are big angry red mosquitoes, which die by my boomerang shuriken, followed by some big bony zombies, which try to get my brain. They even packin weapons - big ass axes and bow and arrows, as if eating my brain wasn’t enough. My path back is lined with them, and they never stop coming. So I do what any halfway intelligent ninja master would do - I run. After a battle to get back to the big room, I place the Holy Grail on the special altar, and viola! I get to face one big, now suddenly alive, dinosaur. I’m really sick of freakin dinosaurs! He shows me I require a bit more training, but not before I kick a lil ass along the way.

- Ryu out

No Fiend could stop me

It was a bit harder than anticipated, but with my twin blades, Death and Warrant, I hacked the evil bike riders off their perches, diced the triple dinos, sliced down the slimy tentacled-tree trunk, saved my future ex-wife Rachel - with no harm done to the twins - and moved onto the Monastery, where I suspect Doku’s punk ass is waiting, with the Dark Dragon blade, no doubt.
I know it’s vibrating madly with the knowledge that Ryu is coming, but warnings won’t save Doku from my wrath. He killed my clan.
No matter how many times I say it, the rage never subsides.
My own blade aches for his innards. I want to stomp on them, as I look into his vacant eyes, and watch them fade into oblivion.
Who knows if Doku is the end?
I have had visions that there is some greater evil, but I won’t concern myself with that, as long as Doku’s vile lungs breath air on this side of the hereafter.
Doku, it is my word that you will die by my hand, and I won’t stifle a smile as I watch you suffer.

- Ryu out

Just something that was on my mind …

Blink

From here the river look closer,
like I might even survive if I jumped.
Traffic flashes by,
blinding white lights beam into my consciousness,
and I almost, almost lost my grip.
Echoes of authority bounce around inside —
My grandmother: “Boy, get back off that edge.
You ain’t got no bidness out there?,”
my best friend: “Nigga is you crazy?
I never thought we’d be having to talk about this,
but you know you got plenty to live for!”
Whatever.
It don’t even matter.
My insurance will cover the burial, the bills, and the boy.
Yeah, the optional may have a provision for suicide,
so it may not pay as much, but I’m not sure.
Should I back up to check? Should I step out in traffic;
make it look like an accident?
There’s no glory in dying on some fools windshield …
but a flying leap from a bridge? Hmmm … that’s old school.
That’s like a gun duel or rat poison.
Something that makes you stop to read the paper,
before you head straight to the sports page.
These days the sheer volume of death
and means to which it’s reached is so ridiculous
that for one single death to mean something
you’ve gotta already have been someone,
or die in such a way that it is spectacular
in its destruction or creativity,
But don’t worry bout me, I’m just talkin,
Pontificatin, not really debating
what cats think of before they make the decision
That can’t be undone, I ain’t the one,
but I think I understand a bit how that comes to be,
With life there’s so much uncertainty
that death becomes palatable,
Something you can control, manipulate,
end the personal hate and inner turmoil,
turn it cold from a boil …
and if you don’t believe in Hell, then it’s all as well, right?
I believe in hell, but I ain’t so scared to die, more scared to try;
Rather see this thing here out as far as it go,
And afterward, who know?
But I put mine on heaven,
and something good hereafter,
the epilogue to this chapter.
And enjoy it to the last blink.
Blink.

Do I look like you can
just run up and kill ME?!?!
Doku has killed my clan, possibly my father, and taken the Dark Dragon blade. He even tried to kill me!
But he will not succeed in that quest. In addition to this, there are these wild half-zombiefied Fiends running around, like fake raptors, waiting to peck out my eyes and gnaw on my still-warm innards while I scream for mercy.
But their heads will be mine as well. As if that wasn’t enough, there are some pissed off evil Ninjas in black, packin’ explosive-filled knives. These cats only attack in threes, so it ain’t so easy just to isolate one and hack his brain cavity open.
It ain’t all bad though. Even with my supreme discipline it’s hard not to notice Rachel, and her ummm …. larger than life personality. Thing is, she’s just as focused as I am, so a hook-up will have to wait. And as it is, she may not even survive, with her crazy axe and black vinyl get up.
All the training in the world is necessary just to survive … and that’s what I bring to the table as Ryu Hyabusa.
I’ve been down this here road before, with the ooohhh … “dreaded Jaquio” and his cronies, so it’s no big thing. But this time it seems like EVERYONE is after me.
I’m packin’ the traditional tools, swords, smoke bombs, things like that … but now, even the powerful Dragon blade isn’t enough. I’m swinging a staff, duel blades, and nunchuks - which I enjoy because they make a sweet thump on enemy domes.
At this point I’m about to hack three giant red Godzilla-like things and a large pink tree-stump of a creature, with tentacles. And I will. As soon as I can master a few new techniques. You gotta know I’ll be victorious. Until then, check back here, where I’ll continue to chronicle my journey.

- Ryu out

As time passes, and it becomes more and more apparent that you probably won’t live forever, it also becomes harder to shield yourself from the little tragedies that life provides on a limitless basis. Children dying, young men being killed in war; these things seem to hit a lot harder, because the ultimate reality - they’re never coming back - hovers over it. Suddenly, telling people you love them is that much more important.
Looking at obit photos tell a tale of the unknown and the unspoken. Some photos of older people sometimes seem blase, as if they’ve taken hundreds and their kin just picked one. But then, photos of children always seem fresh, as if they could simply climb out of them and hit the playground, as if their faces weren’t painfully plastered to the deaths page in the newspaper. There’s usually so much happiness and hope in their eyes - so ironic and stinging - and the lingering feeling is that of loss, loss of something special, valuable and forever gone.

I miss your black skin,
the way it glows, honey-coated,
smellin of cocoa butter,
smoother than Luther’s voice,
no choice but to yield to your presence,
so strong, so long we’d spend just debating
why the brothas be so fake,
even while we’re speaking,
I’d be thinking about your lips,
so full and kissable,
just watching you talk would make me rise,
the swing in your thighs had rhythm,
like each note, drippin wet
off the end of Coltrane’s sax or Louie’s horn,
I’ll never forget your inner strength,
the way you would overcome all adversity -
hate the word diversity
cause you know you encompass
all that they are and so much more,
never before did I value your heart,
how you could pick apart any argument,
work until your energy spent,
pullin three jobs to pay the rent,
and still come home to treat me right;
feelin’ it straight through the night,
till I can’t even see clear,
It’s been a year since I left you,
But the pain runs deep,
The memories ring heavy in my mind,
but I find that the melancholy
of the past don’t last.

My white woman will help me forget you.