Should commentators be considered creators? In this social media era, there are many people who only make content focused on other people’s content. So, if there weren’t any true creators, movers and shakers out there, commentators wouldn’t have anything to commentate on. And I believe that fact is a testament to humanity’s slow-paced evolution. Being creative requires an imagination, and an imagination is every human’s goal-driving force. For instance, if you have fitness or physique goals, imagining achieving your goal, and anticipating the pride and sense of accomplishment that accompanies such a feat, is what drives your determination to reach the culmination of your efforts. I’ve always been creative, but before I knew any better, I perceived imagining as childish. That’s what ignorance does to us—it obscures our perceptions of things. All dreamers have extremely active imaginations. Historically, there’s been a stigma on dreaming which implies that dreamers are typically delusional, unstructured nonconformists who are prone to failure. Well, I’m here to tell you that failing is inevitable. And if you’re afraid of failing, that means you’re frightened by trying, which means you’re scared of chasing your dreams, and that ultimately boils down to your life being unfulfilled—sorry. There’s a lot of people out there being normal as fuck, courteous, and careful who label themselves disruptors. Disruptors cause disturbances, disturbances are regularly meant to disorganize, and the disorganization of established systems of oppression ain’t what most of you imagine when you think of disrupting shit. The truth of the matter is, in black culture, niggas have established their own self-injuring system of subjection and suppression. For example, envision the type of people who imagine that they’ll eventually make it to have enough money to purchase shit that literally no one needs. Rappers often congratulate themselves for giving back to their communities with inconsequential charitable contributions, but those communities are full of fools who imagine one day being like their favorite rapper—niggas who flaunt and flash flippantly specifically to inspire their impressionable audiences to pursue financial freedom. The problem is, every nigga can’t be a popular rapper, or a professional athlete, or even a successful commentator, so they seek alternatives. And what are those alternatives, you ask? They’re obviously self-destructive predilections. Listen, rappers inspire everybody, right? What would goofy-ass Lebron James do without hip hop? If rappers are the biggest influencers in black culture, and they set the social tones and fashionable trends, why the fuck are they always rapping about how fucked up they’re making the culture?! Did I confuse you there? Allow me to expound. If rap is the soundtrack to a nigga’s life, and the soundtrack’s lyrics suggest that being broke is “for the birds,” and the nigga living out the theme of said soundtrack has no skills or talents but wants to be rich, and the artists featured on the soundtrack glamorize the acquisition of fast money through unlawfulness, what the fuck do you think a nigga is going to do?! Rappers are the culture—they control niggas! And if they truly cared about their people, they’d act like it! One of the simplest short-term solutions to keeping children safe is making them comfortable at home. A gaming console, a laptop, a cellphone, a little privacy when they’re alone, and moderate monitoring when friends are visiting could save a child’s life, regardless of the volatility of their neighborhood. Allow your children to imagine and masturbate to their hearts’ content, but teach them responsibility through leading by example. Trust me, everybody devalues people who don’t practice what they preach. And remember, senseless violence isn’t the only thing that loved ones should be concerned about, as sexually transmitted infections and drug addiction have reached all-time highs. Of course, as many people suspected, late Atlanta rapper Rich Homie Quan succumbed to an accidental fentanyl overdose, same as artist Prince, rapper Mac Miller, rapper Gangsta Boo, and many more. Nobody wants to be bored, that’s a given. But boring things are almost always safe. Again, make your sacrifices make sense.
So, one of my favorite whistleblowers, former singer Jaguar Wright, was recently featured in an interview with media legend Piers Morgan, and she continues to maintain that Jay-Z has done double the devilish deeds of Diddy. Once more, rumors that Jay-Z was involved in Aaliyah’s death have been circulating for a while now. And said rumors suggest that Jay-Z sabotaged Aaliyah’s fatal flight in 2001 after she rejected his sexual advances amid her relationship with Jay-Z’s then business partner, Dame Dash. The rumors additionally imply that Jay-Z took out Aaliyah so the beloved beauty wouldn’t overshadow Beyoncé’s rise to superstardom. And to keep the juiciness flowing, Jaguar Wright asserts that Jay-Z has abused and assaulted “thousands” of victims, “hundreds” of which she claims to have direct contact with. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and Jay-Z, Diddy, Joe Budden, Mystikal, Russell Simmons, and a lot of different entertainers and executives have always screamed “untrustworthy” to me. But unlike the others, Jay-Z has a very subtle smugness about him that’s noticeable but not immediately alarming, and that causes me to consider giving the Brooklyn beat-bruiser the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t a fan of Jay-Z’s music until Nas’ “Ether” compelled me to discover how Jay-Z’s lyrical prowess compared to Nas’ god pen. Admittedly, lyrically, I believe that Queen’s king and Marcy’s monarch are nip and tuck. I prefer Nas’ music over Jay’s, even though both of them are poor production pickers. When I was about 15 years old, circa 2002, I ordered Nas’ entire discography—up to that point—from one of those Columbia House flyers that used to come in magazines. I selected my desired albums, included a single dollar bill in the envelope, mailed it off, and came home from school one day to a box full of character-defining hip hop. I may have listened to “Illmatic,” from beginning to end, 20 times that month. And that’s when I knew that I NEVER wanted to be a dumb nigga! Of course, I was only 15 at the time, so I did little dumb shit here and there as time progressed, but I tried to be smart about it. I never had role models outside of hip hop, I had no guidance as a young black man, and I may have been lost without Nas’ influence. Diverging slightly, I’m certain that many of you have people in your lives, both young and old, who can’t seem to find their rhythm in life. And I would like to implore you to always show moral support when possible. I moved in with my aunt, the pathologically lying one, when I was 19 and I stayed there for over a decade. I’m not ashamed of it because my paths have always been those least traveled. I was never a bum, I was responsible with my credit until maybe my mid-20s, and I kept a legal hustle going. There was a time when I was buying and selling cars just to tinker and develop my hobbyist mechanic skills. Of course, in the process of buying cars, you have to go check them out. So, because I never liked asking for favors or waiting around for people, I would catch taxis to go check out cars. This was back before Uber, and I didn’t trust Lyft at the time. Sometimes, I would spend $100 per taxi ride to and from potential purchases, so that would be $100 spent if I bought the car and around $200 lost if I didn’t. If my aunt was home, on occasion, I would offer her the money that I intended to pay taxi drivers to go check out cars. But her excuse for rejecting the money every time would be “no, because you don’t have a job.” Now, if you knew that I was making money selling cars, and if you knew that I’d need a car to get to and from a regular job, why wouldn’t you allow me to pay YOU to support my legal hustles? And if you let my aunt tell it, any good that I’ve ever done was through her hard work. She’s a liar! Please, don’t be like my aunt. Hold your people down, don’t hold them back! Peace.