• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Who Do You Love?

I’m gonna be honest, people: I haven’t been inspired to write for well over a month now (hence, the sporadic posts for the past minute and change). I’m physically drained from learning the ropes at my new job, uprooting myself from the claustrophobic confines of the home of such "influential" acts like Mack 10 into Downtown LA and trying to keep my fleeting sanity in check.

So like Pookie to the pipe [||] I return to that one bitch that’s never let me down, even though that bitch is blinded by the science of flashing lights right now: music. I call H.E.R. my bitch because she used to make me pay to get that gift saran-wrapped between the legs of her jewel case when I was younger and fucking strippers in my mother’s bed. But now that her gap is stretched so wide across the Internets, it’s as simple as point-click-download to take that shit with ease. And unlike a good woman, my bitch lets me take it whenever and however I want to. She’s even been passed off to my cousin, and he violates her more than I do.

I realized though that you should never hurt the one you love, so I’ve been working the side hustle for the past few. Quite honestly I never even expected so many people to share my interests or at least be somewhat interested in my interests, because as most of you all know, my supposedly Jar-Jar Binks-looking ass has built a less-than-savory reputation on these here cyber streets. And despite the efforts to take me off this block I still stand here like Marlo at the end [1], except I’m rocking the flyest of sneaks other than tasting my own blood in a funny-bunny tan suit. You may not like me, but something is keeping motherfuckers coming back.

It’s at the end of the day, though, that matters the most to me. Not only do I get to wake up to yet another 24 hours, but I get to do so knowing that I’m rocking with a little somethin’-somethin’ in between that Eddie Bauer backpack between my ears I call a brain. And just before I take off to the main hustle, I sit back and reflect.

And it’s in those moments of tranquility where I can take pride that my musical tastes have actually become an outlet for the brazillions of people out on the web, despite that fact I’ve shot out nearly 200 posts of bigotry and quasi-racism interspersed with cynical nihilism mixed in with the typical fruitbag-bashing quotable. Had I known that this was going to happen, I’d have gave up on society a long time ago.

But I’m digressing from my point. Whatever the fuck it was.

Oh, and Rey: Death Row in its prime > Bad Boy in its prime. There’s my rebuttal.

[1] Fuck that show.

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