Yes.
Bill Russel.
(via peyotecoyote, onyxearth)
Fuck you to the San Francisco Police Department
Fuck you to the Marin County Sheriff’s Department
Fuck you to the F.B.I.
Fuck you to the C.I.A.
Fuck you to the B-U-S-H
Fuck you to the AmeriKKKA
Fuck you to all the redneck prejudiced motherfuckers
That wanna fuck with me, fuck y’all!
-2Pac
Dope crib.
Yes! Cryptozoology son!
Typewriter illustration by artist Keira Rathbone
Dennis Hopper’s vision of the American Dream.
A song for all the people out there who think Biggie was the only rapper who ever lived. Love Big. He’s just not my absolute favorite of all time - regardless of how much I love Brooklyn.
That said, I also don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about because I’m one of those dudes who grew up in a rural town, got bored, went to college in some city, then moved to Brooklyn to finish out my 20s. Not an uncommon thing these days.
Of course Biggie’s the shit. I’m just tired of fools singing’ his rhymes at me like I’ve never listened to his songs, that’s all. I’m also tired of naive, vapid, rich, sorority losers (or fraternity losers) getting’ all amped up when “Juicy” comes on at a party. Many seem to get particularly excited when the chorus comes up and they get to say that last, and most famous, racial epithet they’ve been dying to scream out, yet can’t figure out why.
These are the same people whose usual musical philosophy lies somewhere between “I just want something I can dance to” and “I don’t really listen to music for lyrics, I feel the music”. Whose favorite musician is somethin’ shitty like Ke$ha, or Coldplay, or Modest Mouse, or Lady Gaga, or “Aristotle’s Wayward Path”, or any other pretentious sounding bullshit.
Sorry y’all. But as a person who respects honest expression, good storytelling, courage, realness, and the fact that the government had millions of our tax dollars invested in spying on Shakur while openly censoring his right to free speech, and possibly even conspiring to bring about his death - I can think of no better artist in the past 30 years. By better artist, all I mean is my interpretation of a musical artist. And it’s quite simple: perform from your heart and have balls. Or ovaries. I mean this figuratively.
Regardless of his flaws, Pac never really changed who he was. He had some real shit to tell America, and he knew most of us wouldn’t really listen. But he still tried.
- C. A. Huntington, Community Staff Manager, Rek Center Staff
