| I Dead Beats Like A Dead-Beat |
[Apr. 22nd, 2008|09:48 am] |
One of the talents that I have completely neglected (and am now re-upping!) is the art of Freestyle Rapping. No one but some close friends who also freestyle have heard me really get down, and I am frankly petrified at the thought of having other people critique something so close to my heart.
But last night, at Tent State, I was ready. Some hippie kids had been hogging the mic, and after waiting a few minutes to try and get on, I hear this white kid drop an n-bomb. That's when I started to act up - going up next to the dudes and stomping my foot; yawning; checking my celly, all in front of some fans that I really wanted to get to know ::wink::
Unfortunately, this moment was written to remind me of the most fundamental rule of freestyling: No one is going to hand you the mic - you've got to step up and take it. I'm going to start practicing again - out loud - so that the next hippie who slips with his vocabulary will get schooled when I slap the shit out of his hand, catch it, and make him want to cut his dreds.
In real life, I don't brag about MC skills that I may or may not have. I am arrogant about a lot of stuff, but my freestyling is still just a kid wishing to be Snoop, and there is so much negative energy in rap already, that I don't want to add to that chorus.
Last night was great. It showed me that I can get over shit when I am angry enough. Perhaps it is time to find a different but familiar channel for my anger and frustrations, yes? |
|
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
bombyamom's journal
