Tag: Poetry
Crewd Podcast #13: Sweet Chin Music
Crewd Podcast #11: RIP NIP
Rest in heavenly paradise, Nipsey.
Crewd Podcast #5
Thursday Thoughts: 2/22/18
Another Thursday is winding down, and per usual, it’s time for some reflection. Today I was able to browse through a few things that enlightened the processes in the part of the brain that is my conscious mind.
These were long form interviews for the most part that were able to gauge the pulse of society and culture at certain checkpoints in the past and present day. Thoughts and ideas for a progressive mindset, but also an objective magnifying glass for topics that require subjective reflection.
In an effort to avoid spewing opinions on the subject matter, and spoiling the uniqueness of each discussion as a whole, I’ll get straight into providing the videos that crossed my path today. Much respect to the late great mind that was Tupac Shakur, and much respect to the enigmatic curator of lifestyles, Nipsey Hussle. Make sure you peep that Victory Lap by Nip, it goes a long way in tying together his interview.
Tupac Shakur Interview From Prison
Nipsey Hussle Breakfast Club Interview
Thursday Thoughts: 2/15/18
Lack of Peaces
•
I can’t share until I know
I can’t be a devotional soul until I know
I can’t align with the words until you see how I spell
Until you know how I read
I can’t make priorities out of attractions
Not until I know
I need to know that you know
You have to know how I ache
How I hollow out when the circumstances overwhelm my system
You have to know my sadness and what it looks like
Because for me it camouflages in plain sight
You have to know the battles I fight to lose
You have to know I want to play to win
You have to know the real me
We have to know we deserve it
We have to know harmonies
We have to know how to lose time
And we have to know when to rob each other blind
For our emotions
For our sanity
This is all stuff I don’t know
This is all stuff that I want to know
I’m for me right now and I know it’s wrong to the degree in which I embody it
I don’t want me all to myself
I know I want only the pieces back when they get all strung out
I want to know what strung out is with your pieces in my hand knowing my work will never do your purest form justice
We can play so much
With all my pieces
But I won’t share until I know
I didn’t know I can’t share
And I don’t know why
•
– Jordin.M.S.
Thursday Thoughts: 2/8/18
Like it was stated in the introduction, not everything on this site is supposed to be one thing. Everything is accepted and welcomed for expression. The site is a canvas and is a welcoming to all things that derive from thought. It’s been sports and podcast heavy since the takeoff, with a few things sprinkled in here and there, but ultimately the world has many different gears. All of those gears are used to drive the car, and the users and contributors provide the fuel. With that being said, another weekly addition will be added to the site, mainly for artistic or reflective, thought-provoking purposes. Or simply personal expression. It’s called Thursday Thoughts and I’d like to start it with my latest piece from a recent experience I felt inclined to pen.
Photobooth
She’s the type to change her songs halfway through, right after she hears her favorite part
She’s one of those people
Those are usually the worst type of people
Something tells me she’s the best type of person
The life off her lips is intoxicating
Potent even, under the spell of her painted haze
She created a living picture with no canvas
And did it effortlessly
Anxiety is a bitch but somehow she put it in its place with only a few words
The walls were extravagant
Soul decorum
Painted with that energy of one that she was so eager to school me on
A room that felt like home in a location with no address and not a shred of evidence for time
An infinite energy that caressed my psyche
Couldn’t tell how
Don’t know why
But I did know her
Even though I didn’t
We were screenwriters for a movie never meant to see a screen, but still meant to be sceene
In all honesty
She set the pace, I just treaded water in the midnight oil we used to paint
And I can’t swim
But somehow I floated
Her words were a million miles a minute
Based on her past
It seemed like she could fit her million miles traveled into one minute and still be ready for the next 10 million
She exists in an area code so foreign to me
Yet somehow it’s familiar
Ecstasy is in her blood as she’s surrounded by dopamine
Her highs are as low as one can get
In the best way possible
It felt as if we could have created string theory with our thoughts that night
Till forever was yesterday
And time was as perishable as money
But my money forced me to my sobering home
For a test of tomorrow
My ecstasy was gone but I never felt sad
Only happier for having it ignited
If only for a few hours in this living canvas
She was ready for the next song
I was still seeing music in the picture I took
And with no energy
I felt all of it with one flash
She had the best taste in music
She is the best type of person
– Jordin M. S.
This particular piece can be found here along with a full slate of previous work here.
Check it out. See what you like and what you don’t. If ever you have any personal submissions you’d like to put up be sure to let us know. This space is as much yours as it is ours. Thursday’s are for thoughts.
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