That new Blakroc teaser video presents everything grand and joyful about life in just over a minute and a half.



It’s mostly plaid and black. 

Last time it was Mos cooing Puuuure hearrrrrt/You’re suuu-per cool.
http://heightfiveseven.blogspot.com/2010/08/that-new-black-milk-video-presents.html

Pure heart
You’re super cool
You’re live and elemental
You’re sweet and you’re true
You’re so true
Oo-ooo-oo-ooo
You’re plain and yet so special
It’s nothing like you

Adapters. Cords, wires, metallic bits and LED lights related to the transmitting of music into our ears and bloodstream. Male inputs – literally/phallically as pictured above, to help with the transmission. Male inputs, conversationally – advice on whether I should get a Prius, whether I’m too petty of a person as evidenced by my Rawss diatribes, am I sexy and hilarious, is my affection for Valium becoming a problem, do you love me, etc.

The great state of Ohio. Trader Joe’s, the store with the shaggy and Auerbach-esque dudes in every aisle who never talk to me even though I’m a very nice person. Red and black lumberjacks. People named Daniel.
Drum kits of course. Rap blogs run by white males. (Every Caucasoid blog bawss has the Pat Carney look –  they all either have glasses or floppy hair, or glasses and floppy hair)

Chucks. Kick drum beaters. Kick drums. Pants that are the perfect length.

Notebooks. Actual paper notebooks. My mind’s my nine, my pen’s my Mac-10 makes no sense on a fuckin Blackberry. 

Wearing black on the outside because black is how you feel on the inside. Corona, which goes down smooth and easy. Beer that doesn’t taste terrible (most beer does). Beer that makes you think of the phrase In Corona, it’s better to take than to receive.  

Of course U-God uses an actual paper notebook.

“I don’t get high as I used to; Vince Carter.” This week consisted of that new Don Trip mixed tape, 57 Minutes of Tennessee Accents Over Fiery Beats.

Oh Jay Elec, with the aura so contrived, the voice of a physics teacher that makes me want to sleep the day away (Mr. Hahn, 11th grade). After giving him two chances, then a third one because I’m a nice person, I have yet to be impressed. And he never talks about his mouth meeting up with ladies’ private parts, so why should I give him a fourth or a fifth chance? First person to email me a lyrical snippet of his that I find touching or skillful gets to make me breakfast in the morning after giving me a nice go ’round the night before.  I’m familiar with allllll his lyrics so the odds are really in my favor here.  Dudes get SO mad at me about this! Teehee. Settle down,

OMAR CREDLE. Oh Christ. Ogling Capacity (that’s what I’ve reached when I stare at this picture too long). Oral Cakewalk? (oh wait, no. that’s a Danny Brown song about putting his mouth on lady areas. It’s easy for Danny to get the area to, uh, respond, and he spends the whole song bragging about this. Annnnd he uses fancy software to make the song.


Jettttttt Liiiiiiife. Mistakes that somehow make a thing fresher than it already is (Currrrrrrrrren$y).

BUTTON-UPS LOOKIN LIKE CHRISTMAS. Bowing your head in reverence, averting your eyes. Just fucking needing, and taking, a moment to yourself when the right stuff is in your headphones.

Notebooks. Outfit changes. Looking really fresh. Dodger blue, which is a shade somewhere among  “cerulean,” “Dumile’s t-shirt,” and “LA street sign.” Annnnd once again, I’ve reached my ogling capacity.

“Cat, rat, I sat on a hat/If you ain’t Taylor’d I’ll hit you with a bat/You’re wrong, I’m right, try as you might/All my songs include at least one mention of ‘tryna catch a flight’.” AW GOOD JOB, CAMERON. 
 Having your goofy, talentless friend join in on the fun and pretending like he deserves to be there (even though he’s a weak MC who approaches with slang that’s dead), because your mom raised you to be nice.

Jean Jackets.

Sean P.

Blackonblack. I like Jay’s lack of fashion-ness but Jesus he’s boring.

The casting of that Rae biopic is on point. Mostly I’m looking forward to lots of Champion sweats.

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