1.171 – Nicki VS Flex – Epic Fail

So, I’ve been listening to The Funk Master Flex show on HOT97 online. And this shit is seriously giving me a headache. So I don’t lose you, I’m going to break this down into three parts –

  1. The Back Story
  2. My Background
  3. My Opinion.

The following contains strong language, reader discretion is advised.


Summer Jam is the annual hip-hop fest held in East Rutherford, New Jersey and sponsored by New York based radio station Hot 97FM.” There were a whole list of people who were scheduled to perform and they probably did perform. But no one really gives a fuck. Apparently, DJ Peter Rosenberg made the comment:

“I know there’s some chicks here waiting to sing ‘Starships’ later, I’m not talking to y’all right now. F— that b–h–. I’m here to talk about real hip-hop s–”.

Based on that comment, Lil Wayne made the call, which he posted on his Twitter “Young Money ain’t doing summer jam.” What followed was a complete pull out by the Young Money crew, including the headliner for Summer Jam: Nicki Minaj. From that pull out has come a complete ejaculation of stupidity. Period.


I’m going to quote someone who is no longer apart of my family. I am the “whitest Puerto Rican ever.” I can probably name more indie, alternative, industrial, rock, new wave artists than I can name rap/hip hop artists combined. Apparently, race and how hard you are tends to be measured by how you dress and the music you listen to. That being said, I’m not going to claim unlimited knowledge on the hip-hop game and the beefs and the trends and what’s hot and what’s old news. I don’t know the language, the style, the swag and I quite frankly don’t feel like I’m missing a damned thing. I appreciate music. Sometimes, I want to hear angry music and sometimes I want to thrash my hair to some pop shit while I apply my lip gloss before a ladies night out. My race doesn’t define what I listen to and what I listen to doesn’t define my race. The same can be said for my anatomy. I listen to some music that would make some boys cry like a bitch. Music is art and art just is. I believe that. From the stuff I don’t care for to my favorite life changing tunes. Art is art.


This interview and the entire situation is a fucking joke. It’s well over thirty minutes of Nicki Minaj and Funk Master Flex yelling over each other. I don’t know how many times Minaj says “Respect,” and how many times Flex asks questions that run this shit in circles. I want to be very clear that I have always liked Flex and I do appreciate some of Nicki’s music.  She’s the black Lady Gaga. Lets be real. She’s selling records by giving people a show. Her whole game is acting. I’m not saying she can’t rap. I’m not one to judge who’s good at the game. But she’s catchy. She knows how to sell the image and that crazy Roman thing she does with her voice and then flips to the high pitched Barbie Doll thing that drives me fucking nuts. This is not about whether I think she has skills or not. Tonight, she made a few comments that were just really fucking stupid.

  1. “This is about RESPECT.” She even goes so far as to quote Aretha Franklin. “R.E.S.P.E.C.T. find out what it means to me.” Clearly, by you listing how much all of your records have made – respect means money. And that is a sad fucking existence. Only in the rap/hip-hop world do you hear people talking about their wallets. These people find validation in their lives by how much money they make. I don’t call that respect worthy at all. Being a millionaire doesn’t make me have an inkling of  respect for you. Feed the poor. Send some underprivileged kids to college. Donate money to find a cure for kids dying of Cancer, Alpers Disease, Glioblastoma Multiforme, Creutzfeldt-Jakob Syndrome, Zellweger Syndrome. Do more with your money and influence than bragging about getting wasted on your Twitter account “200 deep.”
  2. Lets make it a race thing. Nicki replies to one of her followers:“Not blak but on blak radio dissin blak women > RT @***_***** Radio personality with NO personality… fuck nigga!!! & u ain’t even black… I find it hysterical how people demand respect and then fling out racial slurs, which are condoned because black people can say that word. Does it matter if the guy that said that stuff is on “black radio” and he’s not black? Do these people even know what the fuck they are saying? Look up the word. And when the fuck did being black get you a get out of jail free card from being called out for anything BECAUSE you’re black. Listen to the music you support, the movies you watch, the media you allow to thrive…the most hate/dissing/beefs/catty moronic arguments  for your race comes from within your race. Misguided and uneducated as it may be…referring to women as bitches and hoes and anything with a dick as a “nigga” or “nigger” is not exactly spreading the fucking love here people. Asinine. Just asinine. Why not use your influence to stop allowing things to be held under the barriers of gender, race, and orientation. Why not use that fucking power to teach people a new vocabulary. Or to show your talent without falling back on the sex/race cards.
  3. Flex asked Nicki if she was “scared,” of Summer Jam to which she responded with a long egotistical tirade of how she has performed all over the world. Dear Nicki: the people who wanted to see you in NYC don’t give a flying fuck if you’ve performed in the biggest, baddest fucking stadiums and arenas around the world. They care that you took the time to perform for them and treated them with the dignity and RESPECT they deserve. To be treated like a worthy audience.
  4. Nicki is non-stop on the “I am woman, hear me roar” thing. But lets be honest. Just for a second. You can say you’re a boss. You can say that you are all about the woman. At the end of the day, you let a mans words stop your art. You let a man dictate what you did because of the RESPECT you have for him. Your fans, the ones that put that money you respect so much into your wallet, are the ones you should respect to the highest degree.
  5. And lastly, oh Nicki, you made the mistake of bringing up the gays. Lil Wayne taught you something about self-worth and somehow that equates to spreading the message of when to say “enough is enough” to women everywhere. To the gays. Refusing to go on a stage because a DJ dissed you DOES NOT in ANY WAY give women and the gays hope. No gay man or woman suddenly felt empowered because you didn’t get on stage to make some sort of half-ass point. No woman being beaten by her husband, being paid less than her male counterparts, being sexually harassed, suddenly said “oh shit, Nicki walked? I’m not taking this shit.” Reality check, please. You didn’t change lives by not performing at Summer Jam. I’m just saying.

A boss, a woman of artistic integrity, passion, and conviction would have gotten on that stage and blown some shit up. Before this interview, I was seriously thinking…”there is no way an artist should have to perform their art with such mockery.” Well, I’ve changed my mind. Was the decision right? I don’t know. I frankly don’t care, either way. The explanation, however, was a smelly, horribly boring crock of shit.


1.169 – NaNo Day 1 Continued

Technically, still on day one of CampNaNoWriMo. Yes, I’m going to actually fill this blog with a whole useless series of my NaNo journey. At some point, if I have the courage, I will share some excerpts and research that I’ve come across through the process. But for right now – I’ve come to a few conclusions.

  1. Staying up all night before an expected ten hour shift is a BAD idea.
  2. I should learn to read slower.
  3. Never tell another writer your candid idea – what they will do is give their two cents on what you should do despite the fact that they themselves admit that they can’t handle writing 1700 words a day. They will also walk around and tell anyone and everyone who will listen about your idea and how their suggestion is fucking awesome.
  4. Never expect your friends to act like they care at all about your work. The fake smiles and half-hearted questions don’t show interest when they come off as obligation.
  5. Don’t assume everyone you talk to is your friend, even if they swear up and down that they want to be.
  6. Ordering pizza is awesome.
  7. Pepsi doesn’t taste as good as it used to.
  8. I’m scared that I’m spending my “prime” trying to get out of a shitty ordeal and by the time I get away from all of this baggage…no one will like anything about me. Not that anyone does now.
  9. I have really low self esteem.
  10. I’m tired of hoping.
  12. People will agree to anything you say on a topic they know nothing about because they would rather have your opinion than their own.
  13. People don’t care about art anymore. I am beginning to think they never did. 
  14. God hates me and the feeling is still mutual. I just happen to be writing a book about him.

End of day 1 word count – 4429

Follow me on twitter for more useless updates – @CerebralOMG

1.160 – Stelle (Stars)

If you don’t know Vincent Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” you’ve been living under a rock.  Needless to say, it’s one of my all time favorite paintings; it’s one of the first I can recall that really stayed with me. For whatever reason, it was the image I always went back to when I thought of what was beautiful.

At some point in my life, I started counting the stars (eleven and one moon). Those stars meant something to me. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure exactly what. Over the years, the meaning of those stars has shown it’s enchanting face.

In this life, we are lucky if we meet just one person that truly changes our world. We’re lucky if we meet a couple, a handful…eleven. I’m not going to pretend I’ve met my eleven stars. Up until this point, I’ve met a few. I’m not going to divulge who those people are or how many I’ve met. What I can and will divulge is that my son is not a star. He is the moon that brightens the sky beyond compare. (My son is my moon…kinda funny). Apples and oranges. Nonetheless, this is more of a tessellation of cosmic influence. Although they could never compare, the stars are important to the darkened town below. The placement of each intricate piece is fundamental to the growth and happiness of the town. That town is me and each star is a light in my life; someone who has changed me, influenced me, inspired me, encouraged me…to be greater than I was yesterday…in unison with the moon and the beams of light it effortlessly projects.

I have a new star. Someone who is my polar opposite. Someone who really can’t fathom how influential they are. Someone who compels me to soul-search. Someone who inspires me to look beyond what I normally focus on. A person who feeds a part of me that hasn’t been fed since my best friend left this life. A person who reminds me of my best friend in so many ways and in one that I have yet to reveal. Maybe someday I will.

It’s actually a lot harder to explain than I thought. But my stars mean something to me. My stars give me something that cannot be explained. My stars are not flawless. They are not diamonds in the sky. They are so much greater than that BECAUSE they are all flawed. When I told by best friend that he was a star, he laughed. “Me?” Yes you, dork. “Why,” he asked. Because I said so.

To the average individual, to care about a star in such a way would inevitably lead to a desire to reach into the heavens and pluck such purity from it’s place and get lost in possibility. Surprisingly enough, this star does not compel me to yearn for something which is not mine to be had. This star does not induce such feelings that would have previously haunted me in dreams. Don’t get me wrong, this star is absolutely alluring. Without a doubt, there is an enticing and pure aura that would drop any right-minded person to their knees…that was not a sexual innuendo, by the way. Simply a visual of what such light can do to one with weak bones and common sense. To best explain how I can be in the presence of such an appealing entity without temptation, I’ll ask you this: have you ever seen something so beautiful you stand back in admiration because you don’t want to get too close and possibly fuck it up? Such is the case with this star.

There is nothing to say that a star will shine forever. Sometimes, you are blessed with such entities and sometimes…as I have experienced…those stars fade and lose their glimmer. The sky is absent of their presence but their essence lives on. The spirit of their very being lingers throughout the universe and the world and all of its inhabitants are epically altered. Even by influencing just one.

I don’t know how long this light will shine. Nothing is guaranteed. Yes, the pessimist in me says this star will fade out much quicker than the others. However, there is no part of me that allows such a thought to hesitate in naming this individual a star in my sky. Perhaps, it will not be there tomorrow. Or some tomorrow. But for today,this light, along with the others, has shone me a path I would have otherwise missed in the darkness of my existence. For that alone, the memory of those moments will forever change who I am as a person. A true work-in-progress…this girls walks along the trail of tears with secure footing…in knowing I have not traveled through this life alone. I cannot reach out and hold those that have given…so much. But I will always care. No matter how far apart we are.

“Man awaits jewels in a crown. I admire the glittering light set forth from the unforgettable. The untouchable. The unmistakable. These precious gems in the sky. The stars are a gift from God. Love letters sent to remind us of what remains to be seen.” ~Euphoric Damnation

1.147 – Kreative Blogger Award

Today has been a fun day in my writing world. After completing my revision for Did You See Her 2.0, I received a great amount of new readers and followers. I took a break from reading, blogging and tweeting to pack in some much needed food. To my surprise, I returned to the computer screen to find a wonderful shout-out and blog nod. Much gratitude to allthoselittlethingsilike for nominating me for the Kreative Blogger Award. It is unexpected and yet, so very much appreciated.

As for the award, the rules are the following:

  • Thank the blogger who gave me the award and provide a link.
  • List 7 interesting things about myself that my readers might find interesting.
  • Nominate 7 other bloggers, provide links and let them know.

Seven interesting things…man, that’s a lot. Well, here goes nothing.

1) When I’m home alone, I sing and dance as if I’m performing for an audience. (NO ONE will ever see me do this).

2) I set my alarm for two hours before I actually intend to wake up and hit snooze to my hearts content. (I am still NEVER on time to ANYTHING).

3) I hate eating in the dark, which is one reason I rarely go to the movie theater.

4) I have about 7 different styless of penmanship and each one depends on my mood.

5)  I performed Native American shawl dancing throughout high school

6) I cannot memorize any of my own poetry. I’ve tried . I seriously cant.

7) I have two tattoos and have had a total of twelve piercings.

Okay…lets be honest…none of that was interesting AT ALL.  But who cares. I’d rather pay the honor forward and shout-out seven creative minds and their Kreative Blogs.

Mew Tube For writing a blog on “clit lit”

Matrifocal Point For spreading awareness

Laz Freedmans Poetry Blog For embracing simplicity

Brain Candy For telling it like it is

A Spoonful of Suga For tackling real issues with such wit

A Writers Process For being candid about the process

Rediscovering A Stolen Life  For brutal honesty

Teacups and Ashtrays For writing about a genuine love

Yeah, I broke the rules by nominating eight bloggers. But that’s how I roll so you’ll just have to deal. No matter the topic – we all share the common bond of utilizing this busy web of nonsense to project our voices to the masses. These voices inspire me to speak and to listen.

1.109 – Art of Love


i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if i have tomorrow

as if there is always more time

i write as if someone will know my story

once im gone

i write as if my voice will be heard from the grave

i write as if yesterday doesnt deserve being said

i write as if tomorrows paint is unavailable

i write as if love will never exist

as if it is unattainable

i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if money comes solely from thought

versus action

i write with a filter

as if fear will show true colors

as if silence will formulate into truth

upon unused pages

in unpurchased books

upon undusted shelves

i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if i will see another sun

when this moon is my final goodbye

i write as if right now is enough

i love as if there is no one worthy of this love

as if i am undeserving in the wake of mayhem

i write about sadness

as if the alternative is foreign to my language

i write about pain

as if it is the only emotion my heart has known

i write about love

and leave echoes in hallways

stuck in corridors in empty passages of minds eye and pages sight

i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if anyone could write my words

as if another will be my tongue

i love as if i were not capable to deliver a smile

i write as if i were not capable of delivering thought

i do not write. i do not love. 

i am the unspoken art of a woman

Lost in a haze

wanting oceans

though this forlorn heart is dry

i await the muses kiss

but i fear it just the same.

i do not write. i do not love. 

1.100 – One Hundred Kisses

Following my muse has worked out pretty well so far. I can’t see any reason to change the formula now.
Chris Van Allsburg
I have always believed that good conversation was a chess game, good sex was like a dance and everything in this life is a muse. To kiss the muse is to embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly as divine inspiration. To celebrate 100 posts, I happily share with you a list created from the contributions of a very diverse group of people. 100 faces, 100 souls, 100 lives worth living. 100 reasons, 100 muses, 100 kisses. You will never decipher which is the single mom, the accomplished writer, the veteran, the big wig, the straight, the gay, the poor, the rich, the lone wolves. The muse touches all walks of life, with a delicate brush of pure lips to the heart – setting ideas and thoughts aflame. Seedlings growing from nothing into that which forces our world to move.
…There was a hiccup. Only 18 of the almost 125 people I messaged for input responded. I could be discouraged and say…I can’t complete the 100 kisses without help…but it’s the new year and a new mentality – nothing is going to stop me.
Without further ado, 100 kisses.
From me to you.
  1. The first time
  2. A beautiful woman
  3. Volunteering and selfless donations
  4. Music inspires me to be present in a community of sounds all speaking a piece of a whole truth.
  5. Learning from my past and not repeating the same mistakes and always trying my best in any situation.
  6. The fact that I’m a sinner, but was saved by grace. I’m constantly humbled by that fact.
  7. The strength i did not know i had. the struggles have taught me to survive when i didnt think i could and have pushed me to do better for myself. my strength allows me to be strong for myself and for others.
  8. My biggest inspiration and motivator is a fear of death. That once I’m gone nothing will be left of me but my words/ thoughts.
  9. The desire to take that idea in my head that I know will entertain.. and to give birth to it on the page. It’s as natural a desire, to me, as food or sex.
  10. Fear of being a failure. making sure i leave a legacy behind
  11. The only thing that inspires me to do better is my boys. If I couldn’t have a baby I think I would have fallen off the wagon.
  12. I’m inspired by two things, the only things I feel we need: Friends and Family
  13. Life inspires me. There is so much to learn, to experience, to see, to live, and so little time.
  14. the fear of failure, and the possibility of failure. That i wont achieve what i know i can and i will come up short of the person i want to be. I fear failure and what i will never have if i dont achieve.
  15. A warm summer day in the back yard. Drinking a can of Dr. Pepper and thinking about the projects I plan to tackle today.
  16. Someone who is so passionate about what they believe that they will die for it, understands why they believe it, and lives like they are on fire for it. That’s the kind of person I want to be.
  17. The way music can connect people in a way that words and emotions can’t. Ethereal chords that echo through one’s soul filling it with immense peace. Harmonies shared between people that say, “Your heart understands mine.”
  18. When I go to the park and swing I imagine my whole life ok stable an free
  19. Laying on someones chest while they hold me, while listening to their heartbeat. For some reason hearing that makes me forget the bad, at least for that moment. Makes me appreciate the little things more.
  20. Sex
  21. Power
  22. Fame
  23. Money
  24. Italy
  25. Fine Cuisine
  26. Down Home Cooking
  27. Bare feet
  28. A cool spring evening
  29. A rainy afternoon
  30. A snowy day, curled in a blanket
  31. The moon
  32. The sun
  33. The stars
  34. Books
  35. Writers
  36. Painters
  37. Dancers
  38. Musicians
  39. Actors/Actresses
  40. Cinema
  41. Theatre
  42. Falling in love
  43. Breaking up
  44. Tears
  45. Broken glass
  46. Thunder
  47. Lightening
  48. A crack in the pavement
  49. History
  50. Pain
  51. Tragedy
  52. Butterflies
  53. The ocean
  54. The mountains
  55. A field of flowers
  56. Rainbows
  57. Animals
  58. Children
  59. Fire
  60. Life itself
  61. Death…in its entirety
  62. Sunrises
  63. Sunsets
  64. Philosophy
  65. Theology
  66. Silence
  67. A blank journal
  68. Beating drums
  69. Culture
  70. Spirituality
  71. Sexuality
  72. Tomorrow
  73. Laughter
  74. Sunflowers
  75. The number 13
  76. A scream
  77. Crayola Crayons
  78. Yesterday
  79. Bright lights
  80. Sirens
  81. Crashing waves
  82. Crumpled paper
  83. Clean white sheets
  84. The scent of a loved one on an old shirt
  85. A bodily scar
  86. An emotional one
  87. Rose petals
  88. Fireflies
  89. Memories
  90. Waterfalls
  91. A wrapped present
  92. An empty box
  93. Liquid courage
  94. Temptation
  95. A deep sigh
  96. Words unspoken
  97. Dreams
  98. A smile
  99. A frown
  100. The last time…

Cover me in kisses, cover me in inspiration 

one and the same. Here’s to 100 more. 


1.36 – The Road To Something

Pursuing the art is a full time job. I’m not even going to pretend that it comes easily to me. It doesn’t. I have far too many thoughts in my head for the majority of them to make sense. You can call it bi-polar or bitchiness or moody ‘that time of the month’ emotional swaying…I call it my write brain.

Maybe none of that made any sense to you. But it did to me and that’s pretty much what I have to go on. What sticks with me. What makes sense, what works and what doesn’t. Recognizing what is consistantly haunting me and what things end up by the wayside without a second glance back. Writing has been that thing that I see when I dream and when I wake.

But this isn’t another “why I write” post. This is more focused on the struggle of that in-between forced life I have to live.

I met someone a few months ago who is self-made, well established and obviously passionate about his art. I admire his strength, determination and will. From what little I know, he did it without settling for the middle ground (working while silently pursuing his art). He put 100% of himself and took the huge risk of losing everything on a whim. But he obviously had enough confidence in himself to take the plunge.

I don’t live in that realm of existence. I follow my dreams late at night, in the dark while the world sleeps. I write and think and scribble and edit and revise and scratch out all the words I’ve recorded, second guessing every thought I have while – during the day – I put on the game face and work the 9 to 5.

I work for that paycheck while dreaming about progress far beyond a simple raise or promotion. I want to be featured on those shelves I walk by day in and day out. But until that light shines, I work in hopes of paying the bills, providing for my son and living a humble but happy life.

Is this to say that my art is second? That I don’t work at it in the same way I put in 40 hours a week of work?

I can’t speak for all writers. But for me, energy wise…writing for 10 hours on my off day is the equivalent to the physical and mental drain I get from a 40 hour work week. And yet, I’d do it every day if I could. It’s draining to articulate my thoughts in a way that will be received. And yet, it’s not a chore. It’s not a duty. It’s not a burden. It’s that tired feeling of doing something so meaningful. That insane ache after spewing out raw emotion, slathering it on a page and rolling in it.

I’ve considered that, if it isn’t easy, maybe it isn’t what I’m supposed to do. Screw that. It’s not easy for me because I get in my own way. A LOT. As I do with most things in my life.  That’s how I’ve lived the majority of my life. But everyone has to grow sometime.

I work 168 hours a week being a mom, a worker bee, and a writer. Someday, I’ll spend 168 hours a week being a mom and an accomplished writer.

As a person, as an artist…I’m just in the seed stage of my potential. Can’t wait until I’m in full bloom.