wrote about nicki minaj and why she's dope as fuck

It’s remarkable how much a memory can be linked to a particular song or album or artist – it speaks not only to the power of the human brain, but also to the power of music. Sometimes it sucks because, often, many of those auditory memories are of former loves or lost friends. Other times, hearing a song can take you back to a time when you were blackout drunk off of a watermelon Four Loko, surrounded by people you love. That’s the thing about music – it’s dope.

i wrote a thing about lil wayne
The early years of Lil Wayne gave hope to those looking for the next big thing in hip-hop; the drugged out years of Lil Wayne helped shape a lane for weirdo prog rappers, like Young Thug, who rely heavily on vocal inflections to shape their songs; and the recent years of Lil Wayne have been blemished with criticisms of his talent and wonderings as to how this version of Lil Wayne once claimed he was the best rapper alive. Many of the criticisms have merit; however, most ignore the fact that while Wayne certainly isn’t as good lyrically as he once was, music — hip-hop in particular — isn’t totally reliant on quality lyrics as the crux of what makes a good song.

Weirdly, this has become a diary of sorts for me to express myself without putting my thoughts on Twitter or on my blog. It’s kind of comforting to know that there is a place other than Microsoft Word that gives the allusion that you’re talking to a lot of people, but in all reality you aren’t. Just the fact that something I type is out in the microcosm of the Internet is comforting. Strange, I know. 

I’m working on something right now, hopefully you guys will be down with it. It’s a short film. I’ve mentioned it a few times before, but essentially the plan is to get an internship in Portland this summer and film it with a buddy of mine who goes to Oregon. My plan is to make the entire experience interactive. I’ve been working on a website that is very #rare and #secrete that will allow you guys to watch the film, read the screenplay, listen to the score, see photos, watch commentary and read my thoughts along the way. If it works out the way I want it to, it’ll be the most creative thing I’ve ever put together. 

It’s weird, the feeling that you experience from just creating things. It doesn’t have to be good work. Hell, nothing I’ve written for the blog is “good,” but for some reason people fuck with it, which is cool. It’s a type of high that drugs can’t replicate. You feel alive; you feel dangerous; you feel immortal. It’s hard to explain, but putting this project together has elicited those emotions, which has, admittedly, gotten me through this grueling semester. 

It’s funny how life works like that sometimes. 

The Internet is an interesting microcosm. It gives you the allusion that you’re actually apart of something when in reality you aren’t. You’re interacting with people, but you’re not really interacting with people. You have companionship, but it’s not the same as sitting down with someone and talking over coffee. That all being said, there is a certain level of emotions that can develop by just interacting with people online. 

For instance, I’m on the Internet way too much. I spend way more time than I should on Twitter and I write somewhat frequently. I’m on here a lot. It’s a good thing, in part, because it has allowed me to cultivate actual friendships and business opportunities. That’s the best part about the Internet. If you aren’t using the Internet to a. better yourself b. educate yourself c. market d. create content or e. have sex, you’re doing it all wrong. If you aren’t gaining something from the Internet then there’s no point in using it. 

I say this because I was legitimately impacted by the Internet in the real world today. I recently learned that someone who I enjoy very much online had something horrible happen to them in real life—I won’t go into detail. While I was in the shower I broke down and cried. I experienced legitimate pain for this person whom I’ve never met that was experiencing pain, too. My heart legitimately hurt for this person; it still does as I type this. 

Another instance of this Internet-IRL crossover is that I’m writing a screenplay right now for a short-film that I will hopefully put together in Portland this summer. It’s a love story, likely a cheesy one, but a love story nonetheless. The main character—subconsciously I think this is representative of myself—is stuck in this rut of a mundane routine until he meets this girl that changes him for the better. (Damn, Hancock, you very sensitive.) 

Interestingly enough, I came up with the idea as I was sleeping. I have this habit of keeping my phone next to me when I sleep because I use it as an alarm. (So when the doctors can’t figure out why I have brain cancer just show them this.) When I woke up one morning I had a note in my phone and the idea was born. The only issue is that this construct of the girl I want to play the lead actress is someone I met online. It’s a story that about a girl, whom I only know through text-based interactions, falling in love with a character who is me. I wrote a story about this girl that I’ve never met. How fucking crazy is that? 

So maybe people are wrong when they say the Internet isn’t real; or maybe I’m just crazy. I’ll get back to you. 

A Short Story

Drake receives a phone call from Birdman. “Yo. Go check Twitter,” Birdman coos. 


Drake drops the phone, softly whispering to himself, “I’m the only Papi in Weezy F Baby’s life.” 


Drake is destroyed.