Heart Attacks

I remember Freaknik era Atlanta, GA. The funk was in the air. You could taste it, although I'm sure the best stories were told in coded language or while I was in Mandisa's room, exploiting the Bo Jackson reverse on Super Techmo Bowl. I just remember it was different. It made me feel different. I felt at one with an environment that was of me and bigger than me simultaneously. It was spiritual, but not religious.

I didn't know half of these people, but was family. It was culture. Blackness: celebrated like I had never seen before. My in-laws owned the barbershop. Everyone had a nice house. There was a tangible support system. It was...

It was just different. Desirably so...

Breaking from the whatever streak I felt I was having with these blogs, I'm going to be honest with myself in this moment: I have no idea where I was going with this. I mean, I understand that I'm obviously reminiscent for a time where amazing things were happening around me, and my youthful mind was scrambling to grasp it all. That's understandable. But how does that reflect on the here and now?

I guess reading Malcolm X's biography scared me. When he addressed the difference between Nothern and Southern Negroes, I felt a sense of pride and comfortabilify with handling the devil that I knew. I also felt a sense of responsibility to speak for and to those who shared my developmental experiences. Now, I can't help but feel a sense of naïveté, like I loved and trusted an environment that never loved me to begin with. After all, Kermit left The Swamp because there is better out there for a frog that can speak like a human.

At the same time, you can't hate the process that made you great. I've said in a previous blog that certain lessons are preparing me for the next level. How can I be of The Swamp if I've never felt the muddy basin between my toes? I have come face to face with alligators in the darkest nights. I can now speak to that fear with power and resolve.

All in all, I further resolve not to fall into nostalgia. I've come to love this Heartland as Johnnie Mae did. I loved Stalley's album in contrast to some of the biggest named releases of 2014, simply because it was the sound of our science, and our sound has historically echoed throughout the world. I'm proud of that. I hate having the color red in my wardrobe, but when it comes to these Buckeyes...

#RIP John Crawford & Tamir Rice.

All By Myself...

New levels = New devils. I'm just trying to rise above the bullshit...

I've been analyzing a lot of Soul Music in preparation for Seconds. I also have a lot of friends who are having children or watching their newborns grow into toddlers. Even the women I live with are in healthy relationships. Then there's me: surviving on my island. It feels like this year, cuffing season is making a primed, personal attack on me. So... naturally, I feel like I should write this blog about that dirty, dangerous four letter word. However, in the famous words of that nameless little girl from Vine...

"...I ain't gone do it!"

(...at least, not in the way you'd think...)

I was talking to a friend who mentioned that the passion was gone from her relationship. Love versus Passion is a fascinating construct. How do they differ? Where do they differ? Would I rather have love or passion in a relationship? Is that a "Want versus Need" scenario, or are both necessary?

It's been almost a decade since I was comfortably in "that place" that is most commonly equated with that word. Since that time, I've learned to separate the two, at least in my mind. I generally look at LOVE as a universal force that we control. It's a energy that is to be shared openly, yet responsibly amongst all living things. It is manifest in cherishing the here and now with family and friends, recognizing the value they bring to your experience in this realm of existence. It has been said that GOD IS LOVE. I would agree, because if you can seek to find some value of positivity in anything, then you can see how the General Order of Dominion is working through it. It is the reciprocation of positive vibes, but love in itself is not weak. Peace and Love are not intrinsically synonymous. Can LOVE be violent? Anyone who's had to discipline a child or pet would say so.

Passion, like love, is evidenced in action. Passion is a driving force that dictates how one spends their time & resources. Passion, when perverted, can be considered "Lust", I suppose. That's where the battle lies: abstaining from lust and pursuing a righteous passion to self-edification.

This train of thought stemmed from researching the relationship profile of a woman with whom I would love build my lineage. It described everything I want in a committed bond, and I realized that my passions for myself MUST come first, so that I may be made whole (through GOD and Self) before I am able to bring substance to our unified banquet.

I have learned to see GOD in EVERYTHING. I am practicing to DISCIPLINE my PASSION by my FAITH. Unrelenting Zeal. I never knew there was a love like that before. Zealots in love, united for a common cause.

Everybody gotta have a dream. I'm ready to man up, live my dreams and flow in this technicolor & surround sound universe (s/o to Combat Jack)...

You & I, verse all.

-Thee Frog Prince

...Just Like Geritol

Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I'm quite eclectic and that this trait manifests itself most through my taste in music. Even as I write this, the last 5 songs on my iTunes where by Brook Benton, The Ebonys, The Unifics, The Whatnauts, and DMX. Today was the anniversary of DMX's The Great Depression, by the way. That album ranks in my Top 5 most disappointing purchases of all time. I may not even have to limit that to musical purchases. I'm not sure if the album was that bad or if I was just a HUGE DMX fan, but it all came crashing down afterward. I have some unpublished blogs about HOV that detail what followed, as far as my Hip Hop fandom goes...

Where was this going? Ahh yes...

Gil Scott-Heron. People who know me have some idea how much I LOVE Gil Scott-Heron. I refer to him as "Thee Abbot", because musically I feel that he is my father. Therefore, I thought I'd muse through the story about how I discovered GSH.

"The irony of it all..." is that with all the great music he made, the first song I discovered (i.e. stuck with me) was "Re-Ron".  What the 1980's did to soul music could be a study in & of itself. Only Michael Jackson, Rick James & Lionel Richie survived it... kind of. I'd include Stevie Wonder, but In Square Circle came before Characters.

My earliest memories of "Re-Ron" was riding around with my father, doing whatever "Grown Man Business" he had lined up for the day. I was older than 3, but younger than 5. I also remember being in the passenger seat. Funny how that would be viewed as grossly irresponsible today. I guess I'm a survivor...

My fondest memory of "Re-Ron" was rediscovering the cassette tape with my nephew (who is 2.5 years older than me) and us dancing and laughing about the old man with the jheri curl who was "trying to rap" about politics. In 1993 Marietta, Georgia: nothing could've been funnier. We probably turned it off after our chuckle, then went and listened to Funkdafied.

The most important time that I'd heard "Re-Ron" was when in the 8th Grade. My Father, who was now ailing, had begun to send care packages of his belongings. I think there was another plan afoot, but those are family secrets and are inconsequential. In any case, I'd begun listening to the WHOLE tape, everywhere I went. By this time, I had discovered Hip Hop and it's purpose (which would've been described in that blog about Ready to Die, had I wrote it like I planned to...D'oh!), but this was like finding raw cocaine after snorting crushed re-rock. I remember I let a friend hear what I was listening to, and he said, "He's just talking right now..." which was not far from the response I'd expected. It gave me a comfortability in myself. I felt that this music & message were tied together with my future development. I knew that the fiber of my character was intertwined with The Revolution. The problem was that I had yet to figure out what in hell "The Revolution" was and how to bring it about. However, I was ablaze to learn and I now had physical evidence that it had been provided via music for years, predating what I knew to be the beating pulse of my generation.

In the 15+ years that have followed, I've heard most of Gil's work. I've read the Autobiography of Malcolm X and a lot of other books. I've discovered Public Enemy (Chuck D even follows me on Twitter, #humblebrag). I've watched a lot of Michael Moore and other documentaries. All from a song that I thought was the silliest thing ever created. But it grew on me and, in turn, I grew through it. In an era where I knew that The Notorious B.I.G. was simply "Thee Illest" & 2Pac was the radical son of a Black Panther that I didn't quite understand... While DMX was my favorite & Jay-Z was garnering my attention with slick lyricism: Gil Scott-Heron put me on a path that made me want to find my place in human history.

...but nowadays, when I turn on the radio I wonder... "Was it all for naught?" This leads me down a dark road of questioning myself. "Am I in it for the money or the love?" "What is the future security of this industry (entertainment, specifically recorded audio art)?" "Will I ever be REALLY heard?"

However, at the end of the day, if I hear a song that has more than one measure of open music in it, I'm going to try to put words in the groove. As I age towards 3 decades, that is the love. Outside of The Universe, my family, friends and one very evil woman... it is the only love I've ever known. I'm beginning to feel the pressure of being viewed as becoming "too old for the dream" and I've sacrificed a lot of visions for the realities that others have placed upon me. However, I think I'd rather face a 9mm shell to the temple than sacrifice this one. After all, niggas die for less every day.

I wanted to find my true self and the simple act of realizing that I hadn't heard "Re-Ron" in years helped to trim the fat. GOD is the greatest.

- Reron Raygun Baby #02131985

When Faith Meets Focus...

"By All Means Necessary..."

"The time is in the streets, you know... and the new word to have is Revolution."

"America was a bastard..."

"...if they could be black, then they would switch! Open fire on them buster-ass bitches! Lord Knows..."

...and other pleasantries.

We'd love for things to be where we want them, when we want them. I'm just learning to catch the rhythm. I should find my father's metronome. The Mastermind is a concept that predates either Rick Ross. What's more important is that I believe I may have achieved it. At this moment, nothing has manifest as a working body, but Igor is definitely preparing the machine.

I got out of the habit of counting my 21 Days, but I have been accomplishing weekly goals, and I guess that's the point. There's so many things I don't even have time to notice anymore, I feel like I'm in a 4th dimensional tunnel. I like it. I wouldn't disrespect the feeling by trying to describe it. However, it's very real.

I've been writing lyrics for Seconds. Most of what I had written was non-admissible. At conception, that wasn't the goal, but it was the ideal situation. It is always best to write from a place of neutral reality. Also, it is better to tell a story that shows an understanding of oneself than a derogatory picture of another. That's not to say there won't be any name calling. Just an abstinence to judgement.

I believe the project after Seconds is coming together, but I am not 100% with the music as of yet.

I need to get back to reading The Music Lesson. Great book... I started to read The Alchemist, but it's a play with a LONG foreword or introduction or something, and I don't like reading plays. I'll get to it, on year... but it was a little disappointing.

Time Organization and Prayer. That's what I need.

Orenthal James

What's the dealings?

Current Vibe: Cheap "Inexpensive" Kroger-brand popsicles (Honeydew & Cantaloupe!) and Craig Mack's debut album. The beats on this joint are ridiculous. Puff wasn't playing.

While my beloved State of Ohio did (eventually) act more responsibly than Missouri in investigating the death of John Crawford, they also shifted the blame on the idiot "witness" who embellished his account of John's activities, which probably had the officers turn't up and ready to enact a mission on Rainbow 6. So once again, justice eludes the people of pigment. My condolences to his family and I wish the best kind of Karma upon the young man who called the police.

This Craig Mack album definitely needed features, ideally from Redman, B.I.G. & Busta Rhymes. I would've been pissed had I bought this album and the "Flava In Ya Ear" Remix wasn't included ON the CD. Thank God for Spotify.

Back to me... I pursued two of my former jobs this week. I was successful at what I wanted to accomplish with both,  however I was only reinstated at one of them. Regardless, the other hasn't heard the last of me either. In both cases, the fight felt more relevant than the victory. Instead of accepting what I was told, I fought for my dignity and integrity. That is a valuable lesson within itself. In the same vein, I went to my alma mater to investigate my options for a graduate certificate. I didn't get far, but I did make successful contact to follow up with. The University has made a lot of advances in it's Student Communications outlets since my graduation. Most of these, I suggested and presented, in writing, with the idea that it would be my part of my graduate endeavor to implement them. Instead, I was dismissed with a smile and a knife to the back. Since then, I've let a lot of hate fester for the system. I've watched as my ideas, which were ahead of their time in 2009, became now the new wave (specifically: podcasting and internet radio). I suppose maturity is being able to let go of the need for credit and realizing that actualization is the goal. Maybe the latent hate is what I needed to become who I am supposed to be. Had I gotten what I "deserved" and continued on my double decade-long success streak (consistently winning in academia and employment from age 5 to 25), I would have no connection to "real" struggle. Humble beginnings and broken families are beyond our control. However, when you have your character & livelihood attacked because you are easily brilliant (and therefore, perhaps unable to be humble about it) the rabid dog arises in you. The hibernating violence in your personality arises and you realize that you've come too far to carry out physical revenge. That would be the easy way out. Let's discover how can we make these motherfuckers die breathing?

I hope Young Joseph enjoys his cell. I'll be at the mall: working for RadioShack.

*evil laughter*

"You think you can steal my shit...?! I want all my stuff."

- Frogger

Day One

Young Dro's first Gangsta Grillz mixtape was straight flames.

This weekend was simply excellent. I checked in with my circle and there are some big things in motion. Despite what the struggle may present at face value, we can see purposes aligning underneath the surface. It's exciting, to say the least. This weekend was an emotional one for me, in a good way. Usually 9/11 makes me sad, due to the anniversary of my Father's passing. This year, I just made it an epic #TBT kept my spirit light. I'm very appreciative of the people in my inner circle. I see who they are a little more clearly as well as how GOD has drawn us together. I am eternally grateful and humbled. The key is to keep grinding, head down, staying hungry and humble: FOCUSED. I'm going to continue to try to break & build habits in my personal space, but this little journey was about rebuilding my chops and confidence as a writer. While I didn't deliver EVERYDAY, as was the ideal, making a conscious effort to reach out and provide content for the void was powerful. I hope I've managed to grab your attention. The mic is on and I know I have something to say. I promise it will be eloquent, however disorganized. Work with me.

I also came up with a slew of subjects to blog about this weekend: Hip Hop & White Privilege, Comparing The Blueprint & Graduation (as they both came out on 9/11) Biggie's Ready to Die and The Effect of 2Pac's Death. I'll need those, as I am now in the last 15 minutes of my 21 Day turnaround and I (am supposed to) now have a grip on what(ever it is) I'm doing here.

A "Frogman" is an old school term for a Marine Unit. I suppose I'll just have to stay low, keep firing, kill everything and let The Lord sort it out.

- @ChairmanFrog

Day 7

Makaveli: Rest In Peace...

(7 Days,  2nd Week in September...? Y'all ain't real.)

"So much trouble in the world, Nigga... Can't nobody feel your pain."

Eric Garner, Mike Brown, John Crawford... and then there's Ray Rice.

Over the course of the past week, mulling over these events and the general climate of the times we seem to be facing made me feel jaded. To what? Simply put: saving the world. Ideally, I have about 90 years left (maximum) on this planet. If it was left up to the Toledo Police Department, it may be 90 days. I reiterate from Day 17: I'm really just trying to get some money out this fucker before my time runs out.

...but how will I do that? My mission is all I have. Why give up when you can monetize it?

So I'm reloaded. What is the target?

Today (or yesterday, as this has spilled into the early morning) I forgot what my Twitter bio said. I used to use it to brag that I was "an MC", "a Revolutionary", maybe some humorous or personality-defining quip. Those felt like posturing (in a bad way) and so I simplified it. Currently, it reads: "Hip Hop, Horticulture, Natural Capitalism & Apple Products". This may seem oversimplified, but I've always believed that Law #4 was golden. At least in theory, if not in practice... In fact, it is a familial legend that I was assumed to be deaf and dumb until I was almost 3 years old. One night, my mother told me she loved me as she laid me tucked me in, as was her custom. At this point, she assumed I was deaf due to my lack of response. However, for whatever reason, this night I decided to share: "I know, Mommy. You tell me every night."

She was elated then, but the under-spoken smart-ass has since worn in his welcome.

I'm on 3rd episode of Cosmos, and it's helping to put my short time as a physically manifested organism in perspective.  I'm more than just an 80's Baby, an Ohioan or a victim of racist oppression. The journey is to fight to define oneself for the ages, outside of the constructs of society.  I could parallel two of my heroes: James Brown & Steve Jobs, and though society would place them in different  trades, classes and categories, I consider them both of an equal level of Genius. The irony: combined use of the gifts they left me allow me to create with hopes of finding my "place in the sun".

It's bigger than me. So We All May Prosper.