I tweeted recently that I don’t belong in the streets.
And I don’t.
Nothin’ but heartbreak and mortality.
Many of my friends are from the streets.
I could barely consider them friends, truth be told.
They just don’t know what a quality friend or friendship is.
Toxic survival methods made them how they are.
I’m world class, yet I always tried to maintain balance by entertaining street living.
I’m not in a street gang (Columbine Gang is a real gang, nevertheless).
I don’t own a weapon or have interest in street pharmaceutical business.
I smoke weed and make music.
I just wish more people had the mind to create when on weed, rather than destroy.
This sentence is giving me a lot of things to think about.
And yes, my love life is DOA.
I almost shut down this blog a few times.
I keep jeopardizing legacies and the undead.
I’m only revealing what’s in my world.
If you are who you say you are (through vibes and telepathy), then you’re a superstar.
And I am not immune to your touch.
That makes sense, right?
So why make a medium feel small?
Out!
