Complexities

It's funny when you think about where the RZA's head was when he composed the track for the Wu's classic "Can it Be That It Was All So Simple," an ode to days of crime past, an ode to times before and his clan got on in the hip hop game. My favorite thing about Enter the 36 Chambers is that it sounds about as raw as it actually was. MCs in less than state of the art booths laying down lyrics over mediocre microphones. It's a song about youth and the understanding that we all come to when we realize that we won't be young forever. It's also an ode to those of us who survive the streets, those of us who live to tell the tale.

There a guy I've been seeing on and off for the last few weeks. It seemed as if he came out of nowhere when my little godbrother and I walked into a Clinton-Hill bodega. He grabbed me and pulled me into this deep grip that he wouldn't let go of, reciting incomprehensible concepts into my ear with eyes as red as the sea Moses parted. When he moved to run the same act on Bawo I wondered if one of the empty bottles on the ground was going to have to come in handy. The irony of all ironies is that he actually looks a little bit like the RZA.

I've seen twice since, once walking aimlessly down Fulton not far from our first meeting. The other time I was on my bike and was cruising by the park just in time to see him strike a woman half his size with a fist that could have floored a grown man. Others were pulling him off of her as I cruised away. The first thing that came into my mind was that somebody had to stop him, someone had to see just how dangerous her was. But then I realized that in the minds of those that mattered he was barely there, another crackhead possessed by the evil of one of the world's most addictive drugs. It reminded me of a scene I included in my memoir, when my father and I saw parked in front of a convenient store watching junkies mill back and forth. Some of the faces there, though it had been close to 40 years since my Dad called the place home, seemed familiar. Killing him would serve no person. There will always be another him to take the fallen's place.

The Wire did the best job of portraying the addicts life as one that no one things about. The barely boys playing lookout and serving rocks and dope on corners don't every really consider their role in the chain of event that might lead to a users downfall. Not unlike the average consumer they are seen more as a dollar amount than anything else, rarely recognized as the reason for the bling and temporary wealth that comes with dealing in illegal substances. The same goes for the non drug world. In this life we often shield ourselves from the implications of our actions because to not do so would be a figurative form of suicide. I never took myself past weed for a reason.

As I walked down 125th today, giving books to the African vendors to make St. Nick to Lenox their office, I was reminded of the irony that selling is all the same, that it's always a certain kind of soul sacrifice, one whose effects creep up on you like the buzz from a good bottle of bubbly. I'm more angry at the Pied Piper of R&B than I am for that abusive addict that looks like one of the world's greatest producers. At least the addict is honest with himself. Justice is never our department, even though we love to pretend that it is.

Last night a real friend lectured me on my past decisions to try to walk away from what I was meant to do. Last night I had to look at my own addiction and accept the fact that I have yet to truly kick my worst habit. I need to get out of New York but I can't. No rest for the weary with the schedule in the months ahead of me. While friends of mine are traveling the world, I'm dreading the walk down to the mailbox to see the new batch of bills waiting for me. But in a bad economy I'm sure we're all doing a little bit of that. But as I continue to work on Midnight I know that what's on the other side of this is worth it, one way or the other. And I'm not the only one, which helps me to remember that I never walk through the world alone. I'm not longer lost in the stalling that is the RZA's very existence, chasing highs because the lows are too much to deal with. That ain't me. And I'm really happy about that. Out.