¿A la fiesta?
Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2012 3:10 pm
Right songs for the right time…lemme see. Sometimes, it’s all about hearin’ someone like Pitbull or Fuego tellin’ it how it be. Or Daddy Yankee or Omega el fuerte representin’ it hard. Other times, though, it be all about listenin’ to the chicas bustin’ it out. Can lose myself in the music and totally feel like they singin’ right at me. That’s the hotness right there. Throw on some Sohanny…she had it. And hard to go wrong with some newer Shakira.
See, normally, I be wantin’ it all. Top spot somewhere, girls for chillin’ wit’, boys to roll wit’, girls for goin’ out wit’, respect, girls for mackin’, rep, a spot that’s mine to be cruisin’ for girls; the whole pastelón, yo. Now, can’t always get what we be wantin’, right? That’s fine. That’s cool. But you go for err’thing you can grab, nothin’ less, ever. Push as far as you can push, take whatev’s you can take, claim all there be to claim. Or, if you wanna be corny wit’ it, shoot for the Moon; you might at least end up wit’ some stars that way. Besides, if you don’t then what’ll you be left with? Rootin’ around in the dirt looking for whatever someone higher up be droppin’. And that f’sure ain’t me.
Course, also means you can end up on the pavement. There is that.
That’s the game at home, anyway. The game I’m used to. That’s the way things be runnin’. Fight to be somebody or you’re nobody, or worse, you’ll be somebody else’s. Probably a lot of that’s because the gangbangers be tryin’ to muscle err’body who ain’t them outta err’thing. They be settin’ a lotta rules just cause they got numbers. But here…different field, different game, different rules. Maybe same endin’, but that ain’t stop me at home and it ain’t stoppin’ me here. I’m doin’ ah-ight, but…I gotta want it all. The game ain’t changin’; I def can’t swing that kind of pull. So that leaves changin’ the player.
Speaking of…what the hell, throw in Perigosa by R-Nestinho on my playlist; the ending of that video makes me smirk, especially considering some of the things that be goin’ down ‘round here.
Anyway, the problem is knowin’ what to change and how to change it. It wasn’t a matter of just getting by. My folks’ve taken me ‘round the world and back, all kinds of places with all kinds of ways to be; adjusting enough to get by is easy. The fact is, I ain’t changin’ what I want; no way I’m settlin’ for anything less than all I deserve, and I deserve all I can earn. Go big or go home; if you ain’t playin’ to win, why play? Funny how the dead kid be the one I keep findin’ things in common wit’. Too bad he ain’t know the game.
But I gotta know what is who I be and what’s just part of the game I play to get it…which ain’t as easy. There’s a reason people always ask where someone be from when they wanna know ‘em; where you’re from seeps in, gets deep, and where it ends and you begin gets blurry. What’s me, and what’s jus Miami?
Who am I?
The bros in my corillo back home couldn’t help me on this. They were almost part of the problem; if I could figure out a better way to run, to be, I could sell ‘em on it. I know I could. But till then they expected me to run in Westbrook like I ran back home, and they’d call anything less sellin’ out.
I scrolled through my song list again. Song after song, each one saying something different, something important or trivial, something deep or shallow, something funny or sad or angry or laughing and on and on. Even just their names brought lyrics and beats and melodies pounding to my head; brought emotions, ideas, memories.
Memories of alleys and parks and garages and houses; but most and best of all the beaches. Too many people, not enough drinks, not enough cups, chilling out and causing trouble and bailing after cops get called (sure, cops could hassle us, but the crack house six blocks over and the dealers four corners down, they never went away).
The crowd, the bounce, yeah the chicas, but rollin’ wit’ your panas, goofin’ round, backing each other up…that’s it right there. Turnin’ someone trying to get ugly into a challenge to some dumb party game that be mad fun anyway. Bring out some blacklight lamps; everyone who be wantin’ brings some music to move to or drink or eat or whatever. And if a homie had got taken in? Taken down? Taken a knife, or a bullet? You tip your cup to ‘em, and call the party theirs.
Ok, so peeps ain’t like the kid. Happens. That actually ain’t no reason not to throw a party. Dyin’ be when you should be celebratin’ livin’. He lived. Now we gotta live what he didn’t. ‘sides, be too tense. Too down. Be snappin’ an’ snipin’. Maybe some people would hear the songs I be movin’ to, and they’d get some of where I be comin’ from. Maybe I listen to some of theirs and we bounce together and now we’re good. Or maybe I was foolin’ myself.
Still, if somethin’ like that could go off, charge up my batteries, an’ maybe help take care of err’thing else from there. Not that it’s the first time I be thinkin’ of party; thing is I don’t think I got the pull to get anything going…and how does that even work at boardin’ school, unless it’s a beach or alley thing? Maybe I could ask…
Oh. Maybe I didn’t need *that* much pull, or all the details. Maybe, just maybe, if I knew the right people…
Maybe.
See, normally, I be wantin’ it all. Top spot somewhere, girls for chillin’ wit’, boys to roll wit’, girls for goin’ out wit’, respect, girls for mackin’, rep, a spot that’s mine to be cruisin’ for girls; the whole pastelón, yo. Now, can’t always get what we be wantin’, right? That’s fine. That’s cool. But you go for err’thing you can grab, nothin’ less, ever. Push as far as you can push, take whatev’s you can take, claim all there be to claim. Or, if you wanna be corny wit’ it, shoot for the Moon; you might at least end up wit’ some stars that way. Besides, if you don’t then what’ll you be left with? Rootin’ around in the dirt looking for whatever someone higher up be droppin’. And that f’sure ain’t me.
Course, also means you can end up on the pavement. There is that.
That’s the game at home, anyway. The game I’m used to. That’s the way things be runnin’. Fight to be somebody or you’re nobody, or worse, you’ll be somebody else’s. Probably a lot of that’s because the gangbangers be tryin’ to muscle err’body who ain’t them outta err’thing. They be settin’ a lotta rules just cause they got numbers. But here…different field, different game, different rules. Maybe same endin’, but that ain’t stop me at home and it ain’t stoppin’ me here. I’m doin’ ah-ight, but…I gotta want it all. The game ain’t changin’; I def can’t swing that kind of pull. So that leaves changin’ the player.
Speaking of…what the hell, throw in Perigosa by R-Nestinho on my playlist; the ending of that video makes me smirk, especially considering some of the things that be goin’ down ‘round here.
Anyway, the problem is knowin’ what to change and how to change it. It wasn’t a matter of just getting by. My folks’ve taken me ‘round the world and back, all kinds of places with all kinds of ways to be; adjusting enough to get by is easy. The fact is, I ain’t changin’ what I want; no way I’m settlin’ for anything less than all I deserve, and I deserve all I can earn. Go big or go home; if you ain’t playin’ to win, why play? Funny how the dead kid be the one I keep findin’ things in common wit’. Too bad he ain’t know the game.
But I gotta know what is who I be and what’s just part of the game I play to get it…which ain’t as easy. There’s a reason people always ask where someone be from when they wanna know ‘em; where you’re from seeps in, gets deep, and where it ends and you begin gets blurry. What’s me, and what’s jus Miami?
Who am I?
The bros in my corillo back home couldn’t help me on this. They were almost part of the problem; if I could figure out a better way to run, to be, I could sell ‘em on it. I know I could. But till then they expected me to run in Westbrook like I ran back home, and they’d call anything less sellin’ out.
I scrolled through my song list again. Song after song, each one saying something different, something important or trivial, something deep or shallow, something funny or sad or angry or laughing and on and on. Even just their names brought lyrics and beats and melodies pounding to my head; brought emotions, ideas, memories.
Memories of alleys and parks and garages and houses; but most and best of all the beaches. Too many people, not enough drinks, not enough cups, chilling out and causing trouble and bailing after cops get called (sure, cops could hassle us, but the crack house six blocks over and the dealers four corners down, they never went away).
The crowd, the bounce, yeah the chicas, but rollin’ wit’ your panas, goofin’ round, backing each other up…that’s it right there. Turnin’ someone trying to get ugly into a challenge to some dumb party game that be mad fun anyway. Bring out some blacklight lamps; everyone who be wantin’ brings some music to move to or drink or eat or whatever. And if a homie had got taken in? Taken down? Taken a knife, or a bullet? You tip your cup to ‘em, and call the party theirs.
Ok, so peeps ain’t like the kid. Happens. That actually ain’t no reason not to throw a party. Dyin’ be when you should be celebratin’ livin’. He lived. Now we gotta live what he didn’t. ‘sides, be too tense. Too down. Be snappin’ an’ snipin’. Maybe some people would hear the songs I be movin’ to, and they’d get some of where I be comin’ from. Maybe I listen to some of theirs and we bounce together and now we’re good. Or maybe I was foolin’ myself.
Still, if somethin’ like that could go off, charge up my batteries, an’ maybe help take care of err’thing else from there. Not that it’s the first time I be thinkin’ of party; thing is I don’t think I got the pull to get anything going…and how does that even work at boardin’ school, unless it’s a beach or alley thing? Maybe I could ask…
Oh. Maybe I didn’t need *that* much pull, or all the details. Maybe, just maybe, if I knew the right people…
Maybe.