Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics

The brilliance of Lil Pump and the wonder that is “Gucci Gang”

The first time I heard this song I was caught off guard by how profound and moving it was, to the point that calling it a song failed to do it justice and I began referring to this as simply “the highest form of audible art”. The first lyrics heard, 10 seconds in, “Gucci Gang”. It’s a strong reminder of the struggles one goes through when trying to show individuality in a society that strips us of such wondrous gifts. It hits home; we must always be wary of the machinations of those in power. The next line is Lil Pump asserting this anthem as his own while also repeating the phrase “Gucci Gang”, to make sure it’s drilled in our brains that although this is his achievement, we are all worthy to have it grace our eardrums. With that solid base lodged into our hearts the song continues into what can only be described as the greatest chorus every recorded.
“Gucci Gang” is repeated 8 times, and this number is no accident. Remember that old joke from elementary school? Why is 6 afraid of 7? Because 7 ate (8) 9. This repetition is clearly drawing upon the listeners fond memories of childhood, when something as simple as the concept of numbers eating one another was seen as nothing more than a “funny time”.

We were all fools.

Don’t you see? We are the young, the “6”. We MUST be afraid of the elder, the “7”. But why? Well, because it is human nature to consume to survive, and so it goes that “7” “ate (8)” “9”. We are the 6, a concept Lil Pump even uses outside of this video and song – This video was released on 10/23/17. And what’s 23-17? 6. And what’s 6+10? 16, which is a “6” with a 1 in front of it. We are the first generation to live with our hearts and minds open; we are not sheep. We are not content to be lead by those in front, the 1+6, the “7”. We will not be afraid of those who feel before us to there greed, the “9”. We shall rise up, creating a better world, and we will lead by example.

The rest of this chorus speaks to how Lil Pump will lead us 6’s.

“My bitch love cocaine”, as in being high; we are the generation who sets the bar higher and higher, always reaching for the top.

“I fuck a bitch, I forgot her name.” Physical attractions should be expressed, not shackled down. Restricting our bodies is the same as restricting our souls, so we must let go. Let go of the judgement from society, letting ourselves do as we please, and in the process “forgetting” the names of those around us, as our connections are far deeper than superficial names.

“I can’t buy a bitch no wedding ring.” Have you even SEEN Blood Diamond?! Jewelry is a scam, and we will not buy into such shallow and pedantic things.

“Rather go and buy Balmains.” What does one do after a War? How do you re-build? Where do you even start? Well, in 1946 Pierre Balmain found himself faced with that very same question, but saw the truth; it was not “WHERE” to start, but what you start to “WEAR.” Thus, true fashion was born. A comfortable as a second skin, but allowing us to shed our layers with our moods, to reflect on the surface our inner turmoil, Balmain is the definition of rising from the ashes and becoming the face of the future.

I would continue, but at this point I think it is clear the depth Lil Pump has placed in this masterpiece. Only 130 seconds, but in those scant 130 seconds Lil Pump deliveries a Doctorate Degrees worth of knowledge. We are truly blessed to be living in a world where such beauty can exist.

Thank you Lil Pump, you are as close to perfect as humanity will ever be.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

The twinkle in her eyes isn’t from stardust or diamonds or pearls; Her eyes shine from her own wonder, her curious nature for everything around her.

She is not a star, some solar entity floating in space, whose light takes lifetimes to reach those around her. She is home, in that comfortable sense of belonging to something that means everything. She is the familiar creak of decade old stairs in the way her smile crinkles around the edges of her mouth, she is both the soft touch of pillows you used to build forts with siblings and the firm cushion that captured so many tired tears…

A stare from her is the reflection you saw in the mirror when you were 10, before the world and the nightmares turned all thoughts dark and your image into a shadow, something to be feared and despised. She isn’t…she wasn’t just some pretty face, some human body to pass the time with, to float through life with. She was…brilliant in how she tricked a boy into loving himself, into thinking he had a real shot..I can never hate her…I can never hate anybody because she made me focus on me..and now I can’t look away, but I don’t like what I see..and she isn’t here to quell my demons, and I’m so tired of living in the dark…I’m tired of fearing death and fearing life, of being empty of anything aside from fear..I’m running on autopilot, and I just can’t do this anymore..I need someone to save me..somebody please tell me they can save me..

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry

I’ve spent the past 4 years surrounded by nothing but noise, yet it’s still her silence that speaks to me the loudest.

She kisses with that glowing touch;

A muted, thin breach of confidence.

A kiss laced with smiles,

Wrinkled noses, a million words

Expressed in two lips

Meeting over an exchange of hearts.

The sort of kiss that fills you up,

Rushes blood throughout your body;

A kiss to replace the rhythm in your chest

That forever now skips a beat

With every glance she gives,

With every look you steal.


Now do you understand?

Love come to pass starts with a stolen heart,

And when the sun you share

Finally begins to dim

You are left as the moon; 

Stealing light as you try to become

A beacon in the sky once more.


Her kisses gently revealed

How much a fool has to lose.

Searching for answers now

Is stumbling through the dark,

Reaching out for hands to guide.

The problem with that is

Only those looking through the dark

Can now see as you try to shine,

Truly the blind leading the blind…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, Uncategorized

No moment you have lived was ever better off without you. We aren’t accumulations of failures; we are exactly who we are meant to be, pain and all.

We live because no matter how much pain we may feel, we feel so much more. What is joy, happiness, that falling while reading a lover’s last note, that warmth from a friends smile after a night spent on failures, that fleeting sense of control that makes you feel at home and holds you back from everything you’ve ever had or ever will have? That doesn’t mean we have to know pain to understand joy. As the saying goes, the taste of broccoli in no way affects the deliciousness of chocolate. But then again, some people are allergic to chocolate, so maybe there is such a thing as karma in this spinning mess of a galaxy? Utter nonsense! And that’s the real beauty! You are thinking to much, friend! You aren’t feeling enough, yet you’re feeling to much; crying over spilled milk even though you’re lactose intolerant and don’t even know why you had the milk in the first place! You are an enigma, a completely unique snowflake that has no equal in space or time, yet a mirror copy of the million, billion, trillion hearts that have traced this land before you! You are what you were always meant to be, and that has to count for something, right?! You have meaning, and that meaning is not assigned by any man, woman, lover or foe, God or Devil, but because you are just you! You ARE YOU! Nothing like you has breathed this air, felt this rain, cried these tears, caught that fly ball, broke that pinky finger, burnt that dutch apple pie, dirtied that hat that means the world to you, fought with the mother who loves you in a way you can never appreciate, held onto that hand even when it stopped holding back, found a home in a hole that was never that bad to begin with; nothing like you has been or ever will be again. You are a moment. Moments are what make memories. Memories are those things you alter in that wacky head of yours depending on the time of day, weather outside and amount of poison in your blood, both in the literal sense of alcohol and the VERY literal sense of doubt. Those memories build up, fall apart completely, come together like a puzzle and destroy the world as you know it. Memories are the past, but do you see? The past can’t be changed you say? Then how are you able to bend it so easily? If that past, truly set in stone, crumbles and glues together like rice crispies and hot marshmallows, then why do people EVER think that destiny, fate, the future is written out in some kind of marker that cannot be altered? You are magic. You bend time in your head, create worlds just by opening your eyes, breath a universe through your nose, touch the face of infinity with those hands you think are too calloused and small and cut to shreds to ever have another human hold. Breathe kid! Sing like sound isn’t shit, cry like tears are diamonds and like diamonds are nothing but shiny stones to give to pretty girls and boys who need something bright in a moment, to change a memory, to change that fate, to beat up destiny, to light up the magic in their eyes so it can reflect in yours and then you see, finally! Cheer up buttercup! God him(her!)self watches your every move in jealousy! You are life! Even in death, you are life! You ARE YOU! YOU ARE THE MOMENT! YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE! So even if it’s overplayed, cliche, the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever heard, complete bullshit formed from meaningless words on stupidly white pages in a broken-spine notebook, you are the universe. Free to feel the deepest sadness, the sweetest happiness, the simple pains of simple letdowns and the simple joys of the perfect rainy March day. Breathe the universe.