November 2010


The Basketball Jones never ceases to amaze. Been listening to Skeets & Tas since early 2007. No one better for ball, and i’m proud to say they’re home grown Toronto talent. You most definitely need to check out this video. Amazing.

http://player.vimeo.com/video/16923891

TBJ exclusive: Like A Bosh from The Basketball Jones on Vimeo.

Advertisements

I never thought I would be writing this letter. It’s something I have thought about for some time, but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. This is very hard for me, but it’s the right time.

I met you when I was 9 years old. My boys, who were a little older, used to kick it with you in the park. They would sit and listen to you speak for hours on end, taking in every word you had to say. They would say to me “you have to listen to her speak.” Many times they recited your words to me; they had your poems memorized. I wont’ lie, your words were dope. Soon I was there with them, listening to you. Hanging on every word. Finding harmony in your poems.

Your poems were about a life I never knew existed. Even though I never experienced what you talked about, I could feel your emotions as if I had lived it. While many disapproved of what you had to say, more and more were listening to you. It wasn’t long till I fell in love with you. You were the first of the only two loves I would ever know.

We grew up together. Through my teens, you were the only one I would listen to. I would try to learn every one of your poems. Some of my friends would be amazed at how many of them I had memorized. A few laughed at how immersed I would be emotionally when reciting your words. You were with me through most of my firsts, experiencing them together. Through out my teens I found comfort in your words. It didn’t matter what was going on in my life, I always felt like you understood me. I can’t count the hours that I spent alone with you, just listening to you, silently. I still remember this one night. It was a Friday. Me and the boys were a little older. It was my first time drinking. It was dark and late. We were by the jungle gyms. We always hung out there because it was away from the walking path and the lamps. You were there as always, speaking to us. I drank a lot that night. I don’t remember most of it. I do remember your words. I remember how vivid the emotions felt as you spoke. I had never felt them this profoundly; maybe it was the alcohol. I remember reciting along with you; every word as if I had written them. We all did. We didn’t stop, even as we walked home while the sun was coming up.

Through most of my life I always kept current with every one of your new poems. We grew together, matured together, and changed together. As we grew older, so did your audience. You poems were being accepted by the majority rather than the minority. Your popularity was never higher and you were attracting a larger audience. Your poems started to change, the emotions in your words changed. While most of your poems appealed to a broader audience, you still managed to write some for the few of us that had been listening to you from the beginning. Yet, we continued to grow older; continued to grow apart.

Over the last few years I’ve come to realize, your poems are no longer meant for me. They’re for a newer audience, a younger audience. Without realizing it, I started to move on. I still listen to a lot of your new poems, but I would be lying if I told you I felt the same emotion as I did in my younger years. Those you recited to me as I grew up will always be a big part of my life. I still listen to them and even though I have moved on, just remember that I will always love you… Hip Hop.

As for the other love, I’m not ready to write that letter to her.