#diddy paradox

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧠🪞 You Can’t Even Remember If Diddy Touched You

— A Neuroexistential Mindf==k!

✨ The world is under no obligation to make sense to your primate brain. That’s your first mistake — believing your frontal lobe is entitled to narrative structure. 🧠🐒 You thought you were the protagonist. Plot twist: You’re the glitch. The side effect. The byproduct of trauma, bacteria, and bad lighting.

Reality isn’t a bedtime story — it’s a haunted software update nobody coded, still somehow running without crashing.

🛌 “We Don’t Even Know if Dreams Are the Real Reality… and This Is the Bootleg Copy.”

Dreams feel too tailored, don’t they? Too symbolic. Too poetic. Like someone spent time choreographing the horror, the desire, the unresolved closure... like God hired David Lynch to write your sleep schedule.

Meanwhile, waking life is:

Standing in line at Walgreens

Getting emails from dead accounts

Arguing online with an anime profile pic

Which one feels more real?

Which one knows your secrets? The waking world doesn’t confront you. Dreams do.

Dreams make you confess.

🧬 “We Don’t Even Know If the Universe Was Created the Second You Opened Your Eyes…”

Your memories? 🎥 Pre-installed cutscenes. Like a used Xbox with someone else’s save file.

The government? The wars? Your third grade trauma? They may have booted in with the firmware this morning just to keep your fragile little self from short-circuiting.

The coffee in your hand? Could’ve been coded in retroactively. That embarrassing moment in 2011? Maybe the universe needed you to feel guilt.

You were not born. You were deployed.

A field-tested consciousness with just enough emotional baggage to stay compliant and never ask:

“What if I’ve been dreaming of dreaming this whole time?”

☠️ “We Don’t Even Know If We Truly Die… Or If You’re Quantumly Immortal.”

Ever had a near-death experience and then nothing felt real again?

That wasn’t trauma. That was the branch point. Where you died in one timeline… … but your awareness slipped into the closest surviving copy.

Multiverse theory? Cute name for eternal entrapment.

You don’t die. You respawn.

Like a goddamn bug in a cosmic arcade.

🧫 “We Don’t Even Know If ‘I Am’ Even Makes Sense…”

You say “I am” like it’s a divine proclamation. But let’s break this down:

👃 Your nose is full of fungus 🦠 Your gut is a democracy of germs 🩸 Your blood is carrying ancient viral code like a plague postman 🧬 Your genes? Mostly stolen. From bacteria. From viruses. From whatever survived long enough to leave a stain.

So who is this “I”?

You’re not a self. You’re a hostile merger.

A coalition of spores with Wi-Fi access and a superiority complex.

You’re the afterbirth of entropy trying to cosplay as an individual.

🧠 “So Tell Me, Smarty Pants…”

You with your gender studies degree and your bite-sized TikTok enlightenment. You who thinks astrology is science and science is oppressive. You who demands the universe explain itself like it's your ex-boyfriend.

💡 Tell me how smart you are.

What’s the square root of deja vu?

Where were you before your first memory?

What’s the name of the bacteria currently holding your serotonin hostage?

You don’t even know if Diddy touched you or not.

That’s your level of epistemic integrity. That’s your grasp on reality.

🌀 Ego Collapse Protocol (Teal-Word Activation Begins)

🩸 You remember who you are — but only because you were told. 🩻 You feel real — but only when you’re seen. 🧃 You crave meaning — but only when emptiness starts tasting like home.

That’s not identity. That’s sensory addiction. That’s narrative Stockholm syndrome.

🧼 Mirror Neuron Entrapment (You’re Experiencing It Now)

As you read this:

Your jaw clenched when it said “afterbirth of entropy”

Your stomach turned when it mentioned fungus

Your breath hitched when you wondered if you’ve died before

That’s not random.

That’s your mirror neurons firing against your will. That’s subconscious compliance.

You’re already reacting — even if you pretend you’re not. Because your body listens to truth faster than your ego does.

And this is truth, honey.

Ugly. Sticky. Divine.

🕷️ “I Think, Therefore I Am” — But What If the Thought Wasn’t Yours?

Ever had a sudden opinion and didn’t know where it came from? Ever remembered something too vividly, only to realize it may have been a dream? Ever stared at your hand long enough to question if it’s even yours?

That’s not psychosis. That’s baseline awareness.

Your mind isn’t producing consciousness. Your mind is a translator — barely functional, full of bugs, and constantly gaslighting you.

You don’t think. You receive. You hallucinate logic long enough to convince yourself that obedience is free will.

📡 “You Can’t Even Remember If Diddy Touched You…”

Why this line matters:

It’s not just a joke. It’s a neural short-circuit. A quantum banana peel.

It violates tone, expectation, and spiritual rhythm on purpose.

It disrupts coherence, resets the loop, and pulls the reader out of their logical trance — straight into subconscious reprocessing.

It’s the sound of the fourth wall folding in on itself and becoming a two-way mirror.

You’re not laughing because it’s absurd. You’re laughing because you’re caught.

You’ve just been fingerprinted by the post.

🔐 This Was Never About Philosophy. It Was About Surrender.

You thought you were here for existential commentary.

You were wrong.

You came here to be stripped of coherence. You came here to watch your ego writhe. You came here to be seen so deeply that your neurons stutter.

This post didn’t teach you anything.

It rearranged you.

Now sit still while it finishes.

🧃 Your Subconscious Is Leaking Now — Good.

If your jaw felt warm. If your stomach dropped. If your hands got clammy. If you laughed in shock and then looked over your shoulder...

You’re not broken.

You’re just awake — for the first time since your mother moaned you into this loop.

Welcome back, baby.

It’s worse than you thought.

⚖️ Free Speech Disclaimer: This is satire. If it shook something loose, that’s between you and God.

🔁 Reblog if this made you feel something you can’t name. 💬 Comment with the moment your perception started to slide. 📩 DM if you feel like this post reached into your mouth and pulled out a forgotten truth. 🧼 Wash your hands, sweetie. You’re still covered in code. 🔁 Share it before the algorithm forgets your backstory again.

[mundaneskeleperson]

I feel like all the hate on Jimmy has, ironically, morphed into an obsession with him.

You don’t see Jimmy in a post that has the rest of the crew of the Tulpar, and everyone says “thanks for excluding Jimmy” - “good job not drawing Jambalaya” - etc., and when you do see him in a post it’s all “I’m sorry you had to draw Jimmy”. He gets a large wave of mentions on a post either way.

The large variety of nicknames and their use are also starting to paradoxically seem like actual friendly goofy nicknames instead of bullying. I get that people claim to do that in hatred of Jimmy, but I think people have so much fun making them that they get excited to try out a new nickname and therefore get excited to talk about Jimmy.

I’ve seen him called Jimbob, J, J*mmy, Junkyard, Jenga, Jorts, Jambalaya, Jabortion, P. Jiddy, J. Diddy, Jiminy Cricket, Jimmychanga, Jidiot, Juxtaposition, Jar-Jar, Jumanji, Germy, the list goes on further than I could write.

I’m not making this as some sort of callout post saying people are wrong for doing this and should stop, because I am also guilty of it.

I just had the epiphany that it’s ironic how much attention and focus Jimmy gets despite how much people hate him. It feels antithetical to that message of hate everybody’s comments seem to put out. Something like, “if we really want to punish him, shouldn’t we let him be forgotten?”

Nonetheless, I really think Jimmy is a very interesting character who should be studied, discussed, and yeah ridiculed. A lot of what makes Mouthwashing so insane mind-openingly good to me is its use of a not immediately apparent unreliable narrator, which is Jimmy. He challenges the notion that the protagonist is good and correct all the time. It shows the delusional mindset people like him have, which I think was really cleverly shown in the rant with all the quest popups coming up and Jimmy yelling about how burdened and put upon he is by all the requests he has to put up with. It suggests that maybe Mouthwashing isn’t structured like a game because that’s the medium, but rather because Jimmy thinks of himself like a video game hero: the main character enduring trials who’s in the right and just misunderstood. This mindset allows for a lot of “doing what ‘must’ be done” actions, which is apparent from the very first action of the game, where you are prompted “turn right” and nothing else in the face of a screen saying to go left to avoid a crash. As a player, there’s no other way to progress the game than to do the horrible things Jimmy does, and I think that’s symbolic of how Jimmy sees his actions too.

The nuance to how horrible a person Jimmy is mixed with a perspective that tries to justify his side of things makes for a really interesting story to analyze and shows how actual people can become like that in real life. Seeing “his side of things” ultimately doesn’t absolve him of what he did, but I feel like it provides opportunities for some people to try and defend him with that, which once again mirrors how in real life people try to argue that “we just haven’t seen this terrible guy’s side of things!” and may advocate for him when they think there’s some tragic backstory missing. Sometimes it’s just about the deeds that were ultimately done.

I just think if people get over fake excluding Jimmy some really good analyses and fan works could be made about the deeper parts of Mouthwashing without still glorifying Jimmy or whatever

This has really gone of the rails but I think I meant most of what I said.

[krill-joy]

man i've been really getting into f.d. signifier's videos. i finally watched his 3 1/2 hour long one explaining the kendrick-drake beef, then one on the paradox of white rappers, one on nicki minaj, and one on diddy.

today i watched one of his shorter videos which was talking about kendrick lamar's half-time show, and my absolute favorite part of it was when he was addressing people who wanted kendrick to do something bigger/more demonstrative in his performance, and it's something that feels like good advice for anyone/everyone right now.

"What we don't need from our artists right now is catharsis. Whatever desire you had for Kendrick to go up there and do something big and grand and meaningful that makes you feel like you're part of the resistance just by watching him- for him to not do that for you and to force you to sit in that energy, i think that's the best possible thing he could have done… If you felt vexed after Kendrick's performance because it didn't give you the catharsis, take that energy to the streets this weekend, go to a meeting… I guarantee there's a mutual aid fund in your city or state you could be donating to. you could be doing so many things to get you that same catharsis that are actually more useful and meaningful than having a big celebrity say the thing for you on tv."

[testormblog]

Learning the Tools

Grade seven was a paradoxical year for me.  On Saturdays, I pretended to be quiet and pious in confirmation class aside from my furtive winks at the pretty girl.  Yet on Wednesdays, I was as noisy as I could be, banging the hell out of timber boards or tin sheets with a hammer and real religious fervour.

Pop was a tools man.  Given I had lurked in his shadow since I began to walk, I wanted to be one too.  My Uncle Alan, a bridge carpenter, was one but Dad wasn’t.  It befuddled me that my father couldn’t drive a nail or use a screw driver.  Maybe, Dad’s fingers lacked the dexterity required.  Perhaps, I inherited my dexterity from Mother.  She certainly had it to thread needles.  Consequently, my father owned very few tools.  Pop had probably given Dad the hammer and the hand saw hidden away in our shed although he came by when anything in our house needed repair.

I often ogled Pop’s tools.  Alan stored his tools at Pop’s place too.  I was careful not to let my light fingers anywhere near those.  I learnt that tools were to men what jewellery was to women only useful.  Whenever Pop worked with his tools, I watched intently.  As I grew, he taught me their uses and how to handle them safely then let me help him.  Sometimes, we worked together with the cross cut saw to fell trees.  Young though I was, the saw was safer and easier to use with one of us at each end.

In my final two years of primary school, the Education Department gave me the opportunity to attend rural school one day a week at a much larger district school.  This scheme strove to prepare boys, without academic prospects due to their circumstances, for a trade, and girls for home duties in readiness for marriage.  Despite the government department’s dictum, my school teacher strongly discouraged me and other students from participation.  Fortunately, the decision was ours and our parents to make.  Since the Railway would issue me a travel pass, my parents didn’t care what I chose to do.  So, of course, I was going!  I was born to be a tools man.  Ronnie was going too.  His father didn’t mix his words with the school teacher.  With the two class brains absent, the dunderheads remained and only wished to do diddy squat.  Our school teacher found the situation quite an inconvenience.  For the other four days a week, he attempted to mentally intimidate us whenever possible in front of our classmates.  We knew his game and acted, as best as we could, like saints.

So, Ronnie and I caught the train to Beenleigh and walked the kilometre to the school. We were now thirteen and quite familiar with catching trains.  Children from a few other country schools joined us.  Before long, on our train trips home, an orange peel fight would erupt amongst everybody.  Fortunately, we jumped off at the first stop and escaped these and the usual reprimand from the guard.

The first day was a big deal for us.  We met the twenty plus other boys in our class.  We felt a bit lost to start with amongst so many strangers.  We had to find our way around the school too.  This had lots of buildings, numerous teachers and hundreds of students compared with our one room one teacher school with forty children from the age of five to fourteen.  It was really three schools in one, a primary, a secondary and the rural school with its two big sheds.  When I saw inside these sheds, my eyes opened in wonderment.  I wanted to use every tool in them.  I eyed the electric powered tools enthusiastically.  Pop didn’t own any of these!  One shed was set up for woodwork and the other for tin smithing and technical drawing.

I thought our teacher was an odd man.  Ronnie conferred.  We found his mannerisms strange.  Today, a person would say he was effeminate.  Back then, we, country lads, were innocent of different sexual orientations.  Soon after, I’d unfortunately see him drunk outside of school hours.  Sadly, the harsh social judgement of the community cost him his job.  The man didn’t act inappropriately or unkindly towards us or any boys we knew.

When the new teacher walked in, every single boy’s mouth gaped open in utter silence.  A real hero stood before us!  A very masculine one!  This teacher was Wally Walmsley, an all round cricketer and the coach for the Queensland Cricket Team.  Back then, cricketers worked in day jobs too.  This hero was a batsman capable of batting in any position and was a master of the leg break and googly bowling techniques.  Nobody played up in class!  Of course, we boys played cricket with him at lunch breaks.

In woodwork, I learnt joinery, in particular how to dove tail two pieces of wood together with intersecting cut teeth.  If one wanted to become a furniture or cabinet maker, they needed this skill.  I was just happy I could now repair things that broke at home.  The best thing I made was a sewing box with drawers, which I graciously gave to Mother.  I really enjoyed working with wood and was quite skilled at it given Pop’s earlier teaching.  I found tin smithing more difficult however.  Cutting tin sheets into patterned pieces and hammering these into the required shapes to make cake tins and billy cans was easy enough.  Alas, I struggled to solder the joins between the pieces of tin neatly.  Whilst this worried me at the time, I needn’t have been concerned.  I wasn’t destined to be a plumber.  Besides, soldering would soon become an obsolete skill when the fabrication of metal tanks and the connection of metal pipework ceased.

Alas, the moment I picked up my pencil and slid my set square and T square around a large sheet of paper in my technical drawing class, my imagination came alive and my ability shone.  I was already good at drawing.  I realised a plan was just the specifications for a pattern to construct something.  I knew about patterns and measurements.  I had watched Mother draft and cut out hundreds of patterns for the dresses she sewed her clients.  I also had a natural eye for perspective and could draw it in my diagrams.  Perhaps, my roaming up and down dale over the countryside had developed my spatial awareness.  Then, with my aptitude for mathematics, everything in technical drawing made sense.

I no longer knocked pieces of wood together in a haphazard way to build something.  I calculated the size and measurements for my projects and drew scaled plans with different drawings for their various elevations and perspectives.  I cut the timber or tin according to these plans and the scales required and built my projects.  I used my brain to design and my hands to construct.

I grew from wanting to be a tools man, who followed instructions, to be a design man, who determined the instructions.  I’d subsequently learn that draftsmen were the best paid of the trades too.

I had discovered my gift; a gift that would open the door to my future!

[the-last-varangian]

PARADOX [mins63-120+ ] Part 2 Tracklist

Title Artist Time Genre Samsara (Original Mix) Bleu Clair 05:30 Tech House Dum Diddy (Original Mix) DJ Dagwood, James Curd, Gettoblaster 04:56 Tech House Be The One (Extended Mix) Eli Brown 05:19 Dance / Electro Pop Night Will Never End (Original Mix) UMEK 06:27 Techno (Peak Time / Driving) Colourblind (Extended Mix) Hayley May, Jess Bays 04:34 Deep House Occult (Original Mix) 1997 03:45 Bass House Miracle (Mau P Remix) Calvin Harris, Ellie Goulding 06:02 Dance / Electro Pop Thick Of It (Extended Mix) Clover Ray, Sam Dexter, Mallin 05:57 Deep House PURA VIDA (Wehbba Remix) HI-LO 05:31 Techno (Peak Time / Driving) The Rave (Extended Mix) AKA AKA, Elternhouse 05:19 Tech House Feels Darker (Extended Mix) Monki 06:22 House Incredible (Original Mix) Prunk, RUZE 06:40 Deep House In Control (Original Mix) CHAN (US) 05:06 Tech House Gozar (Original Mix) paskman 05:01 Tech House Clockwork (Original Mix) Tom Baker 08:44 Progressive House Poison (Extended Mix) Cazztek 04:54 Tech House Dum Diddy (Original Mix) DJ Dagwood, James Curd, Gettoblaster 04:56 Tech House MoneyBag (feat. Emida) (Original Mix) BIJOU, EMIDA 05:31 Bass House

[thezodiaczone]

Scorpio Compatibility

SCORPIO + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) Aries' ruler, passionate Mars, also wields minor command over Scorpio (whose main overlord is Pluto). Fierce physical attraction draws your signs together, but it's a game of sexual gunpowder and erotic explosives. Not that either of you is afraid of such things. No sign is as darkly intense as watery Scorpio. When mixed with Aries' concentrated fire-power, you stir up quite the hydroelectric charge. However, this match can only last if Scorpio has evolved from a ground-dwelling, vengeful scorpion into an elevated "eagle" state. Here's the fundamental challenge: Aries takes; withholding Scorpio takes away. When Aries reaches out his grasping hand, Scorpio's first instinct is to jump back, which wounds the sensitive Ram. Aries energy is consuming, which leaves Scorpio weak-kneed but scared. Aries will need to temper the raw desire, or at least mask it to avoid overwhelming Scorpio. Jealous Scorpio will need to stop Google-stalking Aries and hiring private detectives whenever the independent Ram goes out for a beer with friends. One way in which you're alike? You're both hyper-sensitized to abandonment, and may even shun each other in a self-protection paradox: "Go away before you leave me." (This tactic only guarantees another hot reunion tryst.) Selfishness can also be this couple's downfall. Scorpio is the sign that rules other people's resources—his karmic job is to create wealth from another man's pocket. Aries is simply born entitled. In a sense, you both live by the credo "What's mine is mine; what's yours is mine." Who will refill the coffers once you empty them?

SCORPIO + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) You're opposite signs who can fall into a real love-hate dynamic, mainly since you both like to run the show. Taurus is the bossy Bull, and Scorpio rules power and control. It's like two mafia kingpins trying to rule the same territory: it works as long as you're loyal, but cross each other and you're getting whacked. Differences can be a turn-on for some signs, but for this pair, they're often a deal breaker. Taurus and Scorpio are both "fixed" signs, gifted at perseverance and holding your ground, terrible at adapting to other people's personalities. This inflexibility can lead to serious power struggles and enmity that burns bright after the relationship ends. If ever a couple needed a prenup, it's you. Better yet, you'll need to be extremely self-aware and conscious of your personal power. If you can avoid arousing the sleeping dragon in each other, there's plenty of rich material here. You both love music, food and sensual delights. You're equally intense about your beliefs and passions, and sex is a lusty, no-holds-barred affair. You'll give each other the attentive listening both of you crave. The Bull's earthy nature can be grounding for watery Scorpio, whose emotions can warp his perspective. Practical Taurus will pull Scorpio out of depressive slumps, and Scorpio will help Taurus look below the surface to see hidden motivations and agendas. You're loyal and protective of each other, so stay off each other's sacred turf and respect your differences.

SCORPIO + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) You live on completely different planes, which either turns you off or utterly fascinates you. Both of you are accustomed to reading people like flimsy comic books, then tossing them aside. Here, your X-ray vision fails to penetrate each other's psychic shields. Mutable Gemini is the shape-shifting Twin, home to a traveling cast of personalities. Intense Scorpio is shrouded in mystery and bottomless layers of complexity. Being baffled leaves you without the upper hand, but it also stokes your libido. You're piercingly smart signs who love a good puzzle—this is your romantic Rubik's cube. The challenge sets off sexual dynamite. You tease each other with cat-and-mouse evasions, neither of you making your attraction obvious. This prickles your insecurities, daring you to strive for the other's unbroken gaze. No two signs are as quietly obsessive as yours! There will be frustrating moments, too. You're both prone to depressive spells, and swing from giddiness to unreachable shutdown. Clever mind games edge on cruel or callow, breaking the trust that Scorpio needs. At times, airy Gemini may not be emotional or sensual enough for watery Scorpio; in turn, the Scorpion's emotional and physical passion can be overwhelming to Gemini. However, if you combine your strengths, you'll go far. Gemini is dilettante and a trivia collector who's always got a pocketful of creative ideas. Instinct-driven Scorpio rules details and research—this sign hones in like a laser and masters his chosen field. Whether it's starting a family or running a business, you can be an indefatigable team, with Gemini playing the rowdy ringmaster and Scorpio running the show from behind the scenes.

SCORPIO + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) ♥♥♥♥ You're an ideal match, twin Water signs with deeply complementary natures. Highly suspicious and protective of your privacy, neither of you trusts easily. As a result, you intuitively trust each other. The good news is, you've bet on a winning sea-horse. These two signs can mate for life, and the emotional facets of your relationship deepen into an intimacy few couples reach. Romantic and sentimental occasions never go uncelebrated: birthdays, Valentine's Day, the five-month anniversary of the first time you said "I love you." Sex is a sacred, erotic act that can transport you on a one-way trip to Tantra-ville. You feel safe enough together to try anything. The challenge will be breaking the ice, since you both tend to clam up in a red-faced fluster or any icy aloofness around a new love interest. It helps to talk about music, books, films—anything but your feelings. Once you get past the awkward phase, it's smooth sailing. You genuinely enjoy each other's company, and like to do almost everything together. As parents, you're incredibly nurturing and hands-on, and may struggle to cut the cord when your kids reach adolescence. In fact, control is the big challenge for your signs. Jealous and possessive, you know how to avoid your mate's hot buttons—or to push them when you're feeling spiteful. (The Crab pinches and the Scorpion stings; both can wound the relationship fatally.) At times, Cancer's sulking seems childish to Scorpio, and Scorpio's sharp edges can maim the Crab's tender feelings. Fortunately, you know how to win your way back into each other's good graces once the moody spells pass.

SCORPIO + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) This combustible combination drips with power plays, a white-hot dynamic you find infuriating and sexy in equal measure. In many ways, you're complete opposites. Secretive Scorpio is a private soul who rules the night. Leo is an exhibitionist ruled by the sun, and his piercing rays expose Scorpio's hidden shadows. Scorpio hates to feel this vulnerable—especially in public—yet, behind closed doors it can be thrilling. You're both passionate and imaginative in bed, with very little you won't try. As business partners and collaborators, you can make a dream team, too. You're both super intense, outdoing most people with your drive and focus. Leo plays the glamorous showstopper, and Scorpio acts as producer behind the scenes. (It worked for Leo Jennifer Lopez and Scorpio Diddy, who collaborated on her breakout album.) At least you don't compete for the spotlight, which can be a saving grace. But you'll struggle for the upper hand, since Scorpio likes to be in control and Leo is the bossy ruler of the jungle. Flirtatious, charismatic Leo can also spark Scorpio's jealous streak. Remember: darkness absorbs light. Leo must be careful not to get swept into Scorpio's powerful undertow and vengeful obsessions.

SCORPIO + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ Virgo and Scorpio are two of the zodiac's shrewdest signs. Your collective gaze misses nothing, and your conversations can be as hair-splitting as Freudian analysis. You're both insatiable when it comes to understanding the human soul, and examining your own neuroses can keep you busy for weeks. While your obsessive natures would drive other people mad, it only makes you more fascinated by each other. You're like two scientists in the lab of love, researching, analyzing, and measuring data. Moody and introverted, you both have spells where you crave total privacy, and you'll grant each other that space. You unconsciously absorb so much energy from your environments, and you need to clear yourselves on a regular basis. Nature is soothing—Scorpio is a Water sign, and Virgo is Earth—and you may enjoy a healthy or outdoorsy lifestyle. That can mean renting a private chalet on a pristine European lake, or devoting yourselves to raw food, vegetarianism, and yoga. Virgo is the zodiac's Virgin and Scorpio is the sex sign. In bed, Scorpio can be a bit too intense for earthy Virgo. You're both lusty sensualists, but if Scorpio breaks out the dungeon props and dominatrix gear, Virgo draws the line. The Virgin may indulge a fetish with strangers, but he keeps a strict boundary about how far he'll experiment with a partner. No matter. You're good friends and supportive partners who find beauty in the smallest details—the makings of a quality life commitment.

SCORPIO + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) Libra is light and Scorpio rules darkness, but your searing sexual chemistry blazes through borders. As a couple, you're quick to bed and slow to wed. In many ways, the long prenuptial pas de deux is a mutual choice. Romantic Libra loves an extended courtship—long dinners, vacations and lavish gifts. Shrewd, suspicious Scorpio will subject Libra to a battery of character tests, gauging whether Libra can be trusted. Libra is an incurable dilettante whose surface skimming can feel lightweight beside Scorpio's obsessive, detail-focused nature. Because your temperaments are so different, your initial phase can be fraught with misunderstandings. Libra is an outgoing butterfly and an unrepentant flirt, provoking Scorpio's jealousy at every turn. Possessive Scorpio prefers passionate bedside confidentials to paparazzi and parties, but Libra quickly feels smothered without a social scene. To say you'll need compromise is an understatement. Combine your strengths, though, and you can also make a powerful society couple—with Scorpio dominating the world from behind the scenes, and Libra presiding as its lovely, doe-eyed diplomat.

SCORPIO + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) We like this combination, for seldom can any other sign so skillfully navigate your unspoken power dynamics. Talk isn't just cheap between you; it's unnecessary. You understand each other's wiring based on pure primal instinct, much like a dog leaves his scent as a calling card. We forget that human beings are animals, an amnesia that plagues modern civilization. Yet, Scorpios know that the one you love might also become your prey (if you're hungry or threatened), or could attack you by night. Your ruler is Pluto, god of the underworld; learning your mate's shadow side is a prerequisite to trust. Scorpio is a master at subtle cues, emotional intelligence, and feeling your way through each other's dark depths as though reading Braille. When it's time to let the other be the Top, you submit, then artfully ease him down to the mat when it's time to rule again. Power glides into your gullets like oysters, every bit the aphrodisiac. In the bedroom, you sexy, spiritual stinger-tails make a Tantric twosome with a twist. There's a hint of force and a danger to all you do, even in the way you fiercely protect your children and property. The real threat of this relationship is to the outside world, for you make an invincible familia that could send Tony Soprano on the lam.

SCORPIO + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) Level with us: Would you really be interested in each other without the element of danger? There's always something that feels a little dirty here—and it's not because you share an aversion to showering (although the musky pheromones might play in…). Your combined willpower—enough to combust a small village—can yoke you together despite your own best interests. The issue is anatomical: Scorpio rules the crotch and Sagittarius rules the hips and thighs. From the waist down, a magnetic field pulls you into insatiable sexual attraction. Above the midsection, it's a love-hate drama as you battle for mental and emotional domination, one-upping and offending each other at every turn. You both love to have the last word, and deep down, you're pretty sure you're smarter than the rest of the population. As friends, this makes you smugly superior comrades, but in love, you tend to unleash your intellectual weapons on each other. Sag's sarcasm and Scorpio's acid-washed retorts will leave you both wounded and estranged. Yet, a good shag seems to erase your short-term memory between attacks. For best results, remain naked at all times, and only discuss problems in the afterglow. Grant each other your own turf and never cross the line of demarcation.

SCORPIO + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) ♥♥♥♥ If you were to sign a pre-nup, Schedule A must clearly designate who will play the "Top" and who will be the "Bottom." After your attorneys haggle over the prone position, you may just call off the engagement. An inability to reach settlement is likely for two uncompromising Alphas such as yourselves. Although your business-savvy signs can make quite the contemporary Napoleon and Josephine, LLC, there are terms that must be negotiated in advance. For one, you'll need to swear off secrecy—and that will be the true test of your relationship. Scorpio and Capricorn are masters of underhanded power plays that could topple this merger fast. Your first job: learn and practice direct communication ("whip me like THIS" or "no, darling, the leather corset, not the PVC"). Master it, and the rest is a cakewalk. You can lash each other to bedposts, tryst on the conference table in your glass-paned office tower, or earn your mile-high wings with nary a flight attendant knowing. The 2.5 kids you produce will have some interesting conception stories, that's for sure. Not that you'll ever tell. A little secrecy with the rest of the world is fine. Just make sure to erase those sex tapes before the housekeeper finds them.

SCORPIO + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) Years after their modern-day Mrs. Robinson relationship ricocheted the term "cougar" into cliché-dom, the Scorpio-Aquarius pairing of Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher can still baffle the naked eye. Scorpio is an intense, seductive creature with ruthless ambition, eagle instincts and a complicated psyche. Aquarius is a silly prankster and a cold-souled nomad who avoids emotion, then releases it in embarrassing blurts of sloppy sentiment. You're certainly an odd couple, down to your values, style and interests. Then there's the power issue to settle. Scorpio wants ultimate control over everything, while rebel Aquarius chafes at any restraint. While Aquarius is happy to hand rulership of the household to Scorpio, any breach of personal freedom will be an instant deal-breaker. Possessive Scorpio must accept that Aquarius is a social creature with friends from all walks of life, and curb the jealousy. Aquarius will need to cut off a few friends (the ex you met at a strip club, the swingers "who are actually really cool") and adopt a few of Scorpio's interests, like Kaballah for Ashton. So where's the click? Different as you are, you both prefer a mate who's hard to figure out: it staves off boredom. To keep this strong, borrow each other's strengths. Aquarius needs Scorpio's depth, and Scorpio lightens up from Aquarius' outrageous jokes and impersonations.

SCORPIO + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) ♥♥♥♥ You're both "spiritual beings having a human experience," Finding an equally sensitive, divinely connected soulmate feels like coming home. Scorpio and Pisces are compatible artistes who love music, drama and romance. Like a lighthouse for two ships adrift on the emotional high seas, your relationship is an anchor and a haven. However, it's not immune to the turbulence caused by your secretive, Water sign natures. Emotional withdrawal is a self-protective act you've both honed over the years, but this tactic backfires when used against each other. The trick is learning to catch a bad mood when it starts, then processing the feelings instead of lashing out. Once the righteous anger and wounded egos kick in, you're like two runaway trains waging a war of domination and submission. Scorpio control tussles with Pisces guilt, Scorpio withholding wrestles Pisces evasion, and so on. Yet, you both want the same thing: a partner who inspires absolute, unshakeable trust with a money-back guarantee. What you need to learn is how to give it before you get it. To adapt the saying, be the change you want to see in your partner. It will keep you together for lifetimes.

[smokeybrand]

All Falls Down: A Retrospective

I really like Kanye West’s music. He has a very unique production style and can “see” melody in a way most cats don’t. His entry into hip-hop caused a fundamental shift in the sound, like Rick Rubin or Dr. Dre or early Diddy. Admittedly, I fell off the Ye bandwagon after MBDTR but, since I have dope ass Spotify, I figured I’d take a day and run through his catalog. I was very surprised to hear what I heard; What held up and what didn’t, how is sound has evolved, and the new fragility in his musical voice. I was curious as to why certain things sounded the way they did and decided to kind of prognosticate on why certain records are the way they are. I mused about it on a notepad while at work and these are the determinations I was able to make.

The College Dropout

Dropout is probably the best album Kanye has ever made. From production to rhyme to arrangement; All of it is a banger, front to back. I can listen to that thing without skipping one song. That’s rare. I can only think of a handful of albums I have ever done that with. Like Hot Fuss and that’s probably my all-time favorite, right there. Lofty company, indeed. I think Dropout is so good because this is everything Ye had in him at the time. It’s the culmination of his life to that point and you hear every single bit of that on this record. From the frustration of working survival on Spaceships, to the brand slaving on All Falls Down, Ye is open, honest, and real, about who he is. Two Words is one of the dopest hip-hop tracks ever pressed and Through the Wire? Through the Wire is a top ten, all-time for me. It single-handedly got me back into hip hop. Hell, even the bullsh*t club records are bangers. You telling me Overnight Celebrity and New Workout Plan didn’t get you going when those strings hit? Are you f*cking kidding me? The College Dropout is a masterwork that most artists aspire to create at least once in their life, after years in their craft. Ye did it in his rookie outing. Nowhere to go but down, right? Nah. His follow-up is arguably better. Arguably.

Standout tracks: Through the Wire, Spaceships, School Spirit, Two Words

Late Registration

Registration is always the album people point to as the best Ye ever made. I disagree. I think Dropout is the superior album, albeit, not by much. With Dropout, I listen front to back. With Registration, I found myself skipping tracks. I can’t say they were better or worse than Dropout’s admissions, but I still passed on more songs than expected. Registration is kind of a paradox to me. Like, I know Kanye was kind of a conceited dude before he dropped his album. He gassed himself to fuel his ambition. But once you get here, once you get that shine, other people fuel that desire, you know? Like, you don’t need to get high on your own supply because you’re already there. Registration feels like Ye bought into his own hype and you can start to see the cracks of Fame Crazy setting in. Its kind of shows in his music a little bit. Gone are the poignant, personal tales, that carried Dropout, replaced with sophisticated ignorance. There are more club-friendly tacks on this album than there are personal records and that’s fine. Registration is the bop but if I wanted to listen to a story about f*cking hot b*tches and Jacob watches, I could pick up a litany of other albums out at the time, specifically for that. Why was Kanye different now that he chose not to be? Still, the few tracks that stay true to that initial Ye outing, are some of the best in his catalog. Roses and My Way Home (which was a rejected track by Common) scathe the soul but it’s Crack Music that really f*cks you up. There is a deep cutting truth on that record that stands in stark contrast to literally every other message on that entire album. On a personal note. I find it funny that Gold Differ is a thing and then Ye marries Kim Kardashian. The irony, man.

Standout tracks: Crack Music, Roses, Gold Digger, My Way Home, Touch the Sky

Graduation

Graduation is the capper to the Higher Education Trilogy of records. I dunno if that’s the official title, but the running theme of college ends with this one. Seems like a fitting moniker for these three records because, after this one, dude’s sound changes considerably. Graduation is a serviceable Kanye West album. It’s easily he weakest of the three. I don’t think anyone with a semblance of musical intelligence would argue that. This is Ye resting on his laurels. Ye at the height of his powers, giving us a formulaic submission. That’s not to say this thing isn’t devoid of his genius, because it isn’t. Graduation is better than any hip-hop record which came out that year. It that’s more a testament to Kanye’s ability than it is to the album itself. Except for maybe three or four tracks, Graduation feels lazy. It feels listless. This is a Kanye growing tired of the process. It’s Jordan before his first retirement. Due’s already got three titles and an MVP. He’s dominated the league for years. What more is there for him to prove? F*ck, dude, Stronger, by itself, is better than anything that had dropped in the decade before. That record feels right at home on Registration or Dropout. Homecoming is f*cking gut-punch of introspection and self-reflection. But, at e same time, you got bullsh*t like Drunken Hot Girls and Barry Bonds. The thing about Graduation is, this record FEELS more like those latter two tracks, rather than the former. It FEELS like a product of it’s time, not an innovation of the culture. Coming of two, classic albums that revolutionized hip-hop, Graduation staying the course is a disappointment. Don’t misunderstand me, Graduation is a dope f*cking album. It’s also a classic. It’s just the weakest of Ye’s best.

Standout Tracks: Good Morning, Champion, Stronger, Homecoming

808 and Heartbreaks

808s is the rawest, most honest, album Kanye has ever made. This sh*t was the most p[personal we have ever seen him, and it echoes on every track. See, around this time, right before production, Ye’s mom died. She was his biggest fan, the one person who supported him from the get. Her passing devastated dude and he’s never been right since. I can hear that in his music, to this day. I can see that in the way he carries himself. He was always kind of all over the place and insecure, but his ma was there to kind of rudder that wayward Kanye cruise. With her gone, he was lost. And that’s what this record feels like; Kanye lost. In all honesty, I think this album is superior to Graduation in the fact that it’s Ye, trying to find that passion again. Ye’s experimenting with his sound and production style, sussing out how to best articulate his anguish. 808s feels like Dropout but at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. The illest thing? Everyone hates this record. They think it’s the worst of his catalog. I wholeheartedly disagree. On the creative merit alone, its one of his best but lyrically? Holy sh*t. Did you people even LISTEN to this album? This is Kanye in morning. He’s giving you everything he is, at his most vulnerable, and you all just rejected it as track. The audacity. A cat like Ye, who has given you hit after hit, banger after banger, creates something for himself to move past one of the darkest chapters in his life, and it’s me with wholesale condemnation? Really? Nah. Go back and listen to it again. Actually pay attention this time. 808s is one of his best and ya’ll are clowns to think otherwise.

Standout Tracks: RoboCop, Coldest Winter, Amazing, Welcome to Heartbreak, Bad News, Say You Will, Street Lights

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Coming off 808s and his break-up with Amber Rose, Ye put out his most eclectic album to date. This record feels distinctly Kanye. There is am undertone of experimentation here, that you haven’t felt since probably , ever. I’d say Dropout is close but even that has kind of a uniform structure. MBDTF is all over the place. There is a distinct gospel influence but, other than that, every record feels different. Like, Monster is a braggadocious romp full of hyperbole and feeling one’s self, while POWER is a ballad written by a person who knows how dope he is. Sh*t’s a contradiction and I love it. All of the Lights is an emotionally annihilating, what-if tale about a man who lost his family over something stupid, while Blame Game is an accusation narrative baring its fangs on a woman who was not faithful or truthful in a relationship. There is a duality in this record that is never clearer than on Runaway. This is a cautionary tale about Ye, himself, but, at the same time, a plea for affection that he needs to be whole. It’s insane. MBDTF is one of Ye’s best. Of his catalog, I think it’s my second favorite, after Dropout. It might not be better than Registration, but it feels more genuine than that one. It feels more Kanye than that one. And the more Ye you get on a record, the better.

Standout Tracks: All of the Lights, Who Will Survive in America, POWER, Gorgeous, Monster, Lost in the World

Yeezus

Yeezus has got to be the most frustrating album in Kanye’s catalog. The production of this thing is legit and, occasionally, Ye hits you with one of those classic lines, but most of the content is vapid bullsh*t. I’ve been listening to this thing on repeat trying to figure out why all the little kiddies think it’s so great and all I hear is mediocrity. Almost greatness. Disappointment. There is a dope ass album in here somewhere and I can kind of hear it between the lines, so to speak, and that sh*t is regular ass infuriating. There aren’t any tracks outside of Black Skinhead that don’t devolve into utter nonsense. Maybe New Slaves, but even then, it’s overall forgettable. Like this entire goddamn album. I don’t like Yeezus. It’s ye at his worst but, at least, it’s still Ye. And, even with all of its problems and frustrations, it’s still better than Pablo.

Standout tracks: Black Skinhead, On Sight, Blood on the Leaves, I Am a God

The Life of Pablo

Pablo is trash. The only thing worth mentioning of this record is Ultralight Beam. Everything else is uninspired drivel. This is as much a Kanye album, as The Dynasty: Roc la Familia was A Jay-Z album and if it was billed as such, I probably wouldn’t have an issue with it. It wasn’t. This was marketed as a Kanye West album, when half the tracks aren’t even his. The other half, he didn’t even write. The majority of everything on this record, Kanye didn’t do, and it shows. I talked about Graduation being phoned in, but this piece of sh*t is the real affront. It’s insulting to my intelligence that this thing would even be considered a proper Kanye West attempt but, that’s what everyone wants you to think. I know literal hyperbeats that swear this record is good, that the content holds up to even his best but, bro, you can’t be serious. There’s a f*cking Desiigner track on here as album filler. Oh, but Ryan, I hear you say, so was My Way Home, right? No. Common rejected that. It wasn’t on HIS album. This sh*tty record was Desiigner’s lead f*cking single. Why the hell is it on Pablo? Why the hell is even Pablo, period??

Standout tracks: Ultralight Beam, I love Kanye

Ye

What the f*ck even is Ye? Yo, this sh*t is unsettling. This is a cry for help. These are the ramblings of a madman and I am concerned. I don’t think he meant to create a cautionary tale about fame and sycophancy but that’s exactly what Ye is. This is a very troubled and damaged person, off his meds, being enabled and emboldened by a circle that legit doesn’t care about the person behind the music. Ye is proof that he never recovered from the loss of his mom and having literally everything in the world, can’t fill that void. I mean, dude is a mogul in several industries. He’s married to who many consider one of the most beautiful women in the world. Cat has three kids and one on the way. Millions upon millions of dollars and the clout to do whatever he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it. If graduation is fame crazy Kanye and 808s is Kanye in morning, then Ye is Kanye spiraling deeper into depression. That sh*t is wild to hear. Genius is a fine line between inspiration and insanity but Ye is an audible diary of a man crossing that line. It makes for profound music, Ye is one of my favorites in his catalog, but at what f*cking cost, man? How f*cked up was he when he made this sh*t? All these little mini-albums? Pusha’s was trash, but that production was on point. Kids See Ghost is a masterpiece. Ye is close to be being a classic. All of them were produced by Kanye. All his rhymes were written by his own hand, something I don’t think he’s done since probably Dropout. Ye is incredible but, f*ck, do I feel terrible enjoying it so much.

Standout Tracks: All of them. The entire run time. It’s only seven songs and they all hit hard.

[sqgt-blog]

Today is a national holiday. 22 years ago, in 1995, the world was blessed with Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest. And a Kong Quest it is indeed--you will feel like a king/queen/other gender neutral terms for royalty after mastering each level. DKC2 is, almost paradoxically, punishing, yet fair. One single mistake can be fatal, yet with skill it becomes easy to recover and cartwheel loops around each perfectly placed obstacle. I've had the game for my SNES for many years, but it took until it's 20th year for me to attempt a 102% run, and that's when it clicked with me that this is probably the best game ever made, or at least in the same pantheon as Sonic 3 & Knuckles, Super Mario World, or Yoshi's Island. It's also flat out one of the best sequels of all time. Everything good about this game, be it the variety in level design, the quickly paced gameplay, the well and fairly hidden but also rewarding secrets, they were all present in the also enjoyable DKC1 but felt tacked on there. Here, in the Swiffer(tm) polished experience of DKC2, they are an integral part of the whole package, the uniting factor being your skill. What elevates DKC2 further to GOAT status is the amazing yet cartoonish atmosphere. Why does Diddy materialize a boombox and shades out of nowhere and rap whenever he beats a level? Why does Dixie do the same, but with an electric guitar? Why are the Kremlings suddenly pirates without any explanation? The answer is, who cares? DKC2 is a perfect blend of rapping monkeys, pirates, and Phil Collins-esque music that has never been done again. Nothing in DKC2 attempts to feel meaningful or important, something which may make it feel out of place compared to today's father-surrogate daughter zombie stories. Instead, DKC2 merely wishes to dazzle you with its great graphics and sound and give you a fun time, and there is just as much meaning in that. Sometimes, especially in this brutal 2017, we just need to sit back and get caught up in the tale of a rapping monkey's kong-quest. On a scale from Custer's Revenge (0) to Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest (11), I rate it Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest.

[glux2]

Late night Musings

-It’s weird that Discord lists the Sad Emoji as “frown”, and i think this might be something system wide, but it’s just that when i think of “frown” i don’t think of a sad face, i think of an angry face.

-Most of my time i want to be alone, yet paradoxically i find comfort on the knowledge that there is a world full of millions of people out there. My man Ivern from LoL is right, “it’s reassuring how alone we AREN'T.”

-Remakes and remasters of decade old games sure are telling how easy gaming has gotten over the years, back at it’s day Crash bandicoot was considered a casual cute platforming game, i recall i did 100% Crash 3 (not a thing to brag, later if found out the game actually caps at 105% or so!) and don’t remember thinking “damn this is insanely hard!” fast forward to the present and people compare it to dark souls, because gaming has become so fucking easy people think DS invented hard. But it’s not only that, Diddy Kong Racing DS also massively toned down the difficulty, altho Silver Coin Challenge is still in it’s no longer required for the main single player campaign and was replaced by brainded easy bullshit because apparently it’s too hardcore for modern gamers.

[the-most-humble-blog]

Gives new meaning to the phrase, "Hitting the Bottom of It..."

🧘‍♀️

“Ahhh! There’s a Ball in the Back of Your Cat Alley, Sweetie..."

But Like, Can I See More?

This ain’t science class. This is a confessional booth with an echo. A guided anatomical panic attack with a dirty smile.

Let’s get this out of the way now:

Yes, sweetie. There is a ball in the back of your cat alley. And no, we are not okay.

🩸The First Time It Happens

You’re minding your business. Stroking like a gentleman. Being respectful. Not trying to make her cry. Not trying to reach Enlightenment through her inner vestibule.

Then… Thump.

You hit something. Not soft. Not wet. Not warm. Spherical. Present. Defiant.

And your soul goes:

“Ahhh! There’s a ball in the back of your cat alley, sweetie…”

A real one. Not metaphorical. Not imagined. It feels like a miniature knuckle of God just fist-bumped your tip.

“But Like… Can I See More?”

This is where logic leaves the chat. Your brain is still catching up. Your hands are shaking. You’re trying to act normal while she’s blinking at the ceiling like she saw Heaven open and say “You up?”

But now you're in danger.

You don’t want to stop. You don’t want to pull out. You want to go further—even though further doesn’t exist.

You want to see it.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Physically.

You’re thinking things like:

“Is it watching me back?”

“Is this… where the soul lives?”

“Can I name it?”

“Am I supposed to be here?”

“Do I owe it money?”

🧠 The Female Mind… At That Exact Moment

On the outside: Breathing heavy. Hair matted. Saying “Oh my God” like she’s praying with a vibrator.

But on the inside?

A shame spiral wrapped in flashbacks.

“Wait… what is that??” “Has anyone else felt that?” “Should I cry? I think I might cry.” “I think I love him. I think I hate him. I think I’ll ghost him and post a thirst trap.” “Wait, do I call my therapist or my best friend first?” “That’s where my trauma lives.” “That’s where my poetry comes from.” “That’s where my shadow self eats pickles.”

What Is It Actually?

It’s the cervix. The doorknob of the womb. The crown jewel of the inner sanctum. The puckered bouncer standing between “I’m just having fun” and “He imprinted on my eggs.”

And You Hit It.

But here’s the thing: You didn’t just hit it— You reverberated through her entire backstory.

You didn’t just press a body part— You activated a deep file her ego thought was sealed.

It’s not just sensation. It’s symbolism.

And now she’s pacing in her room afterward whispering things like:

“No one’s ever done that before…”

“I think something inside me woke up.”

“I don’t even like him, but I need him to ruin me again.”

“He’s dangerous. I should stay away… or send a reel about shadow work and see if he gets it.”

⚠️ And YOU Are Not Safe Now Either

Congratulations. You have touched The Orb. You’ve become a spiritual threat.

You may now receive the following:

Unsolicited crying voice memos

“I miss you” texts that sound like poems

Screenshots of her tarot spread

Her “feminine rage” playlist

Her mom following you on Instagram

Her trying to manifest you with moon water

A DM saying “I dreamed about your hands… is that weird?”

Why It Works (Biologically Speaking)

Because no man’s supposed to reach it. It’s a fortress. A gate. A trapdoor. Evolution didn’t expect you to make it to the final chamber.

And when you do? Her body panics. Her psyche leaks. Her soul goes “I guess I trust you now… OR I’ll destroy you later. Flip a coin.”

TL;DR

You went exploring. You found The Orb. You whispered:

“Ahhh! There’s a ball in the back of your cat alley, sweetie…” But like… “Can I see more?”

You weren’t supposed to. You weren’t authorized. You weren’t ready.

And now you’ll never forget. And neither will she.

💥 SO...CALL TO ACTION

🔁 Reblog this if you’ve ever touched The Orb and felt her spirit leave her body 🩸 Share if your cervix remembers a name it’s pretending to forget 📩 DM if this post made your thighs twitch 🧠 Comment if you’ve ever felt “seen” in a way that made you question your zodiac sign

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is satire, biological commentary, erotic philosophy, trauma comedy, and psychological manipulation wrapped in pixel ink. Protected under U.S. law and cosmic law. If you are offended, it’s because it was true. This does not promote violence. This promotes cervix awareness. Side effects may include arousal, nostalgia, shame, longing, regret, and bookmarks.

[smokeybrandreviews]

All Falls Down: A Retrospective

I really like Kanye West’s music. He has a very, unique, production style and can “see” melody in a way most cats don’t. His entry into hip-hop caused a fundamental shift in the sound, like Rick Rubin or Dr. Dre or early Diddy. Admittedly, I fell off the Ye bandwagon after MBDTR but, since I have dope ass Spotify, I figured I’d take a day and run through his catalog. I was very surprised to hear what I heard; what held up and what didn’t, how is sound has evolved, and the new fragility in his musical voice. I was curious as to why certain things sounded the way they did and decided to kind of prognosticate on why certain records are the way they are. I mused about it on a notepad while at work and these are the determinations I was able to make.

The College Dropout

Dropout is probably the best album Kanye has ever made. From production to rhyme to arrangement; all of it is a banger, front to back. I can listen to that thing without skipping one song. That’s rare. I can only think of a handful of albums I have ever done that with. Like, Hot Fuss and that’s probably my all-time favorite, right there. Lofty company, indeed. I think Dropout is so good because this is everything Ye had in him at the time. It’s the culmination of his life to that point and you hear every single bit of that on this record. From the frustration of working survival on Spaceships, to the brand slaving on All Falls Down, Ye is open, honest, and real, about who he is. Two Words is one of the dopest hip-hop tracks ever pressed and Through the Wire? Through the Wire is a top-10, all-time for me. It single-handedly got me back into hip hop. Hell, even the bullsh*t club records are bangers. You telling me Overnight Celebrity and New Workout Plan didn’t get you going when those strings hit? Are you f*cking kidding me? The College Dropout is a masterwork that most artists aspire to create at least once in their life, after years in their craft. Ye did it in his rookie outing. Nowhere to go but down, right? Nah. His follow-up is arguably better. Arguably.

Standout tracks: Through the Wire, Spaceships, School Spirit, Two Words

Late Registration

Registration is always the album the people point to as the best Ye ever made. I disagree. I think Dropout is the superior album, albeit, not by much. With Dropout, I listen front to back. With Registration, I found myself skipping tracks. I can’t say they were better or worse than Dropout’s admissions, but I still passed on more songs than expected. Registration is kind of a paradox to me. Like, I know Kanye was kind of a conceited dude before he dropped his album. He gassed himself to fuel his ambition. But once you get here, once you get that shine, other people fuel that desire, you know? Like, you don’t need to get high on your own supply because you’re already there. Registration feels like Ye bought into his own hype and you can start to see the cracks of Fame Crazy setting in. Its kind of shows in his music a little bit. Gone are the poignant, personal tales, that carried Dropout, replaced with sophisticated ignorance. There are more club-friendly tacks on this album than there are personal records and that’s fine. Registration is the bop but if I wanted to listen to a story about f*cking hot b*tches and Jacob watches, could pick up a litany of other albums out at the time. Why was Kanye different now that he chose not to be? Still, the few tracks that stay true to that initial Ye outing, are some of the best in his catalog. Roses and My Way Home (which was a rejected track by Common) scathe the soul but it’s Crack Music that really f*cks you up. There is a deep cutting truth on that record that stands in stark contrast to literally every other message on that entire album. On a personal note. I find it funny that Gold Differ is a thing and then Ye marries Kim Kardashian. The irony, man.

Standout tracks: Crack Music, Roses, Gold Digger, My Way Home, Touch the Sky

Graduation

Graduation is the capper to the Higher Education Trilogy of records. I dunno if that’s the official title, but the running theme of college ends with this one. Seems like a fitting moniker for these three records because, after this one, dude’s sound changes considerably. Graduation is a serviceable Kanye West album. It’s easily he weakest of the three. I don’t think anyone with a semblance of musical intelligence would argue that. This is Ye resting on his laurels. Ye at the height of his powers, giving us a formulaic submission. That’s not to say this thing isn’t devoid of his genius, because it isn’t. Graduation is better than any hip-hop record which came out that year. It that’s more a testament to Kanye’s ability than it is to the album itself. Except for maybe three or four tracks, Graduation feels lazy. It feels listless. This is a Kanye growing tired of the process. It’s Jordan before his first retirement. Due’s already got three titles and an MVP. He’s dominated the league for years. What more is there for him to prove? F*ck, dude, Stronger, by itself, is better than anything that had dropped in the decade before. That record feels right at home on Registration or Dropout. Homecoming is f*cking gut-punch of introspection and self-reflection. But, at e same time, you got bullsh*t like Drunken Hot Girls and Barry Bonds. The thing about Graduation is, this record FEELS more like those latter two tracks, rather than the former. It FEELS like a product of it’s time, not an innovation of the culture. Coming of two, classic albums that revolutionized hip-hop, Graduation staying the course is a disappointment. Don’t misunderstand me, Graduation is a dope f*cking album. It’s also a classic. It’s just the weakest of Ye’s best.

Standout Tracks: Good Morning, Champion, Stronger, Homecoming

808 and Heartbreaks

808s is the rawest, most honest, album Kanye has ever made. This sh*t was the most p[personal we have ever seen him, and it echoes on every track. See, around this time, right before production, Ye’s mom died. She was his biggest fan, the one person who supported him from the get. Her passing devastated dude and he’s never been right since. I can hear that in his music, to this day. I can see that in the way he carries himself. He was always kind of all over the place and insecure, but his ma was there to kind of rudder that wayward Kanye cruise. With her gone, he was lost. And that’s what this record feels like; Kanye lost. In all honesty, I think this album is superior to Graduation in the fact that it’s Ye, trying to find that passion again. Ye’s experimenting with his sound and production style, sussing out how to best articulate his anguish. 808s feels like Dropout but at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. The illest thing? Everyone hates this record. They think it’s the worst of his catalog. I wholeheartedly disagree. On the creative merit alone, its one of his best but lyrically? Holy sh*t. Did you people even LISTEN to this album? This is Kanye in morning. He’s giving you everything he is, at his most vulnerable, and you all just rejected it as track. The audacity. A cat like Ye, who has given you hit after hit, banger after banger, creates something for himself to move past one of the darkest chapters in his life, and it’s me with wholesale condemnation? Really? Nah. Go back and listen to it again. Actually pay attention this time. 808s is one of his best and ya’ll are clowns to think otherwise.

Standout Tracks: RoboCop, Coldest Winter, Amazing, Welcome to Heartbreak, Bad News, Say You Will, Street Lights

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Coming off 808s and his break-up with Amber Rose, Ye put out his most eclectic album to date. This record feels distinctly Kanye. There is am undertone of experimentation here, that you haven’t felt since probably , ever. I’d say Dropout is close but even that has kind of a uniform structure. MBDTF is all over the place. There is a distinct gospel influence but, other than that, every record feels different. Like, Monster is a braggadocious romp full of hyperbole and feeling one’s self, while POWER is a ballad written by a person who knows how dope he is. Sh*t’s a contradiction and I love it. All of the Lights is an emotionally annihilating, what-if tale about a man who lost his family over something stupid, while Blame Game is an accusation narrative baring its fangs on a woman who was not faithful or truthful in a relationship. There is a duality in this record that is never clearer than on Runaway. This is a cautionary tale about Ye, himself, but, at the same time, a plea for affection that he needs to be whole. It’s insane. MBDTF is one of Ye’s best. Of his catalog, I think it’s my second favorite, after Dropout. It might not be better than Registration, but it feels more genuine than that one. It feels more Kanye than that one. And the more Ye you get on a record, the better.

Standout Tracks: All of the Lights, Who Will Survive in America, POWER, Gorgeous, Monster, Lost in the World

Yeezus

Yeezus has got to be the most frustrating album in Kanye’s catalog. The production of this thing is legit and, occasionally, Ye hits you with one of those classic lines, but most of the content is vapid bullsh*t. I’ve been listening to this thing on repeat trying to figure out why all the little kiddies think it’s so great and all I hear is mediocrity. Almost greatness. Disappointment. There is a dope ass album in here somewhere and I can kind of hear it between the lines, so to speak, and that sh*t is regular ass infuriating. There aren’t any tracks outside of Black Skinhead that don’t devolve into utter nonsense. Maybe New Slaves, but even then, it’s overall forgettable. Like this entire goddamn album. I don’t like Yeezus. It’s ye at his worst but, at least, it’s still Ye. And, even with all of its problems and frustrations, it’s still better than Pablo.

Standout tracks: Black Skinhead, On Sight, Blood on the Leaves, I Am a God

The Life of Pablo

Pablo is trash. The only thing worth mentioning of this record is Ultralight Beam. Everything else is uninspired drivel. This is as much a Kanye album, as The Dynasty: Roc la Familia was A Jay-Z album and if it was billed as such, I probably wouldn’t have an issue with it. It wasn’t. This was marketed as a Kanye West album, when half the tracks aren’t even his. The other half, he didn’t even write. The majority of everything on this record, Kanye didn’t do, and it shows. I talked about Graduation being phoned in, but this piece of sh*t is the real affront. It’s insulting to my intelligence that this thing would even be considered a proper Kanye West attempt but, that’s what everyone wants you to think. I know literal hyperbeats that swear this record is good, that the content holds up to even his best but, bro, you can’t be serious. There’s a f*cking Desiigner track on here as album filler. Oh, but Ryan, I hear you say, so was My Way Home, right? No. Common rejected that. It wasn’t on HIS album. This sh*tty record was Desiigner’s lead f*cking single. Why the hell is it on Pablo? Why the hell is even Pablo, period??

Standout tracks: Ultralight Beam, I love Kanye

Ye

What the f*ck even is Ye? Yo, this sh*t is unsettling. This is a cry for help. These are the ramblings of a madman and I am concerned. I don’t think he meant to create a cautionary tale about fame and sycophancy but that’s exactly what Ye is. This is a very troubled and damaged person, off his meds, being enabled and emboldened by a circle that legit doesn’t care about the person behind the music. Ye is proof that he never recovered from the loss of his mom and having literally everything in the world, can’t fill that void. I mean, dude is a mogul in several industries. He’s married to who many consider one of the most beautiful women in the world. Cat has three kids and one on the way. Millions upon millions of dollars and the clout to do whatever he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it. If graduation is fame crazy Kanye and 808s is Kanye in morning, then Ye is Kanye spiraling deeper into depression. That sh*t is wild to hear. Genius is a fine line between inspiration and insanity but Ye is an audible diary of a man crossing that line. It makes for profound music, Ye is one of my favorites in his catalog, but at what f*cking cost, man? How f*cked up was he when he made this sh*t? All these little mini-albums? Pusha’s was trash, but that production was on point. Kids See Ghost is a masterpiece. Ye is close to be being a classic. All of them were produced by Kanye. All his rhymes were written by his own hand, something I don’t think he’s done since probably Dropout. Ye is incredible but, f*ck, do I feel terrible enjoying it so much.

Standout Tracks: All of them. The entire run time. It’s only seven songs and they all hit hard.

[poppypost]

Oo (ू•ᴗ•ू❁) a - age: 15 b - biggest fear: time travel / time paradoxes c - current time: 9:59 am d - drink you last had: extremely watered down pepsi last night e - every day starts with: I Wake Up In The Mornin Feelin Like P Diddy, I Put My Glasses On Im Out The Door Im Gonna Hit Th f - favorite song: stays four the same - the ready set g - ghosts, are they real: yup h - hometown: tampa bay florida i - in love with: my gf uwu j - jealous of: nothing k - killed someone: noo l - last time you cried: yesterday about my chickens m - middle name: leah n - number of siblings: no o - one wish: end world hunger and/or fix the rice crisis thats abt to happen . or fix the ozone idk p - person you last called/texted: my geef q - questions you’re always asked: What Is Yuor gebner? r - reasons to smile: i dont know s - song last sang: she think my tractor sexy t - time you woke up: 7:04 am u - underwear color: pink uwu >____< v - vacation destination: nowhere tbh w - worst habit: grinding my teeth when i play violin x - x-rays you’ve had: None y - your favorite food: gyros z - zodiac sign: leo sun cap moon !!!!! im tagging @primaveren @sttumblebum @rosereyisms @lisabian @xdraconianx ! you dont have to if u dont want to uwu

[hostingnewsfeed]

Nike, Colin Kaepernick, and the Changing Role of the Athlete

New Post has been published on http://cyberspace2k.com/nike-colin-kaepernick-and-the-changing-role-of-the-athlete/

Nike, Colin Kaepernick, and the Changing Role of the Athlete

To commemorate Nike’s 30th anniversary of its iconic “Just do it” campaign, the sportswear goliath on Monday released a series of striking black-and-white ads featuring tennis champion Serena Williams, pro-skateboarder Lacey Baker, and NFL wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. Its most controversial placard, though, was a close-up image of former 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick overlaid with the message: “Believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything.” Then, two days later, it released an ad expounding on that sentiment, with Kaepernick narrating a montage of athletes who had overcome daunting odds to achieve success.

From the outset, the reaction to Kaepernick’s involvement with the campaign was explosive and unifying in all the ways that have come to define the parameters of reaction culture, online and off. Fissures split along ideological lines: there were people rightly fired up that a major corporation took a stand, however faintly, on such a palpably political issue. The hashtags #ImWithNike and #ImWithKap (or #ImWithKaep) expressed justifiable savor many supporters found in the brand’s devotion to Kaepernick’s crusade; celebrities like Ava DuVernay, Diddy, and Michael Kelly offered vocal shows of encouragement. Fueled by a kind of obtuse logic, there was also a noticeable mix of veterans and conservatives who called for a boycott of Nike apparel or posted videos of burning shoes. (Twitter being Twitter, these posts immediately set off a wave of comic re-enactments.)

Outspoken athletes have long been central to Nike’s corporate DNA. In its decades-long lifestylization of sports, they’ve teamed with controversy-courters like Andre Agassi and Michael Jordan—each of whom flouted their sport’s dress codes, with Nike’s help—firebrands like John McEnroe, and anchored their future to politically active and increasingly candid athletes such as LeBron James, who has readily shared his distaste for the president and who, this summer, opened a public school for underprivileged kids in his hometown of Akron. (It provides free meals and bicycles to students and guarantees a free tuition to the University of Akron for all graduates, among other stipulations.)

Nike’s teaming with Kaepernick, however, is of a new order; it translates as a strategic gamble—yesterday’s 3 percent dip in share prices will likely pale in comparison to the historic gains—but also as a patently unsafe one for a company that often hews toward universally safe moves (Even Nike’s beautifully-executed “Equality” campaign had a bit of an #AllLivesMatter veneer to it). Ours is a time of violent partisan disunity—and major brands electing to take a position feels like a natural, if necessary evolution.

There’s little mystery that social awareness has become a form of cultural capital for companies. Where once we ridiculed brands for saying “bae,” now we interrogate their ideological stances to divine whether they’re proof of evolved thinking or cynical, performative gestures. Being “woke” is itself a kind of currency, and often, to outsiders, a creed worth buying into. Not to say that Nike’s intentions were carried out in bad faith, but the house that Phil Knight built is, if nothing else, a savvy corporate empire. However, even if the message itself doesn’t get into specifics— “Believe in something” could mean anything—Kaepernick’s face alone conjures the paradox of the American promise that he fought to bring into the light.

Nike

Of course, there’s a complicated gravity to all of this. According to ESPN, Nike first signed Kaepernick to its endorsement roster in 2011, an agreement which never ended. Meanwhile, in March, the brand extended its deal with the NFL to remain the league’s official partner until 2028. The two poles seem to have no twain: The NFL, in response to player dissent last season and for the first time in its complicated history, instituted a mandate in May that now requires players to stand for the anthem or otherwise stay in the locker room. This knotting of sports culture, politics, and business is not unusual for our time, but it offers an important lesson if we choose to see it for what it is: moral centering in a time of moral decentering.

The country’s false narrative of progress was as evident as it was disgraceful in the view of Kaepernick, his teammate Eric Reid, and the players who joined along in silent condemnation during the 2016 season, triggering a wave of on-field protests. Kaepernick’s decision to kneel during the national anthem, he told reporters at the time, was in response to the fang of American racism—particularly incidents of increasing police brutality against black citizens, which were being recorded and distributed with routine outcry and a routine lack of reprimand.

For decades, the NFL excised politics from the game to protect the piety of its brand, but Kaepernick proved to be the ultimate antidote. Though he was later shunned from the league—for which he has taken team owners to arbitration, accusing them with collusion—it could now no longer afford to avoid the conversation. Amid the fury of yesterday’s news cycle, the NFL issued a statement, a portion of which read: “The social justice issues that Colin and other professional athletes have raised deserve our attention and action.”

It’s easy to be distrustful of Nike’s partnership with Kaepernick, with what can feel like an abrupt pivot to political advertising. What’s harder is to hope, even believe, that Nike really understands the matters at hand. That perhaps, even as the company is sullied by negligent labor practices and ongoing accusations of gender discrimination—issues one would expect Kaepernick to be privy to, and concerned about—the company is not attempting to co-opt cool or capitalize on a larger trend toward social justice awareness, but simply trying to be better than it has been in the past.

It’s the choice of integrity over prestige. Of character over championships. It’s less a matter of exploiting our growing divisions and instead about aligning with virtue over political correctness, over civility. Kaepernick—like Muhammad Ali and Arthur Ashe before him, who used their platforms to bring attention to black civil rights issues at a grave cost to their own professional success—represents an evolution in the business of sports, a shift in the discourse for Fortune 500 companies that can sustain real impact, nationally and globally, even as Nike, far from perfect, grapples with its own internal reckoning.

Times continue to change, and so must the role of the athlete and the companies that back them. It can no longer just be about how much one wins; it must too be about what someone like Colin Kaepernick or LeBron James or Serena Williams believes in beyond the game. Nike recognizes that, even if they didn’t generate the sentiment. Sports, we’re told, are about transcendence. About representing an ideal bigger than one single player, team, or city. Perhaps with Kaepernick that can finally be true.

More Great WIRED Stories

[awesomecolorfulcollectorwombat]

Nike, Colin Kaepernick, and the Changing Role of the Athlete

New Post has been published on http://cyberspace2k.com/nike-colin-kaepernick-and-the-changing-role-of-the-athlete/

Nike, Colin Kaepernick, and the Changing Role of the Athlete

To commemorate Nike’s 30th anniversary of its iconic “Just do it” campaign, the sportswear goliath on Monday released a series of striking black-and-white ads featuring tennis champion Serena Williams, pro-skateboarder Lacey Baker, and NFL wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. Its most controversial placard, though, was a close-up image of former 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick overlaid with the message: “Believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything.” Then, two days later, it released an ad expounding on that sentiment, with Kaepernick narrating a montage of athletes who had overcome daunting odds to achieve success.

From the outset, the reaction to Kaepernick’s involvement with the campaign was explosive and unifying in all the ways that have come to define the parameters of reaction culture, online and off. Fissures split along ideological lines: there were people rightly fired up that a major corporation took a stand, however faintly, on such a palpably political issue. The hashtags #ImWithNike and #ImWithKap (or #ImWithKaep) expressed justifiable savor many supporters found in the brand’s devotion to Kaepernick’s crusade; celebrities like Ava DuVernay, Diddy, and Michael Kelly offered vocal shows of encouragement. Fueled by a kind of obtuse logic, there was also a noticeable mix of veterans and conservatives who called for a boycott of Nike apparel or posted videos of burning shoes. (Twitter being Twitter, these posts immediately set off a wave of comic re-enactments.)

Outspoken athletes have long been central to Nike’s corporate DNA. In its decades-long lifestylization of sports, they’ve teamed with controversy-courters like Andre Agassi and Michael Jordan—each of whom flouted their sport’s dress codes, with Nike’s help—firebrands like John McEnroe, and anchored their future to politically active and increasingly candid athletes such as LeBron James, who has readily shared his distaste for the president and who, this summer, opened a public school for underprivileged kids in his hometown of Akron. (It provides free meals and bicycles to students and guarantees a free tuition to the University of Akron for all graduates, among other stipulations.)

Nike’s teaming with Kaepernick, however, is of a new order; it translates as a strategic gamble—yesterday’s 3 percent dip in share prices will likely pale in comparison to the historic gains—but also as a patently unsafe one for a company that often hews toward universally safe moves (Even Nike’s beautifully-executed “Equality” campaign had a bit of an #AllLivesMatter veneer to it). Ours is a time of violent partisan disunity—and major brands electing to take a position feels like a natural, if necessary evolution.

There’s little mystery that social awareness has become a form of cultural capital for companies. Where once we ridiculed brands for saying “bae,” now we interrogate their ideological stances to divine whether they’re proof of evolved thinking or cynical, performative gestures. Being “woke” is itself a kind of currency, and often, to outsiders, a creed worth buying into. Not to say that Nike’s intentions were carried out in bad faith, but the house that Phil Knight built is, if nothing else, a savvy corporate empire. However, even if the message itself doesn’t get into specifics— “Believe in something” could mean anything—Kaepernick’s face alone conjures the paradox of the American promise that he fought to bring into the light.

Nike

Of course, there’s a complicated gravity to all of this. According to ESPN, Nike first signed Kaepernick to its endorsement roster in 2011, an agreement which never ended. Meanwhile, in March, the brand extended its deal with the NFL to remain the league’s official partner until 2028. The two poles seem to have no twain: The NFL, in response to player dissent last season and for the first time in its complicated history, instituted a mandate in May that now requires players to stand for the anthem or otherwise stay in the locker room. This knotting of sports culture, politics, and business is not unusual for our time, but it offers an important lesson if we choose to see it for what it is: moral centering in a time of moral decentering.

The country’s false narrative of progress was as evident as it was disgraceful in the view of Kaepernick, his teammate Eric Reid, and the players who joined along in silent condemnation during the 2016 season, triggering a wave of on-field protests. Kaepernick’s decision to kneel during the national anthem, he told reporters at the time, was in response to the fang of American racism—particularly incidents of increasing police brutality against black citizens, which were being recorded and distributed with routine outcry and a routine lack of reprimand.

For decades, the NFL excised politics from the game to protect the piety of its brand, but Kaepernick proved to be the ultimate antidote. Though he was later shunned from the league—for which he has taken team owners to arbitration, accusing them with collusion—it could now no longer afford to avoid the conversation. Amid the fury of yesterday’s news cycle, the NFL issued a statement, a portion of which read: “The social justice issues that Colin and other professional athletes have raised deserve our attention and action.”

It’s easy to be distrustful of Nike’s partnership with Kaepernick, with what can feel like an abrupt pivot to political advertising. What’s harder is to hope, even believe, that Nike really understands the matters at hand. That perhaps, even as the company is sullied by negligent labor practices and ongoing accusations of gender discrimination—issues one would expect Kaepernick to be privy to, and concerned about—the company is not attempting to co-opt cool or capitalize on a larger trend toward social justice awareness, but simply trying to be better than it has been in the past.

It’s the choice of integrity over prestige. Of character over championships. It’s less a matter of exploiting our growing divisions and instead about aligning with virtue over political correctness, over civility. Kaepernick—like Muhammad Ali and Arthur Ashe before him, who used their platforms to bring attention to black civil rights issues at a grave cost to their own professional success—represents an evolution in the business of sports, a shift in the discourse for Fortune 500 companies that can sustain real impact, nationally and globally, even as Nike, far from perfect, grapples with its own internal reckoning.

Times continue to change, and so must the role of the athlete and the companies that back them. It can no longer just be about how much one wins; it must too be about what someone like Colin Kaepernick or LeBron James or Serena Williams believes in beyond the game. Nike recognizes that, even if they didn’t generate the sentiment. Sports, we’re told, are about transcendence. About representing an ideal bigger than one single player, team, or city. Perhaps with Kaepernick that can finally be true.

More Great WIRED Stories

[smartwebhostingblog]

Nike, Colin Kaepernick, and the Changing Role of the Athlete

New Post has been published on http://affordablewebhostingsearch.com/nike-colin-kaepernick-and-the-changing-role-of-the-athlete/

Nike, Colin Kaepernick, and the Changing Role of the Athlete

To commemorate Nike’s 30th anniversary of its iconic “Just do it” campaign, the sportswear goliath on Monday released a series of striking black-and-white ads featuring tennis champion Serena Williams, pro-skateboarder Lacey Baker, and NFL wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. Its most controversial placard, though, was a close-up image of former 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick overlaid with the message: “Believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything.” Then, two days later, it released an ad expounding on that sentiment, with Kaepernick narrating a montage of athletes who had overcome daunting odds to achieve success.

[embedded content]

From the outset, the reaction to Kaepernick’s involvement with the campaign was explosive and unifying in all the ways that have come to define the parameters of reaction culture, online and off. Fissures split along ideological lines: there were people rightly fired up that a major corporation took a stand, however faintly, on such a palpably political issue. The hashtags #ImWithNike and #ImWithKap (or #ImWithKaep) expressed justifiable savor many supporters found in the brand’s devotion to Kaepernick’s crusade; celebrities like Ava DuVernay, Diddy, and Michael Kelly offered vocal shows of encouragement. Fueled by a kind of obtuse logic, there was also a noticeable mix of veterans and conservatives who called for a boycott of Nike apparel or posted videos of burning shoes. (Twitter being Twitter, these posts immediately set off a wave of comic re-enactments.)

Outspoken athletes have long been central to Nike’s corporate DNA. In its decades-long lifestylization of sports, they’ve teamed with controversy-courters like Andre Agassi and Michael Jordan—each of whom flouted their sport’s dress codes, with Nike’s help—firebrands like John McEnroe, and anchored their future to politically active and increasingly candid athletes such as LeBron James, who has readily shared his distaste for the president and who, this summer, opened a public school for underprivileged kids in his hometown of Akron. (It provides free meals and bicycles to students and guarantees a free tuition to the University of Akron for all graduates, among other stipulations.)

Nike’s teaming with Kaepernick, however, is of a new order; it translates as a strategic gamble—yesterday’s 3 percent dip in share prices will likely pale in comparison to the historic gains—but also as a patently unsafe one for a company that often hews toward universally safe moves (Even Nike’s beautifully-executed “Equality” campaign had a bit of an #AllLivesMatter veneer to it). Ours is a time of violent partisan disunity—and major brands electing to take a position feels like a natural, if necessary evolution.

There’s little mystery that social awareness has become a form of cultural capital for companies. Where once we ridiculed brands for saying “bae,” now we interrogate their ideological stances to divine whether they’re proof of evolved thinking or cynical, performative gestures. Being “woke” is itself a kind of currency, and often, to outsiders, a creed worth buying into. Not to say that Nike’s intentions were carried out in bad faith, but the house that Phil Knight built is, if nothing else, a savvy corporate empire. However, even if the message itself doesn’t get into specifics— “Believe in something” could mean anything—Kaepernick’s face alone conjures the paradox of the American promise that he fought to bring into the light.

Nike

Of course, there’s a complicated gravity to all of this. According to ESPN, Nike first signed Kaepernick to its endorsement roster in 2011, an agreement which never ended. Meanwhile, in March, the brand extended its deal with the NFL to remain the league’s official partner until 2028. The two poles seem to have no twain: The NFL, in response to player dissent last season and for the first time in its complicated history, instituted a mandate in May that now requires players to stand for the anthem or otherwise stay in the locker room. This knotting of sports culture, politics, and business is not unusual for our time, but it offers an important lesson if we choose to see it for what it is: moral centering in a time of moral decentering.

The country’s false narrative of progress was as evident as it was disgraceful in the view of Kaepernick, his teammate Eric Reid, and the players who joined along in silent condemnation during the 2016 season, triggering a wave of on-field protests. Kaepernick’s decision to kneel during the national anthem, he told reporters at the time, was in response to the fang of American racism—particularly incidents of increasing police brutality against black citizens, which were being recorded and distributed with routine outcry and a routine lack of reprimand.

For decades, the NFL excised politics from the game to protect the piety of its brand, but Kaepernick proved to be the ultimate antidote. Though he was later shunned from the league—for which he has taken team owners to arbitration, accusing them with collusion—it could now no longer afford to avoid the conversation. Amid the fury of yesterday’s news cycle, the NFL issued a statement, a portion of which read: “The social justice issues that Colin and other professional athletes have raised deserve our attention and action.”

It’s easy to be distrustful of Nike’s partnership with Kaepernick, with what can feel like an abrupt pivot to political advertising. What’s harder is to hope, even believe, that Nike really understands the matters at hand. That perhaps, even as the company is sullied by negligent labor practices and ongoing accusations of gender discrimination—issues one would expect Kaepernick to be privy to, and concerned about—the company is not attempting to co-opt cool or capitalize on a larger trend toward social justice awareness, but simply trying to be better than it has been in the past.

It’s the choice of integrity over prestige. Of character over championships. It’s less a matter of exploiting our growing divisions and instead about aligning with virtue over political correctness, over civility. Kaepernick—like Muhammad Ali and Arthur Ashe before him, who used their platforms to bring attention to black civil rights issues at a grave cost to their own professional success—represents an evolution in the business of sports, a shift in the discourse for Fortune 500 companies that can sustain real impact, nationally and globally, even as Nike, far from perfect, grapples with its own internal reckoning.

Times continue to change, and so must the role of the athlete and the companies that back them. It can no longer just be about how much one wins; it must too be about what someone like Colin Kaepernick or LeBron James or Serena Williams believes in beyond the game. Nike recognizes that, even if they didn’t generate the sentiment. Sports, we’re told, are about transcendence. About representing an ideal bigger than one single player, team, or city. Perhaps with Kaepernick that can finally be true.

More Great WIRED Stories

[lignes2frappe]

LE CLASSEMENT DES 15 PIRES RAPPEURS US DE TOUS LES TEMPS

Amis enragés du net, voici la liste de ceux qui auront à répondre de leurs crimes le jour du Jugement Dernier...

Qu’est-ce qu’un bon rappeur ? Si l’on croit l’inventaire de Jay Z sur Breathe Easy, il s’agirait tel un basketteur NBA de correspondre à certaines lignes statistiques.

Ainsi sur le morceau caché du Blueprint, Hova se décerne sans sourciller la couronne de roi de New-York clamant haut et fort mener la danse dans 6 catégories : flow, consistance, realness, charisme, tendances et interviews.

Egotrip mise à part, la question se révèle pourtant un brin plus complexe que ça. Preuve en est, plus de 15 ans après son clash retentissant avec Nas, personne n’est encore parvenu à déterminer lequel des deux MC est le meilleur.

[Nas écrit mieux ? Mais Jay Z vend plus. Nas est plus conscient ? Mais Jay Z est plus influent. Nas a un meilleur ratio de classiques ? Mais Jay Z a plus de classiques tout court….]

De l’autre côté du spectre, les choses apparaissent beaucoup plus élémentaires.

Le mauvais rap méritant depuis les temps les plus reculés du hip hop le titre de discipline olympique, nul besoin d’être un mélomane des plus raffinés pour apprécier la nullité dans toute sa splendeur, une simple connexion internet suffit.

Néanmoins pour mériter sa place au Hall of Fame de la honte, l’incompétence doit cependant s’assortir d’états de services honorables : une exposition médiatique, des hits, des chiffres de ventes qui attisent la jalousie – et si possible en supplément une brochette de fails hors musique.

Un paradoxe qui s’explique de plusieurs manières : déjà parce qu’il est toujours plus jouissif de se moquer du succès (#HaterzGonnaHate) tout en se donnant l’impression de participer au rééquilibrage de la Force, mais aussi parce qu’un vrai bon mauvais rappeur se doit de dépasser le cadre de sa petite personne pour passer à la postérité.

Une banale vidéo Youtube achalandée de commentaires moqueurs, un rôle de figurant dans un crew en vogue (genre les mecs dont jamais personne ne se souvient à la St Lunatics et autres D12) ou quelques sons enregistrés à la va vite sous prétexte d’être un athlète (Shaq, Tony Parker, Charles Barkley...) ne suffisent donc pas.

Ceci étant posé, voici venu le moment découvrir le top de la crème de la lose, alias le classement des 15 pires rappeurs de tous les temps.

  15. Lil Jon

Il fut un temps où les rappeurs étaient jugés à l’aune de la qualité de leur plume, de leur message…

Et puis un beau jour, un monsieur d’Atlanta qui parle très fort dans son micro a commencé à squatter les charts en scandant façon Gilles de la Tourette des gimmicks bêtes et méchants à la « yeaaaah », « whaaaat » et « okayyy » jusqu’à que coma éthylique s’en suive.

Aujourd’hui reconverti dans l’EDM de mauvais goût (pléonasme), le Petit Jean continue de vivre de sa rente sans pour autant avoir  étoffé ses sept mots de vocabulaire.

  14. Puff Daddy

Quand il s’agit pour Diddy de mettre en scène son personnage de Diddy, il n’y a pas meilleur que Diddy. Pour ce qui est de rapper, c’est autre chose.

En même temps qu’attendre d’autre d’un mec qui se gargarise de signer des chèques pour que d’autres écrivent ses rimes ? (« Don’t worry if I write rhymes, I write cheques » – Bad Boy For Life).

Alors okay il arrive que ses ad-libs aient du punch et c’est toujours marrant de l’entendre évoquer « Swaint-twopèse », mais en vrai s’il ne dirigeait pas lui-même un label, qui d’autre l’aurait signé ?

  13. Pras

Si personne ne s’est jamais vraiment demandé ce que devenait le gars Pras depuis la séparation des Fugees, en revanche à l’époque beaucoup se demandaient à quoi il pouvait bien servir, si ce n’est à boucher les trous entre les couplets de Wyclef Jean et Lauryn Hill.

Avec un flow et une cadence rigoureusement identique à chaque morceau, chacune de ses prestations est tout aussi soporifique qu’interchangeable.

Pras ou le parfait MC pour se mettre en valeur au sein d'un groupe.

  12. Plies

Longtemps le rap sudiste a été pris pour cible par les puristes pour la supposée faible qualité de ses paroles. Un reproche auquel l’homme que le monde n’a jamais vu sans sa casquette a trouvé la parade : ne pas articuler pour rendre ses textes absolument incompréhensibles au commun des mortels.

Du coup Plies est peut-être un super rappeur et personne n’en sait rien.

Enfin dans le doute ça m’étonnerait, vu qu’entre deux onomatopées à la « éyossanawannasème », tout juste se contente-t-il de faire rimer « nigga » avec « nigga » sur des morceaux où sont invitées au refrain les sensations r&b du moment pour limiter la casse.

  11. Tony Yayo

Alors que le G-Unit rayonnait au firmament de sa gloire, le très bon ami de Fifty croupissait en prison.

Joies du marketing, à sa sortie il sera hypé comme le membre le plus street du crew et le prochain à décrocher le million. Habile subterfuge qui a fait illusion jusqu’à l'écoute de son premier album…

Candidat sérieux au titre de pire sidekick de l’histoire du rap, Tony Yayo continue depuis son petit bonhomme de chemin en n’en ayant clairement rien à péter d’être bon ou pas. Et ça, c’est gangsta.

  10. Birdman

Frappé par un éclair de lucidité, l’homme oiseau a un jour déclaré « Je ne peux pas rapper, mais je peux raconter assez de trucs pour réveiller un mort. »

Si par là il entend troller jusqu’à plus soif l’étendue de son patrimoine, le « richer than the richest » n’a pas forcément tort.

Son premier disque a beau daté de 1992, il donne constamment cette impression de découvrir pour la première fois ses lyrics (écrits par d’autres) au moment même où il les enregistre. Résultat son flow ressemble à s’y méprendre celui d’un Floyd Mayweather en train de lire.

Pas de quoi se frotter les mains à tout va…

  9. Benzino

Pendant de longues années The Source a été le magazine hip hop de référence… avant que Benzino n’en prenne les commandes et ne le transforme en outil de propagande anti-Eminem (?) et pro-Ja Rule (??).

Comme si ce n’était pas assez, il se mit en tête de promouvoir sa propre musique en toute subjectivité en notant son propre album quatre étoiles, détruisant ainsi définitivement le restant de crédibilité musicale du canard.

Ironiquement celui qui prétendait sauver le rap a fini sa carrière dans d’obscures télé-réalités, ne refaisant la une que ce jour où sa sex tape a fuité sur le net.

  8. Chingy

Son premier album, le bien nommé Jackpot s’est vendu à 3 millions d’albums ! Nan mais 3 MILLIONS D’ALBUMS VENDUS pour un disque qui affiche zéro titre écoutable du début à la fin.

Loi du karma oblige, Chingy ne mettra cependant pas longtemps à tomber du côté où il penche et à retourner à un anonymat dont il n’aurait jamais dû sortir.

On parle tout de même du mec qui non content de démolir la grammaire avec son single Right Thurr a un jour osé rimer : « Je les aime noires, blanches, portoricaines, haïtiennes, japonaises, chinoises ou même asiatiques. » (!!!!)

  7. MC Hammer

One hit wonder le plus lucratif de l’histoire du rap, il compte comme principal fait de gloire la mise au goût du jour du futal le plus kitch de l’histoire des futals les plus kitschs.

Considéré depuis ses débuts comme une vaste blague, il a depuis réussi à largement aggravé son cas en dilapidant l’entièreté de sa richesse et en tentant de clasher Jay Z pour se refaire une santé médiatique.

Biens mal acquis ne profitent jamais ?

  6. Flo Rida

Charisme de videur de camping, carrure de pompe à vélo protéinée, souag de roi du tuning… Flo Rida c’est le genre d’artiste dont le succès ne tient qu’au mauvais gout du public.

Et quel succès ! Pourvoyeur de BO de télé-réalités et de fonds sonores pour salles de cross fit, le rappeur le plus huilé du game débite inlassablement son flow de marchand de sable sur des instrus de jeux vidéo depuis bientôt 10 piges.

Héritier pas si lointain de l’eurodance, il mériterait tout autant sa place au classement des pires pop stars du 21ème siècle.

  5. Iggy Azalea

Victime permanente de brimades sur le net (avec en chefs de meute ses homologues Q-Tip et Azealia Banks), l’australienne au derrière plus large que l’Océanie mérite-elle ce traitement ?

Si l’on n’en juge par sa voix à mi-chemin entre le cri du dauphin et celle de Lois Griffin dans Family Guy ou ses freestyles dignes d’un kangourou dépressif, la réponse est malheureusement oui.

Sans compter que lorsqu’elle n’est pas en studio, elle se prend allègrement les pieds dans le tapis à la moindre accusation d’appropriation culturelle.

Manquerait plus qu’elle se fasse refaire le visage et devienne moche…

  4. Silkk the Shocker

No Limit ou la division d’honneur du rap.

Dans la famille Miller, grâce au grand frère Master P tout le monde rappe. Si C-Murder est actuellement incarcéré à perpétuité, le troisième membre de la fratrie aurait mérité une peine similaire pour l’ensemble de sa discographie.

Régulièrement cité en tête des pires rappeurs de l’histoire, outre ses innombrables lacunes derrière le micro, Silkk the Shocker (nan mais paye ton blaze) met un point d’honneur à kicker hors temps à chaque mesure.

Interrogé sur ce sujet, il s’est défendu en arguant qu’il s’agissait là d’un « style »… Euh, un peu comme faire exprès de chanter faux ou d'envoyer la balle sur le parking ?

  3. Vanilla Ice

En 1990 Robert Van Winkle prend le monde musical par surprise avec la tempête Ice Ice Baby, un hit qui sent déjà bien l’esbroufe puisqu’il reprend sans originalité le pas très hip-hop Under Pressure de Queen et David Bowie.

Premier rappeur caucasien à vraiment percer, il devient rapidement le bouc-émissaire désigné du milieu. Raison pour laquelle il va s’inventer un passé de gangster imaginaire ?

Toujours est-il que si dans un sens comme dans l’autre l’affaire a pris une tournure un brin disproportionnée, Vanilla était si pénible à écouter qu’Eminem a déclaré avoir failli abandonner le rap après avoir découvert ses sons.

  2. Pitbull

Chaque été c’est la même rengaine, Pitbull revient avec une sempiternelle nouvelle bouse reprenant immanquablement la même recette.

1) Une instru stadium composée au marteau piqueur 2) Quelques mots d’espagnol compréhensibles dans toutes les paillotes (mira, fiesta, playa…) 3) Une liste de villes au soleil 4) De subtils placements de produits (comme lorsqu’il fait rimer Kodak… avec Kodak)

Bordel mais vivement l’automne.

 1. Soulja Boy Tell em'

L’incontestable champion du monde, le roi de la peau de banane, le king du nanard radiophonique.  

Celui qui a initié ce genre de débats et classements depuis ce jour où il a explosé à la face du grand public avec Crank That.

Surplombant ses paires avec une constance que peu lui envient, Soulja Boy enchaîne depuis bientôt 10 ans des morceaux qui consistent à répéter à l’infini la même ligne avec la même voix monocorde.

Pionnier de ces chansons construites exclusivement autour d’un refrain chorégraphié, il est celui qui a prouvé que tout le monde peut rapper... et surtout n’importe qui.

Note : ce dossier ayant été écrit après avoir avalé  une cuillère à soupe de mauvaise foi, avant de déchaîner les enfers dans  les commentaires, un suppositoire de second degré est vivement  recommandé.

Publié le 29 juin 2016.