So yo, one of da most beautifullest things I've learned in my time in the rap music trenches is that HIP-HOP HEADS come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. I once had dis midget friend and to my surprise he was mad hip-hop! Who woulda thought?
I thought I'd seen everything after I met a hip-hop midget, but I was wrong. This cat Pasquale who lived down the street from me fancied himself a poet in the Romantic tradition. He styled himself after LORD BYRON and wore mad poofy shirts. We gots to talkin once and he started blatherin bout how BUSTA RHYMES embodied the "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings recollected in tranquility" that them Romantic dudes was all about. I was like, "Chuuuuuch!"
I ain't seen dis cat in years when I ran into his mother on da ski slopes. She told me Pasquale had died in Tunisia. He was thurrr teachin a coterie of young men about poetry and eroticism when he was taken by the consumption. I was all, "Sheeeit, RIP."
She forwarded me a stack of his poetry. Most of it was mad gay and not very hip-hop, but this one elegy for OJ DA JUICEMAN spoke to my soul (no homo). In honor of JUICEMAN'S new mixtape, I thought I'd reprint this soul-tickler for y'all.
ELEGY FOR OJ DA JUICEMAN
OJ da Juiceman, where hath thou gone? Your giddy "Aye! Aye! Okay!" no longer brightens the barbed paths and dark hallways of our wandering souls. Your ooze of noble savagery has waned and O! we no longer thrill to your crudely enunciated verse.
What malady befell you? Wherefore the absence and quietude? Beneath thy buffoonery was a depth the masses could not understand. O, cruel fate of the visionary ones! Disregarded in their time as common rabble. Verily a kernel of gold amidst landscapes dreary you were. The refuge of future glory is but a cold consolation for the insults you endured.
They cursed you as a plague upon culture, but soon they shall prostrate themselves before thy alter as they did with Van Gogh. Your flame has diminshed, but Rejoice! -- your torch of genius burns eternal.
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