Tuesday, May 30, 2006

booty moves while digging the roots

date: monday, may 22, 2006
time: around 10:15 p.m.
place: the roots concert

black thought stepped onto the stage with his poised weapon. his mouth became a tek-9 annihilating the audience with a staccato barrage of verbal discharge as his voice, hollow-tipped and filled with the brandy braggadocio of a hip-hop virtuoso, pierced our skulls with skillfully scattered phrases of conscious matter. my ears drank shot after shot as my brain eventually released its drunken grip upon my limbs. right around this time i was jumping around gleefully, my excitement over finally seeing the roots live soaking me to the bone with a giddy feeling that left me hovering on the bring of sanity.

okay, you don't understand...nikki digs live music like a nympho digs sex. it ain't just the band, it's the experience. it's the assault upon all of the senses, the taste of black thought's black thoughts as they slid like chocolate syrup down my throat, the sound of the sensual bass guitar as its deep voice murmured intimately into my ear, the touch of ?uestlove's drum throbbing against my skin like a sonic erection, the sweet smell of nostalgia i inhaled deeply as i shouted out the words to the songs i remembered. it was the sight of six black men making love to the mic with their various instruments, an orgy of limbs blended in rhythm and rhyme.

i spread my mind wider to allow for a deeper stroke.

"Just think, what if you could just, just blink yourself away?
Just think, what if you could just, just blink yourself away?
Jeff X can rock the mic with tooth decay
I be the 5 foot 7, residing at the mecca lesson south section
Used to cut class in the infinite pursuit of ass
Back in eighty-seven
Easy with the chics I was a chocolate boy
Raised in the cellar with the rhythm like Ella
Walking down the streets to the subway where i lay
Til the train stop then a nigga hop
Used to do the pop dance to the planet rock
At the block party everybody jocked (who me?)
It's the MC sucka niggaz envy
I got my contract in 1993 and
I shall proceed..."


my voice was the frayed edges of jeans bursted at the seams as i thrust my response to black thought's declaration to proceed, nodding my head to the downbeat like it was the rounded tip of sticks shivering the skin stretched tautly across the drum's flat features. i was digging deeply at this point, my spirit unfurling within the fertile soil of their sound as i raised my hands high to keep the ceiling up cuz the thunderous roars from the crowd threatened to send it crashing down around us. everyone around me was just as enthralled as i was. brown faces, pink faces, biege faces all open and screaming in call and response mode towards the stage.

then the hairs on my neck stood at attention as i felt a close source of heat behind me just as a pair of hands settled upon my hips. i felt a hard dick pressed tightly against my ass. i glanced back in surprise and found myself staring into twin cups of coffee, no cream. jumping out of my skin, i glared at the unfamiliar face of the brotha as i created some distance between he and i.

"uh, who da fuck are you and why is your dick in my ass?"

he smiled, straight white teeth bookended with deep dimples as he dropped his hands and stepped back a little.

"i'm rashid," he answered with a voice that reminded me of black silk being pulled across my nipples. i lifted my brows in inquiry before squinting my eyes. he said that shit as if i was supposed to know him. meanwhile, the only rashid i 'know' has a blog and i've never met him and this cat was not that cat.

"i don't know a rashid," i responded sarcastically. i was still outraged that a perfect stranger would bother to get all up on my ass like that. i mean, he was cute enough. he stood at about six feet and had skin the color of roasted almonds and he smelled divine. but he WAS a stranger.

"you know one now," he said, the dimple in his left cheek growing deeper as his smile grew more inviting. at this point i noted the accent. oh...he's from africa.

"where are you from?" i asked innocently.

"nigeria." he was still smiling.

"well, i don't know how you do shit in nigeria, but here in america women aren't standing around waiting for a dick to land in the cracks of their asses." something i said amused him cuz his smile grew even wider.

"i can tell you all about nigeria after the concert. we can get to know each other better then."

oh, this was one arrogant mothafucka.

"i've gotten to know more about you in the last thirty seconds than i care to know. you've got some fucking nerve putting your hands on me like that."

i mean really...the audacity of a brotha. i still got issues with strange men putting their hands on me. that's residual shit from the rapes so i'm a little more sensitive to liberties like that from strange men. i stepped away from him and frowned so he understood i wasn't inviting him to touch me again.

"kindly back away from the booty and bounce," i said as i folded my arms and shot bullet holes into his face with my eyes.

he held his hands up in that 'no offense meant' stance and backed up away from me. it took everything in me not to cuss his ass out. i mean, brotha had been so close i could almost feel the tip of his dick on my tonsils.

sidenote: okay, yet again i gotta speak on this assumption mothafuckas have about touching a sista's body. just cuz i don't have a "stay the fuck away from me" sign doesn't mean i've given permission to a brotha to put his hands on me. that shit's like fucking without foreplay. why is this? is this the result of rap videos and the 'supa heads' who make their bodies readily available to any dick with bling swinging from the balls? did this brotha assume because i was there alone that i was looking for a brotha to share that shit with? it is really a culture thing? i've dated men from nigeria before and i gotta admit, his arrogant behavior kinda reminded me of those cats. i like my men with confidence but DAMN... i mean, he would have stood a chance with a sista if he'd stepped lightly instead of grabbing my hips and sticking his crotch in my ass. he was actually cute. meanwhile, i felt like i needed a tissue to wipe the cum stains from my skirt. dirty mothafucka...

i was salty for a minute after that, salty and kinda afraid my being there at the concert alone was sending an invitation to every brotha there to stick his crotch in my ass. i looked around furtively, unable to make out much in the spotted darkness. there were guys all around me. i contemplated leaving and then decided against it. fuck those mothafuckas. i ain't letting that cat fuck my night up like that.

then black thought bust out one of my favorite 'roots rhymes' and i forgot about the incident altogether.

"Hey you listeners, stop what you're doin and
set it in motion, it's the next movement
You listeners, stop what ya doin and
set it in motion, it's the next movement..."

i was jumping again as i joined in.

"Word up, we got the HOT-HOT music, The HOT MUSIC
The HOT-HOT music, the HOT music
The HOT-HOT music, the HOT music
The HOT-HOT music, the HOT music!!!!"

i spent the next 45 minutes yelling and dancing and vibing and grooving and moving and jumping and just soaking myself in the roots. i was perfectly content...

and then it was talib kweli making his way to the stage...

awww snap...

more to come...