Friday, November 19, 2010


I was at a dilla tribute party last year at a spot deep in queen west and the dj had gone through your "typical" dilla standards and the amazing samples that provided the inspiration. The crew I was with was dropping hints to the dj it was that time, the party was dying down the crowd had filtered and a few loyal supporters were remaining at the bar and a couple tables. dj finally dropped the record, a collective cheer/sigh went up and at that moment, strangers became family, drinks in the air, drunken staggers morphed into rhythmic two-steps, we acknowledged the DJ and stumbled out into the crisp winter night hooded and goosed up… players.

One of my fav things to do is drive or venture on foot or bike around the city while most of it sleeps. Driving slow, as Kanye West once put it, is a practice that meets at the intersection of deep contemplation and casual observation. Driving with no direction down empty lit streets and letting whatever the vibe of the moment be your guide. Players by Slum Village is often the soundtrack for those moments, the subdued, the laid back vibe of nighttime.

We don’t care how or where
we end up there, wherever it may be
no compass or telescope
but finding depth in one word answers
and finding common ground with
exotic dancers
fully clothed
curbside dividing cab fare
stretching a dollar
after stretching for dollars
no discrimination, all colours
lipstick and collars
blue and white speeding thru the red
while we wait for green

posers provide the inspiration

no racing, embracing the slow but steady
save the ready set go for rush hours
There’s power in patience
And patients suffering insomnia
gazing out of window panes
gazing at the caddy in adjacent
gazing at the amazing way
midnight plays the blues
the crew cruises through
smoke stacks and ascends
like wind off the lake
we relate, debate, and laugh it off
drive off solemn in stewardship

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