Nipsey Rustled

Nipsey Rustled is one of several alter egos representing the many sides of writer, new author, poet, and teacher, Derrick Weston Brown. Expect poems, music, perspective, links and images of all sorts of things. I might even get personal from time to time. So enjoy what pops up on this blog, but not a blog, from a brother just trying to get the words out, in a society with an attention span no bigger than a snap pea.
When your phone falls from your hand and you inadvertently take a self portrait

When your phone falls from your hand and you inadvertently take a self portrait

agibbsinamillion:

A poem in a book in a bookstore in philly

Thanks agibbsinamillion for finding my poem in an unnamed bookstore in Philly. #This is soo cool!

agibbsinamillion:

A poem in a book in a bookstore in philly

Thanks agibbsinamillion for finding my poem in an unnamed bookstore in Philly. #This is soo cool!

Got a reading tomorrow in NYC. Bryant Park. 7pm to 9pm. Getting Poems ready.

Got a reading tomorrow in NYC. Bryant Park. 7pm to 9pm. Getting Poems ready.

UK Badassness Skinny from Skunk Anansie

UK Badassness Skinny from Skunk Anansie

(Source: spacecadet)

Forget what it sounds like for a minute, let’s consider the spirit of rock and roll: Rebellious. Energetic. Vocal. Independent. Driven. Unapologetic. Powerful. They’re characteristics I could attribute to damn-near every sister I know.

In fact, my personal Who’s Who of Rock and Roll is stacked with bomb Black women. Betty Davis. Grace Jones. Tina Turner. Aretha Franklin. Nona Hendryx. Poly Styrene. Joan Armatrading. Joyce Kennedy… and that’s just 1976-77.

So why do so many people go out of their way to marginalize or flat-out disregard Black women as both pioneers and torchbearers of rock? Why are we so indifferent to the fact that more than a few African-American women strapped an instrument to their back and helped carry the genre from the fields to the church to the juke joint to the charts to a multimillion-dollar industry?

Probably because someone told us it wasn’t ours and we chose to believe it. They said it was devil’s music, so we cast it out. We let it go because someone gave it white skin, a penis, and the green light to cross boundaries that Black people couldn’t. And in so doing, they convinced the world that our pioneers didn’t deserve equal recognition, equal exposure or equal ownership.

Damn shame.

blogunltdmgzine:

Video: Thelonious Martin | Radiant Child

Get familiar with 19 year old producer Chicago bred,  Thelonius Martin. With an impressive rapport in the Hip-Hop game, homie has created audio masterpieces  for some of your favorite rappers.  In this short vid shot and chopped by @ElijahAlvarado, Thelonius talks about his initial inspiration sparked by Adult Swim,  His favorite producers and his take on todays Hip-Hop scene.

92’ (Poem)

Is this 92 or 93?

When I find myself in Mom’s

sleek sliver gelatin colored 88’  626

parked in shadows

just outside the lime green halo

of the school parking lot’s

lone long necked streetlight?

Seats reclined

Windows cracked

traced with rising fog.

Her mouth has my left ear.

Sade has my right.

If its Sade, this means its 92’.

This means its Fall.

This means the fog matters.

We left the movie early;

Coppola’s bloody Dracula  

was a peripheral sideshow

once our fingers soft pretzeled

in the dark.

Left the crowd in the theater;

in the mall;

and hissed into 

the car’s quiet seats

to finish off our sodas

and sourpatch kids.

Curb our cravings for sweet.

But what kind of fire

do you know of

that can be quenched

in a sixteen-year-old

once they get a taste

outside of innocence’s

sippy cup?

Take you home?

Was more a plea

than a question.

An open gate 

with groaning hinges.

She answered

when we neared the turn

to her neighborhood.

Put her hand on top

of mine and guided the wheel

left

to the school

to the parking lot

past the halo

towards the shadow.

Love Deluxe

Sade’s 90’s opus

in the tape deck

45 minutes total

22 and a half minutes

each side.

Tape deck.

This is 92’.

Half hour till curfew

before her Mom gets home

before mine calls the cavalry.

This is 92’

When I first learn

that Love and Lust

constantly side-eye 

each other.

But I haven’t learned

this difference yet.

This is the first time

my hands read the length

of a girl’s body.

I swear the whole world could feel my heart beat

My mouth finds

her shoulders

her mouth

her neck

stomach.

My fevered

fingers are trying to 

jimmy open her

bra from the back

when she opens

it from the front

with a flick.

Surprise

This is 92’.

The first time 

I see a smile

in the dark.

You wrapped me up in the color of love 

And Sade has

just finished

her entire album

for the the second time.

And the cassette player

clicks.

And the dashboard clock

winks 12:00am as 

we keep looping.

This is 92’