It Ain't Hard To Tell

It ain't hard to tell, I excel, then prevail/The mic is contacted, I attract clientele/My mic check is life or death, breathin a sniper's breath/I exhale the yellow smoke of buddha through righteous steps/Deep like The Shinin', sparkle like a diamond/Sneak a uzi on the island in my army jacket linin/Hit the Earth like a comet, invasion/Nas is like the Afrocentric Asian, half-man, half-amazin/Cause in my physical, I can express through song/Delete stress like Motrin, then extend strong/I drank Moet with Medusa, give her shotguns in hell/From the spliff that I lift and inhale, it ain't hard to tell

Track 10: It Ain't Hard To Tell

I'm finally finished with my Illmatic series. It's a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it gave me some ideas to write about during this long month of posting everyday, but on the other hand, it was kind of confining. It seemed like a good idea when I started but I guess I should have came up with a outline or something instead of just freestyling. Anyway, here is the final installment of the Illmatic series: It Ain't Hard To Tell. Lord knows what I'm gonna blog about after this is over.

It ain't hard to tell... that you are way into me. You try to play it cool, but come on, we both know what the deal is. I've been in your position before, and its okay. Just play your role. In our group dynamic, you are the stalker and I am the stalkee. You don't have to pretend that that's not the case just because I called you out on it. I really wish that wasn't the case, there's nothing worse than a sometime-y stalker. I would respect it a lot more, if you were at least honest about it. But when your words say one thing and your actions say another, it's just, well its ridiculous. I told you that I can't date you because you work with me and you say you understand, then what is the reasoning behind the early morning text messages and the jealous looks when the other shorties come to my desk. It ain't hard to tell you are just fronting. You ain't hardly fooling me.

It ain't hard to tell... that you are some fucking vultures. I understand that it's news that his mom died, but are the tabloid style headlines really necessary. You never talked about him on your show before, now you are trying to exploit this story and make it into a sensational story. Leave these poor people alone to grieve. No need to make it into a cautionary tale about the evils of plastic surgery.

It ain't hard to tell... that your radio station is bootleg as hell. I like that you are independent and play some underground hip hop from time to time, but do you really have to be so unprofessional? I mean, isn't part of being a DJ making sure that your records don't skip? Shouldn't you know before the song is halfway over that you are playing the dirty version instead of the radio version. And what's up with the dead air? Rule # 1 of the radio: never have any gaps that cause people to turn the station. Let me not even get into the amateurish scratching and mindless babble during interviews. You can at least pretend like you know what you are doing.

It ain't hard to tell... that I'm starting to hate everything Boston related. Them damn Red Sox, them damn Patriots, now them damn Celtics. Give somebody else a chance to shine in the sports world.

It ain't hard to tell... that I often think about stuff to say and then censor myself. That's not a bad thing, because my thoughts are sometimes too much for people to take. Like when the vegetarian girl decided to lecture me about what I was putting in my body, my immediate thought was "I got something to put in your body." Funny? Yes. Appropriate? No? But the little smirk I held on my face made it obvious that I wanted to say something.

It ain't hard to tell... that I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving. Not so much for the food, but for the chance not to go to work. I'm on major coasting mode this week. No above and beyond for me. I need a vacation and this little 4 day weekend isn't gonna do much, but its needed nonetheless.

It ain't hard to tell... that that shit just ain't gonna work out. I can't keep putting myself out there with someone who is as nonchalant as, well, me. I refuse to be a bug a boo. If you want to get at me, you know where I am, otherwise, it was nice to know you for the short time that I did and I'm sure that I'll see you sometime in the future. We'll just chalk it up to bad timing, and leave at that.

It ain't hard to tell... that last paragraph is gonna be the one that everyone focuses on. But it really ain't that serious. LOL

It ain't hard to tell... that I'm mad as hell about the writer's strike. I've been looking forward to the next season of Lost and 24 and now I don't know if they are gonna come on at all. You can tell I'm mad by the random outbursts of profanity directed to nobody in particular whenever I turn on the TV and hear about another damn reality TV show.

It ain't hard to tell... that I really suck at communication. First there was the broken phone for a week, now I forgot to charge my phone so it died at work today. It's like I don't want to talk to anyone. It might be a good idea to actually make some phone calls if I actually want someone to take me out on my birthday. (5 days and counting!)

It ain't hard to tell... that this posting everyday thing is harder than I expected. I have plenty of ideas in the infant stage in my drafts, but not enough time to flesh them out. Or better yet not enough resolve to finish them. Now that this Illmatic series is over, maybe I'll work on some of those. Don't hold your breath though, I'll probably take the easy way out for the rest of the week. Besides, nobody will be reading anyway. It's Thanksgiving week for Pete's sake.

And just like that.. I'm gone. Thanks for coming by and checking me out everyday. I really appreciate the feedback you guys give. I know it sounds like I'm done blogging for a while, but I'm not. I'll be here same blog time, same blog channel tomorrow. Be easy, everybody!