'Rappers' from 'When the Crows Come Home'

Look at these rich pampered niggas
They all claim to be the realest
You wouldn’t be authentic
Even if the US Mint made ya
Counterfeit thugs got famous
Cause Atlantic or Def Jam pay ya
Like Africans sellin Gucci
Y’all just a bunch of fakers
And Capitol just want capital
Cause once that cell or casket closed
That’s when ya album chart and go gold

'When The Hens Roost' from 'When the Crows Come Home'

The sun ain’t hit the top yet
And the birds out chirpin’
Mr. Farmer just finished his joe
Time to get workin

Had a steer pullin a plow
And the dog herdin his sheep
Mr. Farmer went to the coop
And couldn’t believe what he didn’t see

Not a hen was there
And they hadn’t laid any eggs
“I done lost to a goddamn coyote”
Then an idea popped into his head

If they ain’t in the coop layin
Or walkin around outside
They probably sittin somewhere talkin
Guess I’ll give them some time

'Untitled 3' from 'If I Wrote a Hip-Hop Album'

Can we put the guns down
Put a L in the air
Its like every other week
All a young nigga hear
RIP my nigga
Another black male dead
And it hurt me soul
Make me wanna drop a tear
Another son aint here
Another brother gunned down
Can we put the guns down
I don’t who next
But I hope it aint me
Hope it aint my nigga
Hope it aint my fam
So what you ‘sposed to do
When the streets so cold
You need heat by ya belt
Like a nigga name Pacino
Whats the motive anyway
Mucho Dinero
But the means aint worth it
So I beg and I plead
Can we put the guns down
No more black mothers cryin’
Lil bros grow up mad
Cause he lost his brother, closest thing to his dad
It just make me so sad
Can we please put em down
Just put the guns down

Chapter 1 of 'A Summer In Harlem' by Brendan Whitt


     “Thad, Thad, Thaddeus Leon Thomas! If I gotta call your name one more time to get up boy!” The loud and bellowing voice forced Thad to wake up. He pulled his blanket from over his head as the sun shined brightly through his bedroom window and into his face. He sat up for a moment and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before letting out a big yawn. Standing in the doorway staring at him was his grandmother. She was a large and portly black woman with a head full of grey hair. Standing right behind was her fat yellowish orange cat named Precious.
       “Glad to see you‘re finally up,” his grandmother said. “I’m headed out to run a few errands. Your breakfast is downstairs but you have to make your own eggs. You know how they get when their cold. When I get back we can head for the train station.” She took two steps out of Thad’s room before turning around, “Oh, and feed Precious” she added. Almost instinctively Precious turned around and followed Thad’s grandmother out of the room. When he could hear her footsteps heading down the stairs he pulled his covers completely off of his body and got out of bed. Thad was a relatively scrawny kid with dark skin and short black hair. He had just finished his first year of high school and had aspirations of becoming an engineer after college. He wanted to go to Tuskegee where one of his idols George Washington Carver had taught. Thad was a very intelligent kid who always garnered high praise from his teachers in regards to his academic accomplishments and behavior. He rarely got into any serious trouble or mischief. Outside of school Thad hung out with his same friends from when he was a child. He was just your run of the mill teenager from Beloit, Alabama in 1948.

       Thad stumbled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. He brushed his teeth then washed his face with a hot rag. When he was finished Thad walked back into his room and sat on his bed. “She never makes my eggs,” he mumbled to himself. “She can kiss my ass, I’m not makin’ my own eggs.” On the chair in his room was a collared shirt with a pair of trousers. He put them on and made his way downstairs. Since his Grandmother was gone he decided to turn on the radio and listen to his favorite genre of music, Jazz. Thad especially loved swing music. The liveliness of the instruments always made him think of life outside of Beloit. Thad loved Jazz but his Grandmother hated it. She called it “that bullshit music”. Thad’s grandmother was a god fearing woman who’s preference were gospel hymns. Thad loved Jazz because of how every musician could play their own part of the song the way they wanted to but still manage to sound like one cohesive collective of musicians. He sat down with his bowl of grits and the few strips of bacon his grandmother had left him while he listened to the radio.
       When he finished eating, Thad went back upstairs to grab his luggage. Thad’s grandmother told him that she would send him to Harlem to visit his Aunt Bird and three cousins for a few weeks over the summer if he was able keep his grades up. Thad did more than that, he finished his freshman year at the top of his class. “Finally,” he thought to himself “a nice long trip to Harlem. I get to ride in a cab, see the city, and most of all listen to live Jazz music.” Thad was more than excited to be headed to New York City. This was the trip of a lifetime. No one he knew from Beloit got to go to the Big Apple for three weeks.
       When Thad’s Grandmother got back from running her errands she yelled up the stairs for him. “Thad, you ready to go?” she asked.
       “Here I come Grandma,” he yelled back down. Thad grabbed his bags and headed down stairs. His grandmother handed him twenty-five dollars and a small brown bag filled with snacks. “Now this money should last you while you’re up there and this is a small snack for your train ride. It should hold you over until your stop in Chicago.”
       “Thank you. Do you want me to call when I get to New York?”
       “Yes. And be sure to look out for your Aunt Bird. You remember what she looks like?” Thad had no idea what his Aunt Bird looked like. He had only seen her twice his entire life and he was only about three years old the last time he had even seen her. All of the photos in the house of her and Thad’s mother were from the twenties before Thad and his cousins had even been born.
       “Not really.” he said.
       “Well you know she’s tall and scrawny with itty bitty chicken legs. Just look for a lady who looks somethin’ like your mother.”
       “Oh yeah I know what she looks like now.” Thad was lying right through his teeth. He still had no clue of what Aunt Bird looked like. In fact, Thad had never even seen his mother. His widowed Grandmother had taken him in when he was born after Thad’s mother had died from complications during childbirth. He kept a picture of her on his nightstand to remind him of her. The only thing on his mind at the moment was getting out of Beloit and enjoying the beginning of his summer in Harlem. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.” he said.
       Outside waiting for Thad and his grandmother was Mr. Harris who stayed down the road on his old family farm that didn’t grow much of anything. He was a tall fat man with very dark skin. His English was so bad that when combined with his southern accent the words came out sounding like gibberish. Mr. Harris had an old red pickup truck that was covered in rust. He had agreed to take Thad and his Grandmother to the train station. Thad hated catching rides from Mr. Harris during the school year. The inside of his pickup was full of trash and old cigarette butts. “Grandma you couldn’t find nobody else with a car,” Thad desperately asked.
       “Boy you be thankful,” his grandmother snapped. “It’s only a thirty-five minute drive. You will not die from riding in his truck. And make sure you say thank you.” Thad walked outside carrying his bags and set them in the bed of the truck.
       “Thanks for the ride Mr. Harris.” he said.
       “Buah you know I can geh you a ride wheneva you need.” Mr. Harris said. Thad got into the truck and slid to the middle of the seat leaving enough room for his grandmother on the end. The smell of old cigarette butts was enough to make a person cover their mouth and nose. Mr. Harris leaned over and whispered to Thad, “No smoking whyle da lady in da cah now. Mannas.” Thad just stared at Mr. Harris before turning to the window, “Grandma we ready” he shouted.
       As they drove down the road towards the train station Mr. Harris couldn’t help but to yap away. It was probably his favorite thing to do behind smoking. “Buah I tell ya, New Yawk is a big ol’ place. I had seent it way back ya hear. Buildins that go so high up you cain’t even see da tops of em ya hear. I mean, big ol buildins. Its way bigguh dan down here in Beloit ya hear.” Thad was tired of listening to Mr. Harris’ jibberish. He knew Mr. Harris was lying anyway. The only sound Thad wanted to hear was a loud train’s horn rumbling down the track followed by an “All aboard!” from the train conductor. At least by then he would know that he was that much closer to Harlem.
       After a nerly forty minute drive down a long dusty road and hearing Mr. Harris’ gibberish, Thad could see the train station off in the distance. Thad couldn’t believe it. He was finally headed to New York City. He checked to make sure his ticket was in his pocket. He pulled it out and scanned it over before shoving it back into his pocket. Thad’s grandmother got out of the truck followed by Thad. Mr. Harris got out to help Thad unload his bags from the truck bed. That was the only thing he wanted Mr. Harris to do. “You enjoy yaself ya hear.” Mr. Harris said.
       “I will” Thad responded smiling. Thad and his grandmother walked to the entrance of the train station.
       “Want me to wait with you,” his grandmother asked.
       “Nah, I’m fine.” he said.
       “Ok then. Well remember to be safe and don’t get into any trouble. And hold on to that money. Don’t fall for no hustles. You don’t know what people can be like in that city.”
       “Yes ma’am.” he said. “And I’ll be sure to give you a call when I get there.”
       “Ok. Love you and be safe”. She gave Thad a big hug accompanied with a kiss on the cheek. As she walked away Thad could feel freedom and excitement sweep across his body. He was so happy to get out of little old Beloit and go see the world. While waiting on a bench  facing the tracks Thad saw a man in an old dirty brown hat drawing a crowd of onlookers. The man was middle aged and black with a light skin complexion. Thad was curious to see what the old man was doing to cause so much commotion. He decided to stay where he was and watch the spectacle from a distance. The man had a piece of cardboard on top of a garbage can with three playing card on top of the cardboard. “If you can find the Jack of spades I’ll pay you two dollars, any Challengers? Just find the jack for two dollars.” The crowd of onlookers just stood around looking and talking amongst each other when a little boy who looked no older than six walked up to the man and placed two dollars down. “Where’d you get so much money from little boy,” the man asked. The boy didn’t respond. He gave the man a blank stare as the crowd continued to watch.
       “Which one is the jack lil’ man?” The boy pointed to the card on the left. “You sure?” The boy nodded his head yes. The man took a moment to flip the card. As he flipped the card over the man had a look of disbelief on his face before quickly turning it into a smile. He handed the two dollar bills along with the two he had bet to the little boy. The boy took the four dollars and walked away. “Win some you lose some.” he said. “Who’s next?” Suddenly another middle aged man, this one white, walked up and placed two dollars down onto the old piece of cardboard. The old man shuffled the three cards and randomly placed them face down. The white man chose the card on the left. When the hustler flipped the card over it was the three of hearts. “Aww Goddammit!” the man shouted. Thad wanted to get closer but he didn’t want to risk being called out. The little boy winning two bucks was tempting to Thad but the one thing his grandmother told him not to do was lose any money to any shady people, so he decided to stay put and continue to watch from his spot on the bench.
       The next contestant to walk up was a heavy set black woman and her husband. “I know this trick you old drunk, I got four dollars.” she said slamming the bills down onto the makeshift table. The hustler shuffled his cards and removed his hat to expose his balding head. “Then choose your card ma’am.” he said politely.
       “The middle card you sneaky bastard” she snapped. The hustler flipped the card revealing the eight of clubs. The old man simply smiled. “Guess you don’t this game well enough.” he said. The hustler packed up his things and walked away. As the crowd began to disperse, Thad stood up and looked down the tracks to see if the train was coming.
       Thad was growing more and more anxious by the minute. He had pulled out his ticket to look at it about ten times to make sure it was still in his pocket. Since him being so impatient wasn’t making time speed up, Thad decided to look in the brown bag his grandmother had packed for him. He had two sandwiches, one was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while the other was a ham sandwich. He had one soda and the bottom of the bag was filled with a few of his grandmothers homemade cookies. He pulled out a cookie and began to nibble on it while he continued to wait on the train. Several minutes later Thad could hear a train engine barreling down the tracks. “Finally” he thought to himself. The moment he had been waiting for since the last day of school was here. He picked up his bags and held his ticket in his hand. When the train pulled up a huge plume of dark smoke escaped from the top of the train‘s smoke stack. Thad looked up and marveled at the size of the train. The cars stretched as far as he could see and had a shiny metal coat with a few thin red lines going down the sides.
       The speakers over the platform crackled as a voice rang out, “P & R leaving for Chicago now boarding.” Thad walked to the colored car and stood in line to board with the other blacks. While he was standing in line Thad noticed the hustler sneaking onto the back of the train. When he got to the front of the line he presented his ticket and proceeded to board. When he finally got on board Thad walked down the aisle until he found his seat. It was a small area with a window just large enough for Thad to look out and see all of the different changes in scenery during his trip. He sat down and put his bags in the seat across from him. “Ten hours until we stop in Chicago,” he thought to himself. He decided to catch up on the sleep he had missed after being awakened by his grandmother earlier that morning. As the train began to pull off Thad slowly drifted off to sleep as he gently rocked along with the train as it barreled down the tracks. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get off of the train in Chicago but seeing the city’s skyline would be a good preview of New York.
       A few hours later when he woke up, Thad looked out the window to see how far the train had gotten. All he could see were rolling green pastures and a farm house or barn every few miles or so. He knew they hadn’t gotten too far from Beloit, the train could still be in Alabama for all he knew. It took Thad a while to realize the little boy sitting across from him. He had taken Thad’s luggage and placed it next to him while he was sleeping. When Thad took a closer look at the boy’s face he realized it was the kid from the platform who had won the two dollars from the old man. Thad blankly stared at the boy who stared right back. After a few moments of awkward silence the little boy finally spoke up.
       “Sorry I moved your stuff,” he said. “I just wanted to sit down. My name’s Fitz by the way. Lil’ Fitz.”
       “I’m Thad. What you doin on a Train all alone anyway?”
       “I’m not alone. My dad’s here with me.”
       Thad was confused. “But back at the station you were by yourself.”
       “My dad was the man with the cards.”
       Thad looked surprised. “So you knew which card to pick,” he asked.
       “Yep. I always know. He tells me which one is the jack and I pick it. Then more people show up. Sometimes he loses but most of the time he wins.”
       “So you guys are hustlers?”
       “That’s what my dad calls it.”
       Thad looked up and happened to see one of the rail workers checking tickets. He looked at Fitz and looked back up. He knew Fitz didn’t have a ticket but he also didn’t want the kid to get into any trouble. Fitz got up and hid underneath Thad’s seat. “Hey kid, what you doin’?” Fitz put his finger to his lips signaling Thad to be quiet. Thad sat straight up in his seat and watched the rail worker make his way towards him. “Ticket please.” the rail worker asked. Thad pulled out his ticket and showed it to him. He kept his composures as best he could but on the inside he was a nervous wreck. If anyone saw Fitz hiding underneath his seat Thad risked the chance of being kicked off of the train. “Thank you.” the rail worker said. He shot Thad a quick smile before heading into the next car. Fitz reemerged from under Thad’s seat and sat back down.
       “You can’t just do that,” Thad said. “I coulda’ just got kicked off.”
       “It’s ok. I do it all the time.” Fitz said.
       “What if you woulda’ got caught, then what?”
       “I just tell them I snuck on with my dad.” he said. “One time the people on the train felt so bad they let us ride all the way to the next city. My dad told me don’t get caught so I just started doing that.”
       “You’re a smart kid. Where’d you get the name Lil Fitz?”
       “My dad’s name is Fitzgerald Wallace, so my mom named me Fitzgerald Wallace Jr. But everybody just calls me Lil’ Fitz.”
       “Where’s your mom?”
       “In Baltimore. That’s where I’m From. He picked me up from school one day and we hopped on a bus and left. We been riding the trains ever since.”
       “Miss your mom at all?”
       “Yeah but my dad says I’ll see her soon.”  Thad was growing skeptical of Fitz’s story. “What kind of dad takes his son away from his mom and hops trains,” he thought to himself. He knew there was something else to the story. He just couldn’t figure out what.
       “What does your dad do with all of the money he wins?”
       “Buys us food and get us hotel rooms.”
       “He doesn’t have a house or somethin’ in Baltimore?”
       “No. He used to live with me and my mom until they got into a fight. I didn’t see him for a while until the day he came and got me from school.”
       “So let me get this right,” Thad started “he wins all that money and you guys don’t live in a house somewhere? Where are you guys headed?”
       “I don’t know. Back home I guess.” Fitz looked out the window, “Sometimes he spends his money on this brown stuff,” he said.
       “What is it,” Thad asked.
       “I don’t know. He has this needle and he heats up the brown stuff. Then he puts it in his arm. It might be medicine but the one time I saw him using it he got really mad. So now he only does it when I’m sleep.” Thad had no idea what Fitz was talking about. At that moment Fitz’s dad came walking down the aisle. He walked over to the seats Thad and Fitz were sitting in. He had a soda in his hand that he handed to Fitz.
       “Hey lil’ man, who’s your friend”, he asked.
       “His name is Thad.”
       “Nice to meet you Thad”, He shook Thad’s hand before continuing his conversation with his son. “We’re gettin off in Chicago. I got the people to let us stay on until then. I got us a few empty seats.” Fitz smiled and stood up, “See Thad”, he said while smiling “it always works out.” Fitz and his dad got up and headed to another car. Thad wished the best for his young friend Fitzgerald Wallace Jr. As the train made it’s way closer to Chicago Thad could feel himself getting sleepy again. Thad figured if he caught a quick nap he could wake up in time to see Chicago before the train refueled and headed off to it’s final destination in New York.
       When he woke up it was completely dark outside. Thad saw no bright lights, no people walking around outside, or even a train station. It was pitch black. It took Thad a while to realize the train wasn’t headed to Chicago, the train had already passed it. The train had refueled while Thad was fast asleep and was already headed for New York. Thad was upset about missing Chicago. He wasn’t sure when he would get the chance to see Chicago again. At the same time he grew more anxious to see New York. Since it was late Thad decided to eat the ham sandwich his grandmother had packed for him before going back to sleep. As he drifted off , Thad hoped the next time he opened his eyes he would be looking at the New York skyline.

http://www.amazon.com/Summer-Harlem-Brendan-Whitt/dp/0615883400/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

'Tribe Lords Look to Plant Seeds for Cleveland Hip-Hop' by Brendan Whitt (Courtesy of Volume Magazine Cleveland)

When you think of Cleveland Hip-Hop who comes to mind? Bone Thugs and… Well that’s it. Cleveland, a Midwest city currently in an urban renewal and explosion of local arts still can’t seem to find a substantial place in the national Hip-Hop community. Kid Cudi, who is arguably the biggest name in the Cleveland music scene, falls more into the alternative genre although most of his influence comes from hip-hop.
Like all movements, whether it is arts based or political, this one has to start underground. Local artists Tony Blunt and Tilla, collectively known as Tribe Lords (stylized as Trib3 Lxrd$) are looking to make that kind of splash on the local Hip-Hop circuit. Both Cleveland natives, Tony and Tilla are looking to define Cleveland Hip-Hop. “Cleveland is still looking for a sound” says Tilla. “The east side is doing more but we need both sides of the city to come together to make this work” Tony added. “Right now its like crabs in a barrel.”...

'Ingenuity Born out of Necessity: The Soul of Sole Snatchers' by Brendan Whitt (Courtesy of Volume Magazine Cleveland)

So you’re in your early twenties and the economy is not as generous as it was to your parents and grandparents. Union jobs aren’t booming like they once were and minimum wage is a joke. Now you have to dream. You want the house, car, money, vacations, all of it. Then you want more. You want something real. Something that can get you that dream. So you grind, a hustle that you will grow and cultivate until it bears you the fruit that you so badly wanted when it was just a dream. Now enter Daniel Butler, a young man with a dream and hustle to match. Daniel is the owner and creator of Sole Snatchers, a business that was born out of his love for sneakers and the culture that surrounds them. “My goal is to see as many people in the shirts as possible” he says. Daniel created his own line of t shirts based on his business that didn’t take off as planned. So he put it on hold and waited for the right moment. Sole snatchers was supposed to be a shoe consignment and trade marketplace for sneaker collectors, buyers and sellers.
Daniel had a plan and a product but not enough funds. He had a beta for the site but saw there was still a long road ahead of him. He soon did what all dreamers did, got his hustle together. “I had a logo someone designed for the site and thought ‘That’s a catchy design. I should put that on a shirt.’”...https://volumemagcle.wordpress.com/2014/05/24/ingenuity-born-out-of-necessity-the-soul-of-sole-snatchers/

Blought #8 'What is A Black Nerd?'

The definition of a Black Nerd isn't easy. There are so many types of Black Nerds, and seeing how this is a trail lest traveled, I will try my best to define what a Black Nerd is. A Black Nerd is the awkward Black kid who doesn't interact well with other kids in a multitude of environments. They tend to be drawn to things that many kids don't find themselves attracted to. Pretty much the typical nerd just with darker skin is what I'm trying to get at. That's where I come in. Society is a very complex machine. It tries to group us all into this huge vague category but then starts to break those down into sub categories. The tree continues to branch off until there are a million different groups. At the same time, the societal machine tries to tell us we are all the same and that we are all equal. Bullshit. If that was true I would have never gotten picked on in elementary school. In America there's this bullshit idea some old guy came up with called "equality". There a bunch of things that can be made equal. Math problems, money, measurements. Not people. Everyone has advantages and disadvantages. Being a black nerd is both.

'Afro That Holds My Pick' from 'If I Wrote a Hip-Hop Album'

The Afro that holds my pick is more than just hair.
It serves as a symbol of strength for a displaced now mixed race of oppressed people.
When no one would call out the world’s big brother for what they had done,
we grew out our native kinks, picked them out,
and put our ebony fist in the air.
The Afro that holds my pick was worn when Conductor Cornelius,
led the country on a magical journey upon his train of soul.
When the sweet tunes of The Spinners, Ohio Players,
and The Commodores graced the radios of Black America
My pops and his niggas all rocked the simply coined “Fro”
The Fro I rock has purpose.
I bear the pain from every pull of my pick.
I know it don’t equal lashes
but it’s the best way to represent.
Now from beatin’s to hangin’s, to revolutions, to groovin‘,
not only is my Afro a hairstyle,
it also serves as a symbolic
historical text book for my people.
Ima sag my pants with the pick in my back pocket
to show where I’m from,
And use my pick to show what I’m Is.

Blought #7 'Avant Garde Hip-Hop and Why it Needs to Die'

Hip-Hop has now been around for nearly 40 years. The impact it has left on the music world is hard to put into words. It has spanned over numerous eras and has spawned many of its own sub-genres. Hip-Hop has seen it's Golden Age, Conscious Age, Gangsta Age, and now a new age. The rebirth of Hip-Hop that has taken place over the past five or six years is breeding a sound and culture I really don't like. Before I get into that let me do a little background.

In the early 2000's my favorite artist of "All Time!" broke onto the scene. Yes, I'm talkin' about Mr. Kanye Omari West. He not only brought millions of records and countless Grammys, he also brought his own style. Kanye has remained relevant thanks to his phoenix like approah. After every album Kanye was able to reinvent himself and bring a new and different styled Kanye to the table. This las go around he brought something my genration just won't let go of. This new Avant Garde style Hip-Hop. When Ye first did it, I won't lie. It was kind of cool. Heavy bass lines, choral like arrangements in the back ground, and his weird $600 leather skirts was something we all expected from the musical genius.

Sadly many of my peers have taken it too far. Many artist have taken to the sound and they bring nothing new. Just a recycled Kanye type product. Its okay for an entertainer to wear a leather skirt, but the average joe wearing Pyrex. You  look stupid. When did it become cool to wear over-sized hockey jerseys  that replace capital A's with capital V's with trim along the bottom that looks like black and white 1960's floral wall paper? Remember people, he's an entertainer, you are not. Only thing worse than you are hipsters, and America hates hipsters! So lets stop thinking we all can make the next HAM instrumental and stop with the Pyrex purchases and let this fad die. Avant Garde means ahead of its time. You're just recycling it.

Blought #6 '#F*** Yo Followers'

Is it me or does it seem like my generation has become infatuated with a new addiction? My fellow millennials seem to be wrapped up in this thing called "followers". While I admit I am an avid instagrammer (@sneakersmcgee) I don't get wrapped up in my follower count. I follow a bunch of celebs and personalities with a few friends and family thrown in there. I started to notice this obsession with follower count back in the Myspace years. The more friends you had, the cooler you were, although you only knew like 25 of you 762 myspace friends. Facebook was a completely different beast. This was when I started to see followers hit the thousands. Why in the hell would anyone want 2000 people in their business? Not I.

The sad part about all of this is the vanity and the lack of human interaction this is causing. Most guys with a high number of followers is usually what I call an "internet playa". They bag girls with lame song lyrics or questionable selfies in an attempt to bag the ladies. The ladies they bag are usually the girls who post, well meaningless song lyrics and the not so occasional but rather too often self revealing and most of the time self depriving selfie. This usaully contains her exposing a little breasts while wearing some scantily clad outfit. Sure, I met my girfriend of three years on Facebook but at least our pages are something our parents won't be too ashamed of.

This a call to my generation. Don't use social media as your outlet for emotion or the pics you took of yourself half naked after a shower. Get up, get out, and do something. I'm not perfect but I surely practice what I preach. Use your Twitter, Instagram, FB, or whatever else is out there these days to showcase your passion, talent, or just a simple pic of a bluejay you saw or your favorite Starbucks drink. Don't think because you have 1500 followers and 850 "friends" that you've accomplished something, because you haven't. Fuck Yo Followers nigga!!!