the urge to herbal
man my vida is freekin loca, f'reelzies. i had a show to do on saturday and was pacing around in my friend amber's kitchen, when my phone rang. "who? ...oh, benji, uh, h.. hey... um, whassup?" i still don't feel like it's real, i hope it is cuz I've told too many people at this point, because I'm busting off the walls, because i feel like I'm the verge of hip hop breakdown. "I wanna sign you." is all that really sticks out in my mind, everything else seems so peripheral. all the details, what's gonna happen. nothing's definite, he has to meet me, and that's got me thinking, "holy fuck, what if I'm lame?!" everything's like the high dive at this point, you either climb back down and get made fun of, or jump off scared shitless into who knows what. the play rocked, I was on fire and press was there. some dad's garage folk were more than complimentary calling it my best work on stage in the atl. I felt all powerful. was it real? only once have I had the thought: I can't do this. I can't pull this off. a big crowd, something bigger than a bar? got it would be such balls, but in a way I've trained for this my whole life, and I'm not afraid to try and try my damnest at that. I looked at my apartment the other day, while lying on the sofa in the middle of the room trying to get to sleep. mc chris bought me this new apartment. it was money from those sales that did it. if the music could house me, it could support me, feed me, keep me alive. could i do just that? hell yeah. will there problems, yes. i only have to really worry about me and how good my lyrics are. i have to get to nyc to record and whatever I say into that mike best be gold. will it be there behind the glass, the young rock star, nodding, holding his chin, thinking make money money, make money money money. i better sign this fucker before someone else figures it out. i don't know. it's time to step up to the plate. i just pray to god it's not a prank or a joke or something that wasn't meant to pan out. something that's just supposed to make me work harder, concentrate more, belittle what we've done less. my head's buzzin like a beehive. cough up my cookies let loose what's on the inside. xomc