• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
• » Member Since: 04/09/07
• » Bio: Providing clarity in hip-hop since 1981.
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

A Day (3 Months) In The Life Of...

As a side note, you cheese wads may want to check out my ode to the almighty sneaker at Dallas Penn.com. While you’re there, hit up my co-dependant’s dedication to my favorite kicks on a woman (besides Dunks, of course), Fuck Me Pumps. Is it still considered ethically wrong to want to smash a co-worker?

Anyways, a while back I mentioned that I was going through some life situations that I was trying to work out. Now usually I’m not one to put my business out there [1], but I figure with the “holidays” (don’t ask why I don’t celebrate) arriving – not to mention the amusing visual I got of some smellbad concertgoer, um, literally cock-slapping our esteemed First Lady – I thought I’d switch up the tone for a minute.

Underneath the cynical attitude and nihilistic, somewhat racist (gasp!) ideals lies the spirit of a fighter since the day he popped out of his moms. Being the only son out of a family of 5 siblings, you’d be pretty hard-pressed to try to knock me down a peg, especially considering I’ve been scrapping for my ideals for well over two decades.

That’s not to say it hasn’t happened, however. Case in point: due to the then-impending writer’s strike that caused a trickle-down effect on the entire industry as a whole, I lost my job of two-plus years – that of an office manager at a top-5, award-winning entertainment company which produces everything from Jack In The Box commercials to Kanye West videos – in September. Filled with equal parts confusion, frustration and sadness, I took to the two thing that’s always had my back – music and journalism - to lessen the sting of suddenly being forced to collect unemployment, get repeatedly rejected at job interviews and work ungodly hours to make ends meet.

It started off slow at first. I’d freelance on a set or as an office runner for a day or two, then I’d be back to murdering folks in Halo 3 while eating children’s crack while waiting over a month for that job’s check to come to stave off insanity. To say it was stressful is an understatement; a few locks actually thinned out, I lost weight and my relatively young ass came across more gray hairs than I should ever have at my age. I became a recluse; limiting myself to solely grinding for something, looking for any meaning as to why I'm struggling to keep my electricity on, with nothing but my thoughts and muses to keep the battery in my back powered.

But like any strong-willed fighter I refused to quit. The jobs became more frequent and I started to see progress in my interviews, all while my journalism was improving (or getting more attention for all the “wrong” reasons, as if I didn’t plan that shit in the first place). Eventually the ultimate victory came in the guise of a two-headed dragon, as not only have I found employment at a better company but I’ve also secured my first print works in over two years, and I will be heading up the upcoming "blogging vs. journalism" dialogue for the Hip-Hop Journalism Association.

This blogging shit right here, it’s much more than talking shit, dropping racial slurs to see how far I can push the proverbial envelope and getting random-ass Internets message board kumquats to try to get me fired. This blogging shit has never been about trying to garner as many comments like this was a popularity contest. This is my crack music. This is my therapy. And at the end of the day this shit is hip-hop, mine and yours.

[1] Outside of the fact I just discovered either I’m really, really bad in Madden or the Eagles just suck like that. My guess is the former. Sorry, Brills.

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