I am reading the book, Life in the Valley of Death by Alan Rabinowitz. A vivid book that has very descriptive details in every page along with vocabulary words the average middle schooler should know.
I chose the book according to the colorful green/orange color that reminded me of the saturnine jungle, a simple reminder of every time I pick up the book, what it’s about. It has a tiger’s eyes with enough opacity for you to see the eyes yet look behind them. As if the author wants you to see through a tiger’s eyes when you read the book, or since the eyes are near the top of the page, remind yourself that the tigers are on ‘top’ of the food chain mentally and physically.
The reviews of the book are surprisingly good. I had no clue the average person would be interested in a book on tigers and a man dedicating his life to them unless they had a huge interest in animals or was a consistent animal-planet watcher such as myself.
Within the first pages I realized it would be a book that would touch the heart of any animal lover. “A lion growls in the shadows to my right and I freeze, momentarily frightened,” a great way to start off the book in the environment of the quiet zephyr infested jungle in which Rabinowitz relishes in everyday.
I’m glad I got around page 35 so far and I can’t wait to read the whole thing so far. What will happen to Rabinowitz in the jungle? What will happen to the tigers? What will the ‘Indiana Jones of the jungle’ have to face the next page? Just a bunch of questions I hope to answer from continuing to read the incredible book.
First of all, my article was mainly roasting rappers, how easy it is to become a rapper, the weird lives they had, their names, lifestyle, etc. I chose the topic because it’s something that I can relate to and it’s something a lot of my classmates could relate to and get a good laugh out of. The current state of rap is laughable really. Get a couple of tattoos, have a troubled childhood, slang your words, and you’re good to go.
Second of all, anyone can relate to what I’ve said as long as they keep up-to-date on rap or at least know an artist here or there and how easy it is to write lyrics. Teens nowadays need to realize that listening to certain types of music actually decreases your intelligence and shouldn’t be permitted by the government. No Hands? Who want's to hear about a song mocking amputees while people bounce up and down waving their HANDS. They obviously have a grudge against the unlucky people and want to rub it in their face. They should be stimulating their minds with something to get more out of life rather than go ‘Hard In The Paint.’
In conclusion, I used a lot of understatements, hyperboles, and irony in my work. It was a breeze through the project since I knew most of the information already and I could relate to it so well and I effectively satirized rap In general well in my opinion since I spent a good amount of time, effort, and research on the topic.
Now, Del the Funky Homosapien of Hieroglyphics, O.C. of Diggin’ In The Crates, Oj Da Juiceman–Just 3 of grammy-winning potential artist of today’s time giving readers their inspiring input on How To: Rap for all of BET/Black And Yellow viewers out there, not how to; explore the ancient Pyramids of Egypt, find your dusty—yet fashionable Walkman in the ‘old junk’ box in your closet, nor increase your chances of being related to the Kool-Aid Man.
Think when: Drakes IQ was higher than his weight, Lil Wayne’s ego was smaller than his forehead, and Willow Smith would Whip Her Hair Back And Forth rather than learn her times tables. Experienced old-school artist of all generations in one!
Here’s a sample portion of the book to help interest you in a purchase TODAY!
"Step One: First, try to be something, literally anything other than a rapper--If you just got lost in thoughts of Wiz Khalifa’s weight-to-height ratio or how Nicki Minaj has more plastic than a Happy Meal, then this is the career choice for you! Start off by being the sensitive, creative, creature-looking kid in your high school like Lil’ John, Lil’ Wayne, Drake, or Eminem. Along the way, incorporate your rap knowledge into everyday experiences as much as you can! Would you rather get detention for skipping class or Freestyle Mr. Wheeler, AKA MC Muffin Man for a free-pass and a years worth of bragging rights?
Step Two: Have as much of a complicated life as possible. Be in abusive relationships like Eminem, shoot yourself in the chest and live to tell the tale like Lil Wayne, or become the local pervert none of the girls want like Soulja Boy. When fans look you up, they’ll need information to hold onto, other than your overpriced ringtones they'll have in their phone or lyrics they post as FB statuses when they don't have anything to say.
Step Three: Once Step One and Step Two are completed (until you drop out of high-school) start writing! It’s crucial to: write about your past, relationships, where you live, etc. so fans can relate more to your music they’re illegally downloading on iTunes. Also, practice your song structure by transferring your written material onto programs on your computer. Try to get as many wavy Red and Green lines under your words as possible, this means you are writing correctly. Use excessive slang and replace the words like “great” with “fye” and “is” with “are.” Let a friend read the finished product, when it takes them more than an hour to comprehend what you mean, give yourself a round of applause. (Now all you have to do is hang out with the kids who do drugs and get studio time to make your music.)
Step Four: Create a Myspace, Twitter, and Facebook page. Make your name known by submitting your art on sites world-renowned for giving petifiles a closer look at your personal identity. Chat with locals and create ‘beef’ (not the tasty food that people with high cholesterol like to eat, but confrontation with other rappers) to have even a better chance at making it.
Step Five: Stalk the famous producers such as Kanye West or Jay-Z and harass them verbally until you get your big break like J. Cole! After waiting years for your big break after selling tapes out of your run-down car or making a fort out of Tv-Dinner boxes, get signed! Or just put Drake on every hook of your song.
Step Six: Now that you’re a world renowned award-winning artist, sell your overpriced ringtones, get a tattoo of biblical scriptures on your elbow, or complete your metamorphosis of becoming an alien like Lil Wayne.
Step Seven: Continue your dream and rap until you’re mid-30s like Eminem, get broke like MC Hammer, turn into the spokesman for random dog poop people would find on the side of the road like Flavor Flav, or die."
Here are some happy responses from the buyers of this book!
"I'd rather knit a sweater while underwater, upside-down, in slow motion rather than buy this"-(Old Lady)
"The perfect valentines gift for all the ladies out there"-(Lil Wayne)
"Thanks How2Rap! Now I pursue my dream and still make less than minimum wage!"-(Homeless Man)
"A waste of ink and paper"-(Average American)
So go out there and spend your money on this life-changing book!!!
To start off, the greatest rappers to have ever been bred have been appearing on the scene of the rap industry with a chain of hit songs that could captivate the hearts of a million Catholics, anger overweight people, and change people’s views on tying their shoes (note to self, put that in next rap song). Princeton Graduates Soulja Boy, Lil B, and Lil Wayne are resurrecting the ‘bling-bling’ ‘big-booty’ ‘money-over-everything’ era of Rap from the 1980s-1990s. Most songs stray from being lyrical and choose to be appealing to viewers with an IQ lower than a peanut-butter sandwich with down-syndrome.
Second of all, certain lyrics that shouldn’t even be in a song are ‘bars’ such as; “Verse number 2 do the dang thang, keeps on my neck pocket's full of Ben Franks,” said by Young Joc, “When you take a sip you buzz like a hornet, Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets,” by LFO and “Sometime y'all get crimey crimey, grimy grimy, nut those with a tiny hiney they get whiny whiny” by Cam’Ron. It is too easy to become a rapper, throw some words, talk about intelligent topics only Harvard graduates can relate to, and watch as your cash inflow increases overtime.
In conclusion, today’s youth are slower than people of our age way back when, and why people in other countries consider us a laughing stock and give them another reason to not see America as a serious competitor in music. We should keep it real in music and stick to topics the average person could relate to, such as Life or Love. I also agree that the songs are appealing and catching. Songs like these should come out more often; they can uplift a person’s day, ruin it, or make it even weirder than it already was. You need at least half a brain to come up with lyrics people would recite to their friends or willingly in their own home on their own time, you’re doing something right.
What isn’t wrong with my sister(—)everything in my opinion! Including(:) she’s weird, makes people do weird things when they eat her food, tried to take MY MAN and was stupid enough to ruin the flowers my husband gave to her. It’s like just because she’s the youngest she can just act all out-of-place and carefree(;) perhaps she’s mentally retarded(….)No wonder Mama acts so hostile towards her no matter what she does! She can’t even kill a quail properly. All you have to do is twist the little things nasty little neck(--)which is very easy if you have no remorse and aren’t weak as her(—)and it should die almost instantly! I would pick it up and let my lover Pedro do it, unless he fails again(;) just add that to another one of my husband’s fails in the past month.
I really wish he wouldn’t disappoint me as much as he has been lately. That’s not something that is good is a marriage and I should address on him on that. Any who, my husband and I will hopefully have a great life together(….) Or else. I have no problem treating Pedro’s neck like that little quails, letting him run around helpless before I finish him off. If only if only, until next time, bye-bye diary.
What to do? How much to take? What to choose? The thoughts of an honest worker with nothing to lose Chose to do what’s best and risked it all as it seems It was a lot, and I could spread loot throughout the family
What was it supposed to be for? My own personal gain? Stealing from criminals and causing them eternal pain Scorching in flames, it gave a way for committing a sin Given a reason to return to a cave again and again
Working a cold sweat for close to nothing checks I need something or someone to reverse this debt Even though hate in my heart is the only thing I lack I’m cutting wood and doing good yet getting nothing back
A simple workingman, an intelligent lucid thinker Saw my chance and went, hook line and sinker Took a little at a time but I think time to think a- Bout, with or without my mouth, and without a doubt
Technically my patience paved the way for greater days Son married my worker, gold buried within a cave Brother is in a rage over greed and materialistic Items, fighting for riches that are close to realistic
Love overcomes everything when enough’s enough If I take too much then I’ll surely push my luck I’m an average man; I used my brain and solved a problem A solemn promise to dig my family from rock bottom
Was it meant to be? Was I even meant to see? Could I have not peaked throughout the trees a little moreclosely? Posed’ to be make-believe, chose to embrace the greed Trying to feed my seed and succeed for my family
Gold coins peeling the air shining in the light Taking is bad but the timing was right The chance was tempting and I wanted a piece With compassion for my loved ones, thick as thieves
Those days my daughter was one of my only saviors Who did what was right when her dad was in danger Slave was in the kitchen, closely watched and listened Took time to pay attention and to her marriage was given
Behind in thought because strangers stole the moment Along with my attention but I never loaned it With a loyal servant who has learned to serve her purpose Saved everyone’s dermis, turned out to be far from worthless
Weak feeling from my spine jolting into my knees A time for outlaws revolting against the king to bring Stolen goods into a cave with a password that should Be used by a misunderstood ‘Arabic robin hood’
May be under stress but going in was my best bet My brother worked a sweat for another and ended that indeath A sense of regret, shouldn't have been as curious About the situation, could have not been as serious
Crooks probably ended up in a place full of lit torches Because stealing sends you below with the flame and scorches Moral of the story is don’t act out of the ordinary Unless you’re helping loved ones even when it’s fairly scary
This is Chris Abini's 'Blue,' from Dog Woman in 2004
Africans in the hold fold themselves to make room for hope. In the afternoon’s ferocity, tar, grouting the planks like the glue of family, melts to the run of a child’s licorice stick. Wet decks crack, testing the wood’s mettle. Distilled from evaporating brine, salt dusts the floor, tickling with the measure into time and the thirst trapped below.
II The captain’s new cargo of Igbos disturbs him. They stand, computing the swim back to land. Haitians still say: Igbo pend’c or’ a ya! But we do not hang ourselves in cowardice.
III Sold six times on the journey to the coast, once for a gun, then cloth, then iron manilas, her pride was masticated like husks of chewing sticks, spat from morning-rank mouths. Breaking loose, edge of handcuffs held high like the blade of a vengeful axe, she runs across the salt scratch of deck, pain deeper than the blue inside a flame.
IV The sound, like the break of bone could have been the Captain’s skull or the musket shot dropping her over the side, her chains wrapped around his neck in dance.
I think the poem is about a Nigerian princess or person of some sort trapped from something and she eventually breaks free. She's on a ship with other slaves.
I pat myself and blink my eyes cause I've made it here, to the top, staring at the bottom of my peers . Panache look, glance at me as you stop and stare, I double nothing I’m magic, abracadab-rare.
Crawl before you walk, grab a non-existent pair, of shoes, clueless of what it takes to make it there. Trapped in the moment, check yourself, grab a flare, set it up, look above, shoot it in the air.
Contained memories and that in fact you held dear, different for everyone, suffer massive wear-and-tear. Damage, hard to hold, bad to share, so severe. cheating me out of life doesn’t sound like it’s fair.
Common sense is something new to me, wasn't aware, what I do versus everyone is something I'd compare. Being myself you know it'd still be unfair. Catch an acrid dagger, such a dare.
Get out my mind, heart, face, and rockin’ chair, walk a mile in my shoes, you'd want a pair. Building feelings up, they fall with no repair, don’t play games with me, I prefer truth or dare, 21 questions, minesweeper, or solitaire,
My supporters reside here, safe to say I'm not alone, high-school prepares and shares ideas till you're nearly grown. Teachers verbalize and realize, to this day they still don't know, benevolence induces under-breath talking and mental groans.
Flaws underweight and emasculate speaking tones, ring-tones relieve patience and excite none to most. From 1-6 I'm a 7 in 11 polls, of being weird yet I'm here to show how poems flow.
Pen to paper combination like a one-to-two, I don't stutter, probably a symptom from the flu. Peer pressure kills moments and yells "come close," like sweat, those emotions are extremely gross.
Not with the 'in crowd,' astounded that it's nice to know, persistence is the resistance to a firefly's glow. Vehemently prepared for school's roles, people abase me, I ignore it and loath.
Procrastination siphons life of written growth, Past girlfriends make me stiff like a head-to-toe. Look from a peer, it appears they don't know, I'm socially awkward from my latest woes.
Sore from acumen and how life goes, can't stand emotions so I'm sitting on the coast. To the extent I get cold, flip the frame I froze, haven't glared cause I stare at choices chose.
Karma's bites like a mosquito, round' and round' it goes, Repair and share to everyone, damages photos. Enough has been done, 9-0-2-1-0, I'm going home, have a great life, leave me alone.
