Thursday, October 12, 2017
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Tantalizing Tuesday: Leave that Pussy Alone!
The Skool of Skully
Mack ya hoes, boy! Skully Powers, Alabama’s favorite pimp had once told me. Don’t you never let them bitches mack you!
I had just turned seventeen when I killed a man over a prime piece of pussy. Growing up in a whorehouse I was well-schooled in the ways of women, but like most young bucks who were walking around with their nuts full of cum I could still be suckered by their charms.
Skully Powers was the type of pimp who ran his hoes fast and hard. He was an ex-boxer who was tight-fisted with money and known for his deadly mean streak. As long as the cash was flowing smooth in his pockets he could be cool. But let a bitch slip and his trap come up short. Skully turned into some other muthafucka.
Skully was cruel and brutal with his hoes, and when he put his hands on them he went for broke, focusing on all the parts on a hoe that the tricks didn’t give a fuck about: the top of the feet and the back of the head. He’d have his bitches skipping and hopping as he punched in their skulls and crushed their toe-bones down to the gristle.
“Listen up, Gerald. There ain’t but three kinds of people in this pimpin game: There’s macaronis--or macks, as a proper pimp likes to be called—and then there’s tricks and hoes. The three of us, we need each other. A hoe ain’t shit without a pimp to control her, a pimp ain’t shit if he ain’t got a hoe to bring him that bread, and a trick is a victim to both of them because he’s governed by his dick.”
I was all of ten years old, but I nodded like I understood.
“Now, there’s a fine art to the macaroni game,” Skully patiently schooled me whenever a hoe got outta pocket and he had to break her down. “Weak pimps have weak stables because they don’t understand the particulars of this profession. You see, hoes are your most important assets, Gerald, can you dig it? They’re worth more than gold, dope, and fast shiny cars.
“You gotta train ’em right and discipline ’em harsh, just like you would a stubborn dog, but at the same time you don’t wanna fuck up nothing that might compromise your bankroll, ya dig? Now, a hoe knows what she’s worth. She’s like a rotten lil child. Always playing games to see if she can catch her pimp slippin. She’ll deliberately come up short on your trap, or pick a fight with your best hoe, or slick-talk you in public just to test your gangsta and see if your mack game is strong.
“When that shit happens your retribution must be swift and merciless, son. Stomp that bitch into the gutter, Gerald! Make a public spectacle outta her ass! Beat her black ass until she’s BEGGIN to open up them legs and make you some bread, just as long as you leave her face, her titties, and especially that PUSSY, alone!”
Skully was a master at keeping his hoes meek and submissive, and if for some reason the beatings didn’t work he had another way of punishing them too. This method required more dedication, but it was also vicious and very effective, and he saved it for the bitches who had committed the very worst transgressions.
All the whores feared and loathed it. They’d rather get beaten half to death than to endure having this particularly savage punishment inflicted upon them. They called it getting “skullied” and they would fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness when a certain type of rage flashed in Skully’s eyes and he started loosening the buckle on his thick leather belt.
“What you gotta do is rip out that ass, boy,” he instructed me. “And make sure you rip it deep too. A whore is a simple bitch, Gerald. They can’t be punished by no dick in the pussy, no matter how hard you try. You’ll be over there just’a pumpin and’a sweatin and they’ll peg you as weak and swear you’re in love. Besides, that pussy gets beat up all day long and they don’t even feel it. The nerve endings in that thing are long dead. You get up in there and call yourself beating a bitch with your bone and she’s liable to cock them legs wider and have you working like a trick.
“But that ASS is a whole different matter, son. If you bust that asshole open there won’t be no mistaking you for nothing but exactly what the fuck you are: A PIMP!
“Try it one time. Monster-fuck a bitch in the asshole and see what happens. I guarantee you she’ll get to turning tricks faster than a circus mouse, and the next time you tell her whimsical ass to do something she’ll be more than happy to hop right to it!”
I learned a lot from Skully Powers but unfortunately I didn’t learn it all in time. Puddin’ had taught me how to kill a man with my bare hands, but Skully taught me how to break a man’s spirit by stabbing him in the back. As it turned out, I caught a case behind a beautiful piece of pussy, and by the time I was smart enough to put Skully’s teachings into practice it was already much too late to save either of us.
Her name was China Doll, and she wasn’t no regular whore. She came banging on the back door late one night in the middle of a lightening storm, drenched to the skin and half-drowned. Skully had been happy to take her in. I had just turned seventeen and I had already been macking bitches for almost half my life. But this here girl was like nothing I had ever seen before.
For one thing, there was an angel-like quality about her and she didn’t look grimy enough to be in the life. Instead of that used-up, weary look that lived in every whore’s eyes, China Doll looked just like a little brown Indian. She was shy and sweet, and didn’t look like she had ever so much as looked at a dick before, let alone ever put one in her mouth.
Of course I had already fucked nearly every hoe in the house. They all loved me because I was a baby in the game and I took the time to make ’em cum. Skully told me to cut that shit out because it was a true sign of weakness. “A real mack never considers a whore’s pleasure, Gerald. Them bitches is on the clock! The only one bustin a nut should be you!”
But China Doll was different from all the rest. To me she looked like the stuff of my dreams. Her skin was smooth and cinnamon-colored, and she had long wavy hair. Her brown eyes were wide and slanted, and even surrounded by a house full of chicks with luscious titties and beautiful asses, her prime body stood out like a shining jewel.
I claimed her right from the jump. Drooling, I told Skully she was mine and said I’d pay for her room and board and her bed fees too.
“You gon’ wanna think real hard about that, son,” Skully warned me as he toked on an expensive cigar. We were cruising around our little country town in his shiny new car catching stares of envy from square niggas and honkies too.
“Bitches gotta work hard to lay up in the sheets in my joint, and you know my pockets can’t never come up short. Remember,” he pointed his thick finger at me, “you don’t ever wanna play yourself outta position over a piece of ass, Gerald. Never.”
“But she ain’t in the life real deep like that, Skully,” I protested. “You heard her when she told us that.”
“And you believed her?”
I just sat there sweating on my nose and swelling up inside.
“A’ight.” Skully shrugged, maneuvering his whip down the block. He stuck his arm out the window and knocked the ash off his cigar with a flick of his finger. “You’ll learn. One day you gone hafta reach down inside ya drawers and figure out who’s the hoe and who’s the pimp!”
I didn’t wanna hear none of that shit. Skully was talking about them other bitches who burnt up the sheets flatbacking, not about my lil brown Indian girl. I was young and dumb and China Doll stroked my heart. Fuck old-ass Skully. I was willing to do whatever the fuck I had to do to keep that nigga paid off, just as long as my pretty lil China Doll didn’t have to lay on her back and spread those stunning legs for no other nigga but me.
She gathered up her few belongings and came upstairs to sleep in my bed. I hadn’t put my trust in a woman since I was five-years-old, but right away I trusted her. She laid back and let me do whatever I wanted, just the way I liked it. She was a little lady about it too, and she didn’t fuss when I wanted go at it all night long. Best of all, China Doll didn’t fuck with the fakeness of a whore, but she sure knew things that made me feel like a man.
I got drunk just looking at her. Her titties were the size of small honey-dew melons and her perfect nipples stood out at least an inch. My lips couldn’t get enough of them and it felt like I spent hours sucking on those thangs like I was her newborn baby.
Our sexual attraction was off the damn roof and we fucked like dogs in heat. I was young and cock-strong and it was nothing for me to bust a piece of that ass every single night. Sometimes day and night.
Me and China Doll kept my sheets funky and cummed up, and sexually we did everything together under the damn sun.
Well, except that one thing.
“Go down…” China Doll moaned and pressed against my shoulders as she scooted up in the bed. I had been licking them pretty titties for days and massaging her slick pussy with my fingers, and right now she was dripping wet and ready for more.
“Down, Gerald,” she insisted softly, gaping her legs wider as she pushed me lower. I slid my lips down her tight belly and over the pit of her navel. I was at the edge of her forest and her lil Indian pussy hairs were real soft and curly.
“Down,” she whimpered, yanking my ears as she humped up at my face. “Down!”
I raised my head as I moved down even lower and stared into the cavern of her glistening snatch. That pussy was two inches away from my face but instead of opening my mouth I froze and got caught in the grip of my memories...and I couldn't do it.
Before long the hot lust me and China Doll shared turned into real love and we started making big plans for our future. The south was played out, we both agreed on that. All the happenin cities with big-time opportunities were up north, so that’s where we wanted to be. We bought us a big ceramic bank we called Piggy and started stashing away every dime we could find. The minute we filled it up we were gonna blow Skully’s joint and never look back.
I still put in work for Skully around the whorehouse, but almost every dollar I earned went right back to him to pay for China Doll’s bed fees. She offered to get a job working in town but I didn’t want no other men looking at her so I took a job at the lumberyard hauling wood every other day. The work was dirty and backbreaking, but I was cool with it. Like I said, whatever the fuck I had to do to turn a dollar and keep my woman off her back, I was willing to do it.
Soon woodcutting season was just about over and the lumberyard was slowing down. I showed up one day to work a full shift, and instead they sent me home after just three hours. I got back to the house and opened the door to my room expecting to find China Doll looking at a magazine or polishing her pretty toes, but instead my baby was on her knees in the doggy-position, face down, ass up, spittin’ sixteen bars of a whore’s rap and grinding her sugary twat just like a natural hoe.
“Fuck me, Daddy! Yeah, this your pussy so just tell me what to do with it! Ooooh, Daddy, don’t beat me so good! I’ma listen and do right the next time, I swear I will! Just keep fuckin’ me like you fuckin me, Daddy, and I’ll do whatever you say. I’ma bring home ALL your money, Daddy. I’ma make you rich with this pussy! I swear I will! I swear I will! I swear I will...
I stood in that doorway dumbfounded like a muthafucka.
A big black muscle-bound nigga had his dick jammed up in my baby from behind, riding her deep and pounding her down. He was thrusting and pumping. His shiny black ass cheeks were moving like a piston. He rose up on his powerful forearms and snapped his hips, pushing deep inside her pussy as he bent his neck and slobbered all over her back.
My young eyes clearly saw, but my young mind just couldn’t fuckin conceive.
“Sk-Sk-Skully?” I stuttered.
Slowly, that big nigga turned his head and locked me in his evil glare. He kept right on fucking her as he grilled me, like he was gonna take his own sweet time coming up outta my pussy. He slapped her on the ass and dicked her real hard a few more times until he got his nut, then he yanked her pretty hair and grunted loudly. His wet dick slid outta her with a slurping sound, and he backed up off her and swung his powerful legs over the side of my bed.
China Doll rolled over and clutched the sheet up over her luscious breasts. Her eyes were expressionless as she looked past me, like she played and betrayed chump-ass niggas every day.
A wave of pain and rage rushed through me and I felt myself about to explode.
“What’s wrong, Gerald?” Skully said calmly. “Them white boys run you off the job early today or something?”
He reached down and snatched my pillow off the bed and dried his horse-sized dick with it, then he dabbed it at the sweat under his big purple balls and thoroughly wiped the crack of his ass.
Letting my pillow fall to the floor, Skully stretched and yawned and then bent down to pick up his drawers. His muscles rippled like black velvet ropes and he didn’t even look at me as he scratched them big nuts of his then stepped into his silk boxers like he didn’t have a care in the world. I was frozen in place as he pulled on his pants and slung his fancy shirt over his massive shoulders and then slid his feet into his shiny new shoes.
His snake eyes bit me as he walked toward the door.
“That’s some real tender pussy you got there, Gerald,” he said coldly, nodding at China Doll who had tossed the sheet aside and lay spread eagle in my bed with her bold titties on full display. “She takes it up the ass just fine too.”
I rushed him. Smashed my elbow into that muthafucka’s temple and drove my fist into his kidney. Pain exploded in my wrist. Like I had just pounded a frozen slab of beef. He rose up on his heels and wrapped them skull crusher hands around my throat and I damn near blacked out from the agony. Skully was much bigger than me. Stronger too. I wasn’t much more than a boy but that nigga was all man.
I punched wildly, struggling to break free as I gasped for air.
He laughed. “Who the fuck is you swinging on, Gerald? You must want me to beat yo ass like you one of the hoes!”
He muscled me backwards across the room until my shoulders slammed hard into the wall. Pictures rattled on their hooks and Piggy tipped off the shelf and went crashing down to the floor, exploding in a tornado of silver change and colorful ceramic glass.
Ignoring the mess Skully let go of my neck with one hand and smashed me in the face with his clenched, iron fist.
“S’the matter?” he taunted me as I grunted in pain. A hot stream of blood shot from my busted nose and ran down my throat. “You cranky cause I got up in that pussy, boy?”
I swung at his chin. He blocked my punch easily and clobbered me again.
“You too soft for the pimp game, nigga! Fuck wrong wit’ you? Letting this stank hoe lay up in ya bed and hustle you like a trick! I know I taught you better’n that! How many times I gotta tell you there ain’t no such thing as an ex-hoe, boy? This ain’t a grind you can live part-time.”
A strangled cry rose in my chest. I was gonna kill this muthafucka. Not because I thought he was lying, but because I knew he was spitting the truth.
“A’ight, calm down now, son,” Skully laughed as he tagged me in the face again and split my bottom lip open with a haymaker. “I done got me some pussy now let’s go get something to eat.”
I came at him hard again, pinching, snapping my teeth, trying to knee him in the nuts; fighting dirty the way he had taught me.
He jumped back and held his rock-hard fist threateningly in the air. “You too light in the ass to keep eating these right hooks, son. Why you wanna fight me anyhow? Because I “skullied” your hoe? Hell, I didn’t fuck that pussy outta existence! There’s still enough of that stank trim leftover for you and the next hundred niggas too!”
I caught him with a left to the temple and he reached out and pimp-smacked the shit outta me. My face burned with fire as I tucked my chin low and tried to head butt him, and he nailed me with a body shot that almost caved in my ribs. I gasped and sucked for air. There wasn’t a muthafuckin sip to be found. I staggered over to the window choking and heaving and Skully charged after me, skipping up on his toes like he was chasing me around a boxing ring.
“All this time I been giving your black ass free lessons,” he taunted me, “And you still don’t know shit about handlin’ bitches!”
Skully let loose and rained down on me with a quick flurry of power punches. Jabs, uppercuts, and extreme body shots. He smashed me like a hammer coming down on a roach, and I felt myself growing weak and fading. But I refused to go out. I fought back with everything I had, but it just wasn’t enough. I knew it was over when he gripped me by the head and set me up for the knockout punch. Desperate, I ducked down low and bear-hugged him around his thighs, driving that thick muthafucka backwards with my last bit of strength. He responded with pounding blows to the back of my head and shoulders as he back-pedaled across the room, fighting to keep his feet up under him.
He was drilling my head and back hard enough to rattle my brains and knock out a kidney, but I knew if I turned him loose he would kill me. I tightened my grip and drove against him even harder, and adrenaline sent us both sailing across the room. We crashed hard into the closet door, splintering the cheap wood and damn near tearing out the frame.
The force of the impact slammed Skully’s head and shoulders half-way through the wood. I heard him grunt and then his whole body shuddered. My head was buried in Skully’s gut, and suddenly his arms went limp at his sides.
Still bent over hugging his waist, I peeked up at him fearful of the killer blows that I just knew were gonna rain down on me next.
And that’s when I saw it.
Skully’s chin was on his chest and his mouth was slack. A thin trickle of blood had escaped his parted lips and was sliding down into his trimmed beard. I blinked a few times and took a closer look. That nigga’s eyes were wide open, but he wasn’t seeing a goddamn thing.
Dead silence hung in the air until China Doll sat up and scurried to the foot of the bed and stared at us. She sucked in her breath and then hollered at the top of her lungs, “Oh, shit muthafucka! That nigga’s dead! You killed him, Gerald! You fuckin’ KILLED him!”
I stood all the way up and stared into Skully’s vacant eyes in horror. The long metal coat hook that had impaled his skull still had China Doll’s slip hanging from it. It had punched straight through the back of his head, and I could just make out the pointed silver tip tryna poke out through his right temple.
My mouth dried up and I trembled inside. That nigga was dead, all right. I had killed him. I sure the fuck had.
I knew exactly what was coming next, and I made up my mind that before they came and took me away there was one last thing I had to do. I turned toward that ugly bitch China Doll and started unbuckling my belt. If I was gonna pay for my crimes then this lying-ass whore was gonna pay for hers too.
Mack ya hoes, boy! Don’t you never let a bitch mack you!
I put my paws on China Doll like a natural macaroni. And with the approving eyes of Alabama’s favorite pimp watching me from the closet door where he was hung up like a winter coat, I beat the brakes off that filthy hoe and then I wrestled her down to the floor and skullied her black ass half to death!
From B4 the G-Spot: THE LEGEND OF GRANITE MCKAY
What you think about G? Leave your comments on the blog.
Friday, October 6, 2017
Flashback Friday: Enjoy an excerpt from the notorious legend who started it all...
I watched my father kill a man when I was ten years old.
Puddin was wearing high heel shoes and a short denim skirt when he did it, and he choked the life outta that cat with nothing but his two bare hands.
The state of Alabama was poor and hardscrabble, and there was little tolerance for niggas in general, let alone a long-legged rusty nigga who dressed in skirts. Puddin had moved there when Mama started fooling around with her old boyfriend again, and although he wrote a few letters here and there, I hadn’t seen him since.
But he had rushed up to New York when Mama Stanfield called him to come save me, and once we were back down south my father got it set in his mind that no matter what life threw at us I was gonna get a good education. In our piss-poor neck of the woods that shit was almost impossible because we moved around a lot and I drifted from one lousy schoolhouse to the next.
Somehow Puddin came to know a flashy pimp called Skully Powers who lived in a good school district, and whether my father liked it or not, I ended up getting way more education than he had hoped for.
Skully was an ex-boxer who had made a gwap of money in the ring and then came back to his hometown and put together a stable of the sexiest hoes in the county.
Skully specialized in tricking out beautiful bitches, but he allowed Puddin to work outta his whorehouse for those rare, but profitable occasions when “that type” of customer came along.
As a kid I was fascinated by the happenings in the whorehouse, but as a schoolboy I couldn’t stand living there.
Puddin didn’t give a damn either way.
“I know them lil bastards in school be making fun of you ’cause of where we live, but don’t you give so much as a damn about what them lil fools say, Gerald! You got just as much right to be up at that schoolhouse as they do, you hear me? Stand up tall, dammit! You’s a McKay and you gots to get yourself a good education boy!”
The shit hit the fan early one morning while we were outside on Skully’s stoop. I was sitting on a milk crate watching Puddin cornrow a hoe’s hair when an old white trick stumbled outta the door holding his dick and hock-spit right in my father’s face.
“Get the fuck away from here you dirty faggot!” The old man hollered.
Puddin jumped up cussing and reached down in his stocking for his switchblade.
“Uh-uh, don’t you go starting no shit in my place!” Skully bust out the door and checked him as Puddin wiped the slimy spit outta his eyes. “You fuck around and run my customers off and you and Gerald gone have to pack it up and move it along. Fuck all that ‘good education’ shit you be talking.”
Puddin stayed mad as hell all day, and he was still mad when I convinced him to take me to the movie show later that night. We sat way up in the top seats and watched a black and white karate flick, and when we were leaving the theater damn if we didn’t run right into that old white trick again. But this time he was with two of his old white friends.
“You know what, Mister,” Puddin said, posting up his six-feet-seven inches and two hundred and sixty-five pounds of pure muscle in a flared denim skirt with yellow frills on the hem. “That was real disrespectful what you did to me earlier today in front of my son, you know. I didn’t appreciate that shit not one bit.”
That old cracker puckered his pink lips up to spit on my daddy for the second time that day but this time Puddin was ready for him. He caught that fucker by his throat before he could hawk up his spitball and he squeezed the shit outta the old man while raging quietly in his ear.
“You ain’t gone never spit on another long-dick black bitch like me never again, you old cracker bastard,” Puddin growled, standing gap-legged and steady in his high heels as he strong-armed the white man down to his knees.
“Poppa stop!” I yelled.
Beads of sweat formed on my father’s bare arms as his huge triceps and forearm muscles rippled and bulged with rage and power.
“Gerald,” Puddin said quietly as he kept right on choking, “When another man throws something in your face, whether it’s a piece of tissue or a hock of spit, then one of y’all oughtta be ready to die.”
“Poppa, no!”
“Get off him, nigga!” The man’s two friends jumped on Puddin’s back and started pounding at his head and shoulders and swinging wild blows, but no matter what they did he refused to turn that old fucker loose.
“Poppa!”
Blood ran into Puddin’s eye from where they busted him all upside his head, but he pinched his lips and tightened his grip and still refused to let go.
“Disrespecting me like that in front of my boy?” Puddin muttered with his nostrils flaring madly. “Cracker, I will snap your scrawny neckbone in two raggedy fuckin pieces!”
Them two old men swarmed all over my daddy but their frantic strength was no match for his fury. They tried to grab him in a head yoke but his chin was dug into his chest. They clawed at his eyes, but he closed them tight and snapped his teeth like a wild dog trying to rip off their fingers. They gave up fighting and tried to yank and pull their friend outta his grasp but Puddin had him locked down in a death grip.
I grabbed at my father’s arm and his rocked-up muscle felt like a truck tire. He put his knee in the man’s stomach and pressed all his weight down onto his choking hands. I cried out for him to stop, but Puddin was in a kill zone and he didn’t even hear me.
The old white man was turning blue now. I was close enough to smell the hot fear coming off him, and terror gripped me even harder when a hard stream of piss whooshed down his leg and his whole body started jerking and quivering.
His skin turned purple and a drop of blood slipped from his left nostril. His eyes rolled up in his head. His mouth went slack, and then he went into a slump.
The other two men were still fighting Puddin. Punching him and clawing at him.
But it was a useless fight because Puddin had already won.
Puddin went to prison and I was left in the care of a pimp named Skully Powers who ran a cathouse full of prime-pussied hoes. I was ten years old and a hopeless orphan. My good education had officially begun.
From B4 The G-Spot: THE LEGEND OF GRANITE MCKAY
Thought of the Day: Role Reversal! Booby done bumped his head...
But this recent news about broke-ass Booby calling for Keyshia to pay him spousal support (wtf?) AND for full custody of their kid kinda makes you think.
Ain't it bad enough when a clown can't juggle all of his balls, but demanding my money and trying to take my kid away from me too? Now dis is jus tew much! Booby da ex-baller musta tripped in the paint and bumped his head!
We all know Keyshia is gonna be great no matter what (do yall think she could play Candy Montana in the movie version of CANDY LICKER?) so my question for you today is this: Mama Bears of the world, what would you say if your baby daddy told you he wanted a monthly check and FULL CUSTODY of your kid?
Thursday, October 5, 2017
Thought of the Day: I became a character outta one of my books....
But lately I've been recognizing way too much of myself in one of my recent characters. I feel my pain transcribed in her, my frustrations with life. The way I handle men, love, pain, rejection, health, weight, disappointment, and plain old fuckin bad luck...my way is definitely her way.
Me and this character share a lot more than just the lifeblood that comes out of my pen. Some really shitty aspects of our backgrounds have merged, and our inner fears and conflictions, our changing moods, our isolation, our complicated approach to loving ourselves, our struggle to embrace our flaws...yeah, there's a whole lot of me in Diamond "Jewelz" Jordan from Empire State of Minez, and perhaps there's way too much of her in me too.
Like most women, Jewelz and I are both survivors. Chicks like us might get knocked down by the Chimp Charlies and Fat Donnies of the world, but we also climb back in the boxing ring of life, battered and bruised, but determined to fight for another day.
And we are still standing! We are still tall!
Love yourself and keep fighting!
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
The Media vs. Black Culture
by Reem Raw
Look at Tupac. He died when he was 25. People say 'He was a thug, he was this and that.' That man was 25 years old, he was still trying to find himself. And look at his teachers, his mother, his father the Panther, Mutulu, Mumia, Geronimo Pratt. These were his elders. He was trying to follow them but bring the streets with him.
And I love Pac because he showed all of his contradictions, all his pain, his confusions. He showed all of that shit. When you're an artist that produced that much, what else can you draw from? You can't do all that if it's gonna have substance without going deep inside of yourself.
And he questioned things even within his own views. 'Even thug niggas pray. Even thugs gotta learn to take it easy.' He questioned and challenged his own peers and shit he was going through. And whatever his negative side was, when it came to the youth and the future he wanted better for them.
And the thing is, what people say was negative, he was just telling the unadulterated truth. He wasn't gonna sugarcoat it for niggas. 'Yeah, it's fucked up out here. Yeah, I gotta sell drugs because my momma's rent is late. Yeah, we pack guns. Yeah, it's niggas trying to kill me.' It's all facts.
And if that's negative to you, you should be doing something about it. 'We was given this world, we didn't make it.' He never told anybody to go live like that. But it is a fact. He's telling his story. 'Even as a crack fiend mama, you always was a Black queen mama.'
It's a negative and look at the song that he said that in about his mom. It's the truth. If he's gonna tell the truth about his mother, he's gonna tell the truth about all this shit. The truth hurts. That was Pac's power.
The only people who have a problem with those truths, are the people not affected by it, who don't wanna fix it, and who are too fucking scared and just wanna get by. Who don't want no problems. 'Let me just get by, make it through the day.' Too scared to voice their real fuckin opinions.
They want you to die in silence and out of view. The people that wanna keep you docile and down. 'No, don't think about that. Think about this.' You know what I noticed? Nobody in the media ever accuses anybody of people too positive.
The streets will call you out. Look man, all this happy music all the time is not us. It's not real. All this pop shit too. What the fuck is we smiling about? We're fucked up. Yeah, we're thugs. Like Sigel 'Too many flutes in the beat! Too many xylophones!'
You gotta be able to relate. At that time, Hip Hop was more street-oriented. And Pac said it himself, 'I'm the voice of the have-nots, so I'm gonna speak upon these travesties for the niggas at the bottom.'
If you think about it, there's plenty of successful people who can speak for other successful people. They don't lack a voice. It's the bottom that needs a voice. Because we don't get on TV with the makeup on the news interviews.
Look at this Black Lives Matter movement. If it wasn't for the power of technology that let everybody publish their story by video, by text, by audio. That was the biggest story in Twitter's history. If it wasn't for that, it would've never made news!
If you didn't have the first-person perspective, the same thing that music and books do, if you couldn't put yourself inside the person's shoes with the camera to see this cop doing what he did, it would've never been felt.
And that's another powerful thing. Our art allows you to feel what we feel. This is the issue. I was in the store today. They wanna play our songs, the oldies. They wanna dance to our music, use our slang, dress like us, but they don't wanna feel us.
No. The point is that we're trying to make something that relates. They want to come as close as they can without being stung. You wanna smell the roses, get the honey, touch the nest, hear the buzzing, but you want the bee suit. You don't want the raw shit.
But if these realities are so troubling to you, ya'll got special interest groups for everything. For dogs. America loves dogs. Ya'll will do anything for some dogs. You don't want to fix these conditions but you want to consume our music.
Look. You don't wanna fix the hood, but you wanna say 'nigga.' Which one is it? And that's the issue at the end of the day, people who want to have it both ways. What do you find entertaining about my pain? Music is a form of healing. Being able to relate or articulate it to a point where you can say 'Damn, did you hear that?'
Even then, I still feel that you can appreciate it. Because these are people who are fanciful. It only tickles the ear, it doesn't go into the ear. It's like a feather. And it's also the forbidden fruit thing too. Like 'We don't make music like this. We don't go to the ghetto.'
So it's partly an investigative thing, they're exploring and inquiring. But very few it actually penetrates. And I think that says more about you than the music. Because me, I'm a human being. I can relate. Maybe you're not a real human being with real experiences and real problems, which is why you can't relate.
Maybe you can't relate because you're not real. Maybe you live a fake plastic life, which is why you can't connect. Maybe you got it too good. I can relate to anybody from anywhere with a real life. So if you can't, you should be questioning herself.
And this is one of the issues Noire had with one of her editors. Maybe 5-10 years ago. She wrote a scene with police brutality. And the editor was like 'Oh this doesn't happen in real life.' Bitch, what you mean? In your world it doesn't happen. I'm writing for my world.
And that's the key word: relate. You gotta relate. And this is how we relate to each other. Now matter how far back you go. What happens around a campfire? Stories are told. To pass the time, to entertain, to teach a lesson, and to relate. If you can't relate, it ain't for you.
And if it ain't for you, that's cool. Leave it alone. But don't say it ain't for nobody because clearly it's for somebody. Somebody's benefitting from this. Somebody's buying this. Somebody's sending fan mail. I'm somebody's favorite author.
But if you don't relate, it's like Jay-Z said:
If you don’t like it then look in the mirror, most likely you ain’t live it,
so you don’t get it,
You ain’t did it,
so you can't vision,
the picture I’m painting ain't vivid,
the language I’m spitting is so foreign to ya
He put it perfectly:
I know real niggas happen to love it,
I just tackle the subject the flack from the public is nothing
But look at the contradictions, you'll watch Sopranos, you watch Goodfellas, you love Scarface, you watch even The Wire. But this is foreign? But you can't relate to this? How? It's too violent? How? The Sopranos got blood in the scene. This is words, written words. There's no visuals. How?
Hugh Hefner just turned 90. This culture's not foreign to this. Ya'll never called for his magazines to be burned.
Like Jay-Z said:
You probably got a couple records in your home,
Don't try to act like my track record ain't known
This is American. You can't look me in my eye and say 'I've never seen this before.' Now you might never have seen us saying it. And maybe that's what's bother you, is the speaker. But the content of the message? That's not foreign to America.
Scarface, these kinda gangster mafioso flicks, cats older than me grew up on this. So that aspect of the criticism just doesn't ring true. It doesn't resonate with me because I know America. I know my country, and ya'll been on this.
I think what you really have a problem with is the speaker. Because if it comes from Martin Scorcese, then it's a classic. Or if it's Quentin Tarantino. The Mob was Italian. You had Jewish thugs, Irish thugs, and you don't have a problem with that because those people look like you.
But the activities are the same, so don't get mad at people who don't look like you talking about the same shit. But back to the Pac situation. Never has any relevant figure in our culture glorified this shit to say, 'This is how you should live. Or this is the way things should be.'
We all talk about getting away from this shit, 'So I can cop a Benz and get the fuck out the hood.' But it's there. So for those of you who have a problem with us talking about it, how about you put your money where your mouth is and do something about it. Then we ain't gotta talk about it.
Like Jay-Z said:
Tell em I'll remove the curses,
If you tell me our schools gonna be perfect
That's my motto. At the end of the day you just can't have it both ways. You can't allow these situations and vote for policies that perpetuate these situations, don't do anything to stop these situations, but want to stop the conversation on the situations.
You want to dictate these situations that you're not subject to and you don't do anything about. Can't have it both ways. You gotta pick a side. And either way it's fine with me. It's like they say, put up or shut up.
Either you shut up, and stay out the hood. You're never gonna speak for us, but you can speak in support of us after you got some skin in the game. Without that, you're just talking because you haven't invested anything. What have you invested?
Invest something. Put your money where your mouth is. We did. We went through it. We lived it. We can speak about it. You didn't.
Monday, May 2, 2016
The Power of Lyrics and Language in Black Culture
by Reem Raw
There were some real good lyrics in Empire State of Mines. Now that I've been writing and helping Noire for a minute, adding lyrics during the writing process is always the best. And sometimes it's not even my lyrics. Sometimes I quote lyrics that go right with the story.
And I quote people who some artists might listen to. I quote a lot of Big. People know Big. I quote some Pac. I quoted some Jadakiss. Lyrics like that, that symbolize the very scene that I'm writing.
And this is the value of our writers and our authors. It's funny how certain lyrics become proverbs. As Black people in America, we're creating our own proverbs through music. Our own catchphrases, our own one-liners, and they're gems to live by.
So no matter who you are, know matter what hood you're in, everybody gets a jewel. I don't care what crevice of the world you're hiding in, everybody's gonna get a jewel. Even if you're listening to maybe some of the most ignorant shit, we put jewels in. And I think that's beautiful, that's art.
We are all in the game, just different levels,
Dealing with the same Hell just different devils
That was Jadakiss, and it came to me while I was writing. And some people caught it. And as a fan and a creator, that's powerful. I can have lyrics from my life or lyrics from somebody that I like and create something around them. That's power.
In my friendships, one of us can start a quote and the other one can finish it. It makes you relate and it gets the point across. So we have a common bond of communication where we can understand quickly. And it's memorized by heart. And that's what all my close niggas got in common.
Like me and Baby, we'll be around some chick and we're bombing on em but we're using code. So they're upset because they don't know what the fuck is going on, and we're dying laughing.
As Black people that's one thing we've always had. We know how to twist a language to our liking. And we know how to code a language. And we can perfect speech. Black people, we take a language and throw some style into it. That's part of our culture that we got natural. We got entertainment, sports, comedy, you name it.
But behind that comedy and behind the music is the power of language we have. We're stylish people, we're funny people, we're witty people, we're creative people. So when we really get our hands into some shit, and then us not having much, it makes us even that much more creative. Because we make something out of nothing.
I'll put us against any group when it comes to the creativity of our speech. Maybe our women read more than our men, but just like these men memorize lyrics I bet these women memorize these scenes. It's the same kind of gratification for them.
Yeah, the women like music but they like to read. But either way, the art is reaching and it's affecting the people. And yeah, there's some ignorant shit and bullshit in there, but that's natural. That's the common denominator of all people.
But the jewels that you can use, that never dies. That never goes away. The impact. You know how many fanmails Noire gets, even from white chicks and from other races? 'Oh you changed my life.'
This shit is real to people. It matters to people and it means something to them. No matter what the genre, you'd be surprised what people take away from it. It's not about what they enjoyed. The instant gratification is there because it's a product. But what they remember after time passes, that's the powerful thing.
I think Kanye said it, 'It's like I'm slipping something in your drink.' Yeah, you're getting the alcohol, but I done laced it with some shit that's more powerful. You're coming for the shit that you enjoy, but you're getting more out of it.
You know Kanye, he's conscious at his core. So he'll make some ignorant shit, but he'll slip a message in there. Like think about it, what's one of his latest most popular songs? 'Blood On the Leaves.' The beat is hard! But it's a slave song!
At his level, he has America's attention. He's not gonna let them forget those roots. He's gonna bring that to the forefront. Most White people probably never heard that shit. A lot of black people probably never heard it. But 'From the poplar trees. Strange fruit.' What's that about? 'Blood on the leaves.'
And he made it a damn hit! That's the beauty. It's like I said, we know how to flip a fucking language and bend it to our liking. I think that has to be part of the aspiration of an artist. To impact and change culture. Or at least make them see what you see. Put them in your shoes and make them relate. That's dope to me.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Noire's Books In Order
Just in case you were wondering, here's a list of Noire's Books in order.
For more information, go to NoireStore.com
1. G-Spot
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
2. Candy Licker
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
3. Thug-A-Licious
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
4. Even Sinners Have Souls w/ various authors
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
5. Baby Brother
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
6. Thong On Fire
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
7. Hood
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
8. From the Streets to the Streets w/ various authors
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
9. Hittin' the Bricks
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
10. Maneater w/ Mary B. Morrison
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
11. Unzipped
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
12. G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins (The 7 Part Serial Novel)
Pride
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
Betrayal
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
Greed
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
Envy
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
Lust
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
Trickery
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
Revenge
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
The Revenge Alternate Ending
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
13. Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless w/ Kiki Swinson
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
14. Natural Born Liar (Mink LaRue series pt. 1)
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
15. Sexy Little Liar (Mink LaRue series pt. 2)
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
16. Dirty Rotten Liar (Mink LaRue series pt. 3)
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
17. XXXhibition: A Sampler of Noire's Hottest Erotic Scenes
Kindle
Nook
18. B4 the G-Spot: The Legend of Granite McKay
Kindle
Nook
Paperback
iTunes
19. Red Hot Liar (Mink LaRue series pt. 4)
Amazon
BN.com
iTunes
20. Stone Cold Liar (Mink LaRue series pt. 5)
Amazon
BN.com
iTunes
21. Empire State of Mine$!
The All-In-One Paperback Version
Amazon Kindle
Chronicles of Crooklyn (Episode 1)
Queen of Diamonds (Episode 2)
Money Makin Manhattan (Episode 3)
Boogie Down Bronx (Episode 4)
Wildin On Staten Island (Episode 5)
BN.com
Chronicles of Crooklyn (Episode 1)
Queen of Diamonds (Episode 2)
Money Makin Manhattan (Episode 3)
Boogie Down Bronx (Episode 4)
Wildin On Staten Island (Episode 5)
iTunes
Chronicles of Crooklyn (Episode 1)
Queen of Diamonds (Episode 2)
Money Makin Manhattan (Episode 3)
Boogie Down Bronx (Episode 4)
Wildin On Staten Island (Episode 5)
Friday, April 29, 2016
Life Lessons Learned from Noire Books
by Reem Raw
As far as key themes, I think Noire always has a life lesson in all of her stories even though they're urban erotic tales. Something that you can draw from. Whether it be a character's words or the actual character.
Like Hood was a stand up dude. No matter what was going on around him, no matter what situations he was in, whether he faced jail time, life, or death he always stayed himself. He always kept it honorable. Sometimes you gotta read between the lines.
And that's why a lot of ladies can relate to Noire books. Of course they're entertaining and they're funny. But we know that somebody knows a Juicy. Somebody knows a Candy Rae Montana. Somebody knows a Saucy. We know these people.
So that's the real draw. Not just because it tickles your fancy and your imagination. It's because you feel some type of connection in every one of these characters.
Shit, it might be you!
You might feel like she's talkin to yo ass! And you don't even really wanna admit it. So that's the real thing. To me, that's what makes a great author. Tap in to what real people are going through and real life situations.
And not only are there relatable characters, she got alotta strange ones. I guess people couldn't fuck with Dreko from Hood. Just a maniac, rapist, creep type of guy. He's a hard character to stomach. Just like Haz in Empire. He's one of them dudes that ya'll probably know of and you stay clear of those people.
And I would ask readers to look at how people are being manipulated. They're being manipulated in ways that happen in everyday life. People trying to gas you to do something. Or you value this person's opinion so much that you do something to prove something to them.
So it's everyday shit. Don't just read for the entertainment and glamorous parts. Take the jewels from it. The shit that's happening every day. The shit that's happened to us all at one time or another.
When Haz grabbed Handgun Goody. Goody had just watched Haz murder his nieces and nephews and he was like 'Nah nigga, you gotta stand here and you gotta stab these muthafuckas up too. If I go down, you go down.' Which is smart on Haz part, if you're that kinda guy.
But if you're put in that scenario, what if you see something and somebody tries to make you do something that you don't wanna do? It happens everyday. People don't see it coming because they've never seen it before.
So that's one of the hidden jewels of these kinda stories because it gives you preparation for the unexpected events in life that maybe you haven't gone through yet, but you could. It kinda gives you the armor to say 'I've seen this movie before. I've seen how this turns out. I done read this somewhere. We know how this story ends. It ain't gonna end like that for me, so I'm gonna do something different.'
And these might prepare you. It might save your life. Hopefully you get the insight to not do the exact same things that didn't work. You don't have to be that character and have that bad ending. Sometimes people can relate to books more than actually sitting down and being told. People will listen to their favorite entertainer or celebrity before their parents because of the way it's being delivered and it's not people too close to the situation.
Some people need outside validation, a second opinion, or a second thought process. Some of your parents didn't even go through the shit you went through. So they can't relate. They're speaking from a parental place. But young adults, they need to feel like you went through it and then they'll respect your opinion.
And even if you did go through it as a parent, they're not gonna see that. To them, you're just old. You never did it. They don't believe you. And that's why it's interesting that we kinda look up to people that are 10-20 years older than us more than our parents sometimes.
If you grew up in the 90's your heroes were Tribe or Wu-Tang or whoever. They're not as old as your parents, they haven't been through as much as your parents, but they look cool to you. And they're more in tune with what's going on now, not 30 years ago.
That's why when people say 'This rapper raised me" it's because they found something relatable in their character, in their music, in their way of life. And their style appealed. They want somebody who talks and dresses like them, who they can mold themselves after. You can't copy your pop's style and have it work. It's played out.
Maybe you can take some verbal jewels. But that's not the image your going for. The trends go so fast in our times. Sometimes the trends circle back around and get repeated. But only people who know their history can see that.
Like I was saying in that scene between Haz and Handgun (from Beast):
And the haters on my dick,
I just let em be alone,
If you gonna ride by any decisions,
Then let it be your own
I believe that's in Hood. For you young cats, ride by your own decisions because when it goes down, them people you're living for, seeking their approval, they not gonna be there for you. And it be niggas your own age you're seeking from. That's the blind leading the blind. Just because his character might be a little stronger than yours.
You don't have to be as assertive outwardly to be valuable. You don't need to seek nobody's opinion who don't know no better than you. They don't even know that they don't know much more than you. You're just going off the fact that he's loud or his position of power within ya'll ranks. Or the pecking order. But don't throw your life away following some nigga who's not really even a leader. The real leaders, you probably don't even know about.
The leaders you're supposed to be supporting, you're probably too ignorant to even know what their names are. And that's a major part of our problem. We're not real leaders, and we're not even smart followers half the time. So smarten up and open your eyes. That's a jewel for ya'll young cats out there. Peace.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Noire Books Behind the Scenes Part 1: The Story Behind the Rhymes
How I Became Noire's Co-Author
Reem Raw talks about all of the Noire books that he has lyrics in, the experiences in his life that shaped those rhymes, and the process he used to become Noire's co-writer in Empire State of Mine$!
People ask me which books I have lyrics in. It's been so many books. I think my first rap was in Candy Licker. I don't remember, but the book that's prominent with my lyrics is Hood. I think she pretty much wrote Hood around my lyrics.
"Hood" is also the name of the song I did with Beez... Bang-Bang, I'm so Hood. That's off 'Gag Order' from 2005-2006. That was one of my coming out mixtapes, my first mixtape where I'm pretty much the lead. I'm writing hooks, writing songs over other people's beats but in song format, using my own shit.
Gag Order was what I was going through at the time and I was facing jail time, like when I wrote:
You was riding to the top,
But the tide done shifted,
Now you rotting in the box,
Showing signs of sickness
I was facing jail time then over regular street shit. That's one of the raps that I remember where I was and what I was writing it to. I remember that feeling, that day. I was at my man M's crib.
This is just a thug's thoughts,
For all my real niggas
It was never love lost,
Let's get it at all costs,
Just tryna make a dollar turn over again,
When it's over you can never do it over again
And that helped turn into Hood. Raps like that. It was pretty much Gag Order, previous work, featured work, a couple of things that was going to be on the "Both Sides of the Bridge" mixtape with me, Hawk, D. Black, and a couple other niggas.
Once Gag Order and "Path to Classics" dropped, then everybody in the hood wanted to rap. So whoever came through... That's when you got the hood on fire, when you got niggas who don't even rap coming in. And what's crazy is, the niggas who came in and did something was actually decent. It wasn't trash.
Shout out to Dolla and Alione and all the other niggas who came through. Storm Norm. That shit was fire.
We would get niggas from the hood to do our little snippets in between, like the skits. In 2006-2007, I got CutMaster C to host Gag Order.
So the book Hood, in a way, a lot of that was my story. At that time, I was going through regular struggling nigga shit. Fighting cases, serving fiends, going to war with niggas you used to be cool with. Just trying to keep your head above water. But at the same time, we was still having fun.
It was a struggle going through it, your emotions is high and low. But it was still fun, it was still things you could look back like 'Damn, I survived that. I survived that time period in my life. I marked that time period in my life with music. I can go back.'
I wrote a couple of shits that was heartfelt at that time. "Shame On Me," one of my best songs on Gag Order. I wrote the first verse in jail. Then I came home. I was doing so many songs and the first verse was so hard, I was holding on to it like 'Nah, I gotta wait until I get the perfect beat for that.'
And I ain't usually like that. I usually don't wait. But that one I held on. It's personal. And then when I found the beat, that's when I made the hook. And then I wrote the second and the third verse to it.
As far as what was behind those lyrics, the lyrics to 'Shame On Me' explains it all. That's the thing. Music marks the time.
We was tackling the strip,
'Til I got knocked,
Cops pattin' on my dick,
Puttin' shackles on my wrist,
Now my back against the fence
All that shit was what the fuck was going on. It was kind of a love song. The first verse was talking about what you going through with your homies. The second verse, what was going on with one of my chicks at the time. Second verse was like:
Knew you wasn't perfect,
But I knew that we could work it,
My soul food,
That's so true,
You kept me nourished,
Then shit got corrupted and no longer could we flourish,
But the bond so strong, it could move beyond verses,
Whole lotta frontin, wasn't nothing worth lying over,
I wasn't certain when I said that we could try it over
All of that shit was real, was pain, betrayal. If I let you bite me twice, then it's shame on me. As far as songs that made it into the books, it's too many. Plus that mixtape is just crazy.
"Thug's Thoughts" ended up on Thong On Fire soundtrack. The joint with me and Queena, 'He Ain't the Type', 'Between Your Knees', Spoons 'I Like Prada'. The whole CD came with it. It's like 6-7 joints on there. And Thong wasn't like Hood, so it ain't as dark. So I had the upbeat tracks.
"Twist Is" is on there. And then 'Birthday Cake'. So Thong is more of a party life, night life feel. So those songs played a intricate role in the theme of the book. And part of that's me too. It ain't all gloom and depression.
Those songs were made before the books were written. I've made songs afterward for the purpose of a book too. In Hittin' the Bricks, I made raps for Rawmello, and they were pretty much based around his character. That was cool and it was specifically for the books.
And there were a couple other raps, not really real songs because there was going to be an actor playing Rawmello in the movie. Rawmello is one of my nicknames, which ended up being a main character. Like 'Rawmello Anthony.' So it coincides. My man Hawk gave me that name.
If I had to choose, making the song before the book is always better than afterwards because it's my life. It's my experience. I don't have to fit it to a certain image of a character. It's always better when you can put the book based around my song.
And Hood is a fan favorite too. People fell in love with that story, with Egypt and Hood. And Hood spit his lyrics while he was in jail and he used raps to free his self. And that's pretty much what I did.
Everything that I was going through in the hood when I was doing my thing, all the pain and all the other shit. The fun times and all that shit. Music was my outlet and let me release it in a positive way. It wasn't just the 'Oh, I'm nice and I can put words together real good.' Some people can put words together with no substance or no real background or basic life in their theme.
That's why certain artists like Jay-Z, if you ask him, his favorite album is always gonna be Reasonable Doubt. He'll tell you himself, that's his whole life up to that point. Everything he's done in the streets until that point, before the success? That's his favorite album. That's his baby. That's the one he bought the masters for, not them other shits. Ya'll can have them other shits, let me keep Reasonable Doubt. That's my baby. That's my life.
So I understand what he's saying now. Because Gag Order was kinda like my baby. Before Gag Order I did a bunch of music too, but not like 'Boom, this is a Reem Raw project.' It's always been a 'Reem Raw versus whoever' battle rap, or Reem Raw with Red Baron, Reem Raw with Ricky Ro, Reem Raw with Philly Swain.
Gag Order was my first joint. Niggas let me rock out. And I had help. Hawk came through, and he was so nice with it, he helped me put things together in format and structure without him even knowing that I did it.
Hood is probably the book I most connected with because my DNA is in that shit. So if somebody wants to get to know me, that book reflects me even more than Empire State of Mine$!.
Empire was more of me being creative with the writing. Expanding my imagination. Pulling things together. Some of my personal experiences are in there mixed with imagination because it's a story and it has to sell and make sense.
But that was really more of me stretching my mind. Trying to separate the artist from the author. I had to be an author and way more intricate. So if you wanna know more about me and you've never met me, Hood is the book to get to absorb my life. My experiences in the game and what I was going through.
We didn't get into the writing that much in this blog because we focused more on the lyrics. Later on, we'll talk more about the scenes from other books that I inspired or contributed to, like the whole Liar Series. I want ya'll to be able see my versatility and how I've kinda been involved. Even with B4 The G-Spot.
I want ya'll to see the formulation, the growth, the evolution of my involvement from the rap to everything else. All of that behind the scenes work helped me take a lot of the reigns in Empire. It was kinda like an apprenticeship. It wasn't like I was just jumping out there with 5 books.
You can't just go out there with a 5 book series and put your name on a cover with a bestselling author. I put my time in. I paid my dues. Because a lot of ya'll are asking Noire asking "How do I start writing?" Well we're going to get into that process. Stay tuned!
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