Monday Minutes E6_Lord Digga & The Edges
I know that shit sounds like a band.
de todos modos…
Don’t read any further until you watch this: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DSds6aFkcnb/?igsh=MWwyM21vaXFrc2x1cA==
That new Lord Digga bomb drop on The Punchline Academy was ground opening Moses. Energy, rhymes, wordplay, and style. He set off this unnatural cycle of 12 with the raw. Lines like “Top of the food chain, it’s not y’all environment/I’m violent with the eyes of a Siberian tiger head” and “Never kept up with the Joneses, had a dream it was a scam/Go to trial in a wheelchair and never take the stand” appeared, but it was more. Why is this fresh? Well, it’s upper echelon rap from a legend coming out to swing the bat with the now. And it makes heads who worship the art of rap want to chop a few heads for practice. (At the present, I’m preparing to fight at least four people. When I bring them back to life after I sever their arms from their bodies and mercilessly bludgeon them to death with them, we’ll all talk and laugh about attacks, defenses, mistakes, how they almost took me out, etc. Maybe they’ll have to revive me next rip.). But what’s more is that this Digga flow represents the unrepresentable edges.
Why are edges important?
Edges are jagged, undetermined, dangerous, and exceed description. Recklessly tear a piece of paper in two and observe the shape of what remains on the perimeters of the fissures. The serrated grooves formed instantaneously in the swift rend aren’t made from a precise calculation. They emerge from the cimarrón, the unbridled roar that catalyzes and destabilize all you held as sacred from y/our resistance movements to y/our stabs to the war machine with plastic swords. Your Minnesota niceties. All that shit. The edges fuck with that. Run up against them and they break flesh. They “throw salt when the wound’s open.” But edges, like the potential of Deleuze’s desert islands, also slice into the fabric of the world as it is and finds material to co-create anew. There will be no ICE. You won’t find or need “Black” Lives Matter. Murals flowing beyond blade and chalice aesthetics won’t be relegated to underground antiquities market-esque alleys where pussies facade as dicks. Thankfully, there won’t even be a US flag. As Deleuze belches, “It is not that there is a second birth because there has been a catastrophe, but the reverse, there is a catastrophe after the origin because there must be, from the beginning a second birth (Desert Islands).” Second birth isn’t destination but process. If that’s not a sharp edge, then white paint is vanilla ice cream. I almost died on SALT when I ate a gallon.
What are the unexamined presuppositions of y/our resistance?
I never really spent too much time with MCs that didn’t have that Lord Digga abrasive word play and imagerial skill that ground vocabularies into split syllables one millionth the average sand granule. That’s why you can’t see the verse when the deities spit. The edges they are and wield disappear the language itself and show you energy in motion like the hum of the third rail. The island is born again each time Pharoahe Monch, Queen Herawin, Metamo, Jurny Big, Invincible, and Billy Woods enact freeze frames that melt as soon as the third eye strikes them with lasers. At the precipice we’ve stood so long that novelty has become normal. Maybe we should be more Lord Digga. Move your politics closer to the jagged and lose them on the edge of the abyss. The edge is why I couldn’t stay in church without cutting the pastor. The edge is why Tomorrow Kings confused the Chicago Hip-Hop scenes. The edge is why I think this age has expired long ago. I refuse to delude myself into thinking marching, protest, and voting can revive the contents of the sepulcher.
Take a risk, burn this world, and purge another with impermanence.
Fuck being a legend, they stopped producing those cars
Fuck yo status, ‘cus you never was the baddest
Fuck all the posts and Facebook dramatics
There’s a difference between a full and semi-automatic
Lord Digga
