A Metallic Scraping Sound...

"He pulls a knife you pull a gun, he sends one of yours to the hospital you send one of his to the morgue!"
-Sean Connery The Untouchables

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CAM'RON: Where did you start covering up the fear, right?

O'REILLY: No, wrong.

CAM'RON: I'm going to get at you in a minute.

O'REILLY: You go ahead. You get at me.

-O'Reilly Factor interview with Cam'ron and Damon Dash

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A few days ago, there was a pretty serious protest @ Howard U. It was primarily about the siege that precedes a presidential visit. The act itself was actually amazing, especially since Howard usually isn't exactly the first place people think of when they think "protest" nowadays.

I made the comment that living mere miles from the White House lends itself to a need for a bit of gumption.

Living in DC, for all purposes, is a bit of a contact sport. It is definitely you versus the forces of government. Whether its a day of Code Burnt Sienna alert or a distinct clarion call for serious marching, you're facing off against the Beast. You live there. You stay in his backyard, so naturally you're gonna have to fight him for the chewtoys and the doggie dish. Let's get gully here... you also have to fight for his prize, his bitch, the Money. He doesn't just fuck it, he births it. His innards grind out the slightly smelly notes, and you take them and buy CDs and MP3 players and condoms and hot dogs and weed with it. No matter how green your grass, he owns your ass, and until you face it and him, you're standing in a pile of shit way too big for your tiny limp pooperscooper.

If I was still a student, my time in class would be spent cultivating all manner of revolution. My school would be nothing short of a place known for yet another PLO with MD instead of the P. Even if my group was as small as it was at VState, I'd at least put up enough of a fight to where they'd have to recognize my irritating boils that fester on its lumpy, overfed ass. In short, I'd be a worry. I'd be a constant problem. To solve me, they'd have to treat me like a Rubix Cube: either break that motherfucker or respond to his code. Solve the puzzle and save your ass. I'd probably fail a lot of classes, but who gives a fuck about your diploma if tomorrow you can't eat with it anyway? Who cares if you're dead how many degrees you have and where they came from?

You live ten miles from the center of the pentagram. Are the candles you're lighting white or black? Or are you like the many who will stand and wait, hoping that an end result yields gas prices and peace in the Middle East, rights for women yet free ass, and a government where we vote Demmycrat or Repubbican and yet still have truth and fairness as part of our national collective?

Where's the mosh pit?