Check out more from Hip Hop DX, DJ Booth, New York Press, MSH, Bryon Crawford…

From 2008′s “The 3rd World” album by Immortal Technique with DJ Green Lantern…

@ Hip Hop DX

@ DJ Booth

@ New York Press

@ MSH

@ Bryon Crawford

Check out more from PopMatters, Hip Hop DX, Hip-Hop Linguistics, XXL and The Broke BBoys…

If you don’t know, maybe you should track down the album… KRS-One & Marley Marl “Hip Hop Lives”

@ Pop Matters

@ Hip Hop DX

@ Hip-Hop Linguistics

@ XXL

@ The Broke BBoys

“Sometimes I miss prison.”

It’s all true. Your life is as fucked up as you think it is. And there’s company, too. How do I know? People are sharing some of the darkest shit their minds have to offer through (not Twitter, Facebook or MySpace) a little project called PostSecret.

“Knowing you don’t use a condom when you cheat on me bothers me more than knowing you cheat…”

It’s a brilliant creative concept if you ask me. First, have strangers mail in postcards inscribed with some personal info they wouldn’t dare discuss with a dog. Then post the best offerings of deceit, loathing, hope and regret on a Web site for those sick fuck’s to get a rise out of. Then ultimately, turn said submissions into books and sell these reminders right back to the narcissist that mailed them in the first place (such as what Frank Warren has done.)

“Sometimes I wish I had been sexually abused so I wouldn’t feel guilty about being gay”

Seriously though, the Sunday Secrets page makes for a good early morning read, if not for an eyebrow raising experience. It’s like reality T.V. but without all the miserable fame-starved leaches with stiff personalities. Must be their guilt that attracts me. Maybe it’s my own guilt that gets swallowed each time I relate to one of those postcards.

“I haven’t smoked pot for a whole week and I am amazed how many things I have accomplished in that time.”

These cards come filled with much more than words. And it’s the accompanying images that set off what’s being confessed. I suppose words can only say so much about childhood memories, erotic obsessions and some of the other randomly complex and/or unethical behavior.

“He’s been in prison for two years because of what I did. 9 more to go.”

This short Web browsing experience provides some perspective. If nothing else, it really drives home the idea behind the old saying “some things are better left unsaid.” And maybe there’s comfort in knowing you’re not the only sick fuck out there. That you’re not the only angry, condescending piece of shit still breathing this planet’s precious oxygen supply. Or maybe it’s a society filled with unrealistic expectations that’s truly to blame.

“I will never forgive myself for letting my girlfriend get an abortion.”

Leave a comment about Rounder and view more videos from ShadetreeFilms at Vimeo.

• Lifesavas – Hidden Scene: The Legend Of The Gutterfly

– Photomosaics by Alex Llama –

Melbourne Causeway – Melbourne, FL

Avalon Park – Orlando, FL

Ballard Park – Melbourne, FL

Active railroad bridge – Melbourne, FL

Under Harbor City Blvd – Melbourne, FL

Saturday’s Graffiti Bus Jam at Orlando Brewing wasn’t quite the rousing success it should have been – if judging merely by attendance figures. But it was a great time nonetheless for those of us that did make it out. Disappointing though that the local hip-hop community didn’t show up to take part in the festivities and show some hospitality to the out-of-town crew that rocked the mic for what, all eight of us, it seemed.

As expected, there were plenty of signature organic brews to choose from, and the artistry from six local graffiti artists who added some visual life to Orlando Brewing‘s 40-foot Big Red Bus. Unexpectedly, a few building jumpers came through to do their thing while Savannah, Georgia’s Dope Sandwich (and the Chief Rockaz BBoy crew) provided enough beats and rhymes to keep the true heads on tap for the duration.

While baking in the sun (in between the usual thunderstorms this time of year) on Florida’s Gulf Coast, a flock of seagulls invited themselves to Fritos, Doritos and whatever else they could snatch with their beaks. It proved to be a nice break in the beach-going experience.

Def Poetry Jam was the definitive example of the world of slam poetry. Sometimes the performances were amazing in an otherworldly sense and others were recycled pretentious garbage.

You know the formula… Start off slow, build to a crescendo, repeat your signature line three times and finish with a slow…stuttered….pace. Like hip-hop or any other lyrically-driven form of music, the performers that are brilliant obviously standout from the rest. Philadelphia’s Black Ice was one of the standouts on that show.

He spoke with melody, accentuated his tone with powerful ease and structured his words in a way that they were able to carry the weight of the subject matter effortlessly. I remember being blown away by his performances but I wasn’t quite sure how his style would translate onto record. The most famous slam poet is Saul Williams. His music, much like himself and his poetry, is very eclectic, so you never expected a certain style from him therefore you were simply rewarded with what you got. Black Ice on the other hand is deeply rooted in straight forward hip-hop, so his debut album is a hip-hop album.

Let me step back from that statement. Black Ice’s album The Death Of Willie Lynch is to hip-hop what Gil-Scott Heron’s albums were to Jazz. Does that intrigue you? It should.

The album came out in 2006 and even I just recently came across it. I stop short of calling it a genius effort because there are a few occurrences when he tries to be a rapper instead of the poet he is and that simply is not what he is meant to be. Those songs come across very contrived. But when he keeps it simple and within the style he perfected and combines that with properly matched musical backdrops, then the Gil-Scott comparison I made earlier is right on point.

When so many people are trying to “keep it real” this cat keeps it right. He pulls no punches while steadily pulling cards. From parenting and the music industry, to race and sex, to the disrupting nature of a corrupt society – he speaks on all of it – but most importantly he sounds fly as fuck while he does the speaking.

So next time you’re at the record store or on , skip over the Trasher Roth album and say M.I. Yay No to Rick Ross and pick up The Death Of Willie Lynch by Black Ice. If you have Trasher Roth’s album proceed to punch yourself in the face and then hand the CD to the nearest white girl so she can have two copies and therefore be twice as fucking retarded as you are.