Off-Broadway Plays, Bootleg Movies and Bullshit Music

I don't know why art is not moving me the way it used to. There was a time I could feel a stroke of a brush, or a simple prose, even cry at a critical line in a play. Now, I just yawn, literally.

I attended the traveling Broadway show, The Color Purple at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center this week, and it was good. It was pretty good, but I could not connect.

The singing, flawless. The acting, convincing. The spirit, flat.

I sat in the front row right next to the orchestra, so my two ears were tuned and my four-eyes saw clearly, but my soul---sorry no motion.
At first, I thought it was me, but my partner began to yawn as well. He admitted that he really enjoyed the play, but it didn't wow him.

Maybe it was the woman sitting next to me who was checking her damn messages and left the ringer on.

Or maybe, I was being a typical moody cancer like I can be, but I must say, I didn't love it.

Also, I must admit, there hasn't been a movie that moved me in a long time. That is why I make an oath to catch it on a bootleg.

Especially ones I continue to roll my eyes in repulsion that portray the "white man" saves the day like the recent, Avatar.

Here you have a white, paraplegic, ex-Marine who finds new legs, some new ass, and a new life by embedding himself into an indigenous population of multi-shaded blue people with cornrows who worship trees. And of course the ex-Marine mates with a chocolatey-blue sister, and the princess. What a way to go Devildog.

About 30 minutes into the movie, I said, here we go again, "the white man" saves the day and takes the punnany. I swear this is Pocohantas redux, and I am frankly tired of it.

Or, the movie, the Blind Side. Before I even went to the site, I asked myself, why see this shit when I already know the plot. Ms. Lily has compassion for Jimbo and saves him too.

Then there is the opposite, the black villain. And it seems like Nigerians are taking over in the villainous roles.

Like in the X-Men Movie about Wolverine, the scene opens to corrupt Nigerians killing local villages. I wanted to shout, as I watched the very clear bootleg, where the fuck is the Western governments who supply the weapons and steal the oil?

Then, this disgusting sci-fi, District 9, that takes in South Africa, and portrays Nigerians as cannibalistic thugs that will sell their mama for power. Well...now that you say that...hmm, okay, I will not go there.

What I really want to point out about that stinking District 9, is the Nigerian actors were played by South Africans who were also using their language to depict a Nigerian dialect. How tired is that, especially since South African/Nigerian relations are extremely horrible in South Africa, hence the ethnic riots that broke out this year. These mobs targeted people they thought were Nigerian. How conveniently this movie added fuel to the fire.

Plus, who saves the day, old white man himself. I find it quite interesting that a white man or woman (Lara Croft I despise you) can go in the middle of jungle, desert, hood, village, tropical maze, forest, war zone, shanty town, refugee camp or non-white population and out-throw, shoot, run, fuck, and out-think anybody who's ancestors have been living on the same land for generations. On top of that, he never gets on mosquito bite, or catches something that will make his dick look like he got a bad case of elephantitis.

But beyond the plays, and the movies, is the bullshit ass music. Tell me, what the hell happened. I feel like I am having the driest sexual experience of my life. I am so tired of horrible-rhyming, auto-tune, pop singing, nasal -dripping whiner, raspy voice, wanna have deep lyrics, but the medication won't let me go deeper, so-called performers.

I need to breathe, and be, not be stuck in a mindless rotation.

I love Lauren Hill, E-Badu, Maxwell, Mos Def, but if I hear them one more time, I think I will choke on neo-soul vomit in my sleep tonight.

Honestly, I think we have killed the honesty in art, thus we have dampered our souls. I have a theory, we poured so much sugary-hope into our pitcher of koolaid, we have now come to an end of our high and are plunging to a diabetes death.

So please, please, save a sister. I need my art back. Click T-Pain image for a funny cartoon.