The New London
“Spread love it’s the Brooklyn way”
I’m not ignorant to the fact there was an original London. I get it. I knew Slick Rick was the ruler of something. I know that Nicki Minaj faux accent isn’t from Brooklyn. I know these things. I even know that at some point in history London was the center of the entire free world. Granted most of what I know of London’s colorful past was presented to me via Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida“, but still… I get it.
I however am from the “New London”. A little spot in Southeastern Connecticut that boasts the two biggest casinos in the world and a chemical company R&D facility that is engaged in a daily struggle to find innovative ways to keep 80 year old dicks hard. Thank us later, literally. We are the city that collectively pooled all our resources to bring you…Cassie, and I think maybe a guy who produced some beats for Ginuwine or something. Again… Thank us later.
So, New London isn’t the product of infamy… yet. There are people working on it tho. We’ve toured your cities; we’ve seen the armies of strug patrolling your streets in champion sweat suits reciting dialogue inherited from an assortment of Tyler Perry movies. We’ve seen girls on your local dance floors terrified of the impending rape at the end of those Papoose records. You think we seize custody of these girls because we want to? Na b. We do this for YOU, so you can understand that those ACG’s with the red laces are completely unacceptable in a modern society.
I don’t write this blog out of some false sense of entitlement. I have a REAL sense of entitlement. It stems from a REAL sense of responsibility. A responsibility to everyone that nurtured the person I’ve become. This isn’t really about me, or my city. This is about every person like me from a small city like mine. Don’t live in grandiose fantasies where you are persuaded to believe you’d be more content with yourself in a place that’s already established. There is no sense of accomplishment to be achieved by making IT somewhere, but to make somewhere IT … that’s real.
To be a King, or Queen you don’t take someone else’s throne. You make your own.
Represent the uniqueness in YOUR city and stop subscribing to the commercial value of major cities. I know some of you guys out there getting sick of living out these hoes cliché dream dates walking around Central Park. They will have you convinced that New York grass and dirt is exuding a romanticism that can’t be produced by the minerals in your city. Like, somehow the New York air emits precipitation directly to her box. Na, I’ve seen fiends steaming up on those benches, I know what’s in the air, and it’s not love. Besides, I’ve proven this theory wrong several times by hopping off the train around Stamford, CT and just telling shorties we was in New Rochelle. Same results.
Everywhere I go I leave people with a piece of my city, and I’m not the only one. If your girl starts using phrases like “No thirst tho”, adding a previously nonexistent “b” to the end of her sentences, or referring to every jealous act as “Extra Puerto Rican” you might want to take a gander at her text list… She’s probably been removed from your custody by one of our many talented youths.
What we have accomplished in my city is establishing a brand of slander and dope talk that the entire world is receptive to. We come to your cities, cut lines, disrespect dress codes, and most of us have less than $30 on our debit cards at any given time. You fuck with us tho, and we appreciate you for it.
You don’t have to impress people with the infamous hood your from. We know you probably got most of your life from the last 30 seconds of “Brooklyn’s Finest”, its cool. Shit, some of you still in the jungle asking for Hov. That’s probably why nobody is asking for you.
Brooklyn was the coolest place in the world, once. Just like London was once the voice of the entire world. Now there is an entire world full of dope cities with their own voices. Use yours.
I’m out tho… I got mad important shit I gotta do like write these “Stressed Sunday” tweets for all the people out there goin through it. Y’all got enough problems… You don’t need to be finding creative ways to articulate your hurt too. I got you.
From “The New London”
The new Henry