HOW MANY MC'S MUST GET DISSED?

The stereo situation in my private abode is currently in the process of an upgrade, so in the interim, all I got is the Boot Camp Clik DVD coming out the computer speaker. I mean really, it's all I listen to. And watch. The boys are wily in hoodies, mugging on BK rooftops not yet scrubbed clean. Heltah Skeltah "Operation Lockdown." A heat you can't replicate. Buckshot played the Brooklyn Hip-Hop Fest on the waterfront and I missed it because I was wandering around, looking for Ebenezer, and when I found him he wanted to perch on a bench by the water anyway, and chomp on little rice crispy treats wrapped in a fancy box. While we were sitting there I saw this guy wearing a graphic t-shirt that said "I MISS THE OLD NEW YORK" and I think he meant Beat Street on Fulton. RIP. Sure I pray every night to the spirits in the down-south subwoofer, but when I write with Black Moon in the background I catch a feeling in my gut and the rhythm just locks in. And fuck a shiny suit, Who Got da Props is the best posse video ever. I love the days, pre-lean (shoulder-, awkward-, cholo-, and -back), when most everyone dancing had flailing, airborne arms. (2 Way & Webstar and Jason Fox, please stand up/ Harlem walk it out!)

PS It has come to my attention that some denizens of the internet, the outer boroughs and "the fifth borough" believe I am only ever attainable on the dancefloor, like some punchline in a Yung Joc song. Seriously? Here are some other places you can find me: loitering behind a desk, walking into union square in awe of agile skaterboys, being a fake mom in the catfood store, cheesing in dance classes and running in sneakers on the street, and: on the first floor of the Brooklyn Public Library (new releases), all museums, all farmers markets, most movie theaters, many parties, the mall, and lots of other secret locations I can't divulge. I know, my famous dancefloor prowess implies I am the Lady in the Lake of the DJ location - Door-to-the-Floor, an apparition - but in actualement, my shit is full spectrum like roy g biv. If ya wanna put a hole in a pigeon holler at the Supreme Court. P.P.S. Fuck the Supreme Court. The 5 in the 5-4 anyway.