“at least i didn’t get there by slaying people”

This is a story about control.
The statue: a rendering of Alison Lapper in the rotating place in Trafalgar Square, historically the domain of generals and monarchs; Lapper, born with the birth defect phomocilia syndrome which left her armless and short-legged, is depicted nude and pregnant.
The crux: several British art critics and some of the passersby deride the statue as “repellant,” “uninteresting,” or “like overused soap.” They want it replaced. They insist it’s not her lack of legs or arms making them uncomfortable. And they’re telling the truth: it’s not. What frightens them is the sight of a pregnant woman; particularly, a limbless one assuming a throne in a hall of men who’ve maimed. The sight of life, extant and defiant, in the face of those who would harness and suppress it. The power of a woman with a wombful despite her inability to walk: David Whiting, “stepson of Lord Dowding, a hero of the Battle of Britain,” cannot even fathom this powerful-ass mystery. Pregnant woman fear = on some hate yr own mother tip!
Related, if laterally: Ghostface got my heart. Just before “Holla,” throng’a main Wu players (cappadonna!!) holding rowdy court: “Can I get the blue light?” [Blue spotlight on his face, baby getting all romantic.] “Hear this music? I was born in 1970. My parents used to fuck to this music. Respect. If you don’t got soul, you don’t get me.”
Introducing his son, who rapped a coupla verses: “This my son. The son-god. He came out my dick.”
You knew this, but Ghosty drops his gauzy je ne sais quoi like a blunt object.
The following is the artist’s rendition of what last night felt like:
*(**&^%&^%$^%#%$%^&&^%^%$$@#%#$%^%^&*&^
Baby’s getting all romantic: City was everything. Last night looked like the year we all bit placenta. Just born and on the come up. And the average age of the dudes in the front was like 18, and most of them were actually 15, untethered on a Sunday, the day before a holiday, no school and buoyed accordingly. I was injected, tooken back 8-9 yrs yet fixed in molten now (DAYTONA? BE EASY? Either way, it’s KEEPING us ALIVE). Cause I can’t do shit without the weight of this: It was total time-stop time, and again I found solace and hope in remembering what livin was like before GW, before uncorroborated plans by “al-Qaeda” (hiding out in… Iraq?! ha ha) to “bomb” trains with “baby-strollers”, before the Army recruiters posted up in the lobby of the 4-5-6 station at 125th and Lex and wrangled the babies selling MetroCard swipes at the turnstile to sign here. I saw that with my own two eyes. Hoping these moments can point us toward the exit sign of this nasty labyrinth.
What it’ll be like is like (*@*&(*&^&%^@^%^$%$^%!%^&!@&%^&%^!^&&^!%&%^^&%!^&
Ghost, pon de exuent, said “God put me here to take care of y’all.” Man I was wondering who the messiah was gonna be. Frankincense & myrrh, fried fish halibut and Heini: Black Jesus. What’s up.