About Michael’s memento mori. I recognized how “passionately” he kills his victims, ramming the knife deeper into them as they struggle more (I’m just saying ”sudden handcontact, dear lord!”). But then when he’s done he throws them away like garbage, haha!
What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted? When the innocent become the damned? The human spirit is resilient, but even the most irrepressible of souls eventually crack under the strain.
The chase this time starts much like any other. The Shape spots the bespectacled boy crouched before one of the generators and watches with grim intent as the chill of his gaze sends shivers down the boy’s spine, forcing him to short circuit the machine that blows, emitting a resounding BANG as it spits sparks at the accused. He knows that the Shape is watching. Forced to pursue as the boy keenly breaks the stalker’s line of sight, the scratch marks supplied by the Entity on high warn him that his charge has broken into a sprint. The chase is on.
Through mazes and trees the Shape follows the boy, aiming now not to watch but to STRIKE. A turn of a corner into a brick enclosure, where he’s sure the boy will be trapped, meets him with a patch of grass and a metal locker. Scratch marks since faded, he hasn’t a clue in which direction the leader has disappeared to. The Entity utters low whispers into the Shape’s ear, letting him know that the victim still lingers close by.
Passing by a pallet, the Shape half expected for the leader to be waiting on the other side to throw it down and stun the stalker or else push him back. However, the stun that he gets as he nears the open plain is not from a blow to the head. A very sudden movement from the Shape’s poor peripheral precedes a searing, stabbing pain to his midsection that forces him to stop and encourages him to look down. There, protruding from his stomach are the eye rings of a small, metallic pair of scissors from a well-stocked medkit with the blades embedded in his flesh.
The act itself is what gives the Shape pause. How silly must the boy be to attack an unstoppable killer gifted with unfathomable power by a starving GOD? By now he must know the rules. He runs. The killer gives chase. Sacrifice. This—this is not how it is supposed to be. Why else would the Entity supply such measly tools to satiate the hope of the surviving humans? These tools are not weapons. The Shape’s hand lifts to idly caress the rings of the scissors before seizing them and yanking it from himself with ease as one might do a thorn from an unruly bush. The scissors are cast aside as blood begins to ooze from the wound. Though he might be in pain, the Shape still has a mission to uphold. Raising the knife in his own hand, he can show the leader just how to inflict a proper stab wound.
I just got a message from Nole that Heavy D died, and I checked and it’s true. That’s really upsetting to me. He was not only someone I admired from the moment I began listening to any hip-hop at all from a little kid, over the years I could see his industry moves fostering and supporting so much talent that has meant as much to me as his own output, and it was also so easy to see that he was a good, caring, principled person.
When I saw a tape of the Arsenio clip posted here, maybe a dozen years after it aired, I was impressed all over again. In the interview, he breaks a hip-hop wall down and talks about having mundane and unglamorous legal jobs growing up; he doesn’t pretend that all he could ever see was the allure of a hustle.
And he breaks ranks with not only hip-hop but most bastions of American masculinity when he advocates for gun control as a response to shooting violence. He talks about actually losing his brother and not feeling like he could blame the youth involved, rather seeing the weapon as instrumental. How compassionate is that? Thinking about a heart that big, it actually kills me to consider that the reason I’m reflecting on it right now is that it’s stopped.
The first song I ever heard and loved by Hev was of course “Gyrlz They Love Me.” I don’t know that I ever thought about it very directly, but he may have been the first unapologetically fat person I ever knew of in my life, and furthermore he never made himself a punchline for it or shied away from positing himself as just as much of a heart throb and sex symbol as Big Daddy Kane or LL Cool J. I might not have made the same word choice, were I the me of today and also the him of then, to say “the overweight lover Heavy D” in that song, but the intent is clear in spite of the negatively loaded term - that’s a mere modifier, lover is the operative word.
He was an underrated talent as a Flavor Unit MC and producer for many acts, I guess because his poppier singles eclipsed the more rugged and lyrical LP cuts. I don’t think he’ll be widely remembered in the light I would wish.