Kanye blogged this, my man Colin converted it to non-all-caps:
I’m on the plane listening to the college dropout. It brings back so many memories. When we made it I had all 6 parents, 4 grandparents and my mom and dad. Now I have my dad and my grandfather.
Music is so nostalgic. Every song I listen to brings me back to when I first played them for my mom, when I first played from for Dame, when I first played them Jay, when I first played them for Kweli, when I first played them for my niggas back in Chi, when the album first came out, when I first called Ebro from Hot 97 and begged him to play through the wire, when DJ Pharris blew me up in the Chi.
We used to be the niggas rocking polo shirts, Louie back packs, paper denim jeans, and exclusive Adidas from Sporty LA. We were the underdogs. I never feel like I’m not the underdog. I never felt completely comfortable. I’m tormented by the need to create. With the loss of McQueen I feel like we lost one of those faces of modern creativity’s Mount Rushmore.
There were times that the only thing that kept me on this earth was the need and responsibility to create. Maybe McQueen felt his job was done because his last collection was the greatest of the decade. We are all so hurt. I know we’re selfish because he brought us so much joy and inspiration.
I know how it feels when the night demons come. We can’t let them control our hands and feet. Sometimes when it hurts so bad we have to just lay in the bed. Just lay in bed and don’t move please, I know how it feels. I wish McQueen could have just been still. Don’t let the psychiatrists give you their drugs because it slows down your wings. Society and public opinion can beat the wings off of angels. When god sees they can’t take it anymore he brings them back home.
During this new album process sometimes I turn the music up and drink and cry. When something sounds so amazing and ground breaking I’m reminded of why I live. I drink the pain of now 2 generations and breathe our melodies and messages. The music keeps us alive.
I was blessed with the opportunity to bring my and others dreams to life. It’s like performing magic or something. It’s surreal. We bring the unrealistic to reality. “Go hard, go hard, go hard” echoes in my dreams. When I wake up and brush my teeth and look in the mirror it’s like I see Michael and my mom and Malcolm. Who’s that African in the background mom? Oh he created the original layouts for the pyramids but was written out the history books and his MTV award was given to “aliens”.
There’s no such thing as fact anymore, only opinion. The closest thing we have to fact is “common opinion”. Everything is an opinion. The way you dress is an expression of your opinion. Your religious beliefs are your opinion. The music you turn up loud is your opinion. For most people it’s easier to just agree. For me the hardest thing is to ‘just’ agree and that is what sparks creativity, the feeling that something can be better, the feeling that something’s missing. The feeling that something’s needed.
