@AWKWORDrap Named @Schmap "Editor's Pick" for #MarsBar Commentary (ft. HD #HipHop #Music Video)

To read (and DIGG!) the original post, with personal commentary, HD music video and photos, click HERE.

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Special thanks to the editor(s) at Schmap.com.

The Gog Log: Is there life after Mars? (ft. East Village Emcee AWKWORD)

[Behind-The-Scenes: AWKWORD - "The People's Champ" (HD Music Video)]


[Behind-The-Scenes: AWKWORD - "The People's Champ" (HD Music Video)]

R.I.P. Mars Bar. (And that scenester hive Max Fish, too.) They're saying this is the end of the East Village. (At least the end of an era.) For me, it's not the end of the world — that is, if they really are building AFFORDABLE housing. But it is sad, and it is scary. It signifies the whitewashing of our neighborhood — and that aint Hip Hop. There's a reason I shot my video for "The People's Champ" outside the Mars Bar. Once it's gone, it's doubtful I'd do much of anything on the corner of 1st & 2nd.

**READ A PERSONAL — AND INFORMATIVE — ESSAY ON THE INEVITABLE CLOSING AT THE GOG LOG**

(It features my take on the subject, as well as the youtube video for my workingman's anthem "The People's Champ", shot at the Mars Bar and featuring local street artists!)





Written by AWKWORD.

My Fortress of Schirlingtude

The streets are full of the trendy, the hip, the loud and fucked. 90 dollar shirts covering waxed and spray tanned bros. They stand like douchebag cattle outside their loud clubs, smoking and basking in the warmth of their bullshit and smug self worth. Cheap makeup plastered on girls dressed in their sluttiest best. The game continues for them. The hunt. The smell of PBR, desperation, and hardons fill the air. I make my way through this crowd, head down. Avoid eye contact, thats how they get you. A polite hello one minute to a semi-familiar face, and the next thing you know you are doing jagerbombs and dancing to a top 40 hit. Fuck No. Not me. Keep the head down. Weave through this tapestry of bullshit and fucked priorities. Stay anonymous. Keep the goal in mind. Target acquired. I see the green door. Relief washes through me like a cool crisp wave. Almost safe. Almost there. Don't lose focus now. Oh fuck, a drunk fat girl is making a scene, crying on the street, fatter friends trying to console her. Avoid this last obstacle. I reach it. Like a HOME, but without the judgment, and constant disappointment. The sign greets me, NO FUCKING HIPSTERS. This isn't the place for that. People take their drinking seriously here. Mass amounts are consumed in a unhealthy amount of time by the perpetually awesome. The truly blessed. Those that have no time for dancing and girly shooters. The door opens, beckoning, welcoming us back. Hug the doorman, a compatriot. I glance at my brother, I see the same look in his eyes. So many crazy things have happened in here. Too much of us......blood, sweat, tears, vomit......has been spilled on these floors for us to ever call another place home. Take the plunge, go down the stairs. Descending into the musty dank soothing womb. Madness awaits. I have seen it all here. The true dregs of humanity. Occasionally, despite the ominous undertones in the entryway, some of the brave tools will venture down, poke a head in. I see the disgust, the wrinkled brow. There is no bullshit here, not for the kind they crave. Get the fuck out. This is our place. The vibe is loud now. I see my brother yelling in the corner. My Guinness, number 5million tonight, is cold and soothing. A chick falls off her barstool. A fat uggo is puking in a trash can. the shitters are clogged again. I look up. Deep breathe. I am at home among the madness, the random acts of bullshit. I am at home.