What it do soldier boy?
This week we goin to WAR with All Quiet on the Western
Front by Erich Maria Remarque.
During WWI, Paul Baumer and his boys catch an earful from their
teacher, who tell ‘em they gotta fly they German colors, pack a gat, and run up on dat
French army.
After livin by the trigger in the trenches, Paul and his boy Muller
hit up their homie Kemmerich, whose leg ALL jacked up.
When Kemerich up and dies, Muller scores his fresh kicks since K-diddy ain’t gonna be
needing em no mo.
Back at the front, Paul and his g- man Kat rough through all sorts of ridonkulous
sh**; fools even get bombed in a graveyard where all dat blaze slangs up the dead bodies.
Ugh.. (shiver)
When Paul gets leave to go back to his trap, he realize that the war dun changed
him so much that he can’t kick it in his hood like he used to.
He drops in to pay respects to his his mama who tusslin with cancer.
A little later he goes to chop game with some Russian prisoners who he realize are just
you erryday hoods.
Why’s he gotta fight ‘em when he ain’t got no real beef with ‘em?
Back in the sh**, Paul gets run in to a crater.
When a Frenchy hops in with him, Paul whips out his shank and ENDS that fool.
But Paul gettin all torn up bout his deed, cuz he went and ganked some fool he ain’t
even hate!
Ain’t that some bullsh**?
He fesses up to Kat and his boys but they just like “chill baby.
brotha gotta do what he gotta do.”
As the war goes on, Paul sees all his bruthas drop one by one.
When the Germans start backin down and the end of the war nears, Paul don’t give
a fu** cuz he all alone in the world.
Then one day- POP!
POP!
Paul gets pumped full of lead.
But it ain’t no thang: Paul’s finally got a little peace
and nobody else seems to give a damn.
The report of the day simply reads: S’all quiet on the western front.”
Crews from all over da hood say this book be da most throwed-up
piece of anti-war talk out there.
But for a book with so much street cred, dem ivory tower hoods don’t give
it much respect.
Then again, as some gangstas say- all good art is born of suffering.
Matter of fact, dealin with dat post-war funk is the whole reason he wrote
da book:
The war don’t just ghost bruthas, it haunts em too.
Just like Paul and his posse, Remarque’s whole generation itchin to find meaning in
the world, but just can’t get on that level after beastin through the twisted-ass realities
of the war.
Not only are these soldier boys alienated from anything they found meaningful
before sh** went cray, but also from: who they are, who they’ll become, and the whole
world around them.
With the world gone to complete sh**, you only got time to worry bout the
realest of the reals.
And sometimes there ain’t nothin realer than the bare necessities- like K- Diddy’s
boots.
When K-Baby buys the farm, his boy Muller gets hooked up with a sweet pair of
J’s.
Then after Muller gets capped, Paul starts rockin’ em.
And it ain’t long before Paul follows the rest of em to hang with Tupac and Biggie.
Not only are them boots symbolizing the raw realities of war, but sportin em pretty much
marks yo ass for death.
Paul lays down the cold truth when he say that life is just: dystentery, shells,
tanks, gas, common graves, and death.
But as dark as sh** be, Paul know that he still got one thing keepin him goin:
So come on, comerade.
Rep that esprit de corps and cop some Thug Notes swag.
Stay smart and hit me up next week.
Peace!