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The Best Of Akira The Don, WWWY - TLE?

So I totally joined the Hackney Council Community Gym! I've cycled there and back two days in a row - twice yesterday cos I had to register then come back to fill in my personal details three times over, twice on paper and once on a compute - bloody wasteful council bullcrap - and get my induction.

The lady who inducted me was hilarious. First she got ridonculously excited about my Polish surname, as she was, herself, "100% real Polish". Then she got even more excited after I'd done some stupid test on a computer. "You want to be POWER MAN!" she exclaimed, joyfully, shouting over my protestations that I "merely wish to be normal and fit and healthy like Bruce Lee" with cries of, "Yes! POWER MAN! All Polish men want to be power man! This is very good!"

She then showed me around, helpfully pointing out that the instructions on the various machines showed you how to use them. "The running machine is very boring," she told me, behind her hand, like people do in old films. "Who wants to run on plastic sheet all day? I want to be power man too!"

I have been going to the gym with my old pal Jeres, former guitarist in The Women, current guitarist in White Witches, and on and off  experience addict. He is a demon on the running machines. He did 5k today in 25 minutes. I couldn't be arsed to do more than 10. I was cycling an hour there and back anyway. I had plenty of bloody cardio, thank you all the same.

What else happened today?

Well, I posted MC Lars' new video in the Blob Blog earlier, a visual for a deeply touching song called Twenty-Three, about a friend of his who commited suicide. Amazingly enough, it turns out it was inspired by my song, Patrick, which I recently listened to for the first time in two years with Littles, who was, rightly, amazed by it. I am amazed by it. It is a flipping hardcore song. Anyway, big up Lars. I think its time for us to do that collaboration we've been talking about since '05.

Elsewhere, I unfollowed all those Boondocks avatars on Twitter. They had become annoying, unrepresentative of their characters, and deeply whorish. Grandpa bid me adieu with the following:

See? Totally out of charcter. I wonder who does them? How much do they get paid? Does Aaron McGruder approve?

Never mind that though. We have important things to work out. See, we got representation issues.

If you look for me on on Spotify, or iTunes, or whatever, all you'll find is my really early EPs and this bastardised version of my first album with a load of shit tacked on to the end that my old label put out last month without telling me (I had to find out via flipping Google Alert) after I'd told them specifically not to. Reissue reissue repackage, and I'm not even dead yet! Ruining my album. You know how long I spent getting that album into the shape I got it into? You know what a labour of love that was? My first album! A lifetime's dream! And you stick a load of home recordings onto the end of it and call it "special edition" or some shit to try and con people into buying it or whatever? How dare you! I was outraged. Truly I was. And I still am. Seethe! Rage!

Anyway. The point is that, to those that don't frequent this wonderful, groundbreaking, epoch defining website, I might as well have died in 2006. So we need to edumacate their asses, before we hit them upside the head with The Life Equation, and change the course of history for ever and ever. What I want to do is this - to put together an EP (extended play) of my finest works, following the release of When We Were Young up until now, the eve of The Life Equation. I will take these recordings, polish them up, treat them with respect and love, give them the mastering I was never able to before, and release them into the world, where anybody can find them. Hopefully in about 6 weeks. On the day of that release I will announce the release date of The Life Equation, and we will set about our Great Work.

It's gonna be tricky. I have made a hell of a lot of music in the past 3 and a half years. So I am asking all my friends for their opinions on the matter, and that includes YOU, dear reader. Please help me out in this endeavour by listing you favourite post WWWY, pre TLE songs in the comments below. Write as many as you like. If someone else has already posted one you like, post it too! That way I will get a better idea of what everybody's favourites are. Remember, if you're stuck, there's a great big discography here for you to look around in and refresh your memory, or even create some new ones.

Naturally, I will be thanking you all for your invaluable efforts in the credits. So leave whatever name best suits, or, if you're shy, email it to me.

Let's go!

PS - News of ATD24 on tomorrow's Doncast. 5pm UK time. Be there.

Zzz

So, I got some (ha!) sleep, and I listened to the noises Birddogg was making up here while I was down in New York, doing whatever it was I was doing in New York. Like, there's some ill stuff. But one in particular is just tremendous. it is mighty. It fills my heart. And prefectly fits so many of the raps I was writing in New York, tempom flow, everything. So, what I've done, is draw various raps, and bits of raps, together, to create this New York song that's been brewing all the time I've been here. It is best I get it out now, before I FORGET. Annoyingly, the necassary component is missing. So piss.

Bad: All the stuff I bought last week - food, drink, socks, weed - is gone. Mostly. I got a lot of Ritz crackers, peanut butter and macaroni. Good: There's a Death's Head Moth on my window. (See right) Bad: There is animal shit by my window. Good: The air outside is fresh and envigorating. Bad: The air in the top level of the house, in which I am supposed to be dwelling, is thick with the stink of animal and of animal excrement.

I went to turn on the sauna earlier, and nearly trod in cat shit. Or dog shit. It could be both. Whatever. It's like, wow, sauna! Oh, catshit. Wow! Oh. Wow! Oh. Etc. So, I wanted to go into town and get a job today, to pay for my ticket back to New York, but waited about for people to come with me rather than just doing it, and the end result is it's super late now, too late to get a job anywhere, and everyone's going into town to go out, save me, who must stay at home cos he has no ID (this is a worry), and it's too far to chance not being allowed in anywhere.

A ha!

So I should write more now. I wrote a bunch earlier. Phil is worrying that Amy has forotten his ass, as she went in her tiny car to take Cecelia and James over an hour ago. But she hasn't forgotten him. It's just miles from ShanGayKen to Woodstoock! A HA!

I just asked Spiky if he has a message for the world. He said, "spitroast!" So there you go.

Appologies

So, there were a bunch of updates and pictures and things, and they got wiped! Oh, the tragedy. So, a recap. On my last day on Rivington Street I saw a white thug in an open-top Hummer drive by blasting out 'I Want The One I Can't Have' and nodding along with a serious expression about his face.

Then we went.

Wade and I ended up on the coach, as there was no room in the van, or car. We got there early, and checked out the scene. The scene is small.

We don't actually live in Woodstock. We live in Shandaken, outside. Well, just outside. Half way up a mountain, hidden away by forest, amongst bears and chipmunks and what have you. In a big old dusty house full of weird porn and broken stuff, with brown water and giant ants. Like, there's a jacuzzi, but it doesn't seem to work. There is the biggest TV you've ever seen, but it's got a big black tear across the front and doesn't tune properly. It's a two hour walk to the nearest shop, whihc is a petrol station, and does a good line in biscuits. The local girl's got a lot of guns.

It is very lovely to look at up in Shandaken. Mountains covered in trees, mainly. Streams. Clouds so low you can jump up and punch them.

I miss Wade, who is back in London sorting out affairs. All my stuff is in boxes.