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Rating: << Do you know why they call it the American dream? Because it only comes true when you're asleep.>>
Year of Our Lord 2011.
Obama's America, of the welfare state without real control anymore, of social tensions, of the hypercaloric humanism nourished by the social media advent, of delicate foreign balances with the specter of wars becoming more and more concrete. A land that has always drawn its charm from contradictions: the racial revenge of the upper bourgeoisie, while in the lower ranks a climate of terror still prevails. A revenge that will soon lead to defeat, generating that morbid retro sentiment that five years later will open the doors to Trump, which my father bought for two pennies at the fair.
A disturbing and sinuous decadence.
"Human beings in a mob, What's a mob to a king?
What's a king to a God? What's a God to a non-believer
Who don't believe in anything?
Will he make it out alive?
Alright, alright
No church in the wild"
America obsessed with celebrities, the sweet life, the rivers of money and that juicy nectar oozing from the breast of some magazine-cover deity: disvalue as the only value.
The quintessential pop character of the 20s, the one who more than anyone else has given a face to narcissism, to megalomania that meets one of the most towering and influential personalities of a music genre, the young Sinatra from Brooklyn. The galvanizing unruliness that blends with intoxicating machismo rigor.
"Uh, I invented swag
Poppin' bottles, puttin' supermodels in the cab, proof"
vs
"They say I'm crazy, well, I'm 'bout to go dumb again
They ain't see me 'cause I pulled up in my other Benz
Last week I was in my other other Benz
Throw your diamonds up 'cause we in this bitch another 'gain"
The two richest rappers in the United States
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