Jonathan Mosby
Bio
Born and raised in Atlanta Ga, Flow brings an introspective flavor to hip-hop. Beginning in 2003 with beat making, and 2005 with protools, there has been an exponential growth in both productivity and creativity. Won't let me say more smh
Stories (9)
Filter by community
Return to Art: The Paper
Return to Art: The Paper Imagine two turntables and a microphone. Alone, they seem inanimate, lifeless, and immaterial. Yet, they would come to represent the heart---the very core from which true hip-hop came into being. The average hip-hop listener today would less likely identify with them, as young kids and newcomers to hip-hop alike are saturated with a maelstrom of ubiquitous pop. You know the ones. The ones with those catchy "get the job done" hooks and dumbed-down lyrics. This type of music did not always represent the hip-hop culture; Hip-hop used to be about positivity, teaching others, and having fun. Now it isn't about anything--no one clear objective to reach, just an ongoing audio bad acid-trip that leaves many wanting more. It is akin to a drug, no, a virus that has spread exponentially in the past 30 years. There is, fortunately, a cure for this virus, and it lies in recognizing the link between what is known as old school hip-hop, and new-school hip-hop, and why the old school is the best representation of where hip-hop should go from here on out.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Beat
The African American Addict
The African American Addict Is it still easier find dope, than it is to get a job? Langston Hughes was an American poet, but he was also a social activist, among other things. The most fascinating thing about his work perhaps, is that it is still as relevant today as it was the day he wrote “Junior Addict”; the problems posing African Americans due to their marginalization by a social hierarchal system deep-rooted in sympathies to slavery have never gone away. In fact, one could argue that the problems have increased exponentially. In America today, there are more African Americans under correctional control—in prison or jail, on probation or parole—than were enslaved in 1850, a decade before the Civil War began.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in The Swamp
The Great Loop
The Great Loop Kyle walked through the doors of his new school feeling apprehensive and doubtful. It was the third time he had switched schools; his mother, Kelly, was a stewardess for a big airline company so they moved around a lot. Kyle’s dad died unexpectedly, so Kelly and had to find work fast. The family was in bad financial shape when Kyle’s father passed. Eventually, she found steady work at a bar. While working at the bar, she, through a friend she made there, got caught up in the life of high-class escorts. She liked the attention she would get from men, and most importantly, she liked the money. Kelly was just happy to have a lifestyle that was financially stable, even though it was morally depleting.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Futurism
Origin
Authors Note: So I wrote this way back in 2009 for Adult Swim. A New Superhero Comedy Show Bible: A. 18 years after a drunken orgy with multiple other superheroes, Ponder Whore has a baby(without the other superheroes knowledge) and raises him on the island of women. But eventually, he decides against his mother’s will, to take off across the water in pursuit of his destiny and origin.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Geeks
Titular
EXT. DOWNTOWN ATLANTA GEORGIA - DAY Pan down on a big city in 2020, zoom in to a building showing a MAN inside standing behind one of its many windows. Inside a therapist's office, the MAN has his back turned on the THERAPIST, looking out the window, talking.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Psyche
Imaginary Nightmare
The red ball bounced up and down the rainy driveway of 592 Gilmore street. It was being bounced by Amber, a little girl of no more than ten years old—just as she’d always done since it was given to her by her imaginary friend, Ross. Yari Englehut, Amber’s mother, worried constantly about her daughter’s state of mind. Even now, as she stood in the kitchen window, dressed in corporate attire, she couldn't help but to shed a tear looking at her daughter bouncing that ridiculous ball she found; she feels compelled to go out there and shake some sense into her.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Horror
Behind The Fame
The sky was falling. The air was cold, making the wind feel even colder as it rushed towards Dezmin’s face, along with the rain drops. The year was 2010, and Dezmin’s life was about to change forever. He had been trying to make it in the music industry, but it was next to impossible with everybody else doing the same thing. It always seemed like he was wasting his time when trying to get noticed for his talent. He was about to give up. However, today would be the beginning of the end of his life of poverty, struggle and strife—he just didn’t know it yet. He’d been on many a journey like this; after performing in some club, or competing in some contest; someone would sometimes claim to be able to help him further his career. It was followed by some meeting, in which the party suggests to Dezmin some type of business proposition. But nothing ever came of any meeting. They’d always end up lying, or trying to make themselves rich, richer, or all three! This always left Dezmin back where he was, trying to get noticed. At his last show, after he performed a song he’d recently written, he got the attention of a man by the name Wesley Adams. Mr. Adams told one of his scouters to meet with Dezmin and discuss business. Why it had to be on this day, only God knows. Dezmin’s car was in the shop, and he had to catch a bus to the meeting. That would have been enough, but as luck would have it, the meeting place wasn’t even on the bus line! He would have to walk another five miles to the meeting, in the cold rain. He had time to think as he walked, reflecting on his life. Why am I even doing this shit? And five fucking miles, bruh? Damn. What the fuck, man? How did I get here? Five fucking miles, bruh? Fucking bus. Fucking rain! Fucking cold ass rain! Why don’t you just freeze already? Damn. Turn into snow or some shit ‘cuz man I can handle snow, but this rain-being-cold-as-fuck-and-stabbibing-my-face-shit ain’t cool bruh! Damn. And the damn wind. Don’t even get me started on you, nigga. Always blowing and shit. You helpin’ the rain, ain’t you? Ya’ll in cahoots? Damn. Shit.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Beat
A Lyrical Cry for Help
Rejection. Depression. Loneliness. Guilt. Anger. Revenge. This final album from yours truly encompasses all these--and more. Before I end it all, let me take you through the twists and turns of the convoluted emotional Hellstorm that is..was my life.
By Jonathan Mosby5 years ago in Beat
