Peace to Homeboy Sandman for taking the time out. Download his latest mixtape There Is No Spoon. Shout out to Elmhurst.

Someone you look up to, dead or alive.
My pop.

Someone you look look down on.
I try not to look down on anybody, but these emcees who be selling blacks into slavery, they’re my toughest test.

Other than music, what’s worth living for?

You fasted all day, what are you dieing to eat?
Frozen mango chunks.

You’re at a party, what’s your drink?
Orange juice mixed with pineapple juice.

Name a song you can’t stand.
Ten Crack Commandments. When Primo spun it at the Brooklyn Hip Hop Festival and I looked out over a sea of beautiful people bopping in unison to a song about selling crack, an incredible feeling of shame, disgust, and sadness overcame me.

You’re going to be deaf by morning, what do you ask to listen to?
Everything Stevie Wonder ever did. I might not even get to finish that by morning. I’d go in chronological order from the oldest stuff to the most recent.

Life after death?

How do you hope to be remembered?
Honest. Principled.

How do you hope you are not remembered?
Money driven.

Free verse, anything else on your mind?
I used to love Ten Crack Commandments just like the next guy, but now that I’m honest with myself about how hip hop music is wielded against us, towards the aim of manipulating us into a feeble confused people who aspire to criminality and despicability, qualifying us for legal enslavement in prisons, stripping our children of their morals by making it cool to be everything you’d never want your child to be, I just can’t fuck wit it.