Rick Ross is at a weird but decent place right now, not a star (he said so himself years earlier) but not irrelevant. He doesn't have to do a lot, as his natural talent at rapping and beat selection carries him through. Sometimes he puts his foot in his mouth and says gross shit, but overall, Ross has been doing just fine. But there are moments where any of us may question our perception of reality, where we wonder why the hell we're in this situation to start with. The world as a whole in 2017 is one of these, yes, but let's zoom in on our hero Rozay at his own instance of confusion.
For context, there is no context. The ontological and spatial mystery of the event only heightens its inherent anxiety. We don't see Ross before he enters, nor do we see much of him afterwards. This stressful squeeze is all there is to existence as far as we (and Rozay) are concerned. Plato wrote about this dilemma in his cave allegory, the Wachowskis perfected its execution in The Matrix. It all makes sense. As a great hero once said, "How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren't real?" We're not done yet, though.
Ross executes this maneuver as an act of defiance "for all the fatboys out there." He has indeed lost a lot of weight, which is what makes this possible. His intensity is notable however, as displayed in the complex facial expression below:
It's a face that shows disapproval and determination, but the strongest undercurrent is that of regret. Regret for the self, regret for others, regret for the sport of Nascar racing. Even Da Vinci didn't accomplish this level of relatable ambiguity in the Mona Lisa. We are all scowling through our own Nascar squeezes every hour of every day. Rick Ross, thank you for illuminating our universal struggle.
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