SPACE IS THE PLACE
by John Coney (but basically Sun Ra)
(review by Jhaegar Holdburn)

To be honest, I don't even know who John Coney is. We're not here for him, we're here for the Afrofuturist, tongue-in-cheek (at least according to me) philosopher, jazz iconoclast, Sun Ra and his intergalactic or whatever other space preposition Arkestra.

(Coney does have a great low angle, kinda Dutch angle, too, chase shot in the end that's very well composed with exceptional momentum)

But Sun Ra and his story of my-sto(e)ry. And unlike his story, Sun Ra's story never repeats itself. I repeat myself sometimes, but that's Price's story, not M.'s stery. The God Particle links upon the draining Czhain in the Daises rain for The Sunrise. What are we waiting for? The Sunrise. The Sunrise of Sun Ra's (Sun Sun's) Afrofuturist...uh...future. Cuz Space is the Place (and we like it like that) escaping the Matrix so Andrew Tate will think we're passable and gold-digging, hash-slinging, Klaus Kinski and his predatory hands wringing, perfect red-pilled-Paradise.

Neo's Neophyte fighting in this Neo Fight

Mr. Ra - Mystery - Mr. Mystery

But who asks after Mr. E.?

Eazy-E?

Is Mr. E. a Real G?

Or did he snatch the Black from Thee?

Four Stars out of Four