“At first, when I thought about birthing a new race and adding the prosthetics, I thought that maybe they should have a certain way they should walk or maybe they move a certain way, but then I realized it is actually a race within our race; it’s a mindset.”
- Source
part of my scratchnotes for a spoken word session
a canvas of my city, where the ugly turns pretty
In my city where there are too many cars,where the stars seem so far,
in my city, of big men and small deeds, classy ladies for cheap thrills,
reasonably absurd in a parody of a faithfull flirth.
My city, where some are more euqal then others,
where children become fathers, and where noone really bothers
they say the blue skies are blue,our blue skies are grey,
and intoxication takes place where saints were once laid.
in my city,there is nothing for sure.
when nothing is sacred,when nothing is pure.
Dear Mr.President I will addres you quite openly
because I see you speak of morality and fiscal clarity
while a bunch of your sons sanity swims down the drain of price calamity
that justifies recesional reality from economic rationality
but didn't Adam Smith state that economic theory lacks applicability
in real situations concerning worldly probabilities
cuz, quite realisticly, every 5th childs' dreams of better life eligibility
evaporate with the epiphany of your next move towards sustainability
big brother is now a real life government experiment on anti-hostility
and our every move and word you record for reasons of security
so how come you can't hear the cries of detrimental social disparity
or is CCTV blind for midnight sexuality and penal forms of insanity
caused by a fusion of pop-culture (i)morality and alcohol afinity!
Im tired of not saying a thing, Im tired of letting this slide
It is not about hip-hop anymore,it just happened to be what opened the door
for my mind and my soul, at which point I chose to take control
look around the world and let go of this race that we hold
this sadness, this madness, this perverted notion of religion and god
global warming won't revert the cold in my soul
nor will all the fannies that shine from the magic box on us all
it will not make me slip from the rhyme I behold
it will not make me forget what goes on in central hall
so this open letter is a dire warning to you all
from another lost child that had enough and won't take anymore!
06.02.2011
