Young Gunz

The young guns have no future,
the young guns have no use.

The old school starts the rage
While the new establishes the fruit.
The trees are ripped yet continue to bear leaves.
The weeds continue to grow, while the pesticides invade the seeds.
Make matters better, formulate a plan.
Investigate my youth culture and see the master's hand.
The hand at work, whippin' up a serious dish.

The young guns have no future
the young guns have no fear.

She has a point, why wait. He has a beef why debate.
Riches are spent, dimes are smoked, education is a waste
Up with dope down with hope. These are our cries. our nightmares
our worst dreams. We need leadership, not charitable donations to MLK's dream.
War is in our backyards, in our homes and in our brains.
The battlefield is invisible and the enemy is insane. One look in the mirror
and our souls may be the blame.

The young guns are our future.
We shall have no fear.

Weap not godmother, shed tears no more.
Brotha's gonna work it out. we will reach that golden shore.
The days of old are our guides, and time has reached its end.
The cycle begins when the in see the end.
Chosen ones we are. So precious are the days. Ignorance can be our disguise
while the lonely ones stand in a daze. Be strong. Wise up. This world is ours,
America the strong...Africans unite.

The young guns are our future. We stand tall.
Communication & Education is the Priority for us all.

State of the Urban Union - My Boo. Hoo, Who?

State of the Urban Union

Thanksgiving weekend 2004 prepares the nation for GWB part II, increased security in the homeland, border patrol and in our National Basketball Association arenas. Our turkeys were fried, baked, smoked and “Organic”, the dressing was full of carbs and our Politicians were once again out with the homeless. Where was I, Brookhaven, GA, home of Oglethorpe university and the ABC Package Store. I was waiting, in my SUV, listening to Hot 107.9 Atlanta’s Hip Hop Voice. My frat brother went in to get a bottle of cognac and a small bottle of Apple pucker to make the Holiday Season festive and bright. It took him a while to stroll out of the store, so I was forced to study the advertisements that scattered the outside of the Middle Eastern Owned establishment. All of the Ads in the dusty neon windows targeted the African American audience. I thought it was a bit odd that a package store in Brookhaven, ( a small community northeast of Atlanta’s popular Buckhead shopping/club district with an estimated population of 10k. 5% of that total representing the African American voice), would target my people. But hey why trip, it was thanksgiving eve.

The next morning, I was awakend by a co-worker who was calling in sick, so I was forced to work hungover on Thanksgiving. I showered, grabbed an apple a few magazines and was off to work. This time I drove in with V103 Atlanta’s self proclaimed “People Station”. Once behind my desk at work, I tuned into netmusique.com’s housemusiqe channel and got down to business. I was in to a great working groove and managed to get quite a bit of work accomplished. Periodically, flashes of the ABC Package Store entered my mind. I stopped working, drank some water, reclined for a minute and thought about the images and sounds from the night before. The music chimed into my mind rather quickly…”drop it like it’s hot” by snoop dogg, the image of a Basketball Player dunking a basketball, with Budweiser written along side of the vertical photo. All merged into one big Palace vs Pacers basketbrawl scene... There wasn’t a magical connection between the three, but strange enough It brought me to a crystal clear observation. African American Youth is being led down a path of destruction.

Thursday evening outside of the Liquor store I heard the following lyrics:

When the pimp's in the crib ma
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
When the pigs try to get at ya
Park it like it's hot
Park it like it's hot
Park it like it's hot
And if a nigga get a attitude
Pop it like it's hot
Pop it like it's hot
Pop it like it's hot
I got the rolly on my arm and I'm pouring Sean Don
And I roll the best weed cause I got it going on.


And on the way to work I heard the following:

Shorty Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
Shorty Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
Oh You Aint Never Been To The Dirty, Dirty Before?
Shorty Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
C'mon Ride With Young Buck

Shorty Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
We Can Get Low, Hop Into The Chevy 4 Door
Blow Dro, Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
Let Ya Hair Down, You Said You Wanna Thug
Don't Be Scared Now
Shorty Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
We Can Get Low, Hop Into The Chevy 4 Door
Blow Dro, Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me
Let Ya Hair Down, You Said You Wanna Thug
Don't Be Scared Now
Shorty Wanna Ride With Me, Ride With Me

My 24's Spinnin', The Sticker's Still On 'Em
The Same Ol' Hoes, But A Nigga Still Want 'Em
I'm Parkin Lot Pimpin' On Another Nigga Woman
She Pullin Up Her Skirt, Tryin Show A Nigga Sumthin
Ya' Car Cloudy, My Niggas All Rowdy
This Heinesy Got A Nigga Drowsy, I'm Outty
Now Where Them Hoes At, Look I'm Tryin To Take You Home
So What'cha Got Ya Girlfriends, Bitch Bring 'Em On
Hoe I'm Tryin To Break A Bone, When I Get In Them Draw's
To The Window, To The Muthafuckin Walls
What A Nigga Don't Know Wont Hurt Him'
If Ya' Got A Old Man, Bitch I Ain't Worried
And I Got Plenty Room If Ya Think You Wanna Roll
See This Is What They Make Caddillac Trucks For
Let's Go To A Place You Ain't Never Been, Down In The Country
I Bet Ya, I Have Ya Sayin' Ya Love Me

I thought about my Aunt Linda's comment about Ray Charles. "There was a few songs that they didn't play on the Radio from Ray Charles cuz it was to raw...but now they will play just about anything." I told her that if she actually heard the explicit version she would cringe. Why do I wish to point out such lyrics, especially during this phase of my life? It beats me, but the meaning becomes crystal clear when you read the lyrics instead of hearing them mixed with the beat. For the record, I am still the same cat who Hosted a high rated Hip Hop show for 5 years and played these lyrics for my mentor Oliver Harrington (famous political cartoonist/activist):

I grew up on the crime side, the New York Times side
Staying alive was no jive
At second hands, moms bounced on old men
So then we moved to Shaolin land
A young youth, yo rockin the gold tooth, 'Lo goose
Only way, I begin to gee off was drug loot
And let's start it like this son, rollin with this one
And that one, pullin out gats for fun
But it was just a dream for the teen, who was a fiend
Started smokin woolies at sixteen
And running up in gates, and doing hits for high stakes
Making my way on fire escapes
No question I would speed, for cracks and weed
The combination made my eyes bleed
No question I would flow off, and try to get the dough all
Sticking up white boys in ball courts
My life got no better, same damn 'Lo sweater
Times is ruff and tuff like leather
Figured out I went the wrong route
So I got with a sick ass click and went all out
Catchin keys from across seas
Rollin in MPV's, every week we made forty G's
Yo nigga respect mine, or anger the tech nine
Ch-chick-POW! Move from the gate now

[Chorus: Method Man]

Cash, Rules, Everything, Around, Me
C.R.E.A.M.
Get the money
Dollar, dollar bill y'all

Hey, I wore the Dew Rags, I smoked the dro, and I even did a crip walk in the mirror. I am no prude. In fact I do not fear the backlash that this blog will create. But what I do see is my little brother’s and sister’s going down a road that I fear they will not be able to return. Here’s my train of thought. When I first heard Hip-Hop it represented the American Dream, two turntables a piece of cardboard and a “box.” The rhymes were wholesome and empowering, especially if you recited them daily for example:

Try to answer to the master on the MC rap artists
No joke on the lyric -it's hard to be modest
I knew I was the man with the master plan
To make you wiggle and jiggle like gelatin
Just think while I sing and to the brain structure
Don't sleep on the E -- 'ya see, something might rupture
I don't take time for me to blow your mind
It takes a second to wreck it because you're dumb and blind
So just lounge . . . 'Cause you're a MC clown
Or join the circus . . . EPMD's in town

Total chaos -- no mass confusion
Rhymes so hypnotizing known to cause an illusion
Like a magician who draws a rabbit out a hat, son
I'm drawin' more, like a 44-Magnum
MC's please stop, look, and listen and try to imagine
it's travellin' the speed of lighjt, but everything' motion it's frightening
Plus the thought of you alone
You now enter the dimension called the Twilight Zone
You're terrified . . . plus you can't bear the thought
You and I one-on-one in the land of the lost
You start to shiver . . . then you scream, my friend
You wake up, Muttley, because you're dreamin' again
Next time I'm on the scene . . . do not try to diss us
Keep your mouth suckered up, because I'm Strictly Business

This is the rap season . . . when the E starts pleasin'
Girls around the world no need to be skeezin'
When I roll I stroll, Cool always pack a 2
Just in case . . . a brother acts a fool
I've got the energy to put the girlz in a frenzy
Put a shock when I rock even though I'm not stingy
Make sure I don't bore when I'm on the dance floor . . .
Get busy, boy . . . like you never saw before
Rhyme flow . . . good to go . . .
After the show . . . I'll pull your hoe, boy
"Do you sniff blow??" -- Hell no
Got my whole life ahead of me, no time to be sniffin'
And if my parents find out, then they start riffin'
So I stay, A-OK
'Cause I'm the E . . . the R-I-C-K

MC's look me in the face and their eyes get weak
Pulse rate descends . . . heart rate increases
It's like beam me up, scotty, I control your body
I'm as deadly as AIDS when it's time to rock a party
With all due respect, when I say mike check
I let a sucker slide once . . . then I break his neck
So when I say jump, you'll reply "How high?"
Because I'm takin' no prisoners, so don't play hero and die
You're just a soldier . . . and I'm a Green Beret
I do not think twice about the MCs I slay
So if you want to battle, i highly recommend this:
Bring your dog, mom, and dad . . . because I'm Strictly Business

Yo, yo, you're still pickin' on that four-leaf clover?
Bring in the sandman, sucker . . . because it's over
My name is Eric Sermon and I'm back again
I see the head's still turnin' of my so-called friends
They smile in my face -- behind my back they talk trash,
Mad and stuff - because they don't have cash
Like the E-Double . . . or the Pee-MD
He drives a Corvette, I drive a semi-iroc Suzuki
I'm the locksmith . . . with the key to fame
Never high on myself, always stay the same
Play a lot because I'm hot and like a horse I trot
Around the track and back, fatigued?? No, I'm not

I'm the mellow, the fellow, the one that likes to say hello
To a fly girl that is good to go
With the slow tempo and the off-beat rhyme flow
'Cause when I am in action, there is no time for maxin' or relaxin
Just reactin' and subtractin'
On a sucker MC who's mouth keeps on yappin' and flappin'
I lose my cool, then I'll be start slappin' and smackin'
You on a roll, then I'll be start jackin' and cappin'
No time to lounge, I'm packin' and strappin'
At my point attack I soar at you like an eagle,
I'm the sheriff, and bitin' is illegal
So next time in town, I highly recommend this,
You gots to chill, because I'm Strictly Business

Business. Music was indeed about the business of having fun, but being able to express how clever you were. The rhyme flow was our emancipation from the chains of the hood and way to express your inner most desires and dreams. Historically we crushed our way through Rodney King, Ronald Regan, George Bush and the countless numbers of gang wars, drug wars and foreign soil wars only to land back in the BUSH with this:

[Hook]
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my cuz that's my

[Lil Wayne]
Murder one on one, the hottest nigga under the sun
I come from under the tummy, bustin a tommy
Or come from under your garments, yo chest and your arm hit
Pow, one to the head now you know he dead
Now you know I play it, like a pro in the game
Naw better yet a veteran a hall of fame
I got that medicine, I'm better than all the names
Ay its Cash Money Records man a lawless gang
Put some water on the track, Fresh for all his frame
Wear a helmet when you bang it man and guard yo brain
Cuz the flow is spasmatic what they call insane
That aint even a muthafuckin aim I get dough boy
And you already know that pimpin
18 how I'm livin young'n show that Bentley
Stunna my Pa so you know that's in me
Gotti my mentor so don't go there wit me

[Hook]
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my cuz that's my

[Hook]
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my cuz that's my

[Lil Wayne]
And I move like the Coupe thru traffic
Rush hour GT Bent' roof is absent
Ya bitch present wit the music blastin
And she keep askin how it shoot if its plastic
I tell her you see if ya boy run up, she said back and cut the Carter back
up, oh fa sho
Ay Big Mike they betta step thangs its already up
Before they step to a sergeant's son, I got army guns
You niggas never harmin young, fly wizzy my opponents done, I'm done talking
And I aint just begun, I been runnin my city like Diddy ya chump
I fly by ya in a foreign whip, on the throttle wit a model bony bitch
Paraphony tips, her hair is long and shit, to her thong and shit
Well here we go so hold on to this, uh lets go

[Lil Wayne talking]
Hold on let me hit the blunt
So go, so go
This is the, this is the, this is the
This is the, this is the, this is the
This is the Carter

[Hook]
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my cuz that's my

[Lil Wayne]
Birdman put them niggas in a trash can
Leave em outside of your door I'm your trash man
I'm steady lightin another hash and ridin in my jag
You will need a gas mask man
You snakes, stop hidin in the grass
Sooner or later I'll cut it knock the blades in yo ass
You homo niggas getting Aids in the ass
While the homie here tryna get paid in advance
I'm stayin on my grizzy I'ma bonafide hustler
Play me or play wit me then I'm goin find your mother
Niggas wanna eat cuz they aint ate nothin
But niggas wanna leave when you say you out of mustard
So I'ma walk into the restaurant alone, leavin out
Leavin behind just residue and bones
In your residents with Rugers to your dome
Like where the fuck you holdin the coke, holdin your throat, choke

This, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this
This is the Carter

[Hook]
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my DJ
Say go DJ, cuz that's my cuz that's my

Go DJ, DJ, DJ

Seriously folks, our youth now dreams of death and destruction. Our Xbox/PS2 games teach our youth the value of death…Killing = no more worries. This is my interpretation of the perfect Hip-Hop formula:
Sampled Beat + Criminal Lyrics – Truth / hope = success. The 80's was filled with dance songs that helped us love and learn to love ourselves, the 90's kept us aware and in touch with our communities, Y2K has transformed our culture into a Sex, drugs and money environment. Where we can Pimp our rides, show off our cribs, confess our sins to Dr. Phil and be tried by Judge Hatchett all in a matter of Hours...once done returning to our Desperate Housewives and re-run the Sex-in the City. But have no fear...Creflo Dollar comes on in the morning and we can do it all over again.

I can only hope that Usher and Alicia Keys can help us mend our wounds.

verse 1 (usher)

there`s always that one person that will always have your heart
you never see it coming cuz` your blinded from the start
knew that you`re that one for me
its clear for everyone to see
oooo baby
(you gotta rock away to this one)
you will always be my boo

chorus 1(alicia keys)

i don`t kinow about ya`ll but i know about us
and this the only way we know how to rock
(x2)

verse 2 (usher)

do you remember girl,
i was the one who gave you your first kiss,
cuz i remember girl i was the one who said put your lips like this
even before all the fame and people screamin your name
girl i was there and you were my baby

chorus 2 (usher)

it started when we were younger
you were my...(my boo)
now another brother`s taken over but its alright
even though we used to argue its alright
i know we haven`t seen each other in a a while but you will always be my boo

(alicia)

did you know even when we were younger
you were my...(my boo)
when i see you from time to time
it does feel like your my boo (my boo)
and no how hard i try to hide you`re my boo (my boo)
even though there`s another man who`s in my life you will always be my boo

verse 3 (alicia)

yes i remember boy, cause after we kissed i could only think about your lips
yes i remember boy, the moment i knew you were the one i would spend my life with
even before all the fame and people screamin your name i was there and you were my baby...

chorus 2

verse 4 (usher)

my oh, my oh, my oh, my, my, my boo!
my oh, my oh, my oh, my oh, my boo!

chorus 2

chorus 1

En peace...

Thanks and praises

DUE THANKS TO THE MOST HIGH FOR HE GIVES ME STRENGTH AND WISDOM.
Thanksgiving, a time for feast, family and fellowship with friends. Thinking back on the days of way back prompted me to pour out a little eye candy for those who aren't here:

Torn from the struggle of savings, good tithing and expressions of love brought me spoils from of the ghetto via angles above. The times of our past made me a much brighter man. Decades between us delivered automatic reverence. Mistaken marriage provided an increased exposure that should have lasted forever. But, expiration dates do not appear on our heads.

Thanksgiving was a time that we all would dread. Like the tears of that clown who dances the jig, I was a victim of lost love from infancy throughout all episodic adventures lived. We lost them time after time; years became months, the countdown till November always ended with a concrete stump. But those were the days, and now we mature.

MARCH ON VICTORIOUS LEADERS, RISE TO HEAVENS GLORY.

The lost loved ones look down and smile at our fears. Weep not victory is theirs, Heroes in heaven surfing on angelic currents of tears. Pause. Catch a moment to inhale, close your eyes. Be silent - exhale. The minds eye allows the inner soul to speak. Shh, be silent and feel the envelope of angels. Softly in the darkness of the Lords love circles the angelic army fluttering below eagles and above the doves.

"Drip."

An angel leaked a bit of moisture off of her cheek. Be calm. These sounds aren't ghostly demons aiming to invade. Open your arms for you shall not be afraid. For the ancestors they guide you with the Lord's wisdom and care. Laughter and smiles of the times we shared are chronologies within the stacks of St. Peter’s lair. So now angels watch over you, to see for themselves...Yet you are to busy. Blessed but stressed, on the go, to worried about tomorrow to stop and think. The Golden Faucets they drink from have no condensation, and fail to leak. But that's a conversation for the saved ones at home. Memories are closely kept for times alone. Yet we waist idle time on a cellular phone. The elders scream out “Learn from your mistakes and ours too.” Become wiser as we pass on, this is what makes up the chosen few. Protect the youth and give as you received. That is the Heavenly golden truth indeed. Lost ones are loved ones that continue to live longer than our desired greed.

en peace.

Condo-leez-ay! in tha White heaz-ay fo cheez-ay!

Alright, so the "eeezay's" and the "izzel's" have reached their expiration date. But I had to use it to help drive my point home. IF George Bush gets his way, we will have an African American woman as the Secretary of State. Now this isn't a small detail. Do you realize that if "W" dies on an oil rig explosion and Haliburton's finest takes and "L" during a midnight Wendy's binge...that we would have the first Female and African American president all at the same time? Whoa! There is no wonder that Bush passed the Automatic Weapons bill prior to winning the election. If you thought Bush wasn't visiting the NAACP before, you can count on one hand the number of times he will hit the Ghetto in 2005-8.

Chicago's own FOI are currently working on their own theories...how to take out the W and replace the Texan with Rice. For the record, I personally have no association with any presidential death threat or National Security breech...So, don't come looking for me FEMA/FBI. But, I do think that the potential is cool. Just think, A sistah running the govt. Scratch that A republican sistah running the govt. Oh, the budget would be reached, every dead beat dad would be working on the Highway chain-gang, and AIDS would be as harmless as herpes. Steely Dan's What a Wonderful world would be our Global Anthem. World leaders would rename her from: Uncle Ben's Wild Rice to Rice-A-Phony the tempermental treat. It is an old Mason oath, neverr fuck around with a Black woman's anger. Just look at how "Leezay" handled herself during the 911 hearings. The entire country was impressed with her calming professional tone. Come on, that was how ALL sistahs handle themselves when faced with unwarranted drama. But, you all know that The minute she would hit office a sex tape of her and R. Kelly would surface and she would be stripped of her title faster than Vanessa Williams. In fact, by the time she would be sworn in as the Interim-President, all of Washington would be in search of "Coni's" past. Every ticket, bad grade, sexual murmur would all surface and topple all of the Watergate/White Water trial records. But of course the next in line would be a Mexican-American man. "La-RAZA!"

en peace

O.D.B. RIP

It was a late September afternoon in 1993. I was working for an awful Newspaper in the middle Battle Creek, Michigan. I would escape this city every Friday and roll up to my Alma Mater: Michigan State University. I had an "L" rolled in my ash tray and I would roll the windows down in my 4 door Geo Metro and smoke my troubles away while driving up to the City of Dreams...East Lansing. I was blessed with an advanced copy of Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 chambers, from a fellow College Radio Alum, Jason Staten. The 1 hour and 35 min trip was filled with smoke and beats from this new group. By the time I reached EL, I had to hip some of my boys to the CD. I had mad trees on me back then so I just stopped at the Frat House and lit up blunt after blunt once I made it safely onto campus. Usually, my Metro outside of the Frat House was a signal to all of my smoke mates that I was in town and was holding. In fact it was amazing how many ladies and homies would just drop into the house on those Friday afternoons. I'll give 35% of the credit to my "holding" status and the remaining credit to the frat. (I'm a cocky SOB.) Anyhow, the WU. Man the WU redefined the music for the East! We all were aspiring MC's but the WU made our top 10 list from the first drop of Bring D Rukus. If the Freestyle smoke session needed a beat...shiiiitt, pop in that wu-tang. Clan in Da front was my personal Freestyle favorite...But wait. I digress...This aint about me per se. This is about the Old Dirty Bastard.

The strange career of the ODB had to be one of the best examples of what Hip Hop can do to an individual. yet today...I found out that ODB was dead and asked myself the following question. Can it all be so simple? Here was a brotha who was just released from jail, signed with the ROC, and had more than 6 kids...each with their own momma. This man had stopped the drugs because of his Parole and was trying to complete an LP and bam! His master called his number. Now ODB stands at the Gate of Heaven. Does God give him the Shame on a Nigga speech? Is he a victim of his own Gluttony, Lust, Greed and Sloth? I hope not. In fact I pray that this brotha is forgiven of his sins. This no doubt is a tragic sign to our youth. Sure, we had the death of Rick James recently who in fact had similar issues as ODB, but his death was significant to the 45-55 year old crowd.

ODB's death is a sign to my generation. The Gen X-men and women.

Back in College we had multiple sex partners, dropped shrooms, acid, and in fact we passed women like we passed joints. True and sad at the same time. I have many friends who led lives similar to ODB and some who knew when to quit. I stopped smoking about 2.5 months ago. Why would I stop the weed? Well it was very simple. I came to from sinus surgery and couldn't speak or focus. Constant smoke for over 20 years had caused my body to produce large amounts of mucus in my sinus passages and began to drain into the back of my throat, that was enough for me. No more. Drinking was out also. I was cured of my sickness with every new breath of fresh air, and with ODB's death I am reminded of what could have been.

What would have happened if we signed a deal after the Band in the Hand's live performance. What would have happened if The Playlist had hit it big and become more powerful than the Source or Vibe magazine. What would have happened if I had stopped smoking 10 years ago? Would life be all sunshine, partly cloudy or mixed Tstorms? Who knows...but I see the death of ODB as a sign. A sign to Hip Hop and a sign to all those who are lost. Vivid characters in Hip Hop die young. Fathers of families live long. Be strong my smokers. Just say no. But first put one up in the air for The old dirty bastard.

En peace

A Conversation with Carl pt 2...

Carl what makes you a such a liberal Democrat? Living down south has its advantages...you get a chance to see the country from a different perspective. You can actually find Republicans who care about the global community and not just the almighty dollar. In fact, Many African Americans chose to become Republicans due to the Filthy, Sleezy, Democrats who take advantage of the poor black underclass men and women. Which makes me wonder...Why do African Americans side with the Party that failed to deliver us from slavery, and continues to put on their tap shoes and dance with us whenever election time comes around. Kerry/Edwards ticket lost and now democrats are leaving the ghetto in shambles. Kerry/Edwards signs now litter the streets just like old Hip Hop LP Posters. The renovated campaign headquarters are now abandoned buildings of failed hope. After this election they should have stuck around to help dry our eyes. Now we sit in our ghetto fubulous projects waiting for another blue-eyed savior. Democratic voting has been my choice for 5 elections. In fact I voted for KERRY this year. Yet, somehow post-Clinton lifestyle has turned into a dog-eat-dog society. Ask yourself...who cares about the African American vote? Lets look at the numbers...All of your blue states had heavy AA voters. We turned out in large numbers. Yet our southern AA voters in the Red States...our Truck Driving/Chicken Ranchero's and Agriculturalists...voted for Bush. Why? Because they know how to make money. The Democratic ticket rarely stopped in Rural America. The small town matters. Death tolls from Iraq matter in Small towns...yet Taxation matters so much more. African Americans need to find a leader quick. One who can assemble the culture and do more than ask us to Vote or Die...obviously we aren't dead...or are we 3 ft high on the totem pole? (Just ask the Native Americans who sit 3 ft below us.) I better start speaking spanish...it seems to me that Brown is the Republicans favorite people of color.

The chosen ones

Who be the chosen 3? It is obvious that there is a trinity but hmmm could it all be so simple, when the Savior, pastor and spirit aren't so clear. Come on. Help is on its way. Analytical minds say that I should pray. Prayer is power, every hour, on the bus or a plane driving to school and in church. What is it worth. Millions of dollars appear on the doorsteps of the right, while the left gets what's left. Cause? Take a guess. Who am I but the man in the middle, caught in the blessed state of righteous living. I prosper. I grow. Thank God, I know. The universal truth. There is a God, and there is a faith that remains true in my soul.

We are chosen. We are the freedom walkers, the moonlight stalking brown. From the visions of Hagar and Ishmael we are those who are looked upon as failures. Non-believers, the stepped on few. Darker than your Autumn Brew. We are the Native African Americans. We are the captive collectives living in modesty, driving in wealth. The chosen ones survive, the families grow. The education diminishes and success breeds flight. Slave runaways bred from reality, unconscious of society. Quotes of planning & preparation prevent our growth. Sharecropper mentality has been overrun by hip hopper sensuality. And you ask me about the trinity? Your destiny seems to be about Myself, I and me. Fathers, Sons and Holy Spirituality has been replaced by MTV. What quality can one gain from a remote control and bag of corn - butter popped? Or better yet, a game that teaches war, when we all wish war was over. Recover, please. We are the individuals who should be in control. Angels do our battles...and they drop more than Iraqi innocence. Misery loves company. Especially when it comes in 3's like bad luck, why are we stuck? Lack of faith, unforgiving grudges? Lost tribes of the Lord live on. We shine, we spiritually escape accident, drama and pain...yet we remain convinced that it was luck. Chosen ones stand up. Unite your power. Get married; make love in the shower of the Almightiest love. Aren't the pigeons in the ghetto doves?

En peace

Dyin tryin...ode to kafia

I was tryin too. It was so hard to do. Live or luv. that's what I understood, either do wrong or be up to no good. There was no right way. Just the wrong way to play...which wasn't ok. But I was tryin. Trying to be someone else, striving for the mantle piece of my dreams. Trying to become the dad that my dad always was but never was to me, or perhaps I just couldn't see. Life changes a man after 33. Damn, could I be so right. Sitting in the bed at 3am at night. yes that's right. if it is dark out side don't that make it night...I try, I strive to do what is in my soul, but out of control enimies come at me with out fail. I duck and dodge but temptation is tough. Faith is even tougher. Keep on brotha man. Strive to become better than the other man. But who is that man. Shades of skin make it hard to read between the lines. I guess we just have to do our best to be more than blind. We have to use our inner eye. Beyond the third wave. We have to use our love gague. The item that makes us grow after the relationship has wilted. The experienced tear that has dried and become the salt that heals our wounds. Life deals heavy blows. But on this day. I am going to stop Tryin'. I am going to do. One never knows do one. When the sun rises the dew comes. unlike any tear, more like the sweat from our ancestry. Or perhaps like the ocean spray from a distant land. The echoes cry "We do much better than you, and we got less". What a mess, I'm in debt, but you're homeless. I am king of my destiny. Tryin' aint in my vocabulary. well it used to be, after today Tryin' isn't equal to Free - do -me. So what! it is a stretch. But what can a brotha do when he sees life as sketch. A brief note from a friend from back in the day. Do I sit around with dismay. Hell no, cut the locks and sport a fro. What up Doe. You from the D. How many folk you know that be tryin' daily.

Tryin' is different than doin. And doin is easier than tryin' but the definition of tryin sounds so sweet, angelic even. But how.

En peace.