The Dead Emcee Scrolls (10 page)

The rhythm of these seven poems is also of great interest. Whether read aloud or to oneself the rhyme patterns are easily decipherable, quite often complex, and seem to cover many distinct styles of emceeing. The complexity of the rhyme patterns of certain chapters seems to correlate to the complexity of the subject matter. Yet, the content of a recited piece, even of great complexity, is much more easily digestible through the use of rhyme and rhythmic patterns.

It has been a great temptation of mine either to footnote or to write a complete companion piece to these seven poems. Yet, I believe that there is more insight to be found by sharing it with as many as possible and allowing people to discover their own references and viewpoints. My opinions on the text and on hip-hop are my own. I can claim no true authority over the art form or the varied voices of our generation. I am one of many. It has been my intention to share these words in their written form for the sake of accomplishing what I have believed to be my personal responsibility since finding them. Regardless of how they reach you, one thing remains clear: Whether hip-hop is the offspring of the streets or a seed planted by ancient African shamans whose foresight allowed them to plant seeds in the hearts and minds of a stolen people, only to blossom four generations after slavery for the sake of expressing the highest ideas of freedom, it's ours, or in the words of T-La Rock, it's yours.

These are, perhaps, some of the greatest moments of my life. I have “been led” or “fallen into” or “happened upon” a series of events, revelations, insights that have brought on some of the most intense feelings and experiences I have ever had. My overall search has been effortful, but these newly acquired insights, sensibilities, and thoughts have been effortless steps toward a greater state of awareness. These past few days I have had several awkward or mystical occurrences, which were almost immediately confirmed as “real” or “valid” in a later moment.

I have been led to adopt new beliefs, which seem to be a prerequisite to existing beyond the mirror. I am very sure that there is much to be experienced beyond the mirrors of this physical realm. By “beyond” I mean seeing past an image or through, within, or behind it. Yet, also seeing it as it is. And I mean “is” in the fullest sense. I am both blessed and burdened. Now that I know, or am at the beginning of knowing, I must act or be eternally un …

I was born today.

Just now.

Just now.

Just now.

Just now.

Just now.

Mixed emotion

Contrived commotion

Natural struggle

Lead-filled sacks

On non-burdened backs

Finding the time to love

In the midst of chaos

It birthed us, nourishes us

We live in it and for it

If we were free

We'd fight for the freedom

To recreate it.

Who's your master?

Your dreams of disaster

Nightmares of freedom

Fantasies of fantasies

Which you claim we have no time for

Because we're being choked?

Well, what if time ceased to be time?

How would that affect your tomorrows of freedom?

Where would that leave us, today?

Would you then find the time to inhale and exhale

And wear those hands around your neck

As a necklace, accessorizing your

Newfound suit of

Mixed emotion

Contrived commotion …

… infinity

How can I escape this cycle?

Must I turn with the world

In the direction it dictates?

Am I the wind's slave?

As instruments come to life with breath

The wind sends my high notes

To indigo communions

With Coltrane's
Favorite Things

This is my body, which is given for you

This is my blood which is shed for you

My love, like the wind, uncaged,

Blows time into timeless whirlpools

Transfiguring fear and all of its subordinates

(possession, fear, jealousy)

into crumbling dried leaves

My love is the winds slave

and, thus, is free

my love is the wind that is shaped

as it passes through the lips of earthly vessels

becoming words of wisdom

songs of freedom or simply hot air

my love is the wind's song:

if it is up to me, I'll never die

if it is up to me, I'll die tomorrow

one thousand times in an hour

and live seven minutes later.

If it's up to me, the sun will never

Cease to shine and the moon will

Never cease to glow

And I'll dance a million tomorrows

In the sun rays of the moon waves

And bathe in the yesterdays

Of days to come

ignoring all of my afterthoughts

And pre-conceived notions.

If it is up to me, it is up to me.

And, thus, is my love

Untainted, eternal.

The wind is the moon's imagination

wandering.

It seeps through cracks, explores the unknown,

Ripples the grass.

My love is my soul's imagination.

How do I love thee?

Imagine

And will I now forget everything that I have read? Will I not now attempt to actualize the glimpses of a higher reality that I have experienced? What did Siddhartha teach me? And Azaro? And all of the other spirit children? And the insights? Have they not all laid the groundwork for this new de/con/struction of self?

I have learned the importance of stories, the importance of dreams (night and day), the need to look beyond mirrors, the flow of energy, the hindrances of “control dramas,” the inconsistencies of time, the inaction that self-consciousness leads to, the reality of the “unreal,” the universal source of energy, the beauty of all things, the unity of all things, that coincidences aren't, that love cannot be specified (kinda), the ineptitude of belief, death only comes to those who believe in it, life only comes when you're not reading, writing, or thinking about it. “Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.”

I could inhale your existence

And exhale your dreams

And this room would be filled

With things that only seem

Your mind's on permanent rewind

Trying to make it fast forward

Press record, listen,

Beyond what you hear

Pre-occupation with time

Is pre-occupation with fear

“Looking at my Gucci it's about that time”

the tick tock of clocks padlock your mind

capital centered on your left wrist

your reality is twisted, unreal

capital is not center

time is undefined

as soon as you define it it's a new time

but with unchanging minds

new times become same times

why blame time for bad times or sad times

sometimes I forget time

and exist on my own time

I own time

The concept exists in my own mind

And mind is eternal

That concept defeats time

So I climb …

    African - American

Drumbeat - For money