The Dead Emcee Scrolls (9 page)

of. And I be resurrectin every third, like tic tic

Sha Clack Clack.

No, I won't work a nine to five, ‘cause

I'm setting suns and orange moons and

my existence is this … still, yet ever moving.

And I'm moving beyond time. Because time

binds me it can set me free and I'll fly when

the clock strikes me, like yah, yah, Sha Clack

Clack.

But my flight doesn't go undisturbed, because

time makes dreams defer. And all of my time

fears are turning my days into daymares. And

I live daymares, reliving nightmares, that once

haunted my past. Sha Clack Clack. Time is

beating my ass.

And I be havin nightmares of chocolate-covered

watermelons filled with fried chicken, like piñatas,

with little pickaninny sons and daughters standing

up under them with big sticks and aluminum foil,

hitting them, trying to catch pieces of falling fried

chicken wings.

And Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben are standing in

the corners with rifles pointed at the heads of the

little children. Don't shoot the children! I shout.

Don't shoot the children! But it's too late. They

start shooting at the children and killing them one

by one, two by two, three by three, four by four,

five by five, six by six …

but my spirit is growing seven by seven. Faster

than the speed of light, because light only penetrates

the darkness that's already there. And I'm already

there. I'm here at the end of the road, which is the

beginning of the road beyond time, but where my

NGHS at?

Whereas, break-beats have been the

missing link connecting the diasporic

community to its drum-woven past.

Whereas, the quantized drum has

allowed the whirling mathematicians

to calculate the ever-changing distance

between rock and stardom.

Whereas, the velocity of spinning vinyl,

Cross-faded, spun backwards, and re-released

at the same given moment of recorded history,

yet, at a different moment in time's continuum

has allowed history to catch up with the present.

We do hereby declare reality unkempt

by the changing standards of dialogue.

Statements such as, “keep it real,” especially

when punctuating or articulating modes of

ultra-violence inflicted psychologically or

physically or depicting an unchanging rule

of events, will henceforth be seen as retroactive

and not representative of the individually

determined IS.

Furthermore, as determined by the collective

consciousness of this state of being and the

lessened distance between thought patterns

and their secular manifestations, the role of

men as listening receptacles is to be increased

by a number no less than 70 percent of the

current enlisted as vocal aggressors.

MTHRFCKRs better realize, now is the time

to self-actualize. We have found evidence that

Hip-hop's standard 85 RPM when increased

by a number at least half the rate of the standard

or decreased by 3/4's of its speed may be a

determining factor in heightening consciousness.

Studies show that when a given norm is changed

in the face of the unchanging the remaining

contradictions will parallel the truth.

Equate rhyme with reason. Sun with season.

Our cyclical relationship to phenomena has

encouraged scholars to erase the centers of

periods thus symbolizing the non-linear

character of cause and effect.

Reject mediocrity. Your current frequencies

of understanding outweigh that which has

been given for you to understand. The current

standard is the equivalent of an adolescent

restricted to the diet of an infant. The rapidly

changing body would acquire dysfunctional

and deformative symptoms and could not properly

mature on a diet of applesauce and crushed pears.

Light years are interchangeable with years of living

in darkness. The role of darkness is not to be seen

as or equated with ignorance but with the unknown

and the mysteries of the unseen.

Thus, in the name of: Robeson,

God's son, Hurston, Akhenaton,

Hatshepsut, Blackfoot, Helen,

Lennon, Kahlo, Kali, The Three

Marias, Tara, Lilith, Lourde,

Whitman, Baldwin, Ginsberg,

Kaufman, Lumumba, Gandhi,

Gibran, Shabazz, Shabazz,

Siddhartha, Medusa, Guevara,

Gurdjieff, Rand, Wright, Banneker,

Tubman, Hamer, Holiday, Davis,

Coltrane, Morrison, Joplin, Du Bois,

Clarke, Shakespeare, Rachmaninoff,

Ellington, Carter, Gaye, Hathaway,

Hendrix, Kuti, Dickerson, Ripperton,

Mary, Isis, Theresa, Plath, Rumi,

Fellini, Michaux, Nostradamus,

Neferttiti, La Rock, Shiva, Ganesha,

Yemaja, Oshun, Obatala, Ogun,

Kennedy, King, four little girls,

Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Keller, Biko,

Perón, Marley, Shakur, Those who

burned. Those still aflame. And the

countless un-named.

We claim the present as the pre-sent as the

hereafter. We are unraveling our navels so

that we may ingest the sun. We are not afraid

of the darkness. We trust that the moon shall

guide us. We are determining the future at this

very moment. We now know that the heart is

the philosopher's stone.

Our music is our alchemy. We stand as the

manifested equivalent of three buckets of water

and a handful of minerals, thus, realizing that

those very buckets turned upside down supply

the percussive factor of forever. If you must

count to keep the beat then count. Find your

mantra and awaken your subconscious. Carve

your circles counter-clockwise. Use your cipher

to decipher coded language, man-made laws. Climb

waterfalls and trees. Commune with nature snakes

and bees.

Let your children name themselves and claim

themselves as the new day for today we are

determined to be the channelers of these

changing frequencies into songs, paintings,

writings, dance, drama, photography, carpentry,

crafts, love, and love.

We enlist every instrument: acoustic, electronic,

every so-called race, gender, sexual preference

every per-son as beings of sound to acknowledge

their responsibility to uplift the consciousness

of the entire fucking world!

Any utterance un-aimed will be disclaimed,

will be maimed. Two rappers slain!

Seven poems. Seven glimpses into an unknown mind with hints and insights into our own. What is a poem but a means of making sense of all that comes through the senses, a senseless dream decoded? What is a dream but a story broken into fragments and scattered, card-like, before a child as a test of memory? What is memory but a warm welcome from a stranger who knows you by name and perhaps a kiss and invitation to board in a larger room with greater storage space and more natural light? But there are also memories that haunt, past moments that we'd rather think of as belonging to past lives. And then there are those stored in books and records for the sake of collective memory: history.

The history of the African American population is a page torn from precolonial African history books and pasted into the scrapbooks of the New World. Enslaved Africans were the original record of a people sampled, chopped, screwed, looped, noosed and used as the repeated hook of a national anthem: a hit record. When a people are cut off from their language, their culture, their religion and traditions they are forced to adopt, adapt and forge new ground over old wounds. Much has been said about the dangers of stripping people from their roots. What we seldom hear is the story of those born naturally into societies that are steeped in age-old traditions that have felt unable to find or pursue their individual paths because the ideologies of their culture have not evolved at the same rate as them. In this sense, traditions can subjugate and restrict the rate of the growth of a people. In some cases, when a people are freed from their past they are given an opportunity to start anew. Hip-hop, like its African American creators, is born of this newfound independence. It is our generation's opportunity to start from scratch.

Hip-hop is a revisionists' draft of history. It is a state of mind that refutes all states but its own. In the early days of music videos, Run DMC stood defiantly outside of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame claiming to be the Kings of Rock, without singing and without a band: a statement and gesture as audacious as sticking a national flag on the moon. Their stance typifies the stance of hip-hop. It is a stance that takes and samples elements of its own history and dares to slow it down, speed it up or do whatever is necessary for it to fit into a new conception of the present. It is harder drums added to a popular jazz riff, a guitar solo spun backward and released in even increments over a high-powered kick drum. It is the angry snare of a lion that has been trapped, a final warning before attack. Hip-hop is the most aggressive stance that any people has ever taken at how one can and should relate to his or her history. It samples the past, while at the same time, re-ordering it and declassifying its hidden roots. It is the voice of the newly emancipated as they begin the process of being able to clearly state and declare their independence.

But what if the voice of independence misaligns itself with ideals and values that bespeak more so of enslavement than independence? What if the youth are misguided into believing that money is the ultimate power or that vulnerability is weakness? How does a newfound voice of independence avoid the pitfalls of its predecessors? And what ultimately is the cost, look, and feel of freedom? Can it be bought? African American slaves who bought their freedom still had to avoid interacting with the elements of society that would not acknowledge the papers that certified them as free. There are countless stories of freed men or women simply having their certificates of freedom torn up and finding themselves chained
and carried back into slavery. Their money and ability to purchase anything, including property or freedom, was not enough to overrule the prevailing mentality of the times. Are these not the truths that withstand time? What will it take for a people that served at the lowest rung of capitalist hierarchy to not buy into the mentality that originally bought them as slaves? At what point does the power of hip-hop begin to work against itself? At what point does hip-hop reflect more of its American birthplace than its African roots?

The power of the spoken word is very much a part of the power of hip-hop. The emcee stands in direct lineage to the African griot. The African griot/story-teller plays a major part in the history of spoken art forms and the oral traditions of poetry. A tradition that has a much longer and more widespread history than that of the written word. The sport of spoken word, as relates to modern phenomena, such as slam poetry, is not a newfound interest, rather it is a return to ancient rites and gatherings that have been known to have occurred for thousands of years. Ancient poets such as Kabir, Rumi, Hafiz, and even the Greek Homer were known, in their time, for the recitation of their work. Thus, the young poets of today are part of an ancient tradition that is perhaps the eldest in creative expression. The spoken word movement in connection to hip-hop has become a place where the youth have stripped away the beat of the drum to simply focus and sharpen the attention paid to the word. Listening to young poets read in a poetry slam, you are bound to hear them recite their own coming of age stories, which may often be inclusive of the story of their parents, grandparents, or ancestors. Through the simple act of reciting their poem they are adding their voice to the telling of his/story, which was once linear and exclusive of them
and the particularities of their story, their perspective. These new poems allow us new insights into the past, which then allows us a broader conception of the present and grants us the ability to re-envision the future. Simply stated, it changes everything.

Most emcees are also concerned about telling their own coming of age stories. Their voices are easily likened to the voices of young poets, often contemplative and introspective to the point of questioning their reality, upbringing, and the society that bore them. Yet, where a special form of attention is paid to crafting a poem or a prayer, it is seldom the same sort of attention used in writing a rhyme. The braggadocio aspects of emceeing are a distinguishing factor. Part of the unique power of hip-hop is its internal sense of competition. Every emcee is automatically pitted against the others. The competitive nature of the art helps create an environment where most are concerned about displaying their skills while at the same time putting down the skills or abilities of others. As in any gladiator-like sport, those involved are most concerned about not leaving themselves vulnerable on any given side. It is this factor that serves to distinguish the emcee from the poet. Whereas an emcee may see displaying his or her vulnerabilities as a weakness, a poet will often see the ability to display vulnerability as a strength. It is when the careful balance between the two is found that hip-hop is at its most powerful.

My experience with these texts has been life-changing, to say the least. I have discovered that there are distinct experiences to be had through reading or reciting them. For instance, the experience of reading the words NGH WHT, spelled with no vowels, as was commonly practiced in spelling the name of God (YHWH) or gods in the written forms of ancient Hebrew and Kemetic languages
(KMT is the original name of ancient Egypt), is quite distinct from hearing the commonly used “nigga” or “nigger.” It takes a step further the idea of a term once used to degrade now being used as a term of endearment. In fact, the document brings to question whether it is actually asserting that NGH WHT is the name of God (absurd, I know, but it definitely seems to imply so).