{BLACKEST SPACES OF A MANS HEART}
THE SOUND AS THIS FUNK IS DROPPED...


And you got me thinkin black...

Not that black that they want me to be...

The weak docile one that aspires to think that race dont matter when things is very apparently that way.

No... You got me thinking of the deepest black that can be... A man proud of his ancestory... Of his link to thee...

A queen of this planet where we find ourselves located... Floating in the blackest places of I as antimatter...

You got me thinkin black cause it lingers in your tones and I like that... Holding out my hands in your darkness...

Blinded by your light... Oh I... Oh I. Want to touch you. Oh I... Want to touch you... 

And I... Oh I gotta.

These words lingering in the pit of my stomach... The darkest fibers of my diaphram.

Gotta... Gotta... Say em to you.

The pupil of a mans eyes connected to black as surely as the night... A dark drop visually into the heart and soul of these manifestations that we call life...

Rising and falling with various levels of impact... A rising crescendo and a hushed fine... The laugh of a baby and the cries of an old man... These existences and we... We live on.
You got me thinkin of old times where our ancestors fought, were enslaved and dreamed of better days... Where they thought by now that we would be free... And we... We still gotta get free...
Black in Amerikkkka still aint free...Still paying to inhabit these skins...
Trapped by white lies cause black just aint dark enough to manifest thus... Not the melanin.
You got me thinking origins and infinite possibilities...
You got me thinking black.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{OF THINE FLOWER AND MINE SUN}
THE SOUND AS CONNECTION IS ESTABLISHED...
http://youtu.be/DsocoIK82Ww

A moment, a second as I peruse the beauty of thy flower...
The way that thine petals glisten with thy wetness, thine anticipation.
A pause... I blow and make it flutter as you shudder...
A breeze in thine garden.
So cooling while making thee warmer.
Drops upon our very skin... Dew on the carpet of thine nappy locks.
Come mine dear and spread in the light of mine sun...
Thou art so fertile as thee invade the beginnings of mine thought.
My formations...
I mezmerized and hypnotized by the spurs of thine pollen hover like bee and alight.
Ever so gently as mine soul cries out its appreciation for thine creation.
You and I symbiotic...
I without you and these lives would die.
Thine flower so vibrantly colored that it attracts I... Draws mine attention and brings mine primality surging forth as a raging hard...
My swollen head throbbing against the softness of thy thigh...
Our aroma filling the room as we in coitus melt...
The promise of little deaths and great resurrections as the moon gives way to the sun and the earth rises.
A moment, a second, your flower spread.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{SUNSHINE RHETORIC}
THE SOUND AS A MAN REFLECTS SUN RAYS...
https://youtu.be/_1PYKMWmTec

The sun... The sun beats down on a mans bald head and causes him to reminince.
No particular thing and his emotions they run the gamut.
Sadnes such a great friend of he as he ponders the whoe of the situation... The inhumanity... And he... He plays with solutions.
The what we could do... The nothing has been done.
His emotions they run the gamut, making him ponder love.
The god awful reality of it, how it penetrates the soul and he, he cant let go.
Things and people he would rather forget and how thay have invaded his privacy...
So deep within.
So many beautiful memories...
Some he would never forget...
Some lessons he would have rather done without.
He holds on to these for from them he gains strength.
They are the glue that binds his sinews and muscles... Adds fortitude to his bones.
His emotions they run the gamut and he feels anger...
The things he has done in it, the havoc it has wrought on the masses when unleashed...
He at times an agent of mayhem, a victim of great rage.
Stabbed and shot at, a savage ballet as he brings all to bear...
Some gotta live and some gotta die...
Sweet strings of a vicious melody... A moving symphony... The slowing of time.
Blood flowing in gutters.
Flashing blue and red lights bouncing off the darkness of night.
His emotions... His emotions.
Man reflecting in the light of Allahs sun.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(HUE-SEXUAL EXPLORATION)
THE SOUND OF HYPERSEXUALIZATION...
https://youtu.be/qvKvmTzCd7U

Can I lie with you as the stars travel the sky?
Can I consummate with your mind.
Make love to its ridges and creases...
Plunge into its depths again and again.
Rub it and feel it shudder...
Feel it grab my width and hold me tight.
Your mind I mean.
Stroke it eloquently with soothing lyrics see.
Massage away your day and add peace to your night.
We linked psychologically and physiological all off in the ether of our hue-manity.
The chemical compounds of our beings as we hypernetic explore our cybernetics... see?
Come my dear...
Lie with me.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(QUESTIONS AND QUANDARYS OF A SEXUAL NATURE)
THE BEAT DROPPED AND LOCKED...

Why I gotta talk all nasty to you?
All up under your clothes and shit...
Make that pussy wet.
Like that.
That fine black ass...
That pink candy... Mmmm...
Why I gotta talk to you like that?
Why I gotta touch that clit... make you gasp... transfixation of I.
This beast that cavorteth in my brain.
Spreading you naked... dining pon thee.
Hums and vibrations... sliding wet and slick, in and out.
Bend over and arch that back... titties hanging down... Dick standing strong.
Flipping you over and tasting others again... juice flowing.
Wet cream dripping down your crack.
Damn...
Why I gotta talk to you like that?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

( SOUTHERN SKY VERSES ) A HAIKU/SENRYU JOINT.
THE SOUND IS PHENOMENAL... DO NOT MISS IT...
https://youtu.be/pubQNx0jA4c

(BORN)
Stars sigh solar winds
Whispers into man's psyche
The view lovely here

(DEEPLY)
Crickets and frogs play
Thick the humidity
Natures symphony

(SUSPENDED)
Vibrations on drums
Hammer rising and falling
Man standing listens

(ASTRONOMICAL)
Moon in eastern sky
A slow progression to dawn
Life awakening

(SEE)
Birds greet morning
A cup of Kenyan coffee
Intoxicating

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(THE SENTINEL)
THE SOUND AS THE CONVERSATION COMMENCES...
https://youtu.be/XBG7hmsxSGw

Please oh tree, talk to me.
Let me sit on your roots and hear your tale.
Tell me of olden times, the things that thou hast seen.
Tell me of those who passed this way before me.
Of where they have gone for surely you have become sentient in your time here.
Communicating with the ants and the birds that inhabit thy boughs.
Reaching out your arms to Allah...
Living sirat al mustaqim.
Thy nappy hair drooping to the ground... Dred locks on weeping willows.
A fantasy sanctuary under the sad leaves where we find a man seeking reality.
Tell me of the good things and the bad,
I can deal with great weight... Allah has given me strength.
Tell me of the agony of seeing your brethren fall as they made way for man.
For steel and concrete.
So cool in the shade.
I stand here begging you...
Tree, speak to me.

Sirat al mustaqim: the straight path

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

I would like to introduce you to a man and also present a perspective of him using one of his songs. The man I am speaking of is Michael Jackson and the song I that I am going to try and interpret is called "The Man In The Mirror."
To look at this song as just another song would be just as wrong as looking at Michael Jackson as just another man. It would be overlooking his diversity, complexity and legacy.
Michael was a man who by most accounts never had a chance to be a child yet he always maintained an air of innocence, even as an adult.
His performances combined this seeming innocence with a sort of raw power and never seemed to disappoint the sold out crowds who attended his concerts.
His lyrics while seeming mundane at times bordered on the profound.
This is reflected in the very first lines of the song "The Man In The Mirror" where he sings "I'm gonna makers change for once in my life... He goes on to add later "Gonna feel real good, Gonna make it right." These words are words of transition.
At this point we have to ask ourselves, what is he transitioning from? Into who and what is he transforming?
At this point he use the day to paint a picture of his unique view of the day. We are offered a glimpse through his eyes.
He describes the feel of a cold wind, where it takes him as he wraps himself in his warm winter jacket.
It's ability to make him see the less fortunate.
The children "I see the kids on the streetvwith not enough to eat." At this point he also introduces the fact that on a warm day he would have ignored these things, he tells us "A summers disregard, a broken bottle top, a one man soul." In these words we are introduced to the fact that he is having a moment of recognition. He is speaking of the duality of it all.
Of the correlation between rich and poor.
This leads us into the chorus which opens with the words "I'm talking to the man in the mirror, I'm asking him to change his ways" in these words he fully brings to light the nature and type of transformation he is seeking.
Looking into the metaphorical mirror he is forced to confront his own worst enemy, himself.
He calls into question his self love " I've been a victim of a selfish kind of love." It's seems as if the things that he has been confronted with have opened his eyes. He asks himself how he could have ignored these things, the pain of his fellow man and woman.
"Could it really be me, pretending that they are not alone?"  He alludes to the people he sees as objects to draw an accurate description of how he sees their pain. "A willow deeply scarred." As emotions "Somebody's broken heart and as "A washed out dream."
He issues a beautiful but stern warning that you "Can't close your mind.
This leads us to see that this song seems to be about rebirth, growth and the ability we as humans have to change things if we would only try. It is also a song of inner turmoil and strife because change is never easy.
Especially when the person being changed is one's self.
Michael Jackson.
A complex man with a complex message.

I want you on your knees.
My big thick dick standing in your face.
Take it in your hands and feel the weight.
Look in its eye.
Suck it for me baby... Put it in your mouth...
Fuckkk, I love when you swallow it like that.
I can feel your throat...
All naked, sucking this dick and looking up at me....

(MAGNITUDAL)
THE SOUND...THE BEAT...THE RHYTHM...
https://youtu.be/1cNdmut4Fi0

As artist would I draw you on this parchment...
Sketch you in lines and scribbles... Alluding to the beginning... In the beginning.
Translate the hieroglyphics of your stretch marks.
Speak your image into existence all brown eyed and flared hips... Lips so plump and succulent... The broadness of your nose.
An artist I would paint you on city walls where you would look down brown eyed at the little African children walking by.
The spirals of your nappy hair as universe...
Allusions of life erupting across the cosmos.
A playwright I would write a sci-fi where we: you and I would be the prototype.
Erupting as stars birthed from the spark... The big bang.
I the renaissance born of the life you bore...
A singer I would bring tears to eyes as I speak of trials and tribulations...
Struggle, strife and total ignorance as our people governed by skin tone and class systems rip our nation apart...
I would rap about our ultimate resurrection... Spit bout 60 bars bout it...
Such inspiration and the crowd bouncing in inspiration...
I would stand on the mountain side and drop tablets.
Broad strokes, musical notes and sketch lines devoted to thee.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(ASHES AND MELANIN)
THE SOUND PROPHETS DROP...
https://youtu.be/sOrBZX__o08

They lie as ashes, these remnants of great nations that existed in ancient times.
They scattered and cast as flotsam on the savage winds of the wolf's howl.
They once lions cowering, they once a force to be reckoned with kneeling on psychological knees.
Rain would fertilize them if only it could reach the parched lands of their cerebral cortex.
Clouds of deception and they die of thirst in fresh water seas.
Oceans of ink and they take no heed.
Sold out and strung out on the promise of all the pig you can eat.
The promise of being equal in the system savagery as preached on the slaveship, preached on the plantations and pImped salvation on streetcorners and prison.
White Jesus bloody on a billboard... Gone save yo black ass soul.
King James and Paul as saviours of we.
Stolen god conceptualization fed to the masses of ashes... Dried out and insubstantial.
Carbon and water cybernetic components of false rhetoric, spitting soul crushing lyrics.
Pyramids testifying to once greatness they would denounce their origins.
The triple stages of the current state of their darkness.
The light Freedom shining at the end of the tunnel.
The whirlwind cometh.
Ashes spin in the bitter winds...
Wishing it would rain.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(OF GOD, RELIGION, WANT, NEED AND THE AWFUL TRUTH OF UTTER FUTILITY)
THE SOUND...
https://youtu.be/aPX_i2zcDvY

And man cast into this eventuality by chance, by fate, looks at its inhabitants.
So rooted are they by custom and belief.
Man stretches his hand out and contemplates his fingers.
Feels the power as it courses through his structure.
He reminisces times that they these beings say he couldn't have existed.
They calling them past lives.
He knows them as what they are.
They in his mitochondrial, strands of his ancestors.
He blessed with the ability to see glimpses of the future knows that one day one of his fruit generations removed will see what he sees now.
Even as he lies free of the mortal coil.
His bones lying beneath the earth.
He has no fear of these things.
The cosmos has shown him these things.
As a child he contemplated these things.
These things.
He listening to the lost as they seek the truth in religion and science, in love, in war.
Such .sn abundance and they waste it in want and need.
A child breathing his or her last breath and they waste the moments. Bound by the words of men they wake and fall asleep bound by the concept time.
Man looks at the trees and ask them what would they do.
The trees silent continue to grow.
He asks the animals and they instinctual wake and find food and shelter, mate and create new generations.
With no one to preach to them they do the bidding of Allah.
The ebb and flow and man witnessing these things knows that the buildings will fall, these lives that they squander will end.
These people so disconnected from the reality that they see everyday hovering at the edges of civilization.
Man laughs at their choice of this word for these people are but playthings of people who know these things.
Civilized... Ha.
Man witnessing the folly ponders the futility...
The rustle of the angels wings as he stands at the door of dimensional.
So few walk these streets.
A warrior, a man, a griot he fades into the masses of humanity.
A whisper, a memory.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(HYPERVELOCITY) URBAN SENRYU
DE RIDDIM AS THE BLOOD POUNDS...
https://youtu.be/iTVSdstDIL4

(Melaninity)
Sun shines across we
These beings hue-manity
It feeding our skin

(Futuristically)
Dawn and we awake
Free from the chains of bondage
Mental and physical

(United)
We stand as one soul
The world remembers her child
They born of her soil

(Completely Unique)
Stars sing our rebirth
The prodigal has returned
The future rejoices

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(BOUNCE BOUNCE, SKEET SKEET)
THE SOUND OF THE BOUNCE...
https://youtu.be/weQx17zlRp8

Bounce that ass up and down let me see you bump and grind...
Baby ride this pole like a cowgirl... Put some tears in my eyes... Make me all sensitive.
Come here and stand over me and squat that thang on my dick... Make its length slick and wet.
Drop them titties in my face so I can suck them dark nipples hard... Arch my back and make the head of my dick touch the back of your walls.
Lay yo body back and let me see that pussy wrap around my thickness and stretch them pussy lips wide.
Scramble up my brain... Fuck me insane
Turn around and ride it reverse... Pussy meat so pretty pulling in and out.
Looking so good I want to kiss that thang.
Bounce that ass up and down like I know you can girl... Ass cheeks rippling as I slap that fine ass.
You gone make me take my camera and snap a picture so you can see how good it looks to me... See baby that's some pretty pretty pink.
Such a lovely pussy as it swallows up the thickness of my chocolate stick.
Bounce that ass up and down on the thick of my dick... Make it skeet, skeet, skeet sweet sticky cream into the recesses of our primal screams...
Bounce that ass baby...
Bounce that ass...
Bounce that ass.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{MY VOW TO YOU}

THE SOUND RISING...

https://youtu.be/-YCwS_1kSC4

We formed of carbon and descended from the skies looked into each others eyes...

A pause, we knew.

We knew that our journey would be one that would span the annals of man...

That our love would serve to carry us across apace and time.

That we were the beginning and the end.

This world ours as promised by Allah.

All this we saw.

At that moment I man knew that I would die to protect you... Your honor.

You looking at me placed trust in I, our union.

We prototypical were told these things in the chambers of Allah.

Time the unkind mistress she is made us forget that we were the ones who heard the voice of God, of Gibril, of Uriel.

That these beings that inhabit this planet would be but particles on a rock floating in space if not for our gazing into each others eyes.

My queen you have made me see these things.

My love for you infinite and 

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{BECAUSE... AMERIKKKA}

{BECAUSE... AMERIKKKA}
LET ME PLAY YOU SOME MUSIC SO YOU CAN DEAL WITH WHAT I'M BOUT TO SAY...
https://youtu.be/f3hCQcrfg28

Living in this country we find ourselves at celebrations that celebrate what we don't celebrate.
Take for instance the Fourth of July...
For me it is a time for family and to reflect on the nature of my enemy cause I know what it really signifies... White domination and pride in that fact.
At these functions some Christian ministers are always present in my family or my extended family and they always and I mean always, want to lead the prayer in which they profusely give thanks for White Jesus and freedom.
Sometimes they mention the family and sometimes they don't and they give the country of America its due props according to what they have been taught.
See...
Now that's just wrong...
Yesterday a whole lot of black folks passed on a lie.
The fourth of July and all the varied Amerikkkan holydays in no way reflect who we are... What our culture is.
Martin Luther King day has become controlled by the white right and media in almost every state, city and providence it is held in.
The organizations involved with it have turned into a who's who of who's kissing a white mans ass... Pro-black speakers are never allowed at a black mans rally.
Our children are taught which black men are okay to learn about and talk about and our supposed leaders endorse this madness cause they have been taught it's good to be white... Aspire to be white.
We are the only race that does this almost to a whole as far as we are concerned in Amerikkka.
It's like that commercial with the big ass hamburger and hot dog sandwich {Because Amerikkkka.} big battleships, big trucks, fighter planes and shit exploding.
{https://youtu.be/ic7lvsBhH5A}
Thats what the fourth of July represents.
It really does that deep.
Th fact that you better not get it fucked up... You go against white and you get dealt with.
So while you Preachers and black leaders got yo eyes closed in pointless prayer mine are open so I can see...
So if you, yo kids or yo preacher come my way at the Bar-b-q. That's what they are going to hear.
The next sermon gone be about me.
You can put that in yo freedom stick and puff on it.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(STANDING ON THE ROCK AND TESTIFYING)
THE SOUND OF BARRIERS FALLING...
https://youtu.be/XhfpbhZ2jnY

And to my brothers I would say, we have seen so many things, you and I in our varied years of inhabiting these shells.
Through the reading of history where we stand animalized, criticized, annihilated.
Still we rise my bredren.
To my sisters I would say, these years have not been nice, it's hard to be men when the real fear is inbred.
Instinctive and indicative of where we are.
Our station so to speak.
Oh my queen, I have sinned against our ancestors memories time and time again.
Fighting and killing my brothers, we stolen and roaming on stolen land.
I still love you, my queen as we enter a new millennium.
To my brothers I would say, cast aside the gang mentality, cast aside the evident hatred for yourselves, cast aside the whitewash and wear proudly your blackened and browned skin.
We as nation rising from the ashes of trickery and deceit, we extended to the skies from whence we came as children of Allah.
We formed in his hands as clay and placed in the kiln Africa.
Strong as Kenyan coffee we born.
These things would I say to my people as we grid our loins.
Rise my people...
Be ye proud.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(LOVE AND HYPER REALITY)

And love the brutal master has cast a man down... Shattered his bones and dashed his flesh against jagged rocks.
Man so fragile against such a powerful force.
Tears illuminating the very depths of his soul where they fall as stars.
These things seen and unseen as he navigates these hard ass streets where Molly the whore sells her wares brazenly.
He carries such a great weight upon his embattled soul... Love such a temptation...
Sweet chocolate on his mind.
He and his companions want and need as the sun travels cross his lonely skies and the moon pulls at his tides.
Full high and waning low the man travels through the entwined masses... they so caught up in their lives that truth is a bitter rain falling on their synaptic plains.
He the rainbearer ponders this emotion... this love...
What then of it?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY