(THE SHOW, IT MUST GO ON)
THE SOUND...
This place where it all runs together... Where there is no here and now and the past present and future merge.
This time, this space where colors, numbers and science fall into sequence and the notions of men become petty inconsequentialities.
I alone on pineal levels where the light glaring exposes flawed rhetoric and ripple effects.
Waves undulating across the sea of men... The sea of woman...
I abstract shattering explosively as black slashes on a computer, phone and tablet screen.
I born electrical impulse, I born thundering impact that causes the air to shake, weak knees to quake.
For who could stand in I way?
Earned my freedom in the streets of the projects where the government files black men as thugs and bastards...
Disposes of them as such after they are thoroughly whitewashed into becoming what they were meant to be.
Where mamas open their legs to institutionalised deadbeats... Expect more out of them while teaching them nothing.
They chasing green paper in a rigged economy where their dollar is spent before its earned.
They owing their very lives to the system Babylon.
Such a sad slow ballet as the dancers fall as ashes to the floor.
Spinning weightlessly to the foot smoothed boards.
They the entertainment for a captive audience as the song fades into silence...
The curtain falls...
Seamlessly it all fits into place.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
THE SOUND...
This place where it all runs together... Where there is no here and now and the past present and future merge.
This time, this space where colors, numbers and science fall into sequence and the notions of men become petty inconsequentialities.
I alone on pineal levels where the light glaring exposes flawed rhetoric and ripple effects.
Waves undulating across the sea of men... The sea of woman...
I abstract shattering explosively as black slashes on a computer, phone and tablet screen.
I born electrical impulse, I born thundering impact that causes the air to shake, weak knees to quake.
For who could stand in I way?
Earned my freedom in the streets of the projects where the government files black men as thugs and bastards...
Disposes of them as such after they are thoroughly whitewashed into becoming what they were meant to be.
Where mamas open their legs to institutionalised deadbeats... Expect more out of them while teaching them nothing.
They chasing green paper in a rigged economy where their dollar is spent before its earned.
They owing their very lives to the system Babylon.
Such a sad slow ballet as the dancers fall as ashes to the floor.
Spinning weightlessly to the foot smoothed boards.
They the entertainment for a captive audience as the song fades into silence...
The curtain falls...
Seamlessly it all fits into place.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
