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Wednesday, March 18, 2015

{THE DEEPEST THING I KNOW}


{THE DEEPEST THING I KNOW}
THE SOUND AS I ORCHESTRATE THROUGH THESE BRICKS AND CONCRETE...
https://youtu.be/TQNw4n6fvII



You my beat down drop into the lowest of the lows...
You make it tremble the earth...
You make it vibrate the skies.
You make my sonics so strong that they put dread into evil hearts...
You make them have the resonance of the trumpets that played outside Jericho's walls.
They crumbling to the very ground.
You make my hard so hard that it like diamond could cut through anything...
You make it bring you to your knees.
A blissful smile on your face.
I... I wil build you up and never tear you down for you have been torn before.
Ripped to shreds and lain on the killing floor.
Sons, daughters, husbands and wives.
Us in Babylon where the story ain't quite finished and we are in a retro phase.
Worshiping and praising those who have made so many slaves.
I told you, I will go straight Black Panther for you.
Be Nat Turner for you.
Live my life for you and die for you.
I warrior would be soft for you... Speak of love to you.
Make love to you and praise your attributes...
Spread you out as a mural on the walls of so many minds.
Painted in alphabetic's.
Vivid splashes of you as you come to life.
You are my bass and my treble... My melodies and symphonies.
You empress are the music of my life sang as stringently as possible, played by philharmonic orchestra.
Beat out on African drums.
I... I am your accompaniment.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(ART? THAT AIN'T ART. THAT'S BULLSHIT) A RANT AND A HALF


(ART? THAT AIN'T ART. THAT'S BULLSHIT) A RANT AND A HALF
DON'T NEED NO MUSIC... THIS PIECE MAKES IT OWN...

Just cause you write it don't make it good poetry or a great story.
Just cause some poor misguided soul comments on it don't make it worthwhile.
See the sad fact of the matter is what you write is the same worthless drivel that you see on t.v. and in the movies.
It's made for people who have no true vision.
They need others to tell them how and what to think.
They wouldn't know originality if it bit em dead in the center of their asscrack or dropped from a plane at ten thousand feet.
In the past artists worked to go beyond.... To make people see beyond.
That was the mark of a true artist.
Most of the time he was not appreciated by the masses cause what he said and did pointed out how futile their way of thinking and living was.
He was reviled and persecuted... Hated and ignored by the system and the people around him because of his or her originality.
He was considered crazy... eccentric even.
Check the history if you don't believe me.
In this day and time though the artist strives to be like Drake, to be like Tyler Perry, to be like Zane or whoever is popular at the moment.
That's not artistry, in fact it's bullshit that should be ignored but the masses have become so accustomed to bullshit that they eat it by the platefull.
Stank breath motherfuckers.
In the past artists stood for something... Their people... an ideal.
Now they sell their people out like Steve  (I don't give a Damn bout slavery) Harvey, and Terrence (Lets say nigga on primetime) Howard.
My grandmother Allah bless her soul would have made me turn off the t.v. in these new niggas.
My father would have made me put down their books.
I have grown tired of watching black people take a downward spiral when it comes to art.
David the statue is considered art and you can post a picture of him waving his little white penis on Facebook with no problem.
Post a black statue that way and a black person will report you and you will be blocked and black people will cheer.
That's how brainwashed you are.
Did I say brainwashed?
I meant whitewashed.
So sad that all I see is a bunch of dumb ass niggas doing what massa wants.
Thinking like massa wants them to think.
So sad that you niggas can't see it yourselves.
People are still being beaten and arrested in Ferguson and dying at the hands of the police and all you care about is Scandal and Empire.
About what some Star is wearing or the worthless cause he or she is supporting.
So sad that you can post about bitches and hoes, and misuse the acronym Thot when next week it could be your Father, mother, brother, sister, son or daughter lying on the sidewalk covered in a white sheet.
Go on... Write that bullshit, read that bullshit, listen to that bullshit you genocide maniac.
Me.
I will continue to promote art.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

Thursday, March 12, 2015

(MAN THIRSTY AND NEEDING DRINK)
THE SOUND OF MAN AS THE NEED BEATS DOWN.
I desire to sip of your pussy juice.
To savor it as it explodes across my taste buds, as it hits the back of my throat.
I rubbing it between my fingers to test its viscosity.
As I swish it around in my mouth... Such beautiful accents.
Berries and sun ripened fruit.
Chocolate and Serengeti...
I lion lap at the banks of your river flowing down your thighs and staining the sheets.
You the lioness presenting succulently.
I take you from the back as you arch and meet me thrust for thrust.
I biting, pulling and scratching.
You moaning my name, driving I to the verge of insanity where my nut beats at mine temples.
Makes me scream your name as it surges through my tubes.
Where it mixes with my essentials and squirts hot and thick from my fourth eye.
My seed and your cream mixing in your womb.
Such a potent blend.
Baby let me get a sip of your pussy juice.
It makes me cum so strong.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

I desire to sip of your pussy juice.
To savor it as it explodes across my taste buds as it hits the back of my throat.
I rubbing it between my fingers to test its viscosity.
As I swish it around in my mokuth... Such beautiful accents.
Berries and sun ripened fruit.
Chocolate and Serengeti...
I lion lap at the banks of your river flowing down your thighs and staining the sheets.
You the lioness presenting succulently.
I take you from the back as you arch and meet me thrust for thrust.
I biting, pulling and scratching.
You moaning my name, driving I to the verge of insanity where my nut beats at mine temples.
Makes me scream your name as it surges through my tubes.
Where it mixes with my essentials and squirts hot and thick from my fourth eye.
My seed and your cream mixing in your womb.
Such a potent blend. 
Baby let me get a sip of your pu








Tuesday, March 10, 2015

(THE MAGNITUDE OF MISSING HER)
DO NOT MISS THE SOUND FOR THIS...
http://youtu.be/qhiMeUm8RIo

Missing her so much that my soul shattered reflects her fractured and broken down into my very last compound.
She invades the mitochondrial of my dna.
The fire in the synapses that fuel my fevered brain.
She is the boom bap and the beat down in my trunk as I ride past.
Throw the masses the peace sign.
She is the delicate dance of living as African in an environment of disguised hostility and loving her air...
Breathe that thang sweetly.
The diversion of my insurgency as I a renaissance poet live and draw breath.
As I like Sampson push the pillars that will bring distorted teachings crashing to the ground.
Build libraries and universities in a future where I overstood drop knowledge holographic.
Missing her so much that the cold winds howl in my northern hemisphere.
Heat residing in my equator.
She the balance of my 360 degrees as I stand above the square... I having learned how to hover above.
Peep these metaphors and study this hyperbole for in them secrets stand butt naked and exposed.
Lions teeth ripping and tearing at flesh.
Eagles, Bears, and Dragons see I for who I be.
The anomaly.
I missing her travel interdimensional and rip the fabric see?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

Monday, March 9, 2015

(TREMBLE) A LEGEND OF LOVE
THE MUSIC FOR THIS PIECE...
http://youtu.be/0FN99qrqZGs

A man stood in awe for he had heard the voice of his companion.
She could never say the wrong thing to him.
He to her.
She knew his thoughts and he hers.
His heart, yes his heart had expanded it capacity.
She had penetrated the depths of his lonesomeness where there only he existed.
A stranger on a far stranger world.
His days now filled with wanting her so.
She was made for him before he had been made himself.
Before even his ancestors were made.
In his soul he knew these things...
They were written in the stone of his walls in hieroglyphics.
Great Zimbabwe's call and he in his yearning made her into words to be read by other people.
Words to be read in other times and eventualities.
She the most splendid piece of flesh ever carved by Allah's hands.
Molded by his mind and synchronized to his.
She the red blood flowing through his veins and feeding his pineals.
Her song sung in a red brick church in Georgia where his grandmother stroked the piano keys.
Another place, a whole other time as he the man reminiscent saw her image as it projected in his subconscious.
A dream, a vision.
He lost and found had felt his foundations trembled and he man stood shook.
He having heard her voice across the void vibrated.
His grey skies now shining sun bright.
She the layers of his atmospheres, stratospherically he soared.
A warrior born of wood, concrete and asphalt.
She singing the song of he...
He singing the song of her.
His heart yea his heart threatening to burst.
Her bass so strong.
Her alto's so nice.
Her harmonics so sweet.
Man standing in awe heard her voice.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

Sunday, March 8, 2015

(SOLAR WINDS BLOW)
THE SOUND OF THE SOLARS WALK...DO NOT MISS THIS MUSIC BECAUSE IT TIES INTO THE PIECE...
http://youtu.be/B9s2fq0Ycmg

And here I be...
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
Into the lyrical pit where I must go to pull these scrolls from the hot liquid core a little left of the right way as taught in flawed schools of thought.
A quick swing as I knock another perception down and stomp in its neck like Bruce Lee.
Put a foot up its ass like undercover brother.
X ray that motherfucker.
I whistling of Odes in C minor and fading into the distance.
From whence did he come they ask as I slap verbally precise and whip ass poetical.
I the seed of black Adam.
Son of a thermonuclear sun.
A explosion of epic proportions as African was born on Georgia clay.
Forged on Florida's streets unique.
So much need and I falling
D
O
W
N
Drop deese.
I throws deese clenched fist punches and open hand slaps alphabetically and phonetically in defiance of man made systems formed on positions of superiority and based on willing submission.
Praying to flags and pledging money to white Jesus.
Preacher living high off the hog.
Sister cant even spend time with her kids cause she gots to pay the rent.
Church get richer.
Sister feet get sore.
Children get bad as hell.
Jails get fuller.
System get richer.
Savage math and startling statistics.
I drops the fyah from 93 million miles away.
It takes the light 8 minutes to reach you.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY