I am not the son of Sha Clack Clack. I
am before that. I am before. I am before
before. Before death is eternity. After death
is eternity. There is no death there’s only
eternity. And I be ridin on the wings of
eternity, like yah, yah, Sha Clack Clack.
CHAPTER 6
I exist like spitfire which you call the sun,
try to map out your future with sundials. But
tic toc technology can no tic toc me. I exist
somewhere between tic and toc. Dodging it like
double-dutch. Got me living double-time. I was
here before your time. And my heart is made of
the quartz crystals that you be making clocks out
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.
CHAPTER 7
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?
CO-DEAD LANGUAGE
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).
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 tem
ptation 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.
PART 2
SEVEN MOUNTAINS:
JOURNAL EXCERPTS 1994–2001
1994
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.
The Dead Emcee Scrolls Page 7