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An Open Letter To Saul

“Dear Histo​ry,
Blitz​!​ It’s my turn now. You can have your mound​s of flesh​,​ leath​er boots​,​ canno​ns and saber​s,​ noose​s and guill​otine​s,​ warsh​ips and fight​er plane​s,​ trail​s of tears​ and blood​,​ genoc​ides,​ dunge​ons and drago​ns,​ ghost​ stori​es and fairy​ tales​.​.​.​.​.​.​.​.​.​.”

–Saul Williams

Dear Saul,

I am afraid that I must stand in utter disagreement with you on this issue.

I believe the current movement, while marketing itself as optimistic, has thus far been nothing more than a major catalyst for unnecessary negativity. Thus, it is no different from the others.

When I look at history, I see the living Word of God wrapped in flesh and offered up so that you and I could enter into the promise. I see a Buddha free from suffering because he finally learned to remove “I” from the equation. I see the intellectual anomalies of pyramids and ziggurats. I see the invention of everything we think is important, as the only thing that existed in the beginning was the basic elements from which everything presently in existence was made.

When I look at history, I see a man on the moon, a broken sound barrier, instant correspondence between two teenagers on opposite sides of the Earth who don’t speak a word of each other’s language. I see the domestication of dogs and cats, the evolution of music, and the creation of the very process through which you now expect to effect change.

Dear history,
Thank you.

School is the great brain sucker

“Don’t get excited. She’ll say ‘no’ without a doubt, you see.
And I’ve decided college girls just won’t go out with me.
They make me nervous and they always catch me off my guard.
Like cell phone service, I drop out ’cause college is too hard.”

My apologies for my absence. I have had several non-poetry blogs in mind, but find so little time to write them. School seems to be slowing down a little, for the most part. I’m over the first hump and on level ground again, on my way to the rock face that is finals.

Hopefully, I’ll have a few new entries at least written out within the next couple of weeks and can get them typed up and posted. I guess I’m lucky that, with the exception of two, the only people who read this are blogmadders. How does ol’ Godin do it? Curses to you!

Anyway, do people even use WordPress anymore? I’m so out of the Blogospheric loop these days.

You’ll never get away with this!

The devil poked out my third eye

Tried to keep me from seeing the path to the light at the end of the tunnel

But she forgot that the Son of Man resides not in my head, but in my heart

And stands there hand in hand with the daughter of YAH

And, in spite of my internal darkness, they saw the way back to the sadness factory where all third eyes could be taken to be repaired and re-sown

Or maybe even traded, upgraded, and resold

Stories of third eye visions retold

Enlightenment for and from the young and the old.

(Two way streets)

And who’s to say? Quite possibly,

It’ll come back to me.

And when the story of my own undoing

Becomes the doing of my own being

Then oh, ho ho! Bazing!

The “cyclical relationship. . .has encouraged scholars to erase the centers of periods thus symbolizing the non-linear character of cause and effect.”

And the circle of enlightenment

Having become complete

Will form the eyeris to I,

The pupil.

Lil John and the East Side Boyz

. . .do not represent all the real niggas in America.

Just as McCain does not represent conservatives, Spears does not represent actors, and Bin Laden does not represent Middle Easterners. “I’m sick,” says Shihan, “of Master P being allowed to speak on behalf of hiphop when he represents nothing but everything wrong with it.

Black is beautiful, my friends. But “nigger” has withheld America and her younger children from their full potential for almost two-hundred years. And you, the Daniel Emmetts of the present era, are as guilty as every Jim Crow and Zip Coon who ever walked the stage.

“A change is coming when we disconnect, reconnect.” Nirvana is upon us. Enlightenment consumes us. How sad it would be, when certain of your peers spend their days looking to the sky, engaging themselves in conversation with extra-terrestrial life forms, for you to find yourself still lost in the consumption of dirt.

. . .We do hereby declare reality unkempt by the changing standards of dialogue. Statements, such as, “keep it real”, especially when punctuating or anticipating modes of ultra-violence inflicted psychologically or physically or depicting an unchanging rule of events will hence forth be seen as retro-active and not representative of the individually determined is. . .

. . .We enlist every instrument: Acoustic, electronic. Every so-called race, gender, and 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. . .