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[Huey P. Newton: “One of my principles is that contradiction is a ruling principle of the universe, and everything—and phenomena, whether it’s the physical world, or the biologic world, or the social world, has its internal contradiction that gives motion to things—that internal strain. And much of the time that we homo sapiens don’t realize that no matter what sort of conditions we establish, no matter what government we establish, at this point, there also will be that internal contradiction that will have to be resolved, and resolved in a rational, just way. And, of course that leads us to somewhat—it’s very vague on how to deal with it. And many times we claim actions are revolutionary, when really they’re not.”]

[1]
They want rap, not a tap dance minstrel show
so they can’t help but wanna follow where my pencil go. 
I’m like the ghost of Wu Tang’s Bobby Digital’s analog catalog
trapped inside your stereo.

Not mercurial, but open to change.
Came during the drought when you was hoping for rain,
praying to HOV. I was opening lanes
on the right side, solo, joking and playing. It’s like

‘Beat Street’ meets Oscar The Grouch—
traditions that used to exist, got argued about
and took over—consumerism hollowed ‘em out.
Now everybody’s scratching heads, like “What’s the problem about?”

If you can’t see the boogey man but you spooked,
and you can tell a lot about a tree from the roots,
then it don’t really matter what you do to the fruit,
‘cause you ain’t eatin’ what you thinkin’ is like venom to you.

I represent niggas that been in the booth—
spittin’ truth, so our peers call us venerable. 
Ladies get disrespected, and dinners are few, 
so they all *bear a tone* like a *ten or a two,*

but be careful who you mention it to, 
‘cause I got sisters, a mother, and living is proof
that they’re queens, no borough, and itching to prove 
that I’ll put you Down Under like a didgeridoo.

Murder metaphor, red caped matador.
Niggas kill niggas every day, why battle for a title,
‘cause if you look like me, you’re my rival, 
but mix it with some ignorance, and you can be my idol.

I’m ‘bout to remix 'America the Beautiful'
to ‘The Takeover’ beat, I’m sure it’ll be suitable, 
write three rhymes, solidify me undisputable, 
start a revolution, have ‘em play it at my funeral,

and print my name on they t-shirts, black, solid with
prophecies spoken by Socrates with politics 
that’s paradoxical—on a beach somewhere tropical
sippin’ daiquiris with Tupac, Scott LaRock and Obama. 
*Solemn*—alaikum is the statement. 
Peace to the people, pray you never be complacent, 
and never strive for parallel if you were born adjacent.  
Simple statement:  I’m saying always strive for greatness. 

Yes, yes.

[Reporter: “Are you not, perhaps, afraid of what might happen to you as a result of making these revelations?”

[Malcolm X: “Oh, yes. I probably am a dead man already.”

“No. I don’t worry. I tell you, I’m a man who believed that I died twenty years ago. And I live like a man who is dead already. I have no fear whatsoever of anybody or anything.”]

Internal Contradiction [The Showdown] Prod By Preme

"[1]
They want what’s similar to what’s been on the radio.
Say it’s no big deal, but if I’m for real, it is, but pay me no
credit, cash, debit, slash, let it pass, with no assist.
No resistance, know a listener can tell the difference.
I really wish I gave a fuck about what other people do. 
I really don’t, but want you to feel like I wrote this song for you. 

But it was writer’s block that prompted it, and me, who wanted it.
My promise is my narcissistic nature won’t be charmed by which-
ever one’s opinionated statements about how I made it.
I’m elated if you hate it. I’m complacent if you love it.
I put myself way above it—see it like an ant farm.
Can’t harm what you can’t touch. And I’ll give it up
before I let it be perverted, you heard it from me directly.
It’s silly if I ask you to, but I don’t respect me. 

Let me make myself real clear here—you niggas coonin’ and buffoonin’ 
and doing more damage to you than who you 
think is your enemy. Foolish, to think that men’ll see you
and then emulate your example. You see it clear like a sample. 
The opportunity’s ample, so you don’t put up a fight. 
Just sell what’s already there, ‘cause it’s your copy to write.
Rite of passage is the massive misinformation you faced and made believe 
you understood—that was the ace up your sleeve. 
So you sat down at the table to play. They made it look fun. 
You thought you had the high card, they told you you were the one.
And you were. 

Sometimes you play a game and win, but despite
your winning at it, somehow you find something missing in life.
Like for me? I’ll take the L before I take a few dollars
if I gotta endorse a product that I know to be harmful. 
Where’s the honor in a nigga being a nigga for sell?
May as well put on your heavy chain and work in the fields. 
How do you make a slave stay a slave? Tell him he can make a slave, 
and make some money while he’s at. It’s simple and tragic.

[2]
If Willie Lynch was just a myth but his invention still persisted
would it matter if we saw ourselves as chattel and we battled one another?
I was raised to hate my brother, so I hate him, 
and I hate the woman who created him. And maybe from
a certain angle,  if you strain to see the truth, then you could see
that what it really is I’m dealing with has more to do with me, 
but I’m afraid of truth, and hate that you remind me who I am, 
and that’s related to the way I grew up trying to understand
how I could make it through this place and do what I was meant to, and
face the fact that I was snatched from home and brought to tend the land.
‘Cause that’s the complicated kind of truth America the Beautiful
would hate to help me deal with, plus I feel it’s kind of mutually
beneficial if I’m killin’ niggas and she want ‘em dead
as much as she wants me to go away. A bounty’s on my head.

So they can ask for gun control and more restrictions, 
they can’t satiate the hunger that she has for hanging niggas.
I’m a proxy and a peon; a patsy taking orders; 
Apache scout attacking scalps and trying to save my borders;
a hoarder on a hunt for blood, I’m crippled by the thirst, 
so I’m riffin' over turf and bitches bitchin’ it gets worse
because my women wanna curse a cursed nigga. I am first 
A man who ain’t a man, but kind of mannish so it hurts
to think about it, be surrounded by it, even be convicted; 
to see it and believe it, talk about it and bear witness.
 
Fuck til death do us part, wellness or in sickness. 
I wanna see your thickness—twerk something—be my mistress, 
be my bitch. I’ll treat you like the bitch you is, and we’ll be living. 
Then we can have some children…and you could raise them brilliant…
or you could raise them feeling how I feel about us all…
the strangest kind of fruit to ever fall…

You could raise them how I feel about us all…
the strangest kind of fruit to ever fall."







Willie Revisited [Prod. by Preme]

"From Cold World Mixtape Volume 2: Music & Poetry Inspired by Cold, A Novel By A.D. Carson"

Make Me Feel [feat. Truth & Ram] [prod. by Truth]

"An entire life
summed up in a moment of silence.
And we keep allowing it to happen.

After all these years we keep celebrating what should be
long, productive, healthy existences
with sad sentences and reminiscences...

and silence.

And though there are words enough to fill volumes
the lack of volume fills our hearts and minds—
deafening silence brought on by death.

Beneath violence another friend becomes a fashion statement:
An R.I.P. Tee.
A tattooed thought.
A stain of memory.
Unfulfilled potential.
The exact opposite of a Joyful Noise—
Silence swaddled in Sorrow...
A hollow gesture:
A drink poured out, another swallowed.
A touch of the head, heart, and shoulders.
A bowed brim and whispered words sent on high.
A prayer.
Maybe even an apology—
Sorry we killed you.
Sorry we are still killing you.
Sorry we are silencing ourselves with our own deeds.

Things like these and more we say as we eulogize each other;
scrutinize each other for not caring enough,
not daring to speak—
to say, "Enough!"

Pulpits and pews overflow
and the multitudes want to know what we are going to do.

And the answer—as it has, and seemingly always will be—
is bow our heads
and say nothing
and let that moment of silence speak.

This is someone's child—someone's father;
a brother, an uncle;
and now...a statistic.
A casualty in an undeclared war.
A war that troops don't need to be deployed for, apparently.
And our government doesn't have an Exit Plan.
A great Civil War—testing whether this Nation, or any nation,
so conceived and so dedicated can long endure.

As sure as the Emancipation proclaimed freed the body of the slave
the same cannot be said of the damnation in the mind.

And damn waiting in the line for it to be my turn to turn over a dirt-filled shovel;
to have to comfort my mother, grandmother, daughters and nieces;
to give speeches ultimately ending the same as we are about this—

silent.

So may we bow our heads momentarily,
but let not this be the way we remain,

because we cannot stay silent;

because as long as we say nothing
and do nothing
the chances increase
that we will inevitably

be nothing."

Moment Of Silence

"[Hook]
We voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here. 
We voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 
Voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 
Voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here.

[Verse 1]
We should have kept it real from the jump. 
Politics is politics. They tell us what we want, nigga.
We all gotta deal with that as fact. 
We like to think we different ‘cause our president is black. 

And that’s pro’bly not even the truth.
But it don’t really matter; it’s a good enough excuse, nigga. 
We thought we was voting for some change. 
In a lot of ways we prob’ly voted for the same thang. 

[Hook]
We voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here. 
We voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 
Voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 
Voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here.

[Verse 2]
First they said America was not his home.
They better watch they mouth before they get hit with a drone, nigga. 
Sure he got elected with a plan.
But nobody expected it would resurrect the Klan.

But that ain’t no excuse for all the hate.
People being racist, then pretending that they ain’t, man.
We thought we was voting for some change. 
In a lot of ways we prob’ly voted for the same thang.

[Hook]
We voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here. 
We voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 

[Bridge]
No New Niggas—GOP don’t feel that. 
Fuck yo’ health care. They say they’ll repeal that. 
They don’t really do too much explaining.
You’ll forget it by the next campaign and…
No New Niggas—GOP don’t feel that. 
Fuck yo’ health care. They say they’ll repeal that. 
They don’t really do too much explaining.
Moving on and doing more campaigning.

[Hook]
Voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here. 
We voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 
Voted for Obama now we here. 
Voted for Obama now the whole world here, nigga. 
Voted for Obama now we here. 
We voted for Obama now the whole world fucking here."

Voted For Obama [Now We Here]

“Rap niggas who don't think much past figures are figurines, 
that you put in a cabinet for décor. You're listening 
to the evolution of revolution—won't be televised. 
Won't be tweeted, either; won't even see it with naked eyes.

I make it my number one priority. It's a war for the minds of the blind masses—
owning their own masters. 

They think the sheep in the pasture are eating grass, 
so they leave 'em to eat and don't even ask if they need it. After believing 
the propaganda, they properly propagate/copulate, 
and eat the same shit that they poppas ate, 
then they populate the planet planning to live off Arm & Hammer, 
to manage or make a living, since when is there harm in handling business?

You know, the damage of living inside a fantasy comes after understanding
that nothing's gonna be handed to you. 

The greatest trick you can pull involves wool 
and your eyes, and involves tying it tightly enough to blind you. 

[Hook]
Do what I tell you—search, and go find the Ledge
that I Know you don't know about, and then wait for what Simon Says. 

And since I know you can't see it, and you're kind of scared, 
just down a few pills, pop 'em and wait till you're outta there. 

Now, I'm a dare you to do it, and it sounds stupid, but jump—
I promise you that it's fun and it's what you want. 

Your role models are doing it, why should you not?
Cop quick. What's life living outside a shoebox?

[Verse 2]:
So, we got no more MLKs, Malcolms or Tupacs. 

All we have are Michaels and Jordans...and a few shots.

“It's all just a game, and we just the players.
That wasn't us. That was Mike Dunn and Jordan Davis. 
Or Trayvon and Zimmerman.” 

Play back. Listen again. 
Danger: Ignorance works like a carcinogen. 
Revving a car engine in park after it's started's not
doing shit but making loud noise in the parking lot.

We can walk it out for miles, march, demonstrate and protest, 
but it won't mean a goddamned thing. It's just gon' show next
time the line can be moved farther and be more obvious.
He said 50 years ago when the time for martyrs is.

So this ain't radical—it ain't me starting shit. 
It's me saying, maybe cash in on your country's promises.

Or wake up from that dream that you seem to be in
and take a hard look, for your kids, what you're 'bout to leave 'em.

[Hook]
Do what I tell you—search, and go find the Ledge
that I Know you don't know about, and then wait for what Simon Says. 

And since I know you can't see it, and you're kind of scared, 
just down a few pills, pop 'em and wait till you're outta there. 

Now, I'm a dare you to do it, and it sounds stupid, but jump—
I promise you that it's fun and it's what you want. 

Your role models are doing it, why should you not?
Cop quick. What's life living outside a shoebox?

[Verse 3: Louis Farrakhan]:
It’s time now for you to be delivered. 

America can’t hold you no more. 

She has no jobs for you, 

her factories closing down—

all she has is a plan of death for you. 

And that’s why drugs are in the black community. 

That’s why guns are in the black community.
You’re not shooting down your open enemy. 
You’re shooting each other down. 

But you’re going to pay a price

for killing your people. 

I’m gonna tell you the price in a minute, 
and then I’m through. 

But you will face EVERY word that you hear me say…”

[Hook]
Do what I tell you—search, and go find the Ledge
that I Know you don't know about, and then wait for what Simon Says. 

And since I know you can't see it, and you're kind of scared, 
just down a few pills, pop 'em and wait till you're outta there. 

Now, I'm a dare you to do it, and it sounds stupid, but jump—
I promise you that it's fun and it's what you want. 

Your role models are doing it, why should you not?
Cop quick. What's life living outside a shoebox?”


Find The Ledge [Produced by Preme]

Salute [Featuring C-Style]

"[1]
Even as I’m sitting down to write this, like it’s a letter home, 
feeling wrong in these bad lands, stand, and let alone. 
Let a loan put me in debt—inject the payback. 
They say that I can defer—waiting for May, back
when I was winning, winter was colder, summer was warmer. 

Mom and Pop was honored. The block had its performers. 

On the corners, where we were warned and heeded the warnings
we thought that normal living was chilling to see the morning. 

Now we see her mourning in black—how do we act?
Under attack—no tactical unit—choose to react
as reactionary and scary as victims tend to respond. 

Bomb first—storm on horizon—visually calm.

I’m your mutherfucking nightmare. 
And you won’t see my back to put another fucking knife there.
Chuckle if you must, but muster up the guts to set your feet to stand. 
I’ll show you how a boy can be a man. 

Manage to turn me to villain, 
then watch the cops pop me and drop me with little feeling. 

Paint a Sistine with six teens on ceilings
to document our descent to consenting to the killing.

It’s like we’ve seen it all before. 
History repeats. It ain’t unique, and being poor
or being black ain’t never been the thing to be, but even more, 
at least They had the decency to speak and see it as a war.


[2]
And over here they say it’s better—
but Here and Now is There and Then. 
We ain’t escaping terror. 

Nope.

Seems more like we’re inviting it.
Soldiers dying at war without even knowing they fighting it. 
Liken it to the lights going off—if it starts flickering.
You can call it progress. I’ll see it as an epiphany.

I won’t be digging me a grave unless I’m making space for you lay inside it. 
I ain’t lying down. I’m riding. 
I ain’t try’n’a sound defiant, 
but I’m down to join a riot if they try it. 
No trial, no choices. No child, 
no day, should have to fear for his life.
No way this is living. 
No place in this country.
Father forgive us. 
Ought to remember how far we’ve come, and be proud but
we’re reminded every 28 hours."


Letter Home [Produced By Truth]

From the compilation "Partyfine vol.2" (June 22,2015)

Get the track, featured on Partyfine vol.2
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CD: smarturl.it/partyfine2-CD
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Partyfine e-shop: partyfine.bigcartel.com
Stream it: smarturl.it/partyfine2-stream

What You Wanna Do (instrumental) is featured on "You" EP - Jean Tonique 
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Jean Tonique - What You Wanna Do (Feat. Dirty Radio)

This AMAZING headline reminded us of a cover we recorded last fall in Australia with the beautiful Kirin J Callinan. 
Photo Cred: Maclay Heriot


Featuring Kirin J. Callinan "Tuesday"

“[1]
This one for the niggas,
the ones that was called that descriptor
when they was delivered 

out there in Virginia,
the ones ever since who have taken the care to defend the 

people surrendered from coast to the coast to the cold and the whip of the lash, 
I never lived it, but I’ll tell now…
boy it’s familiar.
Said, boy, it’s familiar. 

For the gangs with the chains on they hands and they ankles it ain't just a sankofa song.
For the Kings, whether Martin or Rodney, who knew it unlikely but asked could we all get along!
For the answer we know to that question that keep us a little suspicious,
We ain't the first that have wished it. 
We ain't the first ones to get it. 
Said, boy, it's familiar.

For the mothers, the daughters, the sisters
who don't get attention but often are victims,
so they suffer in silence from all kinds of violence
and try as they might we don't listen.

For the beatings, the treatment, the rapings, the hangings and lynchings,

I hope that we can be forgiven.
I never lived it, but boy, it's familiar. 
Say, boy, it’s familiar.

All black on my windows,
pistol under my pillow,

if I'm an activist, I'm no pacifist.
I'm just keeping shit real, though.

I ain't turning a blind eye, 
and I ain't expecting no heroes.

I ain't pressing no 911, 
but I ain't living in fear, though.

[Hook]
Now what?
The same shit. The same shit.

Now what?
The same shit. The same shit.

Now what? 
The same shit. The same shit.

Now what? The same shit.
Now what? The same shit. 

Boy, it's familiar,
mess with them boys, and they kill you,
then get a lawyer to deal with 
annoying appeals to
the public to show 'em they did 'em 
a favor destroying a villain.  

No, you ain't living

if you know you ain't living
but seconds away from a sentence,
making a way for a system.
You die or they take you to prison.
Take what they know you ain't giving.

[2]
This one for the niggas
who just got from prison,
or on they way, stuck on the ave. 

Hustle from morning to evening for things that they need
or the things they can have.

City's so cold, that you gotta fend for yourself, they compare it to Iraq, 
‘cause it’s a war that we live in. 
Imagine the war when our children say “Boy, it’s familiar."

For the gangs and the fame
and the whips and the chains
and the game that we play through the pain

that we drench ourselves in when we win
since we win at the game then it seems we should call it Champ Pain. 

Elevated—we taking the L but we winning, 
‘cause we still living. 
Living through pain, but we living. 
Giving through strain, but we giving. 
Boy, it’s familiar.

For the mothers, the daughters, the sisters
we don't give attention but often are victims,
We inflict them with violence
and tell them to suffer in silence, so why would we listen?

For the beatings, the treatment, the rapings, the hangings and lynchings,
I hope we can be forgiven.
I hope we can be forgiven.
Boy, it's familiar. 

All black on my windows,
pistol under my pillow,

if I'm an activist, I'm no pacifist.
I'm just keeping shit real, though.

I ain't turning a blind eye, 
and I ain't expecting no heroes.

I ain't pressing no 911, 
but I ain't living in fear, though.

[Hook]
Now what?
The same shit. The same shit.

Now what?
The same shit. The same shit.

Now what? 
The same shit. The same shit.

Now what? The same shit.
Now what? The same shit. 

Boy, it's familiar,
mess with them boys, and they kill you,
then get a lawyer to deal with 
annoying appeals to
the public to show 'em they did 'em 
a favor destroying a villain.  

No, you ain't living

if you know you ain't living
but seconds away from a sentence,
making a way for a system. 
You die or they take you to prison.
Take what they know you ain't giving.” 


Familiar [Produced By Preme]

Call Me (Feat Desiree)

Freemasonry: What is it? Where does it come from? What is one taught as a Freemason? What do they do in their closed-door rituals -- and why?  Freemasonry in the 1700s is my own field of research, and as a thank-you for reaching 50 patrons, I give a deep illumination of this unusual Society's roots in the gatherings of stonemasons in the late Middle Ages, its mythical connections to Solomon's Temple and the Crusades, and its elaborate system of symbols and initiatory rituals, which cast the Masons as a quasi-priestly caste with a shamanic connection to the world of the dead.

Please support this podcast and hear the next lecture! -- www.patreon.com/user?u=5530632

Suggested Further Reading:  David Stevenson, "Origins of Freemasonry: Scotland's Century";  Margaret Jacob, "Living the Enlightenment";  Jessica Harland-Jacobs, "Builders of Empire";  Ric Berman, "The Foundations of Modern Freemasonry";  Steven Bullock, "Revolutionary Brotherhood";  Jasper Ridley, "The Freemasons"