The Evolution of...The Evolution of Intelligent Design in Rhyme with Reason (The Vow)
Today I make a vow to speak my words into action without retraction, with full satisfaction and full interaction with all that is real, all that I feel and all that I am. I make this vow with the knowledge that words matter, because they are matter. Words are matter of the heart beating and pumping through rhythm, reverberating through mountains and reflecting in rivers. Why do you think they call rapping flowing? It is because a true emcee moves as water, formless and colorless. His or her raps take the form of thought in time, space, moment and momentum like a flowing river that never knows its next move, but rather feels its next move, meandering over the beaten path of rocks and the rocking path of beats forming symmetry through motion, divinity through oceans of spatial and physical intelligence. In this way, I vow no longer to speak in the trivial s
A man sits at his desk with pen in hand. He writes today with the pen oozing ink like blood performing stigmata as penance for past sins. His hand trembles inside his mind's consciousness and wonders if this is the time to break the rules . if this ephemeral moment is enough to break the streak of free slave labor, internships, and paying of dues because bills will be due soon enough and he can't pay his dues if his dues don't get paid!
His pen shouts in hip hop drums, rhythmic tongues and non-partisan social commentary that sings "WAKE UP WORLD! RED STATES AND BLUE STATES UNITE INTO NEW STATES, CUZ RED, WHITE AND BLUE STATES ARE NOT IN EXISTANCE" he is that which DC won't see. His poems stop by the mint to try to make a dollar out of common sense with uncommon valor and ferocity, logic and intuition, science and a religion, because labels belong in retail stores and grocery isles and NOT ON HIM. Not today.
Today he is Everyman, everyone with a voice and choice to
We are Lower ManhattanIt's been five years since those towers fell and we still smell the bodies, the ash, the twisted steel, florescent lights and computer screens, the fiberglass, and broken windows turning to broken hearts. And those hearts are heard beating less and less, becoming fewer and fewer, burdened by their having to support collapsing lungs and silenced tongues covered in chemical compounds of asbestos and fingers. Athletic children with asthma just can't stand the strain of baseball anymore. A formerly happy teenaged girl is now horrified by the smell of the perfume her grandmother gave her at her sweet sixteen. She is green and vomiting from tiny molecules. She lay sick in her bed for days on end. Our pastor can't speak as vigorously as he used to. He has to leave little pregnant pauses where his fire used to be. The blue collars in town are a little grayish- blue now and the woman next door may have Lou Gehrig's Disease.
And we want to run away, but some of us don't have any breat