Tuesday, September 30, 2008

r.i.p devin brown

Written February 7, 2oo5

In the quiet of 4:00 on a Sunday morning, in the darkness, alone in the front seat of a car, the short, sweet life of Devin Brown was ended in a violent burst of gunfire. A night-riding Los Angeles police officer stood near the car he was in. It took him seconds to draw his gun and fire: Five shots. Then five more. Half of them struck and killed the boy in the car. Devin Brown was 13.
The whole incident that ended with murder of this Black 8th-grader took less than five minutes from start to finish. Cops started chasing the Toyota Camry that Devin and another boy were in during the early hours of Sunday, February 6. They said later they thought maybe it was a drunk driver. A chase lasting three or four minutes and covering a few miles, ended when the small car crashed onto the fence of a used tire place at 83rd and Western in South Central L.A. The police say that one youth got out of the car and ran, leaving Devin alone. Within seconds, a cop got out of his car and started shooting. He was so trigger-happy that five of the bullets hit his own car. The police said that the small compact backed into the police car, and the cop fired "in fear of his life." "They assassinated him twice," a friend of the family of Devin Brown told an abc news reporter.
They not only murdered him, but tried to make him sound dangerous. They said the car was stolen, though they didn’t know it at the time they shot him. LAPD Chief William Bratton talked about a "high-speed chase," when the top speed they cited was 40 to 50 miles per hour. When speaking of the bullets the cop fired into his own car, Bratton said there was a danger of police being caught "in a crossfire," when Devin had NO KIND OF WEAPON.
Devin’s father, Charles Brown, had quit a construction job to go to work for the school system in order to spend more time with his family. When he died of respiratory disease, Devin was devastated. At first he missed a lot of school, but he had recently started back improving. He could do impressions, and he made his whole class laugh at his renditions of TV commercials. Other kids called him, "Willie B," a name they inscribed on a banner that they all signed and hung by the memorial that people made at the corner of 83rd and Western. One message said, "Now you rest, and we’ll do the rest." Many wrote short notes: "I love you." "It’s fucked up."
The corner of 83rd and Western became the focal point of the anger and outrage that burst forth all over Los Angeles. Beginning Sunday, people came with signs and flowers. Over 200 candles were placed on the corner, I brought one as well. Didn't know the boy personally, but how could I not feel for him? There was so much pain in the air. You could still see Devin’s blood staining the street. Everyone was hype- yelling profanity at the patrol cars on cruise.
People in the neighborhood disputed many aspects of the police version, casting doubt on whether Devin was ordered to get out of the car before the police opened fire, and even whether he was driving. Because I’m outraged that a policeman following a car for miles would not be able to see that it was a child driving the car. Instead, they took it as an opportunity to open fire and to kill, to take someone’s life. It is indicative of the racist society we live in.
There are lies the police tell that are so familiar that anyone can recite them: "Reached for the waist band"; "Pointed their hand at the police in a threatening manner."
Another one— "Backed the car toward the officers" —was used a year ago when the LAPD shot and killed Nicholas Killinger outside Santa Monica High School, a shooting they just decided violated department guidelines for shooting and killing people. In November 2002, two weeks after William J. Bratton became police chief of the LAPD, his cops killed four people in two days in several incidents. At that time, cops twice claimed there was a vehicle backing toward them, even though there were witnesses who said they were cold-blooded killings.
What were they there to do? You know, fuck all this ‘serve and protect’ bullshit. If they were there to serve and protect, they would have found any way but the way they did it to handle this scene, they could have and would have found a solution that was much better than this. This is the way the proletariat, when it’s been in power, has handled and would again handle this kind of thing—valuing the lives of the masses of people—as opposed to the bourgeoisie in power, where the role of their police is to terrorize the masses, including wantonly murdering them, murdering them without provocation, without necessity, because exactly the more arbitrary the terror is, the more broadly it affects the masses."

Thursday, September 18, 2008

mr. johnny law

Written April 2, 2001

According to the US Justice department; "black men will have a one in three chance of going to prison during their lifetime if current trends continue". Surely you're aware of the "current trends" in which they speak. IE: the unpropitious behavior of the populace like drug dealings for larger rims & manslaughter over who wore what color today. More than 5.6 million Americans are either in prison or have served time there - and according to the reports , that number will continue to rise. But the streets yell it out louder than the PO-PO's paperwork ever could. Ever notice that if the neighborhood is "predominately black" liquor stores happen to be the most common landmark? Few uprising churches, few community colleges, fewer libraries, more abortion facilities, more smoke shops... well these are the things I've noticed over & over again. Almost everyday a young black man is either handcuffed by "johnny law" or his physique is found breathless beneath caution yellow tape on a secluded block in a notorious neighborhood. Nine times out of ten when a black man return home from an institution they're immediately showered, pampered, given money and praised. Like THAT was an accomplishment. There's rarely any tough love. We're usually so happy the person is out of jail we get caught up and forget to pray together. Why do most young men find jail to be glorious? Commit a crime, receive praise? (Even that sentence looks preposterous). Especially from peers and so called "friends". Jail is the new Yale to some of you people. How about, instead of the "FREE such/n/such" on your myspace page... offer that person some FREE knowledge. A push in the right direction. Let's stop condoning this contradictory activity our youth is paying such close attention to.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

i cry, by tupac

Sometimes when I'm alone I Cry, Cause I am on my own. The tears I cry are bitter and warm. They flow with life but take no form I Cry because my heart is torn. I find it difficult to carry on. If I had an ear to confiding, I would cry among my treasured friend, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on. The world moves fast and it would rather pass by. Then to stop and see what makes one cry, so painful and sad. And sometimes... I Cry and no one cares about why.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Ambition over Adversity, by tupac

Take ones adversity Learn from their misfortune Learn from their pain Believe in something Believe in yourself Turn adversity into ambition Now blossom into wealth

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Thee "I have a dream" speech, 1963

Delivered by Martin Luther King Jr. 8/28/1963 on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington
"I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But 100 years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a cheque. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of colour are concerned. Instead of honouring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad cheque which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we've come to cash this cheque - a cheque that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. Sweltering summer... of discontent We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. 1963 is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquillity in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: in the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvellous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realise that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. Trials and tribulations There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights: "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied and we will not be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. The dream I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed - we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today! I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama little black boys and little black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today! I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.
With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning: "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California. But not only that. Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Monday, September 1, 2008

ignorant shit

Drama? Call me Switzerland. But don't get it twisted If you try to Poland me or my people I will turn Atomic Bomb and Hiroshima-Nagasaki your worthless ass. . . . mmkay? Thanks dear. =]

Disney's first african american princess!


Princess Tiana
Here's the trailer...

untitled...


Definately Unique, Momma named me right/ Aside from my neck, my mentality's bright/ A true diva "bout a dolla"; gimme cash in hand/ Cause what she lacks, I stack and matter fact it's fact/ I'm humble & wit' it/ Watch 'em stumble while I get it/ I aim to win it, most can barely begin it/ It's teasin' not appeasin' when you buy me a drank/ Ganja got me stank; withdrawling Ben. Frank from the bank/ So when you address me, don't think it impress me/ Cause I'm like none other, BLESSED an entreprenuer/ Ni**as tryna persue/ D-Boyz tryna get to her/ She got money on her mind, I STAY on my grind/ Your lady tryna get like me & put ma swag on rewind/ But I'ma real woman... big cake? I own that/ She fake & imitators 'nique jus won't condone that/ See cause I've been a hustler since Reeses at recess/ Tuckin county lunch tickets up in ma Chnel dress/ & Sexy as I wanna be, I'm catchin "oohs & ahhs"/ Gifted with the groove and I'm smooth as Nas/ World aint ready for the fetty I'm makin moves to cop/ Jones even got the broke ni**as yellin "Ballinnnnnnnnn" & ya'll need to stop!
WLA^ =]

child of god

I am a child of God with a lot on her mind... My Heavenly Father has blessed me with many strengths and talents, and for him I am grateful. Many couldn't even begin to fathom my mentality which makes them envious and hateful. I could teach and preach until my life comes to an end. Or I could sit back and laugh at the way they all pretend. The less fortunate call me lucky; like a four leaf clover nobody could find. I am a child of God with a lot on her mind... I'm far from average, I'm in a league of my own. Females have hated yet imitated, ignorance I never did condone. But haters is the least of my concern, it means I'm handlein' mine. So if you're losing sleep over lil 'ol me....Mmmkay, that's fine. But I'm UNiQUE, my mother knew I was one of a kind. They call me lucky; like a four leaf clover nobody could find. I am a child of God with a lot on her mind... Why are black people so distant and disturbed? Why are WE who you see with a can of O.E on the curb? Why do most brothas plant seeds with no intention on being in attendance for the growth? Why do most sistas testify that he never blacked her eye while under oathe? Did we forget that black is beautiful and that we are the greatest? Or is it because Tupac died we no longer consider that the lastest? They call me lucky; like a four leaf clover nobody could find. I am a child of God with a lot on her mind... To those still unfamiliar; I am a Black Queen, so try that for a change. Don't refer to me as "shawty","lil mama","baby girl" as u roll down the tint on your Range. I'll decline the recognition in which you seek, And twist the key in my ignition, with a slight recline of my seat, Giving you no eye contact, just a vibe from the vibration of my beat . I've been a victim of lust and NEVER AGAIN will I be fooled. So if Omari got an icebox, then my chest is quite cooled. 'Cause you see, They call me lucky; like a four leaf clover nobody could find. I am a child of God with a lot on her mind... I am an emcee and I've got a clean spit. And 300 bars vicious as my blonde staffordshire pitt :) Na, I won't be +Throwin Some D's+ or +Shakin' Ma Laffy Taffy+ though It's absolutely irrelevant if I can +Pop Lock & Drop It+ or if +Ma Chain Hang Low+ I eat +Chicken Noodle Soup+ strictly when I've got the flu, But the instrumental? I'll admit... I just might have to do 'Cause see they call me lucky; like a four leaf clover nobody could find. I am a child of God with too damn much on her mind... Now Until Next Time . . .

lyrical abstraction

My life is a moving piece of art... I bleed excellence, I piss fame... One day is gritty, abstract, and confusing... Other days are glamourous, so pretty that if you look for too long, you fear you might infect it with your own insecurities... Any day it could be plain, posessing a lifeless, still simplicity as the Mona Lisa... Sometimes it's a sculture forever shifting into what the crowd wants to be ... It's hard having your life be art... You're either timeless or temporary fad... So with that being said, Here is my chance to dance with eternity...
(so turn the beat up why don't you?)