on tho(ugh)ts

thoughts can get fucked up sometimes; one moment you could be thinking about cherry blossom trees and the serenity of such a scenery and the other could drive you into a murderous frenzy

thots are more fucked up because they come into your lives as a thing of temporary permanence; an oxymoron that cannot be broken

not all thoughts are beautiful! they don’t need to have sunshine and rainbows with a pot of gold at they end line; they can have blood and bones and smoke and ash and death and despair, too

thots, similarly, need not be beautiful; as a thing of temporary permanence, the general rule is: what happens under the sheets gets burnt along with the sheets- when was the last time i did not feel emotional attachment to one, i wonder?

my thoughts have produced mixed results; they’ve made me who i am today and i think im ok this way

thots have left me the way i am and i resent them from the depth of my black heart

Advertisements

A Story From The Streets

He could hear the sirens wailing, the gunshots, the explosions, everything. He could hear the gangbangers screaming for blood, the ordinary populace crying for justice, little kids screaming for their mothers. And yet, there he lay, motionless, paralyzed, not being able to move worth a damn but sensing everything that was going on around him. He always knew that it was gonna come down to this, that the city was gonna melt down. He always knew that the people on the streets were gonna lose they minds and create riots that were gonna revolutionize the administrative and judicial system forever. He knew this because he was a part of the revolution- a soldier of the struggle. As he lay on the streets, gazing up at the sky, looking at the stars shining brighter than he had ever seen them before, he felt his pulse slow down. He knew he was nearing his end. He’d lost too much blood, but it wasn’t all for naught. The revolution had begun- the fight had been taken to the streets and the people on the streets were hungry for justice. They were fed up of the police brutality. They’d been pushed to the edge. Now, they were gonna strike back. He closed his eyes one last time amongst the noise of the glorious agitation and rewound to the moment where it all began.
He remembered being a young hustler, trying to make a living. He didn’t have no family- his parents died when he was 11 and he had no siblings. He grew up on the rough side of the grub, learning how to evade the authorities when they came looking for homeless children, stealing food to keep himself from starving to death, running from one back alley to the other, fighting to survive. When he was 15, he found some cats hanging in the back alley where he was taking refuge at one night, dope slanging. Curious, he walked up to the brothers and asked them what they was doing, because he could see that they had a huge bag full of something that smelled kinda funky and rolls on Benjamins stuffed in their pockets. Luckily for him, these cats were cool. They didn’t blow his brains out with the mac-11, they took a brother in. They taught him the rules of the streets, taught him how to hustle and make a living by slanging dope. After a solid 3 years with the gang, he was established. He had those rolls of Benjamins in his pockets and this time around, he was the one selling some of that funky stuff. The gang was family now. Everybody would put their lives on the line to save a brother’s neck. But then, he discovered the nasty side of the dope dealing business. His boy Jimmy got arrested one day on “probable cause”. They weren’t allowed to visit him in Juvie. Jimmy was sentenced to a 6 month term for finding marijuana on his person. When he got out though, the real story was revealed to us. Thing is, the police arrested Jimmy without any solid case. They planted the drugs and framed him and it was all because Jimmy was black. That’s when he realized that this type of police brutality needs to stop. The gang started mobilizing. They called in all the sets- friendly or unfriendly. The young hustler from the streets became the voice of these cats repping their sets. He was their speaker, telling the world about what goes down in the hood, giving them their side of the story. He came out as their leader, the voice on the street block. He heard about this one group who was repping the same story, but portraying it through music. Their art spread through the city like wildfire. Soon, all the sets were vibing to that record. This is where this movement turned into a revolution. This is where the beginning began.
Now, with his eyes closed and his heart full, his ears pricked up for amidst the gunshots and the ruckus, he could hear a car stereo playing some music. It was that very same song that had inspired the sets to come together in the first place. As his consciousness drowned out, the last words he heard, reaffirmed his faith in their struggle and made him crack a smile before his eyes went blank.

“Fuck Tha Police, coming straight from the underground. A young nigga got it bad ‘cause I’m brown…”

From a Caterpillar to a Butterfly

He lay there, clutching his waist, crawling towards the watch tower. “Just another yard”, he said to himself. The nigga had been shot through his stomach four times. His homies had abandoned him. The enemy had won the war. His hood wasn’t his anymore. All his hood rats were either dead or had turned over to the enemy. He was the last one of his clan. The essence of life was draining out of him. He gave up trying to crawl to safety. He lay on the streets, unable to move another inch of his body. Eventually, he passed out. His mind drifted into flashback.

His life as a gangster started out with hustling. He started out as a small time pusher, selling Mary to white them kids up in the Projects. With time, he made a name for himself and moved on from selling small amounts of Mary to hustling kilos of all kinds of dope. Cocaine, heroin, LSD; you name it, he got it. The little nappy-headed nigga from the trailer park was on a rise. He blew from a small-time dope dealer to the go-to man for dope in his entire city. But then he got busted. He lost all dope. He lost his money. He was broke. Broke, and envious. Envious, of those gangsters who went about bribing cops like a parent would pay his child’s fees. Because hustling was a risky profession. But gang-banging? That’s the ultimate dream of a nigga. During his incarceration, he made an intricate plot to win back his former glory and extend it to new heights.

After getting out, he went back to hustling but this time, he kept his focus on the underbelly of his fair town. He kept his ears to the streets and found out its vulnerable spots. With time, he extended his influence to those gangbangers and those hood rats. He took those lost souls under his wing and gave their lives a new purpose.

They prospered under his leadership. The police didn’t dare cross them, their business was booming, money was raining down on them from the heavens.  Indeed, his life was that of a true Thug.  But then came his downfall, the betrayal.

He discovered that there was an occult group within his organization. The aim of this group was to overthrow him and take over the city. He was in a state of utter disbelief when he found out that the leader of this group none other than his most trusted homie. His protege. He confronted this occult group and drove them out of his town.

But they returned. They came back, with stronger allies from the south. Then came a time of utter catastrophe, of rage and destruction, of War. They went all out. Each side brought out the big guns. The entire city was rioting. The police lost control. His entire world was consumed in Drugs and War.

But he didn’t give up. He fought till his last clip was empty. He fought till his loyalists stood by him. Now, he was broken. He had been defeated. As he lay there, he heard a transistor come to life. He recollected hearing the words in some interview he was watching the other day. Lying there, he gave up all hopes of surviving. He just closed his eyes and listened to the words, for they best described his world:

“The Caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets. Its only job is to eat or consume everything around it, in order to protect itself from this m.A.A.d city. While consuming its environment, the Caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive. One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him, but praises the Butterfly. The Butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness and the beauty within the Caterpillar. But having a harsh outlook on life, the Caterpillar sees the Butterfly as weak and figures out a way to Pimp it to his own benefits. Already surrounded by this m.A.A.d city, the Caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon which institutionalizes him. He can no longer see past his thoughts. He’s trapped. When trapped inside these walls, certain ideas start taking root such as going home and bringing back new concepts to this m.A.A.d city. The result? Wings being to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant. Finally free, the Butterfly sheds light on situations that the Caterpillar never considered, ending the eternal struggle. Although the Butterfly and Caterpillar are completely different, they are one and the same.”