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Dreams Fall

H8 would shoot you for 2 grand in the woods. He could make you yänkee supreme. Make you button all shiny so you gleam. This doctor, who left his boyclub ties to spend time on the real as a junkie at the holiday courthouse, would get a cut to patch the whole up and leave you wiph a scar which the whitebwais would rock in immolation of the the passion of black boys in their the body art sculped by neoromans, centurians artisans in jake steez as sanhendrines and parasitic pharasees baited the day from the amerikkkan amphitheatres and galleries called prisons and record store shelf life.
"all men are created equal. so fear man is to offend god"
marcus garvey as recited by rza




Not even a comicbook hero
Trapped in a fishbowl
As cold as blue
Wiph the struggle in his heart woht makes
Hot the blues
So you wanna cry
It makes you wanna…
Go homies,
Go homies,
Go homies,
Cryptic writs and b-bwai suicides
Where was his tribe
Woht was his dojo?
He was livin yänkee wonderful
Black is beautiful
Black is beautiful
Being black can be harmful
Like the hateful white dude
Who’d wanted to raise up from the go dogs of construction
And get his ticket b.u.t. like the niggers in the misconception of
This valley he couldn’t cypher the price
They called him H8
And H8 he was like a morphine jock. He scooped the panopticon of the inners of the city to the blocks of his new Palestinian homeland like he fixed up wiph the bottom set to hummm.
So he stood
So he had a corner
So he
Observed like niney
Men hell bent on committing a felony
Dudes wiph axes over black men who held the answer
Motorbicycles with men gettin sloppy
…and who is that shadey paleface trashy fella hangin on the corner in stocking tuque and darkers chewin on a donut and sussin the blocks?
-Wohwoh, here come phét boogieman punk,
Says H8,

He crip or somethin maybe nothin/nothing, woh…. He frontin fo truht, dun. He blk and he smell like dog. Muddafuccin samfi, bitchass, fish. You eva hungry, ya, play phét blk, waddy-

H8 adjust his darker wiph his middle finga and shift in his space…

...sssshhhhhhooooch zuuq

Stroll passing in a broken beat cop…

…zooga zooga…...sssshhhhhhooooch

Jake around corner adjust his darkers wiph his middle and shift in a space

…Wwwwhh hrrr….

Sup wit dat shit

But thét punk, he go and ast for all thét.

He a punk.

Boogieman suck cock.

Where’s my space? Where’s my space?
…Nah, Me be down wit bein an 85 and all thét shit. Let it ride let it happen, heretic. Ain’t no c.r.e.a.m. comin thét way, dun. We ain’t no fuccin b-boy, beau—-con safos/we rifamos. They nah, tight as Us. Maybe, We let cosh thét spook.
…maybe We can use liquid freeze in a can and freeze a hand and mash it to bits. Comic like Freeze trapped in a fish bowl -- cold cool blue -- so low slowly so low in mournin for his beau lost in chamber of stop motion time…

H8 got a star…
…he work hard so the likkle can make it to the next bar…

…and bunch of drunk homies lookin for a party
sittin on benches in parks darkly
some locos shaved and some wiph fros
lookin hard
throw lighters sparkling to replace the drowned stars
try and tell the g’z thet they got nothing
b.u.t. they make up for the loss cuz they make good bottoms

...sssshhhhhhooooch zuuq
wwhhhhhiir

…it’s who you know and they said thet who H8 was rollin wiph, like thet Johnny Loc dude and all dat, that he couldn’t buy comics there no more, and all dat.
Not being to able to stand in his square, and all dat.
They decided to shut em down by vanishin the evidence, and all dat -- a kill
Aqil
Aqil
They wanna a go kill
Bein black can be harmful
H8 had likkle star.

He need a ticket

H8, he think like a whisper;
…what’s the price of a ticket…

-None of phét shit is low, Løc. Why you wanna fucx wit phét shorty-
why did this dream break
woht differed it?
Who denied it?

Who was it who won this Street?
Who gonna lock it

Like a breaker wiph a tantanium bar jammed in his spine
Who gonna spin it

Cyan git to it from there, ya.

-Here-
If you cuffed him you’d get the message -- tattoo’ed down the back of each arm
S H
t 8, he Løcel’z mans. Straight shit, H8. He slipt Løcel a thick fold of scrilla and r headed out.
8

…in the panopticon of a city when it shuts down to you.

Black is beautiful
And the bruthas in the square
The other who stood steady on a dare
From the science of the one nagah who, like jews and beats by tubby,
Had gone crazy

Save us our sold
Save us
Save us we sold

From cracked out whitebwais who strip for naga for
A fiddy sent from a choppers and the po renamed jakes…
….they use to use them but the white kids were actin too nigger culture and lookin for more… speakin all wiph that FLAVA … walkin on wiph arms lock on lifted heidi hos they found swingin from poles at montys. so they feed them chopper tee’s and the virtual trailor parks got jammed wiph fake homosexuals and alt soundtrack on stretched magnetic tape.

-Bätty-

H8 shift in his space…
Plannin an attack on a gritty
A two tone and a army of sycophants

Taken journeys in on the pages of the writs left by mu’mins who followed gaons and amirs.

Come near me

Nabi
…wiph phét said
you best pay me
H8 would shoot you for 2 grand in the woods. He could make you yänkee supreme. Make you button all shiny so you gleam. This doctor, who left his boyclub ties to spend time on the real as a junkie at the holiday courthouse, would get a cut to patch the whole up and leave you wiph a scar which the whitebwais would rock in immolation of the the passion of black boys in their the body art sculped by neoromans, centurians artisans in jake steez as sanhendrines and parasitic pharasees baited the day from the amerikkkan amphitheatres and galleries called prisons and record store shelf life.

…sorry for the mess bruh…

Woht’s the price
A fist full of rolled up nickles?
Rollin down the street onna mission
Rockin thick mitts looking for a no payin bitch?
Jus him and his mate wiph a likky switch
Goin loco for pay or
Jus for likkle kicks
Not even a comicbook hero
Who was his tribe?
Axes and black kids
Could someone give him the basic instructions?
There was no good day really.
Cuz he never knew when there was gonna be a strike.
And things would erupt
Collapsing and expandin the area outside his square to disaster.
Why did thet feggit smell like dog? Why does he walk?
Go hold him and raise a finger at his back.

Would you let him shoot you?
Pay him a grand or two make you look like you roll wiph a loco crew and knew how to be a naga
And kickit?.
So our friar H8 can find the price of a ticket.





(from more at 7:30: notes from new palestine)
a novel

1425 Lawrence Y Braithwaite (aka Lord Patch)
New Palestine/Fernwood/The Hood
Victoria, BC

 http://www.sleepybrain.net/vanilla.html

 http://www.altx.com/profiles/archives/instantfix1/braithwaite.html


 http://omnipresentrecords.com/ishaq/showcase.php?media_id=8

homepage: homepage: http://omnipresentrecords.com/ishaq/showcase.php?media_id=8


Jibberish? 22.Apr.2005 20:35

TheStraightMan

Is this some kind of attempt at disguised communications to evade
the radar of the NWO?

I do salute indymedia.org for publishing this, whatever it is.

I find that very impartial indeed.