Saul Williams. Niezwykle charyzmatyczny poeta i raper. Ostatnio dostałem jego tomik wierszy pt. "Dead Emcee Scrolls: The Teachings of Hip-Hop". Trafiłem dziś na ten kawałek, idzie do moich ulubionych. 
In a past life I was a wood-carver's knife. The
sharpened blade of a woodcutter. The eldest
son of the chief's brother. A maker of drums.
We scraped the insides of goat hides to find
the hollow where sound resides. Offering
the parts we did not use. To invoke the muse.
Music of the ghettos, the cosmos, the negroes,
the necros: overcomers of death; disciples of
breath. Dissection of drumbeats like Osiris
by Seth.
Breakbeats into fourteen pieces. Dissembled
chaos. Organized noise. A patchwork of
heartbeats to ressurect b-boys. Be men.
Let's mend the broken heart of Isis. Age of
Aquarius. Mother Nature is furious. While
you rhyme about being hardcore, be heart-
core. What is it that we do art for?
Metaphor. Meta-sin. It's an age of healing.
Why not rhyme about what you're feeling?
Or not be felt. Deal with the cards you're
dealt.
Calling all tarot readers and sparrow feeders
to cancel the apcalypse. Metaphorically
speaking.
A kto zaciekawion, tutaj próbka jego możliwości:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojDKI8JxfLs (to akurat fragment filmu),
i jeszcze kawałek
Telegram (muzyka: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-j_l7SkYCc)
I'm fallin' up flights of stairs
Scrapin' myself from the sidewalk
Jumpin' from rivers to bridges
Drownin' in pure air
Hip hop is lyin' on the side of the road
Half dead to itself
Blood scrawled over it's mangled flesh like jazz
Stuffed into an over sized record bag
Tuba lips swollen beyond recognition
Diamond-studded teeth strewn like rice at Karma's wedding
The ring bearer bore bad news
Minister of Information wrote the wrong proclamation
An' now everyone's singin' the wrong song
Dissonant chords find necks like nooses
That nigga kicked the chair from under my feet
Harlem shakin' from a rope but still on beat
Damn, that loop is tight
That nigga found a way to sample the way the truth the light
Can't wait to play myself at the party tonight
Niggas are gonna die
Cop car swerves to the side of the road
Hip hop takes it's last breath
The cop scrawls vernacular manslaughter on a yellow pad
Then balls the paper into his hand decidin' he'd rather freestyle
"You have the right to remain silent"
"You have the right to remain silent"
An' maybe you should have, maybe you should have
Before your bullshit manifested
These thugs can't fuck with me, they're too thugged out
Niggas think I'm bugged out 'cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out
This ain't hip hop no more, son, it's bigger than that
This ain't ghetto no more, black, it's bigger than black
So where my aliens at? Girl, we all illegal
This system ain't for us, it's for rich people
An' you ain't rich, dawg, you just got money
But you can't buy shit to not get hungry
Telegram to Hip Hop
Dear Hip Hop, stop
This shit has gone too far, stop
Please see that turntables an' mixer are returned to Kool Herc, stop
The ghettos are dancin' off beat, stop
The master of ceremonies have forgotten
That they were once slaves and have neglected
The occasion of this ceremony, stop
Perhaps we should not have encouraged them
To use cordless microphones
For they have walked too far from the source
An' are emittin' a lesser frequency, stop
Please inform all interested parties
That cash nor murder have been included to list of elements, stop
We are discontinuin' our line of braggadocio
In light of the current trend in 'Realness', stop
As an alternative, we will be confiscatin' weed supplies
An' replacin' them with magic mushrooms
In hopes of helpin' niggas see beyond their reality, stop
Give my regards to Brooklyn
These thugs can't fuck with me, they're too thugged out
Niggas think I'm bugged out 'cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out
This ain't hip hop no more, son, it's bigger than that
This ain't ghetto no more, black, it's bigger than black
So where my aliens at? Girl, we all illegal
This system ain't for us, it's for rich people
An' you ain't rich, dawg, you just got money
But you can't buy shit to not get hungry
These cats can't fuck with me, I purr purple
Sold, increased, toe shell like a turtle
I walk the streets like the lie that I'm tellin'
One listener grips me and starts yellin'
I see through speakers, I speak what's seen
I eat and shed, I sleep and dream
I walk the streets of London like, "'Know what I mean? "
An' chillin' rack a momma, eatin' crib soy beans.
In a past life I was a wood-carver's knife. The
sharpened blade of a woodcutter. The eldest
son of the chief's brother. A maker of drums.
We scraped the insides of goat hides to find
the hollow where sound resides. Offering
the parts we did not use. To invoke the muse.
Music of the ghettos, the cosmos, the negroes,
the necros: overcomers of death; disciples of
breath. Dissection of drumbeats like Osiris
by Seth.
Breakbeats into fourteen pieces. Dissembled
chaos. Organized noise. A patchwork of
heartbeats to ressurect b-boys. Be men.
Let's mend the broken heart of Isis. Age of
Aquarius. Mother Nature is furious. While
you rhyme about being hardcore, be heart-
core. What is it that we do art for?
Metaphor. Meta-sin. It's an age of healing.
Why not rhyme about what you're feeling?
Or not be felt. Deal with the cards you're
dealt.
Calling all tarot readers and sparrow feeders
to cancel the apcalypse. Metaphorically
speaking.
A kto zaciekawion, tutaj próbka jego możliwości:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojDKI8JxfLs (to akurat fragment filmu),
i jeszcze kawałek
Telegram (muzyka: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-j_l7SkYCc)
I'm fallin' up flights of stairs
Scrapin' myself from the sidewalk
Jumpin' from rivers to bridges
Drownin' in pure air
Hip hop is lyin' on the side of the road
Half dead to itself
Blood scrawled over it's mangled flesh like jazz
Stuffed into an over sized record bag
Tuba lips swollen beyond recognition
Diamond-studded teeth strewn like rice at Karma's wedding
The ring bearer bore bad news
Minister of Information wrote the wrong proclamation
An' now everyone's singin' the wrong song
Dissonant chords find necks like nooses
That nigga kicked the chair from under my feet
Harlem shakin' from a rope but still on beat
Damn, that loop is tight
That nigga found a way to sample the way the truth the light
Can't wait to play myself at the party tonight
Niggas are gonna die
Cop car swerves to the side of the road
Hip hop takes it's last breath
The cop scrawls vernacular manslaughter on a yellow pad
Then balls the paper into his hand decidin' he'd rather freestyle
"You have the right to remain silent"
"You have the right to remain silent"
An' maybe you should have, maybe you should have
Before your bullshit manifested
These thugs can't fuck with me, they're too thugged out
Niggas think I'm bugged out 'cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out
This ain't hip hop no more, son, it's bigger than that
This ain't ghetto no more, black, it's bigger than black
So where my aliens at? Girl, we all illegal
This system ain't for us, it's for rich people
An' you ain't rich, dawg, you just got money
But you can't buy shit to not get hungry
Telegram to Hip Hop
Dear Hip Hop, stop
This shit has gone too far, stop
Please see that turntables an' mixer are returned to Kool Herc, stop
The ghettos are dancin' off beat, stop
The master of ceremonies have forgotten
That they were once slaves and have neglected
The occasion of this ceremony, stop
Perhaps we should not have encouraged them
To use cordless microphones
For they have walked too far from the source
An' are emittin' a lesser frequency, stop
Please inform all interested parties
That cash nor murder have been included to list of elements, stop
We are discontinuin' our line of braggadocio
In light of the current trend in 'Realness', stop
As an alternative, we will be confiscatin' weed supplies
An' replacin' them with magic mushrooms
In hopes of helpin' niggas see beyond their reality, stop
Give my regards to Brooklyn
These thugs can't fuck with me, they're too thugged out
Niggas think I'm bugged out 'cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out
This ain't hip hop no more, son, it's bigger than that
This ain't ghetto no more, black, it's bigger than black
So where my aliens at? Girl, we all illegal
This system ain't for us, it's for rich people
An' you ain't rich, dawg, you just got money
But you can't buy shit to not get hungry
These cats can't fuck with me, I purr purple
Sold, increased, toe shell like a turtle
I walk the streets like the lie that I'm tellin'
One listener grips me and starts yellin'
I see through speakers, I speak what's seen
I eat and shed, I sleep and dream
I walk the streets of London like, "'Know what I mean? "
An' chillin' rack a momma, eatin' crib soy beans.
You'll never shine
Until you find your moon
To bring your wolf to a howl.
Until you find your moon
To bring your wolf to a howl.
--- Saul Williams