[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Johnny V. on the mic and myself on the beats.
bop ya head
I’ve gotten bored with jazz to the point where I wouldn’t mind something bad happening. Slapping hurts, but at some point it’ll wake you up. I feel like jazz needs a big-ass slap.
“
| — | Robert Glasper, speaking on the fusion of jazz and hip hop (its always cool when you get an idea and some complete genius gets the same idea) |
what would you surround yourself with
in the rusted corners of the day
when i might have thought to hell with
all my words. all the things say.
take you through and tucked away
you in blue and starting to yell with
the liberating nature
of the places that we stay
it might effect my face, your
breath fits into mine
sinks in just fine
and on my side I would have fell with
careless speed, so heavy
was the levity
but you might as well, with
time to spare,
have held me down there
just above the shrivelled water
which clearly would have swelled
had our feelings all been flowing out
at the level with which they were held
give it time
in the narrowing walls
where we all unwind
and breathe in the twisting
of your mind
while otherwise in the misting
you might have been
colder than
all the days you would forget
and all the ones you might find
up ahead
like i said
quieter than buried lines in wood
and upturn your chin
unlearn the tin
roof mentality we should have stood
exposed
to whether the storm
of roads
was yours or mine
but all i had to say was give it time
lighted signs
numbers and lines
take all your fears and make, them mine
lighted signs
speaking in rhymes
you wait for me time, after time
i’m learning your name
you’re burning the same
and all our lives are claimed
surmount
light pours in
over the folds
and under your anchoring holds
on life
scream every morning
at the angles of
relentless pushing sounds
from behind
and the things we walk into, blind
twist to kinder colors
call it cacophony, crazier things
have happened in my day
but i would start to tell you the way
i would start
(and finish in part)
to show you precise
the loud intangible
delicate straight hammering
and honestly flawed but shining
way I feel
for the background to our refining
it is the only thing thats real
one summer our boat sunk
under the weight of what wasn’t there
it threw impossible sparks in air
after swimming to shore
we exchanged the remains for
two old shoes
and nothing more
and determined to use
the fresh footwear
to walk the miles of no terrain
that crawled under us
like a modernized wilderness
devoid of direction
pray that time
stands
still
