i quote, therefore i post.


" i want to be as free as the spirits of those who left ."

dear houston.

if you were to see me again,
you wouldn't even know me.

thanks for errthang.

-sincerely, beanie.



my fave.

"fated to pretend."

[had to bring it back.]


people live for the validation of those who don't matter to them.

we can't even love ourselves unless we have their consent.

[On the flipside].

people rebel so others will see them as different.

we are all living to portray a certain image.

i wish social acceptance didn't exist.

oftentimes i find myself victim of unworthy censorship.

and im sick of it.


b.m.f. [building minds faster].

"who use most the drugs? americans.
what's in afghanistan? heroine.
you think that's by mistake? ..."


"Never apologize for being real ... EVER
Reality is the enemy of fakes, frauds, liars
& protectors of ignorance. it scares them."
-Lupe Fiasco
via twittah


pieces of a man.


pretty please come back.




i cried reading this in class today :(
its just an exercise, & its totally fictional.

he lights up in the back of a dark car,
the glow from the tiny flame revealing
a young, but weary face
traces of innocence
dully glimmer
in his eyes,
an innocence that withers
with each day, as more & more of him dies.

its only weed.
and if you've ever seen some of the things
he sees constantly,
then, you would understand his need
And his longing to be free
from pain
to look through someone else's eyes
someone with a lesser plight,
even if only

But i feel i will lose him one day
That one morning he will awake,
as just a body ;
empty and hollow.
he won't remember my face
he won't remember how he would stare
into my eyes for hours,
he won't remember our connection
through conversation

he won't remember that i know him.

that he had opened up to me
and showed me the placed that
he cried from.
i felt the light from the fire
that burned deep inside him
so hypnotizing,

i was intrigued.
he told everything to me.
Could it have been that somehow he
was aware that he would never be the
same again?
So that a piece of him would still exist,
after he succumbed to the pain?
he was contemplating embarking on a
suicidal journey,
that began with a needle
in his veins.

He would never see the world again.
And i saw it in his eyes.
he wanted to take the pain away.

he wanted to die.


can't forget about u.

Mike Vick got 2 years for fighting dogs.
& Mehserle gets 2 years for killing a black man.

i know the media will soon move on,
much like the rest of the world.

but it weighs heavily on my heart.
i keep thinking about
Oscar Grant.
Gary King Jr.
Lil Bobby Hutton.
Sean Bell.
'you worthless nigger'
may have very well been the
last words they heard
before closing their eyes.
for good.

i keep thinking about
when they walked this earth
when they were kings,
when precious lives were taken
so cowardly.

so immoral.

i keep thinking about the
freedom granted to their murderers ....

but i also find peace in knowing
that their souls are eternal ......

i just
can't take it anymore.
Oscar Grant must be declared
the last black man to die in vein.
we can't forget
about his lifeless body
lying in cold blood,
hands tied behind his back,
while his killer will soon walk as
a free man.

we can't forget about Gary King Jr.
'mistakenly' identified,
then handcuffed by these crackers
AFTER being shot twice.

we can't forget
how these devils washed
away the mural painted
adjacent to the same spot
that he lay in.

we can't forget.

everyday should serve as a constant reminder of this corruptive system.
for every time the blood of a innocent black man is spilled,
we must remember him.

we can't forget,
when newspapers stop printing their names.
we can't forget when the media instead
airs the footage of that fuckin footlocker
being looted,

instead of when his grandfather spoke.

we have to see the whole establishment for what it really is.

these devils take the lives of our brothers and sisters
like its nothin.
with no consequences
or repercussions.
you see,
we love Oscar Grant
'because in him, we
saw some of us.
he walked liked us,
talked like us,'
looked like us
and was gunned-down by a crooked cop.
He could have been us.

it doesn't matter
if its in broad day.
if you're unarmed. witnesses present.
you're simply just standing there.
or if it's all caught ON TAPE.

it doesn't matter,

these crackers don't give a fuck about us.
how can they protect and serve a people
they harbor such a deep rooted hatred for?
dating back to when we were kings & queens,
czars, scholars, poets, mathematicians
& scientists in Africa,
while they sat in their own shit
catching diseases because they couldn't figure out not
to drink the same water that they bathed in.

and we are the inferior people?

this country is based on a foundation of hypocrisy, lies,
and racism
but it was BUILT by our blood, sweat, tears & slave labor.
and ain't nothing changed,
thats why they takin money out of OUR paychecks to
pay the wages of the same pigs who's killin OUR kids.
to them, we'll always be three-fifths
of a human

they patrol our neighborhoods
from safe distances, in unmarked cars
knowingly protecting an ungodly system under the oath of God.

we can't depend on them for nothin,
not for peace,
not for justice,
not for bread,
not for water,
or shelter.

black people,
lets get free.

RIP Oscar Grant.


badu tip.

trace mag.

the wind cries mary. [live.]

"a broom is drearily sweeping
up the broken pieces of yesterday's life..."

i love this man. i guess its the berkeley in me.

lemme write this right quick.

i think one of the greatest parts
of the writer's gift is his ability
to see things for what they really are.

his awareness.

to look at people they've known for all their lives
with the reverie of seeing his life anew.
to dissect the thoughts and motives,
words and movements,
inconspicuously watching
and unconsciously studying
one's disposition & characteristics.

not psychoanalyzing,
rather .... recognizing .
seeing things people aren't fully aware
of themselves.....

i think
everybody wants to be artistic in one way or another.
everybody wants to be able to look at certain things with
great understanding and depth,
uncovering profound perception
in everyday occurrences.
maybe not everyone is born with this ability.
or maybe they are,
they just don't want to see
the world for what it really is.

which is why their form of art is fraudulent, weak
& just like every other poser on the planet.
you know them as the ones who claim to be into fashion,
but simply buy the expensive clothes off the mannequins.
those who believe they are photographers,
but just own fancy cameras,
& capture other people's visions,
or what they believe
everyone else wants to see,
their shallow definition of what it is to be deep.
or the ones who blog about how unique they are,
how everyone is the same,
but are themselves a
regurgitation of words,
a mirror of thought,
weak minded individuals who don't possess
the intellect to think for themselves.

some have the gift of transforming thoughts
running rampantly through their minds
into a work of art.
no matter what the fuck rihanna is wearing
or how many megapixels in their lenses,
or the number of followers on their tumblr accounts.

some people build their lives around this,
some acknowledge it as a gift from God.

and then there's you,
& shitting
on our livelihood.

...& if you think this is about you,
then it probably is.

july 4th.

"now imagine if those fireworks were bombs. then you'd know how people in Iraq feel."

ballad of the black gold.

no justice. no peace.


so i guess vacationing & dentist appointments are more important than a black man's life.

RIP Oscar Grant.