As I Consider My Life at 67

As I consider my life at 67, it's clear to me that I've done everything I wanted to do, written everything I wanted to write, said everything I wanted to say, and had all the beautiful, intelligent women in my life that any man could want. I've had all the dope any fool could want. I never made much money, so at this point I don't desire much. In short, today I live for my children, grandchildren and my people, the wretched of the earth.

I am happy with the knowledge I have more friends than enemies. I would be quite satisfied to go into silence, but for the people, I must continue ranting in the wilderness. My precious muse, Fahizah Alim, said it best, "Muhajir, you are the voice of the Black Man whose cry has been muffled by the clank of prison bars, the explosion of gunfire and the loud silence of apathy and compliance."
--Marvin X, May 29, 2011

Gil Scott-Heron Joins Ancestors

Gil Scott-Heron was the bridge between The Black Arts Movement and Hip Hop. Surely we are from Allah and to Him we return.
--Marvin X

Gil Scott-Heron dies aged 62

Poet and songwriter was hailed as 'Godfather of Rap' after penning The Revolution Will Not Be Televised


David Sharrock
guardian.co.uk, Saturday 28 May 2011

Gil Scott-Heron, the poet and musician regarded as the 'Godfather of Rap', has died in New York.

The musician and poet Gil Scott-Heron – best known for his pioneering rap The Revolution Will Not Be Televised – has died at the age of 62, having fallen ill after a European trip.

Jamie Byng, his UK publisher, announced the news via Twitter: "Just heard the very sad news that my dear friend and one of the most inspiring people I've ever met, the great Gil Scott-Heron, died today."

Scott-Heron's spoken word recordings helped shape the emerging hip-hop culture. Generations of rappers cite his work as an influence.

He was known as the Godfather of Rap but disapproved of the title, preferring to describe what he did as "bluesology" – a fusion of poetry, soul, blues and jazz, all shot through with a piercing social conscience and strong political messages, tackling issues such as apartheid and nuclear arms.

"If there was any individual initiative that I was responsible for it might have been that there was music in certain poems of mine, with complete progression and repeating 'hooks', which made them more like songs than just recitations with percussion," Scott-Heron wrote in the introduction to his 1990 Now and Then collection of poems.

He was best known for The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, the critically acclaimed recording from his first album Small Talk at 125th and Lenox, and for his collaborations with jazz/funk pianist and flautist Brian Jackson.

In The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, first recorded in 1970, he issued a fierce critique of the role of race in the mass media and advertising age. "The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning or white people," he sang.

He performed at the No Nukes concerts, held in 1979 at Madison Square Garden. The concerts were organised by a group called Musicians United for Safe Energy and protested against the use of nuclear energy following the meltdown at Three Mile Island. The group included singer-songwriters such as Jackson Browne, Graham Nash and Bonnie Raitt.

Scott-Heron's song We Almost Lost Detroit, written about a previous accident at a nuclear power plant, is sampled on rapper Kanye West's single The People. Scott-Heron's 2010 album, I'm New Here, was his first new studio release in 16 years and was hailed by critics. The album's first song, On Coming From a Broken Home, is an ode to his maternal grandmother, Lillie, who raised him in Jackson, Tennessee, until her death when he was 13. He moved to New York after that.

Scott-Heron was HIV positive and battled drug addiction through most of his career. He spent a year and a half in prison for possession. In a 2009 interview he said that his jail term had forced him to confront the reality of his situation.

"When you wake up every day and you're in the joint, not only do you have a problem but you have a problem with admitting you have a problem." Yet in spite of some "unhappy moments" in the past few years he still felt the need to challenge rights abuses and "the things that you pay for with your taxes".

"If the right of free speech is truly what it's supposed to be, then anything you say is all right."

Scott-Heron's friend Doris Nolan said the musician had died at St Luke's hospital on Friday afternoon. "We're all sort of shattered," she told the Associated Press.

Parable of the Poor Righteous Teacher




for Haki Madhubuti (Don L. Lee)

Sooner or later, they always come for the teacher. After all, the more popular, the more dangerous. The more serious and sincere, the more a threat to the bourgeoisie whose philosophy is do nothing, say nothing, know nothing. Thus, the serious teacher has no seat at the table. Yes, he is tolerated for a time, maybe a long time, but the plot was hatched the first day he arrived to teach, when the contract was signed, his doom was sealed.

No matter what chairs he established, no matter how many institutions he created in the name of God. The bourgeoisie care nothing for God, only as a cover for their filthy behavior in the dark, their winking and blinking at the water hole.

The teacher must know absolutely if he is on his job he won't have a job, for no matter how many years he gives of his soul, his mental genius, he is not wanted. No matter how many students he is able to raise from the box, his services are not wanted.

The bourgeoisie do not want Jack out of the box, this must be understood. They prefer Jack and Jackie stay confined and proscribed in the box of ignorance. They are mere pawns in the game of chance the bourgeoisie play until they are removed from power, after they steal all they can, when the coffers are empty, the institution bankrupt and they are under indictment.

Now they will never put down their butcher knives, never turn into Buddha heads. This is why one must practice eternal vigilance with them. They are planning and plotting the demise of the poor righteous teachers at every turn.

So the teacher must teach his students about power, but when he does, his exit papers are signed. He may not know this. He may believe he has friends on the board of trustees, but he is only fooling himself. He is a starry eyed idealist, a dreamer, who shall be awakened from his dream one day for sure. And on that day he shall find his office door locked. His classroom door secured by a guard. His students transferred to other colleagues he thought were with him. But they will only say to him, "Sorry, brother."
--Marvin X
4/5/10

Parable of the Parot

Parable of the Parrot by Marvin X




for Ngugi Wa Thiong'o and the Pan African Revolution


The king wanted parrots around him. He wants all his ministers to wear parrot masks. He said he had to do the same for the previous king. He only said what the king wanted to hear, nothing more, so he advised his ministers to do the same. In fact, they must encourage the people to become parrots.

Yes, he wanted a nation of parrots. Don't say anything the kings does not want to hear. Everything said should be music to his ears. And don't worry, he will tell you exactly what he wants to hear in his regular meetings and public addresses to the nation. Everyone will be kept informed what parrot song to sing. No one must be allowed to disagree with the king. This would be sacrilegious and punishable by death.

The king must be allowed to carry out the dreams that come to his head. No one else should dream, only the king. In this manner, according to the king, the people can make real progress. There shall always be ups and downs, but have faith in the king and everything will be all right. Now everyone sing the national anthem, the king told the people.

There must be a chorus of parrots, a choir, mass choir singing in perfect unity. Let there be parrots on every corner of the kingdom, in every branch and tree. Let all the boys sing like parrots in the beer halls. Let the preacher lead the congregation in parrot songs. Let the teachers train students to sound like parrots. Let the university professors give good grades to those who best imitate parrot sounds. Let the journalists allow no stories over the airwaves and in print if they do not have the parrot sound.

The king was happy when the entire nation put on their parrot masks. Those who refused suffered greatly until they agreed to join in. The state academics and intellectuals joined loudly in parroting the king's every wish. Thank God the masses do not hear them pontificate or read their books. After all, these intellectual and academic parrots are well paid, tenured and eat much parrot seed.

Their magic song impresses the bourgeoisie who have a vested interest in keeping the song of the parrot alive. Deep down in the hood, in the bush, the parrot song is seldom heard, only the sound of the hawk gliding through the air in stone silence looking for a parrot to eat.




--Marvin X 4/5/10

Fable of the Rooster and the Hen

Fable of the Rooster and the Hen
for Jah Amiel, James, Jazmin,
Jordan, Mahadevi, Kevin,
and you



There was a farm that had many chickens and roosters. One rooster used to control his many hens with an iron fist and he made the sound of the rooster to let others roosters know not to mess with his hens. He roared and cockadoddledoed early in the morning to signal dawn of the new day. And he cockadoodledoed throughout the day, strutting around the yard with his hens well under control, standing guard when they were laying eggs, especially when he found the door of the big house open and one of his favorites would lay her eggs on the couch in the living room of the big house.

The rooster would not go inside but stand in the doorway so he could watch both ways, inside the house and outside. If the farm lady would not come into the house and chase the hen outside, the hen would stay until she laid her egg, then she and the rooster would go down the steps and back into the yard, joining the other roosters, hens and baby chicks.

There were other fowl on the farm too: turkeys, ducks, guineas, peacocks, doves, and pigeons.
One day, after the farm lady got some special feed from the store and tried a little out on the rooster, he no longer could make the sound of the rooster. The other fowl were surprised when they heard rooster sounding like a hen and no longer making the sound of the mighty rooster. They all laughed at the rooster and thought he had gone crazy. What the hell is wrong with you, rooster, they asked. They figured maybe the farm lady had given him some special food to make him sound different. They were happy she didn't give them the feed she gave the poor rooster, who looked so pitiful and sounded even worse.

They knew something had changed him and he started not only sounding like a hen but acting like one as well. He made every attempt to act like he was laying eggs, although he wasn't able to lay any, still he put on a show for everyone on the farm who gathered around to see him play the role of a hen. Other rooster's would even stand guard while he pretended to lay eggs, though he couldn't, it was just an act and they went along with it just to please him.

He no longer strutted about like a rooster but like a hen. They called him a freak and made fun of him until he couldn't take it anymore and asked the farm lady to give him some better food so he could sound and act like a rooster again.

She honored his request, telling him she was trying out some new feed and didn't think it would completely alter his behavior, she told him she was sorry, and she would never give him that feed and special water again. The feed store had told her to try it out, but she would not bring anymore to the farm. The rooster was happy to return to his true self and make the sound of a rooster. The hens gathered around him again and the other fowl danced they were so happy to see he was a rooster again and not a hen.

--Marvin X

3/5/10

Parable of the Gangsta

Parable of the Gangsta

He wanted to be a gansta since childhood. He watched his big brothers gang banging, in and out of prison, the funerals, parties with more wine than they had at the Last Supper.

Females were always on hand serving the brothers, raising their babies, visiting them in jail and prison. Big cars, flashy clothes, bling bling, the little brother watched and waited his turn.

When it was time for him to join, he got ready for the initiation. On that day he was required to kill and rape. He was ready. No matter his mother was a hard working house cleaner who took the bus to work. She wanted none of her children's ill gotten gain. She was a Christian woman who tried to get him into college, rather than go the path of her other sons.

But he had other plans. He didn't want to be a square. He hated squares. They were, in his mind, suckers for the white man. He saw them with their suits and ties and brief cases, thinking they were all that and a bag of chips.

He saw them in the dope house coping, along with their square girls. When the girls got sprung, they would leave the square nigguhs for the dope man. He watched the square brothers get broke and turn tricks with the dope man in front of their women.

He vowed to his dead gangsta brothers he would not be a square, but would be like them, even though they didn't want him to end up like them, in prison or a coffin early in life.

Thursdays was gang initiation night in the hood. Most people stayed off the street on Thursdays, unless people got off work late and had to walk home. Anyone could be a victim if caught on the street. He drove around looking for a victim, not far from his house. It didn't matter who it was.

On a dim lighted street he saw a woman and snatched her onto the ground, tearing off her clothes. She screamed and yelled but he didn't care, especially since he was loaded on dope and out of his mind. He didn't bother to look at the woman's face as he raped her.

When he finished he turned her around and got the shock of his life. She was his mother! He ran to his car in shame and horror.
When he got home he took out his gun and shot himself in the head and fell to the floor dead. He was now a gangsta.

-
-Marvin X 3/11/10


Based on a true story.

Parable of the Pit Bull

Parable of the Pit Bull


There was a pit bull who lived in the city. A man wanted to buy him and raise him for protection, so he met with the owner and got the pedigree. He investigated the history of the dog and his family connections, to make sure he was a pure bred. Once he was clear the pit bull came from a legit line, he paid for the animal and brought it home. He was happy to have a nice pet, especially one so pure and not polluted like a mutt, a cross breed or mongrel, a mutation whose DNA was of questionable nature.

He loved his pit bull and the animal loved him. He trained the dog for fighting, and he was a great fighter, a champion who won many battles.

And then the man met a woman he really liked. He knew almost nothing about her, but he hooked up with her and eventually she moved in with him. He didn't know where she came from, nothing about her family roots, her friends, her education and work history, whether she was psychotic and/or neurotic, suicidal and/or homicidal, whether she was radical, revolutionary or reactionary.

He didn't know she had been raised in a foster home, and later an orphanage, that she had seen her mother stab her grandmother, that her mother had a nervous breakdown and was confined to an institution for life. He didn't know any of this. He didn't know she had been a prostitute, homeless and a drug addict.

But he loved her and married her. And when he found out about her past life, he didn't give a damn. Since he was rich, a baller, big willie, he gave her the best of everything, just as he treated his pit bull, even better. He dressed her in the finest clothes and took her to eat in the finest restaurants and party in the VIP section of clubs.

And then one day she disappeared. He didn't know what happened to her. Worried to death, he hired a private investigator to search for her. The private eye found her in a two dollar motel with a trick.
The man told the private eye not to disturb her, leave her where she was.
--Marvin X