Edgard1601

"The slam judges don't know the difference between a sestina and a simile." Avant-garde refusal, no Black Male Show here. No return on investment for your lost items purchased with piss and prayer. They’ll turn your tragedy into a boilerplate bestseller, your blood into bloodline fashion for 90210 babes. Poets from the cross get lifted up just to be forklifted down. Publishers buy pain, record companies buy gear. We don’t dance huckabuck for the master’s party.

Using Emmett Till's name to brag about "leaving a bitch on read." Leave it there. You contribute nothing meaningful to the artform.

"A white woman walked towards me and our eyes locked to meet/Felt the fear inside the air as she moved to cross the street/Should I blame her for seeing me and picturing a threat?/Or the centuries of whipping that's keeping women in debt?"
Yes, you should blame her. White feminine paranoia killed Botham Jean. White racial paranoia is a social force with a long record of deadly consequences for Blackness. Stop pandering. The social commentary is way too diffuse to be potent.

Buried classic of industrial hip‑hop. It's a warehouse riot in metal, spoken word, and looping pyrotechnics, where found‑object percussion and power tools turn the machinery of labor into a battering ram against the spectacle of TV, Contra myth‑making, and "apartheid is a headache remedy" genocide‑denial. Even in its more even‑handed nuclear dread, it never abandons the idea that the screen is the state’s first strike and this noise its only honest reply.