This Poem is by a friend and colleague Diego Del Pozo.
More to come from him and the Undefeated Losers team.
My dog and I talk about human behaviors, we stay up all night discussing the relationship between people and their drugs of choice; the effects and experiences these substances offer and the genetic predisposition in all animals to find ways to intoxicate themselves. He educates me on how Elephants seek out fermented papaya for a night on the town. Monkeys chew on certain leaves because it gets them high, and tells me how the Over-mind we call God has very few things that make him laugh more than seeing a Koala stare at itself in a pond. Osiris explains to me that the reason our world is the way it is, its because humans removed themselves from nature. He continues on how addicts are called tweakers, and the image he draws is that of a war Veteran facing a broken mirror, each eye fixated on different regrets on his face.
The deaths he carries in the bags under his eyes weigh on His Rattle snake mind,
So he begins Poisoning his self image.
Consuming his thoughts like scissors.
The air hard to breathe. The air raid never ending, bombs so loud he cannot sleep at night. And every day lost in the dark he finds a way to silence his inner critic, he shoots himself up with 20mg of Heroin looking for a savior, trying to escape the battle zone for just a moment. That's the type of war stories told in the hood. Those are the type of unsung heroes that fade into a hum, a mourning at a wake. That's the American machine eating its babies.
I've been writing down radical ways to get rid of the hood, lower class neighborhoods ridden with drugs, I'm trying to find ways to end the war on the people.
I wanna drop a Warhead and flatten these street, melt these corners,
I wanna give acid to the hood.
Dilute their illusions of manhood.
Talking about "the bricks made me
love the block" brother you're being stepped on and peddled, cooked in a tar black summer heat. You hear the tongue lash, don't you? Whips, chains, brands, and a gang of niggas slanging that soft white product, its a slave language. Winter is coldest at The Big House but the hoodie blocks your vision; do you see it yet? Do you see the X? That's where a King's dream is hidden. Waiting. Not to be unburied but to be buried into, grown, develop roots back to the motherland.
We need a reset button, a way to start over. We need to love our women
Like they done raised us to be men
Like they done bled for us to live
Like we know they shed their life in tears when we die young, colored, covered in blood like flames cover a bursting star.. Young men unbecoming Gods swallowed by the red and blue lights of a black and white wormhole.
Brother, are they playing against you or just playing you? For every "bitch" or "snitch" you stitch whose losing? All these years you thought you were angry when you were really just sad. Heartbroken and broke. Harden and sadden. Easy to hear the hunger pain echo through chittering teeth. They laughing at us but we don't get the joke of shattered hoop dreams and dribbling dope. The project is to program you, are you listening the music? The projects program you.
Revolt, revive, remember we are
Gods, goddess, kings and queens.
We are a nation Of gods under the God.
He spun the Earth and lit the sun
He turned the soil in mother's womb.
So fuck you and your oppression!
We'll soon rage rage rage against the machine and we'll take back Sunday's and Monday's and all the days of our lives they have taken. Animals in cages
Crime and punishment.
Who is the judge?
Read this over, I'll let you be it.
