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1 01:23
I want to be a terrorist. I want to terrorize this world of men which vilifies my self-defense from constant acts of violence from police, military, and government. Do I seem dangerous in a weaponized world, on seized land no less? Do I seem dangerous with projectiles ripping through my flesh? The parameters continue to yield their intended results: generation after generation learns only from dominance through conflict, and not to break tradition. ALL life submerged in my life's danger is as just as anything else of this tepid existence, and I'd like to think I believe in equality. NONVIOLENCE IN A POLICE STATE IS COMPLIANCE WITH INSTITUTIONAL HATE.
2 03:14
This is the only life I've ever lived: 24-hour existential exploitation. Poisonous presences in this passionless populace sneak diss in the dark, hissing like the snakes that they are. "Solidarity" is a loaded word spoken by master manipulators who would rather be seen than heard. With or without help, these social hierarchies sustain. I smell the intent on yr breath. I know what you think you can gain. Slip into the side of my eye as I soldier through a sea of shit attitudes. Two-faced Philadelphia: where everyone always has something better to do. May as well be my adversary, talking loud and saying fucking nothing. Recite the rhetoric of manufactured dissent while yr constructive contributions are conveniently absent. Comfort is a fallacy afforded by complacency, a standard condescendingly perceived as trickling down to the poor, suffering masses. There's little good to be done by only speaking out in one's own realm of influence, and that's a reminder to myself for every day through which I am forced to live. I'm talking about you/I'm speaking to you/I'm talking at you/I'm speaking through you/I'm speaking for you. Facing down a rival, squeezing the life from an enemy, or better yet, taking back what's rightfully mine from those who only profit off of me seems the best course for liberation, but how many must be slain, maimed, or otherwise moved from my way, before I too find power disfiguring?
3 02:05
Retire permanently to ruin. The scorn of society sharpened my teeth, equipping me to strip the meat from its bleeding body. The scraps I eat drip with opportunity. I am the latest in a line of survivors: of subordinate, unidentifiable men and betrayed and brutalized women themselves fellow pixels in a picture of diaspora. Rhetoric is a burden, a frivolity used as political currency. It's conflicting, to say the least, to want to use metaphor to speak as deeply as meaning will allow while still fully aware that this message will fall on blind ears. Yall dont really hear me, though. I had to step down and simplify to speak this shit and yall still don't even hear me.
4 04:08
Extending twisted fingers emerge from sneering faces. They wrap themselves around my tongue, every moment tightening around my mind. Emotional assimilation: the unity of internalized intolerance and inadequacy scalded onto the psyche of my adolescent self. "Do you wish you were white?" Don't I wish instead I was invisible and inanimate? Characterize my previous mind as a ball of light forming for the swarm of flies that will feed on my performance of my life. Characterize my current mind as passing fears of firearms and watching the outside through the blinds. Animosity: my actions and my open appetite superceding a habitual silent seething of venom while shrouded in the darkness of the dead of night. I am now bound to burning spiteful feelings and spitting acid masked as healing. I maintain my restraints. Here, there is a different pain. I feel small. I've shouted down my self-hate only to exhume to entertain. I feel small. "It's a shame you feel that way, because what you say educates." And I have only myself to blame. Here, my self-worth is shaped by what can be observed. The first time I learned this I consider my true date of birth.
5 01:16
"If you don't understand white supremacy as a global system everything you think you understand about history, our time, and yrself will only confuse you." First things foremost; at no time ever again will I expect anything aside from the widespread extinction of those perpetuators of this contemptible experience of Blackness against a white background. I need no love from that. Fuck that. From time to time, I've dreamed of gulping down their blood so gratefully that I choke to death with a smile so any sense of possession will be ground to dust under my heel. I promise, I'll defy that shit foreal. There are so few in this wasteland I feel that I can trust. Rest in pieces, rest in rust, because the world will know these hands.
6 01:10
Yr going to be robbed blind of yr life in broad daylight and then, in a weeks time, have yr death rendered meaningless as it's included in the immobile national conversation. We're going to be killed either way. Each american walks through running rivers of blood every day. I'm much less interested in someone speaking consensus with me as I am in seeing us both serve reciprocity. Yr gonna have every excuse erected against you as the argument turns to the need to execute. I will not be dehumanized. If I have to live in fear, then so should you. This could come from a coupling of violent opposition and political activity, but too many more peoples children will die as we fruitlessly try to prove the value of our lives to whites and "authorities" who regularly abuse their power with impunity. I only know what I want from the future, and I know what I want I must simply take so we will start shooting back, and maybe even first.
7 01:43
It's increasingly clear that I have some kind of death wish. Like so many others facing all of the same risks, I must still call this structure what it surely is. (Insidious, pervasive, expanding) Black people cannot speak peace, love and pray, and dream of tomorrow whilst unwilling to identify what must be destroyed today. Those who rose to divert the flow of new money have met most violent deaths. Don't think that the time won't come when you'll get got or be killed for much less. Don't think I don't know what happens to Black leaders when their voices grow strong. Wait until their cases are as cold as their corpses to say they were right all along. It's an irrelevant concern, whether capitalism will work for me or not. I ask myself instead, "Will I live well enough to be assassinated, or just long enough to get shot?"
I've skinned myself alive skinning myself a life. All that can be seen may as well be all of me. Hanging like strange fruit from a tree is the option to praise, or degrade. The auction block is the every day, as dissimilar to my reality as my double consciousness, constant vigilance, repeated reminders of my appearance. Triple consciousness, constant vigilance, self-hate and paranoia, my ~*black experience*~
New Humanism 01:21
I've deigned to discuss myself in hopes of disrupting the degusting of the ease of our lives. I offer for yr digestion, at the struggle's steady suggestion, a new humanism which includes all the of the world's intersections. I detest all my discussions of "I:" who I am, what I am, what I need, what the fuck. My cousin Bryan, my late aunt Brenda's son, is my example of how Blackness exacerbates bad decisions. He had a homeboy who was selling drugs, nothing more said there, lest I contribute to myths around "thugs." Mans asked my cousin to hold a brick, and he must've offered him something, cus he agreed like an idiot. Probably all poised for a hundo when he got the kick, the truth that he had misplaced or somehow lost that shit. Unaware of the reason why her home was shot at, my aunt sold her safety when Bryan was born Black. A woman is always a potential victim of violence, and how fucked is it that this can now come from yr teenager's typical silence?
Inextricable 00:42
As I sit or stand or whatever, I wring my hands with aspirations of truly clear speech and exhale my bile. But what of my potential to do a disservice with my words, my work? What of the erroneous pre-conceived notions of the worlds might I inadvertantly affirm? It's not about attention, it's about action. I've heard talk of the "ghetto," but never really seen it in a place. I know some spots where they want the most cops, but that's still gang shit, just with a different face.
In the reoccurring nightmare of yr leaden stride, you'd skinned yrself in line in yr real life. You passed off to my cousin what you hoped to resign, the doubt, dread, and mistrust you'd been assigned. It's just a waste of pain, to only live inside the limitations of a name. We all seek the privilege of privileged nonexistence, to fit into a mitten made of television, but I cannot speak to you. I fear yr fear, I fear yr fucking gun. I'm yr manslaughter, forced in a satchel. I'm yr enemy, also yr army. I was given meat, and I could feed for a week. But give a nigga a brick and the whole neighborhood can eat. And if you always check to see if yr the man of these streets, you miss the opportunities to see yrself in me. I lose the time to understand a hell I don't know, the failure to escape one of this white world's forms of mind control. And I silently sadly think of the impossible seeming unity of allies who look like me.
Two Hits 01:01
Two hits of the fucking loudpac and closer to the God I'll be. Dawn's quiet sound; and in the background you can just make out 44 million voices screaming, begging with arms outstretched, fucking with me. Yr right with the God or pretending to be, awaiting some nigga to smoke out yr head. These shells know no names. Their targets are already born dead.
Lives occur in between moments told to shut the fuck up. Killers are so easily made in moments of crestfallen shade. Life is to shut the fuck up and let the noise get made by the gun.
Son Of A Gun 01:59
You are a dollar made to spend on war, an unwritten police report reappearing sporadically, only seldomly not seen as bullet holes in a car side door. Calling all customers of consumer culture. 3-D printers can make orange AK-47 parts. Show the world to their seats next to the Dear God, Our Father Whom Art In Heaven. Yrs is the face of the hate with which I'm obsessed, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh; the dismantled connection to a sense of self which I suppress. So sell that shit hood rich. You only sell or get sold to. You only sell or get told to.
Weakness is blood thirst, yr blood in my eyes blinds. Blindness is a moment of weakness in which I lash out at controls placed over my life, which I see in those whom I despise. But fucking why? Macho manifestation. Macho man infestation. I create the environments I seek to destroy, but fucking why? My anger separates me from the freedom I seek to enjoy, but fucking why?
Shook ass coward gangbang nigga still believes in the amerikkkan dream, the fucking wretch. Idiot mongrel spends all night grindin, grindin, grindin, living crying dreams of the United States drinking his cum. Money makes him as much as he makes it and he'll smoke out anybody and their motherfucking auntie to show that he's not telling off shit. Fucking crooks crossing out and cutting down each other, see "Bitchez ain't shit" in another man's mother. Fucking crook grew from a murdered childhood and is languid in his mourning. What's a body to his gun? His life never got a warning.
Sister, with the weight of my subjugation upon her, stands barefoot upon the ruins of a metropolis built on male conflict, my conflict, and still yet screams in my face, "WE CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT OUR LIVES." I have spoken words I would condemn, having upheld different oppressions. An offense I cannot disown, I may as well have fired the shots flying through my aunt's home. My incensed rage is directed at myself for failing to recognize that this work deals with a crime against a woman and her property and that my dead Black male body represents a greater loss to this economy than that of a Black woman, the opposite picture of human life, ever could.
Realize that with all its meanings and implications, yr padded white cell is the most beautiful and concrete thing God's ass ever produced. "I don't think you did it, but someone has to go down."
Shake down the world for that fucking wealth. I can't even get a chance to kill myself. Maybe I won't even have a face as I wait in line to dig my own grave. You extend/I anticipate an early death and drugs make this world easier to accept. We cannot shriek enough through these months which pass like minutes. If my life, Black life, is prohibited then I'm just gonna get it. And if there is truly no difference between us 2, and the values our potentials are equivalent, understand my fury at yr fucking violence and how to you it simply just means business. If you hear something enough you'll think it's true//while millions of little dins whitewash themselves against our solitude//while you think it's the God that yr getting closer to.


released May 13, 2016

Tracks 1- 7 were recorded/mixed by Daniel Anderson in July of 2015
Wyatt Oberholzer assisted with recordings of bass and drums at Drexel Universities
Guitars and vocals recorded at Mt. Thrashmore (RIP)

Voices reading poetry on 4 by
Colins Regisford
Marquis Combs
Zach Blackwood

sample on 1 from Black Power Mixtape
poem in 4 is "The Little Black Boy" by William Blake

Tracks 8 - 20
Recorded Live & Mixed by Dan and James at The Sex Dungeon on Nov 28, 29th and Dec 3rd of 2014.

The LP was released by SRA Records.

Both Records were Remastered at Red Planet Studios


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SOUL GLO Philadelphia, Pennsylvania



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