4eyedatlas

2007. that was the year when my mind had to figure out which fork in the road to take...
i traveled down a lot of highways, alleys, and one-ways the wrong way.
but those sojourns made me into who i am and what i wrote then and now....

may i strive to carry the burden of my name honorably--to the very end.

I.

people say you should never hit a man with glasses
but i get hit every day…
by absolute   bacardi   mary  jane and tom and dick and harry..
these four eyes have has had been seeing that rule broken
time and time again…

what is there to gain in a world of blindness?

i am the four eyed atlas…

i possess twice the foresight to see the bullshit in front of me and
the secret hidden strength to conceal their burdens within the abyss of my black well of my soul
 of which it is never well… just well concealed and well adept to making the new masks that dunbar would be proud of…

i travel walk run in t-shirt and blue jeans to get close to the underbelly of my own who we disown as our next generation of thugs and misfits and drug dealers… and yet there is a shred of me in them and them in me—

they don’t see the second kingdom coming of double consciousness... the jay-z w.e.b….

the gift and curse of running beyond our melanin and leaving our niggas behind the other side of the country tracks, faced with the allure of prospering while letting them die rolling them dice in the midst of a harlem night of southern comfort while the society shoots them down like inglorious hogs living in run-down spots….

lettin’ them rot in coffins with that soft leather and hard oak wood…

they   be   going    so     hard,

keeping they eyes on the prize…

for once again, our revolution will be televised on bet and american idol once again…

but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…

oh yes…

because

i am that nigga

  who will takes his brother to the dice game and lose his money sleeping on concrete couch thinking about

  how fucked his life is over a bottle of taaka…

i am that nigga

   who will smoke that blunt with you to talk about why black is the most notable and most avoided color      

   in america..

   who will drink with you to help you understand why the colors of the flag are red, white, blue and black…
     like louis armstrong while these republican armstrongs and thomases and gonzaleses thrive as these new 
     political overseers in this American plantation….

4 this america pretends it’s the aristocrat..while others are hiding that grey goose to let loose like a blitzkrieg of Goldschlager, making us want to holla with these oil prices and thin military forces, these reason absolut should force us to establish a new mark with our maker…

II.

i am the backlash of the university and its hope

possessing the words of white mythology and black voodoo magic…

i am that hybridnigga
  who will help bear your burdens with you b/c i’m obligated to do so by our minority blood and exploitated  
  skin and eyes and ears and lips and feet and phallus…of which we suffer from globalized calluses…making

  our plantations into college parks…and our slave quarters into candy painted dulces and quarters….

i am that nigga
   who will bear your burdens b/c i’ve been punched in my eyes constantly…
       by others..           by my own…             by my  own self….

i see martin’s dream deferred everyday burning like a raisin in the sun
when our talented tenth become part of the white 1 percent…

when obama is dangled like a puppet in the midst of hillary clinton..

when i see my niggas blind in the caves in which they create from that young jocjeezy itch

bitches go getting that dopeboy magic david copperfield makes appear and disappear

like the stars of mlk and malcolm and medger in a starless oxford sky with a bottle of southern comfort

for my dislocated heart in the midst of this misnomer called black progress…

i take off my glasses and wipe my eyes.

i put them back on.

i have an odessey to see.

i have weight to bear.

i have eyes to open.