The Dead Emcee Scrolls

The Lost Teachings of Hip-Hop

Saul Williams

• Éditeur: MTV Books
• Année: 2006
• ISBN:
  9781416523048
• Sujet: Letteratura
• Sous-sujet: Poesia

In the underground labyrinths of New York City's subway system, beneath the third rail of a long forgotten line, Saul Williams discovered scrolls of aged yellowish-brown paper rolled tightly into a can of spray paint. His quest to decipher this mystical ancient text resulted in a primal understanding of the power hip-hop has to teach us about ourselves and the universe around us. Now, for the first time, Saul Williams shares with the world the wonder revealed to him by the Dead Emcee Scrolls. I have paraded as a poet for years now. In the proc ess of parading I may have actually become one, but that's another story, another book. This book is a book that I have been waiting to finish since 1995. This is the book that finished me. The story I am about to tell may sound fantastic. It may anger some of you who have followed my work. You may feel that you have come to know me over the years, and in some cases you have, but in others...well, this is a confession.

PART 2

SEVEN MOUNTAINS:

JOURNAL EXCERPTS 1994–2001

1994

These are, perhaps, some of the greatest moments of my life. I have “been led” or “fallen into” or “happened upon” a series of events, revelations, insights that have brought on some of the most intense feelings and experiences I have ever had. My overall search has been effortful, but these newly acquired insights, sensibilities, and thoughts have been effortless steps toward a greater state of awareness. These past few days I have had several awkward or mystical occurrences, which were almost immediately confirmed as “real” or “valid” in a later moment.

I have been led to adopt new beliefs, which seem to be a prerequisite to existing beyond the mirror. I am very sure that there is much to be experienced beyond the mirrors of this physical realm. By “beyond” I mean seeing past an image or through, within, or behind it. Yet, also seeing it as it is. And I mean “is” in the fullest sense. I am both blessed and burdened. Now that I know, or am at the beginning of knowing, I must act or be eternally un …

I was born today.

Just now.

Just now.

Just now.

Just now.

Just now.

Mixed emotion

Contrived commotion

Natural struggle

Lead-filled sacks

On non-burdened backs

Finding the time to love

In the midst of chaos

It birthed us, nourishes us

We live in it and for it

If we were free

We’d fight for the freedom

To recreate it.

Who’s your master?

Your dreams of disaster

Nightmares of freedom

Fantasies of fantasies

Which you claim we have no time for

Because we’re being choked?

Well, what if time ceased to be time?

How would that affect your tomorrows of freedom?

Where would that leave us, today?

Would you then find the time to inhale and exhale

And wear those hands around your neck

As a necklace, accessorizing your

Newfound suit of

Mixed emotion

Contrived commotion …

… infinity

How can I escape this cycle?

Must I turn with the world

In the direction it dictates?

Am I the wind’s slave?

As instruments come to life with breath

The wind sends my high notes

To indigo communions

With Coltrane’s Favorite Things

This is my body, which is given for you

This is my blood which is shed for you

My love, like the wind, uncaged,

Blows time into timeless whirlpools

Transfiguring fear and all of its subordinates

(possession, fear, jealousy)

into crumbling dried leaves

My love is the winds slave

and, thus, is free

my love is the wind that is shaped

as it passes through the lips of earthly vessels

becoming words of wisdom

songs of freedom or simply hot air

my love is the wind’s song:

if it is up to me, I’ll never die

if it is up to me, I’ll die tomorrow

one thousand times in an hour

and live seven minutes later.

If it’s up to me, the sun will never

Cease to shine and the moon will

Never cease to glow

And I’ll dance a million tomorrows

In the sun rays of the moon waves

And bathe in the yesterdays

Of days to come

ignoring all of my afterthoughts

And pre-conceived notions.

If it is up to me, it is up to me.

And, thus, is my love

Untainted, eternal.

The wind is the moon’s imagination

wandering.

It seeps through cracks, explores the unknown,

Ripples the grass.

My love is my soul’s imagination.

How do I love thee?

Imagine

And will I now forget everything that I have read? Will I not now attempt to actualize the glimpses of a higher reality that I have experienced? What did Siddhartha teach me? And Azaro? And all of the other spirit children? And the insights? Have they not all laid the groundwork for this new de/con/st...

Table des matières

• Cover
• Description
• Praise
• Author Bio
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• A Confession
• NGH WHT
• Amethyst Rocks
• Untimely Meditations
• Om
• 1987
• Sha Clack Clack
• Co-Dead Language
• Part 2: Seven Mountains: Journal Excerpts 1994–2001
• Acknowledgments