I was checking out this hip-hop group called Hazakim and I got onto this clarkyboy.com website once again, revisiting another issue with what's holy and what's not. People, come on.
Let me comment on this G Craige Lewis thing and I'll be done. This is getting old...
This is laughable. Honestly, I have been saved for years. I am not perfect, nor do I profess to be. I have my own sin issues just like everyone else, but I take the Word of God seriously from a teaching standpoint. If I am speaking to someone that is not telling me the whole truth and just pieces, then I am going to be skeptical. What I don't understand is why are you Christians accepting part of Craige's sermon and ignoring the portion where he has obviously distorted the facts? Everyone wants to spout all these nice scriptures and talk about what he is saying is "truth" when he has things wrong. What is that about?
People looking for something to believe in. Anything. Anything that seems like it is sound doctrine. That's why we have so many offshoots of Christianity. We can't even agree how to worship God, anyway. Everybody wants to say their way is right and that's wrong and "oh, that's the devil" because you can't relate. Dude, are you serious? I guess I can call my artwork "devil inspired" because they don't have the image of Christ in them. Or, my poetry is of the devil because I don't always talk about God. Y'all must be joking. This is some silly stuff. If you want to call a duck a duck, make sure it's not a platypus first.
You say you want truth, but it's obvious you want a scapegoat. Someplace to lay blame. We are in the world but not of it, so why do we need to lay blame on anything in the world? We need to turn the eyes to our innermost being.
Let me address this...
"People often focus on the man instead of the message. We look for reasons to discredit a person rather than examining there words for the truth. What these brothers don't realize is that Craig G Lewis is not a " hiphop head" so to speak. So he doesn't have the same source of information as someone that is a part of the culture. Does his slight inaccuracies make his words false? Let’s talk about truth. No real hiphop insider considers Kool Herc to be solely the father of hiphop." -D. Davis
What? Really? You serious? People lie all the time. Their messages are like poison. The bible even says that the tongue is one of the worst offenders. So why would I want to look at the message? People talk about what these pastors say like it's the end-all-be-all, but they can't say who this man really is in his heart. Test the heart, the inner being, then you will see what's real. People hide their real intentions all the time. The Anti-Christ, when he appears, will be one such person. So, for real, test the man and not the message. The message can always be a front, but the inner being does not lie.
That's all I'm saying. So, if you want to judge hip-hop, make sure you judge the elements of who you are as well as the person who is rapping. I'm tired of this debate. Look to put blame on the individual and his doings rather than just the words and messages he is saying. The world is full of talkers and slanderers. Action is what is needed. Follow the acts and test the heart.
I'm out.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Oompa Loompa Song (Hip-Hop version)
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-pick
Here is a thing that’s making me sick
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-da-dee-swill
Why get on da mic if you ain’t got skill?
Who do you blame when you spit a wack rap?
Hiding behind gold chains and ball caps
Thinking the deal is about looking clean
When you’re too illiterate to write a sixteen.
Your crew is gassin’ yooooouuuu…
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-da
If you’re not wack then you might get far
You may receive some props for it, too
Like the Oompa Loompa doom-pa-dee-do
Monday, December 7, 2009
Never Too Much
Some very special lyrics for the wonderful woman in my life. This is the real deal right here, and says a whole lot about my real feelings. I know there are people out there that feel this way about their significant other. Luther Vandross sang the mess out of this song.
"Never Too Much"
I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me
You are my shinin' star, my guiding light, my love fantasy
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinkin' of you
I still remember in the days when I scared to touch you
How I spent my day dreamin' plannin' how to say I love you
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in
That's when you opened up your heart and you told me to come in
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
I just don't wanna stop
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much
Woke up today, looked at your picture just to get me started
I called you up, but you weren't there and I was broken hearted
Hung up the phone, can't be too late, the boss is so demandin'
Opened the door up and to my surprise there you were standin'
Well, who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar
I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holler
Love is a gamble and I'm so glad that I'm winnin'
We've come a long way and yet this is only the beginnin'
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
And I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
"Never Too Much"
I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me
You are my shinin' star, my guiding light, my love fantasy
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinkin' of you
I still remember in the days when I scared to touch you
How I spent my day dreamin' plannin' how to say I love you
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in
That's when you opened up your heart and you told me to come in
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
I just don't wanna stop
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much
Woke up today, looked at your picture just to get me started
I called you up, but you weren't there and I was broken hearted
Hung up the phone, can't be too late, the boss is so demandin'
Opened the door up and to my surprise there you were standin'
Well, who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar
I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holler
Love is a gamble and I'm so glad that I'm winnin'
We've come a long way and yet this is only the beginnin'
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
And I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
My Sentiments Multiply
In the interim, my sentiments multiply, marking my dreams as I delight in the memories of your kisses
Conjuring thoughts and making wishes, seeing my delight grow with abandon, hurriedly, you are all I imagined
So when I look into your eyes, know that there is a longing, deeper than the depths of all surveyed, expanding like the skies
When I touch your face I intend to transfer the tenderness you give so that you may know of my true pleasure
And when I am holding your hand the moment extends, my love without end, creating a home in my heart, forever.
Conjuring thoughts and making wishes, seeing my delight grow with abandon, hurriedly, you are all I imagined
So when I look into your eyes, know that there is a longing, deeper than the depths of all surveyed, expanding like the skies
When I touch your face I intend to transfer the tenderness you give so that you may know of my true pleasure
And when I am holding your hand the moment extends, my love without end, creating a home in my heart, forever.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Bullets But No Gun
Life and love about my head, a harrowing calamity calling me
To a destination where you look like you’ve seen a ghost and I
Am not scared at all of the happenings, a page written in a book
Lost long ago, and it makes no sense to drag my face about the past.
You are a synonym for Sunday afternoons, family get-togethers and cookies and milk
You talk to me slowly subduing my angst and smoothing my mood to silk
Let me break bad and tear huge holes in the quilt
Let me be sad about the all the hopes you just killed
Yet I can’t be mad, it’s the world that I have built
Pulling me in, bleeding me thin, wasting my wants like water being spilled.
Maybe I could be the free one, roaming and shuffling these roads alone
The sole bastard too self-aware to regard the musings of the trite and dogged,
Dancing and twirling like a retarded danseur, my shoes too little and my attitude strange
Spitting pomegranate seeds into the wind to remind myself that it all comes back in my face, eventually
I am the conundrum of the multi-faceted, a Jack-of-All-Trades; Master of None?
I am the humble diversion of the wary traveler, where the hell should I run?
You can get ghost and leave me in the dusted sun.
You can play host to an assortment of friends swallowing rum.
And you can’t seem to see that this is just all too fun.
Turning you away, asking you to stay: Likely I have the bullets but no gun.
To a destination where you look like you’ve seen a ghost and I
Am not scared at all of the happenings, a page written in a book
Lost long ago, and it makes no sense to drag my face about the past.
You are a synonym for Sunday afternoons, family get-togethers and cookies and milk
You talk to me slowly subduing my angst and smoothing my mood to silk
Let me break bad and tear huge holes in the quilt
Let me be sad about the all the hopes you just killed
Yet I can’t be mad, it’s the world that I have built
Pulling me in, bleeding me thin, wasting my wants like water being spilled.
Maybe I could be the free one, roaming and shuffling these roads alone
The sole bastard too self-aware to regard the musings of the trite and dogged,
Dancing and twirling like a retarded danseur, my shoes too little and my attitude strange
Spitting pomegranate seeds into the wind to remind myself that it all comes back in my face, eventually
I am the conundrum of the multi-faceted, a Jack-of-All-Trades; Master of None?
I am the humble diversion of the wary traveler, where the hell should I run?
You can get ghost and leave me in the dusted sun.
You can play host to an assortment of friends swallowing rum.
And you can’t seem to see that this is just all too fun.
Turning you away, asking you to stay: Likely I have the bullets but no gun.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Excerpt: Genesis of the God Hand
The city loomed above him, the megaliths firm and dark in the distance. All around him the city circled, huge and silent, neon lights pushing their warm glow to his skin. He could see Enforcer lights whirling and flashing blue and red in pursuit of offenders. He could see the colossal Goldman-Hart Tri-Plex, a group of the three tallest man made structures in history, seemingly touching heaven. They were progressively taller than one another, with a difference of about two-hundred feet or so per building. Jonny slowed to a brisk walk, dumbstruck at the sheer magnificence of this place. It all seemed distressingly hypnotic to him, as if he was lost in the perils of some futuristic Edgar Allen Poe novel. Jonny could feel his surroundings breathe and shudder against the night, alive and clawing at him, hungry to crush him. He stopped to steady himself, propping against the side of an adult video emporium, bathed in the light of its interior. The sign read “XXX Sex on the Wild Side, Videos and more”. Almost stumbling backwards at the realization, he now knew his destination was no more than a hundred yards away, in the back alley of the next block, in a store called Zion Christian Books.
He made a break for it, running without looking behind to see if they were following. The box bounced at his side, and he reached down to pat it once more. He had to make it. His father had put considerable importance in the package. He still did not know what it held, but figured it might be disclosed to him upon delivery. Whatever it was, it was deathly urgent, for his Dad had to send him away with it, alone and with no explanation. Jonny thought it was stupid they way they figured he was always too young to know anything. But I’m not too young to roam the streets late at night like some god-awful super-spy messenger. My teacher always says that I’m the smartest in my class, and they’ve already said they’re gonna have to skip me a couple of grades because I’m more advanced than the rest of my class. Jonny wished that he could prove himself to everyone, and let them know how really smart he was. He would deliver the package without a problem. He had to.
He saw the corner of Zion, and made a swift right turn into the alley. There would be a key in an old soup can near the steps so that he could let himself in. In the poorly lit place he came to a slow halt, nearly out of breath. His heart thumped like a bongo drum, and he felt the adrenaline rush, laughing out loud then covering his mouth with his hand in realization. He needed to be as quiet as possible. A few old aluminum garbage cans were set in front of him, along with full black plastic bags of trash. This seemed archaic to him, for he never saw his trash. It was incinerated as soon as it was thrown away. He remembered reading that there were landfills around that had garbage stacked to the heavens, and a smell that could kill. I guess these bags go to the landfill. He shook off those thoughts and proceeded to his task. He saw a couple of rats running back up into the darkness, and shuddered as if he felt chill. This is so nasty and disgusting. To his left, in between the trash cans and plastic bags, was the soup can. He bent at the knees and picked it up, looking it over. It read “Campbell’s” in bold cursive, and the name of the soup had been ripped from the rest of the label. In it’s place was the sign of the cross, sloppily painted in red. It was the right can. Inside he found the key.
“Boy, give us the pendant, and you may live to see tomorrow.” The can dropped with a silence shattering tinkle, and Jonny turned with terror in his eyes to two figures standing at the entrance to the alley. He could not tell which of them had spoken. Fear gripped him, and he stepped towards the door.
“Give us the pendant, and you will not be hurt,” the second figure hissed. The first one sounded more masculine, a strong bass voice. The second figure was less masculine, but more frightening. The words came out of his mouth in a metallic twang, like an electric guitar being plucked. Each word he said hung in the air, in a strange echo. At his last word, they stepped toward once, in unison. Like robots…or something…like a robot.
He made a break for it, running without looking behind to see if they were following. The box bounced at his side, and he reached down to pat it once more. He had to make it. His father had put considerable importance in the package. He still did not know what it held, but figured it might be disclosed to him upon delivery. Whatever it was, it was deathly urgent, for his Dad had to send him away with it, alone and with no explanation. Jonny thought it was stupid they way they figured he was always too young to know anything. But I’m not too young to roam the streets late at night like some god-awful super-spy messenger. My teacher always says that I’m the smartest in my class, and they’ve already said they’re gonna have to skip me a couple of grades because I’m more advanced than the rest of my class. Jonny wished that he could prove himself to everyone, and let them know how really smart he was. He would deliver the package without a problem. He had to.
He saw the corner of Zion, and made a swift right turn into the alley. There would be a key in an old soup can near the steps so that he could let himself in. In the poorly lit place he came to a slow halt, nearly out of breath. His heart thumped like a bongo drum, and he felt the adrenaline rush, laughing out loud then covering his mouth with his hand in realization. He needed to be as quiet as possible. A few old aluminum garbage cans were set in front of him, along with full black plastic bags of trash. This seemed archaic to him, for he never saw his trash. It was incinerated as soon as it was thrown away. He remembered reading that there were landfills around that had garbage stacked to the heavens, and a smell that could kill. I guess these bags go to the landfill. He shook off those thoughts and proceeded to his task. He saw a couple of rats running back up into the darkness, and shuddered as if he felt chill. This is so nasty and disgusting. To his left, in between the trash cans and plastic bags, was the soup can. He bent at the knees and picked it up, looking it over. It read “Campbell’s” in bold cursive, and the name of the soup had been ripped from the rest of the label. In it’s place was the sign of the cross, sloppily painted in red. It was the right can. Inside he found the key.
“Boy, give us the pendant, and you may live to see tomorrow.” The can dropped with a silence shattering tinkle, and Jonny turned with terror in his eyes to two figures standing at the entrance to the alley. He could not tell which of them had spoken. Fear gripped him, and he stepped towards the door.
“Give us the pendant, and you will not be hurt,” the second figure hissed. The first one sounded more masculine, a strong bass voice. The second figure was less masculine, but more frightening. The words came out of his mouth in a metallic twang, like an electric guitar being plucked. Each word he said hung in the air, in a strange echo. At his last word, they stepped toward once, in unison. Like robots…or something…like a robot.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Anything That Bled
He just don’t sing the dream, that makeshift miracle lives in his eyes, watching himself walk a path posers attempt to settle.
Just don’t seem right, the angle is a bit too high, and it’s getting hard to tell where he’s been and where he’s going.
It’s getting to be a little difficult to focus. He doesn’t see things like he used to, but when he closes his eyes it’s still there.
It’s still there, a beacon glowing through the pitch of night. More real, more tangible than anything that bled, the dream pulsed and boomed in his head.
Just don’t seem right, the angle is a bit too high, and it’s getting hard to tell where he’s been and where he’s going.
It’s getting to be a little difficult to focus. He doesn’t see things like he used to, but when he closes his eyes it’s still there.
It’s still there, a beacon glowing through the pitch of night. More real, more tangible than anything that bled, the dream pulsed and boomed in his head.
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