nothing is to be feared only to be understood, intoxicated often does what
the sober would, if he thought he could, if he had the power, he¹d abuse it
and that seems clear to me. What is dear to me, is also fear to me, because
pain is the price of what I hold near to me, to which I¹m attached and I
can¹t light the match, if I did I¹d see everything I think I lack, is right
here already, I¹m a part of it, not the end and nor am I the start of it,
but apart nonetheless, scared of what is under flesh and everything i cant
posses so instead i disconnect.
And to numb the stress, take a blunder guess, rather than know, I don¹t
know and just accept, I view it as a test and I must pass, it¹s only real if
its something that I must grasp, nothing else counts a bit if I cant count
it quick, so lets count figures, let us count figures. Figures in the bank,
figures mowed down by tanks, the steel boot of the figure stamps on the
ants, but they want more than figures, we ain¹t figured that we need Œthem¹
and we¹re projecting the reflection of how were really feeling, when we kick
Œthem¹ kill Œthem¹, leave Œthem¹ there dying bleeding and say they did it
first, we are just getting even.
And repeated until it¹s something that we can believe in, the truth is
that inside we are screaming and we hate ourselves that¹s why we act this
way, when we strike out we should punch ourselves in the face, that is what
we¹re really doing, got no clue what we¹re pursing, the mirror or the
million, what are we really viewing? We can take a microscope and analyze
atoms or telescopes to the sky, the same thing happens, it¹s the same
picture, they both go on forever, so when we place limits on things, is that
clever? In fact I define myself by my limitations, my station or my status
or my silly faith in papers. The type that I read or the type that say i¹ve
read, the type for which they bleed or the type that say you bled and now
the ego¹s fed but never had its fill,
so until we shed, let¹s accept the deal, we will steal and will kill just
for the thrill, that¹s my dose of truth, give me the blue pill
and let me swallow, wallow now in my sorrow, don¹t want to find my own
truth it¹s easier to borrow.

23/1/11 Poem

A Restless Mind
A Sweaty Brow
An Aching Back
An Uneasy Sleep
A Rushing Day
Bills To Pay
You Sow and Sow
But Do Not Reap

A Pair Of Palms Full Of Blisters
A Pair Of Ears Deafened By Drills
A Pair Of Dreams Put On Hold
For What Are Dreams When We Have Bills?

A Pair Of Lungs Ruined By Smoke
A Pair Of Eyes With Half Dead Sight

The Very Same Eyes That Once Saw The World As An Oyster
Have Now Realized it's actually A Crab That Bites

A Small Cheque
A Months End
A Beer Or 6
A Pair Of Friends

A Bit Of Cancer

The End.


Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee

Bury my heart at wounded knee
I have no use for it anymore
It still beats, but the rhythm is off
Off, off, strange
The music of fate to which my hips gyrate
I dance with destiny
My soul left with the last treaty
Promises, promises, happy servants, offices
Ushered, moved, herded, the cattle of the blue coats
Milked of our wills, now meat for the kill
Bury my heart at
wounded knee
I left it there anyway
cover it with earth
or dirt as you may say
gut the earth for all she¹s worth
use her guts for garters
but when they are worn,
a woman scorned
will spawn a race of martyrs
death dressed as progress
the suit is a misfit
but no one will tell the emperor
(he shoots you with cannon balls)
death dressed as
murder hides in the bushes
reach down my throat
pull the rations from my stomach
with the same hand that pulls triggers if I don¹t comply
Bury my heart at wounded knee
it¹s a weight in my chest
for an open heart is a closed coffin
in the world of the fork tongue.

Lyrics to 'Yours And My Children'

Hey people I thought it would be interesting to read the lyrics of a song
before you hear it. So here is the first verse and chorus from a track from
DOUBLETHINK called 'Yours and My Children'. This track was really inspired
by my time in Brazil and the gross, ugly, constant injustice in the world in

This should start to give you a picture of what the album is actually gonna

Yours and My Children

Right here dangerous idea
If we did this, then we couldn¹t feel fear
If there¹s no fear, there¹s no control
If there¹s no control, someone¹s gotta let go
They say I Shouldn¹t say too much they might delete me
Realize I don¹t really care about tv
Keep your awards, your applause I¹m easy
All I can do in this life is just be me
Pilger can say it, so can Niomi Kline
Its free speech for them, that¹s fine
Young black rapper should utter the same words
Utterly absurd, nutter, insane, nerd
Even the fact I call myself Œblack¹
Social conditioning and that¹s a fact
The idea of races has no factual basis
It was made just to serve racists
To justify to doing to some what couldn¹t be done
To others, but they all are our sons
Black or white all of our sons
Muslim, Christian all of our sons
Look up in the sky that¹s all of our Sun
Last time I checked we only had one
So if some were superior, others inferior, based on exterior
Well then surely the sun would know and fall in to line?
It would rain on your crops and not mine?
Air would prefer to inhabit your lungs?
Food would prefer the taste of your tongue?
If that¹s not the case then nature has declared
Despite what we say the worlds in fact fair

Kids in Iraq

Yours and my children
Kids in Iran
Yours and my children

Yours and my children
Even Sudan
Yours and my children
Kids in brazil
Yours and my children
Police drive by the favela and just kill them
Kids in brazil
Yours and my children
Police drive by the favela and just kill them

The other me

There is another me
That I am frightened to be
Cloaked beneath my masculinity
Stands my nakedness, which is strength
But I am not strong enough to be naked

There is another me
That I am not strong enough to be
My weakness is still telling me to be 'strong'

There is another me

That I am too greedy to be 

Chasing the cheque, the compliment,enlightenment
All the same
Yet when I am still and just give
I receive so much more than I could ever need

There is another me
That I am not yet calm enough to be
Rushing toward this, for that
I miss all the beauty

There is another me
That I am not yet ready to be
So for now this pretend one will have to do

If I Knew

If I knew what I wanted to say
I wouldn¹t speak
If I knew what I struggled to chase
I couldn¹t keep
If I knew it was the cousin of death
I wouldn¹t sleep
If I truly knew I was the best
Would I compete?

The Attack Of Happiness

The Eagle pecks at my neck and I live again
The sensation descends
Cool electricity through the nerves
And muscles twitch with glory
Smiles don't ask or care for thought
They stick their stake in the ground
Nothing matters now
I am in the place
But not of it
For this moment I step outside
And laugh
I laugh
I laugh at insecurity
Just being, seeing and breathing
Hits as a cool breeze
In Sahara sun
Or sunrise over the artic
Seeing what is
Is Too Much
Sensory overload
I grope the dictionary
To try and explain
But it is blank
I attempt to imitate Picasso to show you
But he had the same problem
These moments, brief, fleeting as they may be
Leave marks indelible
More so than pain, suffering or pleasure
When the eagle pecks at my neck
The pain is a steward
Guiding our way back to this moment
Via war, death, ignorance, hate
And all other lies

We will one way or another get back here to the only truth


Blink, blink
Think, think
Sink, sink
Don¹t resist, sink
Thought is stupidity
Feelings are a broken compass
Follow the computer
Chase the pay-check
Grab the car, clutch the mortgage
Forget reading, forget music
Forget art, forget independence
We can think for you
Nailed to what I know by what I don¹t
Full of facts, yet empty of truth
The price of an opinion is unaffordable
Marching the rhythm of rigidity
Shout with the crowd
It¹s the only way to be safe.

Akala Poems

Not victory, nor slaughter
The house of pain, nor pains of laughter
Not bombs, nor the dust that was the village
Not mansion, nor mud-hut, palace or cardboard sheet
Not silk shawl or cotton canvas,
Not car, nor carriage
All is borne from no-thing
Therefore nothing is all that is real
The senses are but confusions illusion
A compass of false conclusion
Ears house some vibrations as cries or music
Yet others pass undetected
Eyes conclude colour, where some light is reflected
Yet most light passes the eye, undetected
Noses upturn at the stench of poverty
But delight in the rich stink of robbery
Hands hold solid, sure of shape
Yet that same collection of atoms
Is just empty space
Tongues taste terrible bitterness where sweet cures reside
And delight in deliciousness where pernicious poisons hide.
What is real?