Original Ragga-Soul Artist. Environmental Scientist. Student of Life.
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Musical entepreneurs and incredibly motivated people. People with true faith, not the kind you buy for three hours every sunday. I would like to meet the person who needs me the most. And Jimi Hendrix.Here's a poem from one of my favorite writers. He also happens to be one of my favorite people. "There's no inspiration..."But I swear there used to be. I used to play Hip-hop albums and swear they were talkin to me. I applied their words to my own life, and I felt so free; astonished by their ability to articulate what I, too, believed.But then contradiction ignited my confusion. Distractors blurred my vision, with air-wave pollution.Something got lost between beats and rap loot. I've had to search for the message; dig for the truth.I made Hip-hop my world. Guess it forgot about me. I'd always hoped to find a prophet in the perfect emcee.I guess I grew up, and they stayed the same aged. I flipped to another chapter, but they're on the same page.There used to be social facts. Now, just a bunch of club tracks, talks of cars and jewlery, all kinds of tom-foolery.Click-Clack-Blast, gat glorification.Lavish, un-affordable foreign vacations.Pop-lock it-drop it over-sexualized misogony.Self righteous rappers be shrouded in hypocrisy.The prophet I expected keeps himself well-hidden. So deception rules the radio, like reality's forbidden.Now there frustration, where inspiration used to be. I said "dead all that nonsense!" Now I inspire me.Peace and Blessings. One day we'll be righteous. LB.