Monday, December 8, 2008

New Gilead7 7inch record available on ReServed NOW

Yeah. Somehow I conned ReServed Records to press another project. A 7 inch vinyl too. How I don't know. It was just released a few weeks ago. Read about it and listen to snippets here: These songs are from an instrumental album I'm doing. Instrumental in the sense that I'm making all the beats. Other folks are rhyming on my stuff. The vinyl features Thaione Davis for all ya'll fans (, who was URB's top 100 of 2005, and an impeccable musician. Nizm, and GQ Tha Teacha ( also show up and kill it with the slickness and the reggae. Skech 185 ( is on the bside, along with Tall Black Guy (, who ends the short vinyl ep with an instrumental. If you like, grab it

Grammaphone (2843 N. Clark)
Dusty Groove America (1120 N. Ashland) :

Hyde Park Records (1377 E. 53rd St)
Reckless Records (1532 N. Milwaukee):

Online/International:DEEJAY. DE
LOOP 23: http (Germany)://
HHV (Germany):
Calamel (Japan):
Jazzy Sport (Japan):

My 1st record, "The Darkroom: The Abandonment of Christendom," is sold here:

And digitally on ITunes, etc.

Amazon digital: (with the vintage cover):

The 2nd one: "Death Penalty Shots," is a digital d'load at these stores:

VIRGIN MEGA Fr:,page1.htm

Check out other projects released by ReServed Records:

Sorry for being so long...just blogging and sharing what I do with you...a lot of ya'll ask me to let you know more about what I try to do with music cus you may just see me walking down hyde park with a hood on rushing from class to class. YALL STILL HAVE NOT SHARED WITH ME YOUR LIVES IN TYPE FORM THOUGH! I WANNA HEAR YOUR STORIES TOO..C'MON NOW!!!

Thursday, December 4, 2008


What is the religious? What is the secular? As a person of some sort of faith, should I cruise my philosophically dirempted/fragmented/sometimes happy ass to a meeting place to commune with 'the Real' (I'm not Lacan, though that term somewhat symbolizes what I'm saying, and you know what I mean anyway) on a regular basis? Once a week, coincedentally on Sundays? My mother thinks that I should. She tells me that that's the way I was raised and that I need some sort of spiritual protection. Truth of the matter is, it's just those youthful experiences in these meeting places that pose as pit stops for the divine that I've been wounded. Artistically. Intellectually. Historically. Culturally. Why the hell would I want to go back to a place like that? Where a mediocre orator reads passages from centuries ago and gives a substandard interpretation with only his (they were dudes for the most part, that's not a pronoun symbolizing all of humanity) socioeconomic mediation. Chambers where I was told to separate myself from those who didn't believe like me, who hadn't experienced 'the Real' the way I had (or the way that they had, the way that they thought that I had), but if I make this split, then I make no split at all, for in all my separations, I only draw farther from the inseparable secular who desires to make me whole, and I it. Oh well. Going to church is ancient for me.

However, when my urban pant-saggin' walk dances me past the little, cold, dark chapel in the Chicago Theological Seminary, the ghosts that I thought I'd given up in my turn from Pentacostalism appear once again. Now they seem more real. As I kneel before the altar amidst medieval texts and liturgical unlit candles, my soul takes a warmth unfathomable. I mumble some 'prayer' to whatever 'the Real' is, and am translated, just like I listened to Deva Premal's renditions of native mantras. I then am in reality but beyond it but in it. That forth and back motion declares in symbol that when I left the church, that 'Real' had never left me. This essence, different but same, transmitted by the mayas on stone walls, the Buddha in reversion of common ways of life, and Jesus' willingness to embrace the cross, among others, bombards me. Then, as I embrace the temple of God that surrounds us all, I discover that going to church is to trek towards an idol. This sacred incision into space and time that chills my flesh in this secluded place is the same force grabbing my spirit when I grip mics and speak in tongues logos, inventing angels. People are walking by to go to the seminary co-op. Future pastors speed by the realm with thoughts of ravaging students and/or parishoners in heated passions of ilicit sex. But I forget that they're there, as I realize that the universe's essence that I live every day is only amplified in this place ony because it was intentionally constructed to speak of God. This is only the refueling. I must go out and embrace the world as the world embraces me. You may not see me going to church, but this encounter in this sacred space reminds me to always live church.

Flow of absolute

The realm divine sign theses for consumption/irruption upon modern ways of thinking/the swing of my pen leaves your favorite icon leaking/rapper theologian, whatever you want to call it/it not me just a by product without profit/the origin of this species naturally selects/the likes of MCs to check and dissect/called the elect with weapons that existentially redirect/souls to the origins and ponder if they are even souls at all/march around yo' femine walls and wait for jericho to fall/plaster judith plaskow on the mental over a heavy instrumental/subtract james cone for good measure, now central/with a thesis of nothingness like snapshots of Zizek and Walter Benjamin texts at a birds eye/i/psychoanalyse my lines and fabricate associations for what lies behind/it don't just sound good, its food for the soul/master slave dialectic where I move and take control/future process realities til the technology refigures chromosomes and restores flesh to Whitehead's bones/fuck it im human/ghoulish to useless humans losin the true shit and rhymin foolish/RZA told you to leave the Dr. Seuss behind/Now when that stlye presents itself he's the first in line/well what I tell you about icons/the church told you about icons/contrast, my words bite with the hiss of a snake like the sound of sprayed krylon/the color's multi/like the syllables i overspoil the track with/ball out the park in battle like 9th inning/return, the modern scribe's just beginning...