THE WATER IS RISING
THE WATER IS RISING
The winds are picking up and people picking their things.... Here we go again but those who stay are not ready to go wherever her winds blow them I know you cant say nobody told them but you can say nobody showed them the way
It figures.... the rich in this city don’t give a damn about thousands of poor niggas
The winds are picking up but for most there's nowhere to go just get on their knees and hope they don't wind up wherever the winds blow
Left deserted without help with the only comforting words of "you have been warned" but the poor in this city are strong we should make it out of whoever decides to weather the storm
we should be safe now we can see the sky now we can go outside now that the winds have died down... but the waters are rising
and the streets begin to overflow those who find a way out still have nowhere to go
There is a thin line between determination and desperation in times of despair it’s almost as if the waters are purging us but who is to decide whose soul will be spared?
I SHOULD BE THE ONE TO SAVE MY PEOPLE I SHOULD HAVE PLAYED MY PART! I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED WHEN GOD TOLD ME TO BUILD THAT ARC but i didn't now i know for certain its hopeless I watch my people flee in a mass exodus with no sign of Moses WHO WILL SPLIT THE SEA? WHO WILL DECIDE WHO WILL BE CHOSEN? don't leave it up to me my words are mere echoes LET MY PEOPLE GO! but nobody is listening
It figures the rich in this city don't give a dam ABOUT THOUSANDS OF SCREAMING NIGGAS
THE WATERS ARE RISING and so are the number of victims we cant call on God because he is the one who did this along with tampered-with levee systems GRANDMA SAY GOT DON’T GIVE YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN TAKE AND DADDY SAY GOD DON’T MAKE NO MISTAKES but i know government officials do and i know what happens when THOUSANDS OF SCREAMING NIGGAS ARENT LISTENED TO
What a sight for sore eyes to witness such a painful changing of the seasons the magic curtain has been pulled away now that the waters are receding
and the crowd gasps as they watch the stranded struggle for purpose how government officials really feel about the black social class has finally surfaced
It figures the rich in this city don't give a damn about thousands of dead niggas
Refugees in the same country we pay taxes to live in
THE WATERS ARE RECEDING the cleansing is fleeting the christening is one genuflection away from being completed.
Do you smell that? smells like thousands of dead niggas a city flooded by the same rivers that were used to carry slave ships and forced to swallow dead niggas
You should have know that overboard thrown slaves would not be digested well now the old man river has taken his revenge and he’s making sure you hear the story he has to tell
The slaves kept turning and turning under the sea due to their restless souls until they picked up enough winds to blow them back on the ones who stole them is how the story was told
The winds that blew off the coast of Africa across the Atlantic followed that same middle passage to remind these southern states of their damage
They blew apart those same ports that were used to auction off families on and blew down those same trees that were used to hang niggas on
And as the waters recede back into the river we see government officials still don't give a damn about thousands of dead niggas.
More Posts from Nikrichard and Others
Pick up the new book (and the old one) at Studio Be in New Orleans or visit my website nikrichard.com
My brother, the brilliant @nikrichard dropped off some copies of his new book at @studio_be_ , pick up your copy while supplies last. #studioBE #ephemeraleternal #ADreamForSale (at Studio Be)
Are You Happy?
I never fully understood this question. Happy with what? Happiness sounds like an ending to me, "and they lived happily ever after." How can somebody who has more life to look forward to than to look back on honestly comprehend that question? Ask me in 50 years and maybe I'll have an answer for you.
Ever since I read The Alchemist I have always associated wandering the desert with searching for your dreams. It’s a book I come back to over and over again, each time leaving me a little more confused, but I keep reading expecting one time I’m going to figure it out the same way I keep coming back to the desert expecting to find… something. But every time I come I leave a piece of myself, each time bringing more and more of me to share, and every time I leave I take a piece of the desert back for me until one day I have it all figured out, or until the desert and I eventually swap places.
I asked her who she voted for in 2004. We were discussing politics and religion and that was the first election I was old enough to participate in. I said, Gore she said that was the year she stopped believing in anything but she still went to church just in case. She still voted in every election after that just to be safe because she didn’t want to be blamed when things went wrong and things always went wrong. And knowing she wasn’t the reason why helped her sleep at night. I asked her how she’s been sleeping lately. She asked, “why do you put so much pressure on me to dream when I’m still stuck between feeling lost and feeling free? Forced to get along with those who arm themselves and dream of harming me. Sold me a house with a lawn and picket fence but made copies of the key so you can come and go as I sleep at night and my dreams can be policed. I worked my whole life for the American dream to find out it wasn’t for me. What do you do when your dreams come true and you don’t want them in the end? Or you’re so in debt you don’t know if you can afford to dream again? Do you work the rest of your life to pay them back or go on and pretend like you never gave a second thought to giving up or giving in? Happily ever afters make you think that your dreams come true in the end when they actually happen somewhere in the middle and the rest of the story is you figuring out what to do with them. Who is it you want to be? Did you ever consider maybe giving up is a way of getting free?” I told her she sounded like a politician campaigning for an election she knew she would never win. A disappointed victim of her own expectations. And there I was, trying to convince myself I didn’t want all the things I knew I did. Still holding on to dreams I was told to believe in ever since I was a kid. But it’s such a relief to wake up and no longer want the things you felt you could never have. I could free myself by letting go of all the dreams I’d been sold in the past but I didn’t. I still wanted it all even if she warned me it wouldn’t last. I wrote my vote on a post-it note and slipped it in her bag. She won the election, I lost my way. We were a new nation under old flags.
“There is nothing more powerful, than an idea whose time has come” - Saul Williams
I'm always here for the people I hurt.
What Do You Believe In?
I never really knew if the earth went around the moon or the sun around the earth, but I still went to church when you asked me to. I still held hands and prayed with you even though I had questions about your prayers and your God and your Heaven and the stares I used to see your momma give to the Reverend when he sang hallelujah. But I never questioned your truth. I admired you for the fact that you could believe in something so blindly without ever needing proof, and that was enough to make me believe in us. I believed in love.
They say God is love so I thought my love was your truth, and I made sure I loved you exactly how you asked me to. On Sunday mornings at 8:00 am so we could get an early start on repentance for the sins we committed the night before. I was never sure what you prayed for, but I went through the motions with you even though all my prayers were ignored. I prayed for us.
I even turned my back on my own Catholic Jesus to pray to yours, despite the fact he and I still had some unresolved issues between us.
You shunned my philosophy. I held your hand as we believed in all your contradictions and hypocrisy.
You prayed for everything but us. You believed in everything but me.
I never had a religion, but I believed in you and you let me down. So what do I believe in now?
If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.
Mik Everett (via thelovejournals)
Or you can die a thousand times, a thousand different ways.
We're the lucky ones, the ones who love the ones who lost the ones who stay up late the ones still trying the ones in debt the ones who are sorry the ones who create the ones with regrets the ones still changing the ones still looking the ones who die over and over again for their art, we're the lucky ones because we have so much to look forward to.
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