Free The Dead Emcee Scrolls by Saul Williams Page B

passes through the lips of earthly vessels
    becoming words of wisdom
    songs of freedom or simply hot air
    my love is the wind’s song:
    if it is up to me, I’ll never die
    if it is up to me, I’ll die tomorrow
    one thousand times in an hour
    and live seven minutes later.
    If it’s up to me, the sun will never
    Cease to shine and the moon will
    Never cease to glow
    And I’ll dance a million tomorrows
    In the sun rays of the moon waves
    And bathe in the yesterdays
    Of days to come
    ignoring all of my afterthoughts
    And pre-conceived notions.
    If it is up to me, it is up to me.
    And, thus, is my love
    Untainted, eternal.
    The wind is the moon’s imagination
    wandering.
    It seeps through cracks, explores the unknown,
    Ripples the grass.
    My love is my soul’s imagination.
    How do I love thee?
    Imagine

    And will I now forget everything that I have read? Will I not now attempt to actualize the glimpses of a higher reality that I have experienced? What did Siddhartha teach me? And Azaro? And all of the other spirit children? And the insights? Have they not all laid the groundwork for this new de/con/struction of self?
    I have learned the importance of stories, the importance of dreams (night and day), the need to look beyond mirrors, the flow of energy, the hindrances of “control dramas,” the inconsistencies of time, the inaction that self-consciousness leads to, the reality of the “unreal,” the universal source of energy, the beauty of all things, the unity of all things, that coincidences aren’t, that love cannot be specified (kinda), the ineptitude of belief, death only comes to those who believe in it, life only comes when you’re not reading, writing, or thinking about it. “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”

    I could inhale your existence
    And exhale your dreams
    And this room would be filled
    With things that only seem
    Your mind’s on permanent rewind
    Trying to make it fast forward
    Press record, listen,
    Beyond what you hear
    Pre-occupation with time
    Is pre-occupation with fear
    â€œLooking at my Gucci it’s about that time”
    the tick tock of clocks padlock your mind
    capital centered on your left wrist
    your reality is twisted, unreal
    capital is not center
    time is undefined
    as soon as you define it it’s a new time
    but with unchanging minds
    new times become same times
    why blame time for bad times or sad times
    sometimes I forget time
    and exist on my own time
    I own time
    The concept exists in my own mind
    And mind is eternal
    That concept defeats time
    So I climb …

1995
    Â Â Â Â African - American
    Drumbeat - For money

    Where I live
    Music notes take the form
    Of dollar signs
    Souls sing backup
    While material desires
    Sing solo

    Somewhere between self-hate and Brooklyn
    I sit on a mountain of green-leafed questions
    Searching for balance in the mist
    I used to rock beats over lunch room tables
    Now I’m searching for balance in the midst
    And I find bliss in mental tugs of “what for?”
    â€™cause they make me think I’m deep
    Raising dead questions like a grammatical visionary
    Who can only see the past in the future
    Come one come all
    I can make the blind walk
    â€œAnd I run through discotheques like sound.”
    Figuring I’m bound to hear something
    That I can nod my head to
    But everything is “For the killers
    And the Hundred Dollar-Billers”
    And “Real Niggas who ain’t got no feelings”
    I got mad feelings
    And stay broke
    Too broke to buy a magnum
    Or a state of mind
    To help my thoughts go platinum

    I was discovered by Gold
    Mined and marketed as meat
    Erased of my memories
    So I’d have the freedom to think
    I discovered that which discovered me
    And then made it my God, mistakenly

    I take shots of molasses
    So I can slow my existence
    And feel the world
    Spinning on its axis
    I want to feel revolution
    For myself
    Fuck