omondiochuka

Cure For Cancer


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Can’t Turn Back the Years

[Could’ve given you everything that you need
But I cannot turn back the years]
Do you believe the angle
On that day they surround you one last time, throwing roses to your pit?
And they souls come to tumble
Torn from poetry, sometimes I reminisce
The holes are too brave
How come they set our souls to grieve?
Pictures, stanzas
These words are broken but they bloodwritten by a survivor!
Brother been brutalized
Medicinized, no shelf carry a cure
Passenger rendition to cover dark days and lonely nights
Skateboards, when memories cold and morbid
Pollen wire, the air becomes electrified
Phone buttons peeling between June and July
Truth is
I was petrified
Deep roots burst open to make the berry ripe
When words are widows
And letters are orphaned,
When daddy left that rainy November looking out the window
Sometimes prayers are bittersweet
Kurtis Cobain, the last to ever bleed?
Too bad I fell, poetry blessed with a cemetery
It was you, Kodak and grandpa
Woman in prose, her blue body
When I think of her soulless piece laying next to a bottle of scattered pills
I was like, fuck it
Just one sarcasm, what would you have me do Frankie

Too bad I loved you
And I am never gone give you up
(Give it up, give it up)

[Sometimes hits me in the morning, hits me at night
That I cannot turn back the years]

Stuck on your negative like photographic memories
Reflecting how hearts turn quick into stones
Instead of glass or flowers, we was carrying remains of you back home
Hearses groom on the road
A heart is the most painful wound I know
That’s why pen and paper
And I kill every line like knocks of a woodpecker
I’m pain,
I’m tender,
The sight of fuses frying,
Mercy death clock timed against the tumours
Sublime back to paradise saunas
The craft is sombre
Like pieces of me laid back on an open casket
PET Scan with contrast
Intimacies torment, I give you love you turn to ash

[So we have to be strong, and I’m finding that hard]

Theatre of scars
Pencils dancing, the playwright is interstellar
For the years I couldn’t turn back
Bulbs blooming, we all shed tears
So don’t cloud in your head and forget to bleed out your feet
Eleven minutes to midnight
I was watching machines suck life out of you, I fictionized
Touch where you grasp
But prayers are masquerades
Miniature keys stroke very grand
Denominators quiet below the flesh
So the mouth lift the tongue out of the bed
Too many walls
I just wonder, if I gave up who would pour the paint?
Who’ll dry your wounds,
Show you courage and sing with you some blues?
For seasons have flaws
And symbols have faults

[All that I lived for, all that I dreamed
But I cannot turn back the years]

Since that Easter as a young boy
Eyes fixed on sickening pictures of Jesus
Nailing my dreams dying on the timber
Black from decay
Who you thought loved you before your name became pain?
There are no better accidents
Carbon copies, my soul was tired so I cried out for the life fetcher
The first time eulogies are script-written
To years later the graveside soils flatten

[People are hurting and they’re looking to me]

Pain has no long ago
Mental pictures, blow me off, let me hear these famous demons applause
Building hopes out of melodies and such stupid things
Abstract soul, this is where both life and death begin
Ropes around the body, no single thread for the narrative
Harbinger, thought debris
Crust of some metaphors, mini-syllables
Rap fables pretending to be strong, what a mockery!
Functions deplete
Catheter conduits darken my medicine seeds
More than sinking ships
In uncried tears, drowning their salty tips
Beyond what titanium stories
Beyond text, lyrics and memories


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Harlem Mitchell Lama Housing Complex A Goldmine Investment

jettrubenstein

By Jett Rubenstein / July 11,2016

As you probably realize, real estate in Harlem has increased in value over 100% within the last 5 years. Esplanade Gardens, a 1900 unit middle income cooperative housing complex, located at 147th Street and Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard, which stretches to 147th Street and Lenox avenue, was built in 1966 and is federally subsidized under the Mitchell Lama program, an affordable housing program founded by senator MacNeil Mitchell and Assemblyman Alfred Lama back in the early 60’s. Most shareholders occupying these federally subsidized co-op apartments have purchased their unit at a discounted rate from 1,500 dollars to 16,000 which is a highly discounted rate for a New York City apartment and most shareholders pay only a small maintenance which covers all utilities for about 700 dollars or less per month, making this housing complex a great deal.  However, with inflation, the purchase price of these units…

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Conversations: On Magode’s The Untold Story Album

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Kadori masanga, tucheze muziki
Ya Bana Kadori
Nairobi yote, dunia mobimba
Bana basemasema na banaogopa
Banatetemeka tu bakisikia, Huruma pasi
Huruma mobimba, Huruma ghetto
Huruma diambo, Huruma Corner
Uchunge sana, usipoteze saa pamoja na kiatu
Na vijana hatari kona
Wanakutegea we upite salama
Na ukizubaa, shingo nakwenda, koti nakwenda, tai nakwenda,longi nakwenda
Na mimi nabaki
Wananijua wataniacha
Na watayasemasema, “Mzee pita! Salimia mami, tuonane roshio.”

Watayaimbaimba, “Odindo pita, salimia mami, tuonane roshio!”

   – Bana Kadori, Huruma (Nairobi) Wololo

Now, in music, narratives are obviously discursive in the language an artist chooses to use in writing. The lingo automatically apprehends consumers of music into either being within the circle of deciphering both symbolic and direct meanings that the lyrics attach to issues addressed in a particular piece for example.

Many ghettos have been circumstantially juried into certain meanings and implications that upset how the community in this particular setting presents its ideas and information. It is to this reference that we find that the language in the ghetto is coded so as to protect, rightfully, abuse and misrepresentation of such a community’s credibility. Further, such codings usually sets uniquely aside different hoods with how they manufacture, process, use and transact materially or consciously. That is why every other hood has sort of a language typifying  how its members think, what they go through, their experiences, their stories, how they do business, what do they think about ‘natural’ timeline of a person when they wake up in the morning and as they settle back after hustle.

I know Magode notoriously through his Huruma track which is why I opened this commentary with an excerpted lyrics from Luo Benga band Bana Kadori’s song “Huruma Wololo” loosely translated to Huruma, the Badass,  or we could say, Huruma Baba Yo! Besides many times watching him freestyle with his usual suspects Cafu, Wordz, MC proto during street cyphers in a street near Nakumatt Lifestyle or Alliance Francaise or Jamboree (the city raining itself bad after a Saturday event and Nyangi and her sista clique all poetic around).

There’s this day, guys were jumping in like a 4:20 pass pass, sick bars, everyone repping their hoods. It was my turn, and since honestly I can’t freestyle, I can’t remember exactly what I said. It was something anticlimactic, I got into the conversation with a ‘philosophy’ and just said something like:

                       “I think where we come from matters, but shouldn’t be attached to a serialized limitations for our peoples. I come from the other side, and I have heard it being bugged down as bourgeoisie, exploitative, where systemic looters come from, where there is no ‘suffering’.  I think ghetto is a mind state. All these gated lines sometimes render us far from the truth which is, comparatively, all these sides have their own silent beauties (and pains too) to bring to the table. Much as the struggles of lifetimes can be, I think it also matters how we knock our arguments, how we set our minds in achieving things that otherwise are potentially unlikely of us to do so.”

I carried my diary with me to these cyphers. It was Ondu who affirmed me that hip hop has grown to accommodate some aspects that previously would attract heat and blast, for example reading your thoughts/lyrics/critiques in a gathering. I agreed. We aren’t statically positioned in hip hop to watch from a distance, hip hop is far more an extensively inclusive platform which encourages inter-genre shifts of interactions and relationships.

Imagine an evening, pale base, after work your convo with your Gs. And then the question pops, “What’s a dope album for you? What must this album narrate or express for you to consider it great?” Conversation rolls in: stories, beat type, topical coverage, lyricism, flow, emotions… and so on.

“Balance,” GKV, the dope producer for The Untold Story remarks. He explains. The piece should package not just your stories, how you view life, what happens how and when you roll. I think this is agreeably associated to Chimamanda’s ‘The Dangers of a Single Story’. A good album should explore many narratives without risking its line to just one view of the artist or the artist’s tboughts.

I don’t if “Like Father Like Son” or “Heaven’s Door” is my favourite track out of this tape. We’ll see. Growing up one aspires to evolve out of just a parent’s protege and becoming better or closer to the folks. Folks play a dope role, and when they pass, they leave a trail of high marks unprecedented. These are some of the wonders anyone who’s been there imagines: did they have a choice/did their best, if they’re watching (certainly, somehow, they are) are they proud to see down here, are we judging them for their down sides and their mistakes, are we up for the same fate they faced. It’s a haunting memory. Like Father Like Son has a sad story, the narrative will give you chills and Shaquay gave it a beautiful hook:

I look up to you
You got me living in your footsteps, oh yea
I look up to you
I really wanna be so much like you
You can call it like father like son
I look up to you for guidance

Since I am a mama’s boy, Heaven’s Door steals my show. The hook, damn. Magode you were mischievous! I am glad you define love through mama. The remorse and nostalgia is sickening, beautiful. Also, I told Alfred (how many people call you that? Apart from your class teacher back in the days? Or maybe ma, mother’s have a way of calling you with that name that street haitambui. Thank you for this.

I told Magode the night he sent me the album, I was in India recuperating. There’s a silent undertone of a very strong love story in his album, I insisted it was a beautiful woman and very close homies. That is the story behind Misimu Zangu, Am In Love, Humble Beginnings, Me na Mabeshte and Phone Call. The circle is tight, the hustle is on full gas pad, first lane. As long as you gone be back chilling after a long day with your dawgs, chroming that herb, street intel, beautiful wife/chic/mbus and a baby to set you searching for better days.

Spokenword poet, Teardrops brings a good weaving in the album. He deconstructs all the stereotyping of the ghetto, where hard knock concrete life also propels creativity. Ghetto has its paradise, not just how people prefer to slash it against posh suburbs but how it survives through its skin and break barriers and establishes a space and a story for itself and the world.

Oh, one more. I like Chacha’s Some Day. I once used the sane beat on Kilio Cha Darubini. A poetic cryout for a partner with so much remorse. If only the streets would not steal all the ninjas completely, leave them a piece of love for the fam and the ride-or-die love waiting back in the digs.

Niko Fresh is a feel good. GKV outshines ninjas here (imo), I love his Kiswahili with a coastal touch. Cafu, though flow c(h)afu, easy. I’d push this on the CD when am pedaling upcountry in a vest, or backyard weekend chill out just hanging out or request a dj play for this.

“Pia Gs huget their hearts broken”, closes the tape in a good sampled instrumental. Sort of jazzy boombap. Relationship and heartbreak, “Heri ningemtumia kisu baada ya lugha”, Cafu declares it’s too late. Damn, hio verse ya Brax, fuck!

Nadunga ka mobster, na f ka pornstar
Juu niliact ka fala wako once, nikawin Oscar
Dem ananiletea ulayability na ma assets
Anakaa toi, mbuyu ni deadbeat parent
Na kusaja mabuda wa kubuy gadgets ndio zake
Me mteja, street budget

I’m done. That’s the death of love. Too much abuse of love, you never know if you balancing the ledger of feelings or fillings or feeding or what? War? Body equals commerce! Depends on what’s marketed.

Finally, Magode owes me a glossary. Not to say I buffered listening to the tape. Like I said mbona nijichomelee picha, kuna lingo kadhaa zimenipita. I’d like to know. Vocab hizi zilikujaje zikawa zinatumika in that context?

Mbeteka
Kamagera
Mavela
Mbus, lol lol, why would you call her that?
Etc

Peace!


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Guns & Roses III

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Maybe someday
I’ll burn, cut my fingers into knuckles
While destroying the chaos in the mind
Throw cyanide litters on wounds and scaffolds
While I listen to time stop to erase the fortunes

On alpha bets,
blading words into silent ruins
Discoloured prose, gridlocked to hide my broken soul
Tragedies overcast my soul
Like gliding blood beautifying the black rose
They retailed for pain
They profit off pain
You were sweet, sadder than ballads of the bees
Persona traits: melancholy for blames
Blackboard, hidden thorn strokes of white pollen
Foreign exchange
Journeying with eulogy shallow in the pocket
I touch your scars and wars before I shotgun your love range
Act on your martyrs before lost ones calibrate the gauge
To shuffle cards and ash my lungs out of the spade

Home of the origin
Where there’s grave there’s love that’s why we bleed
Pinholes burn the vinyl
Lone wolf and buried oddities
Playwright with the humour of ironies

And as blacksmiths weld my body with the frequencies
Radio, cathode rays swimming through imaging
I stay close to the cross
And blow my faith to the unseen winds
I’m seed
I’m flower, fire water and filth, am a heart made of bricks
And the ground receives
All their disbelief
All the world bent broken battled and bereaved
When days degrade in the hands of the author

Your things vain
In a world full of loneliness and pain
Whispers and the winds
Death lost my roots
Beginning for ends, bringing night blues
Black cotton scars
Old like borrowed loved and setbacks
Owls light the skies like God loves ugly?
Lyrics write my body
And songs stuck on my clay potting

Have gained the world but not my soul
Maybe cause am getting old
All the people that I know
Have gained the world but not their souls

I bend the world and black my soul
Maybe crawl into Eden’s fault
Halls of pitfalls, guns and rose
I bend the world and black my soul


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Gravity [and Ponds]

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Clocks adjust the clocks
Furnish the body with a place to frost
Raw battling blindly in the middle of love letters stapled
But we are stars
evolve and explode

The return of tangents where blood rites applause
Gently the moon unfolds
Two lips for a rifle
For every birth there’s blood
For days her nights pain like gunpowder
Her walls are flawless
where totems hang undeciphered
Hip harp, her rhythm gravitates

This ain’t no lyric
This is crawling back to Eden
with wet keys
Fingers crossed on pros-aic
Limericks, fate’s parody
From 6-feet
back to roots drowning in the filth
We all undue eulogies
Edges of the broken vase
We all jars of clay
Still we stalk…
melodies of unsaid hymns

Dispose your maladies
Where scars are buried
Where lips yield don grey bonds, ugly
As arms transform palms leave dreams
Green blinds
Blues rivet hinges of destinies

Tale from the scrolls
Wounds bind
Destroy your mind
Turn to ashes and fuck what blood and vein writes
ain’t no glory in a shovel
ain’t no, burglar razors knife the navel
We are born of death
die for just one last breath left
Alliterate between miracles and faith
Survival is grave not mourned yet
Metaphors in the abdomen

Streets are salty but we still bleed engraved
Whisky and black finger’s cigarettes
Whims, at the discrete of godly sarcasm
Radio is lonely
Only thing visible:
RFs burning the vinyl, and the soul grows feeble

Burials
Yo, we all walk like we got a long way to go?
Do i know?
Notes from the underground
Nursery rhymes & pap smear, stage carnage
Beyond the veil like angels and sodom apples
I walk with ships in my shoes
You woke? Microchip obliged groups

This is suicide
Stem cells harvested to break bones of your pride
Fuck cancer,
I don’t remember when death didn’t resemble my breath
Similes
Human all too human, cures viewed from the slides

Take one, two strolls into your mind
It’s like you’re lost on your way home
It’s like…
set yourself free, how we euthanize
Personas non gratified
Picture aspects, your own shadows debate on your demise

I put these things down
To show you and myself, we not the only head full of crowned thorns

We all misnamed
Looking for a pebble to cast on other people’s forehead
We all lame
Fucking pedestal, we all undue graves!
Yet we codon ourselves in the bubble

Dramatize, if this verse is alive
X for Y
Sad, we all detrimental
But sometimes
Holes left on our soul make us instrumental
Breathe love, like every stanza stands as a petal


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What You Do For Love

9-inches
2-foot
Somehow the razor make the flower bleed and glistens
Poured through the blues
Ain’t no nothing that love won’t do
You were beautiful
Fought through the blade to rise with the moon
I never knew
You could make it out alive
Mama, she thought she’d die twice over losing you
Pegged black roses on the wall
That’s why we call you Sun
That’s why you’re River
The healing of your mother’s half parts
Cause of you love strokes the crayons
Grow my roots on your soul, baby
close your eyes, let your mind take a walk
The night her hands needled with I.V she was writing your prose
Her veins on fire, she was fighting your wars

I think you’re beautiful
I think you’re perfect
I know how hard it gets
But I swear it’s worth it, worth it

Cause what you do, what you do, what you do, what you do for love
There ain’t nothing, there ain’t nothing, there ain’t nothing I won’t do for us
It may not be easy, this blended family, but baby
Cause what you do, what you do, what you do, what you do for love, Love

That’s why you carry on,
her autumn left beyond words
The quiet eyes, sleepy like my own
With a mind bright, my grandma’s rebirthed soul
My nirvana,
from beginning to the unending you are where i belong
My telomere
Love drafting my cure, when you so far my soul is growing rocks
I know days been hard and the pain is deep in the heart
It was your call that changed me when i thought it was over, i crushed
You told me am amazing
Tumours are terrible things to share a body with
Told me to fight harder like mama did for Love
Told me it ain’t easy carrying all the scars alone
Cause few really love you for gravity
Throw the flowers when they see you fall into the pit
Kodak memories
Dark rooms, some day our life we’ll mailbox a film
Hold you gentle while we dance to the  melodies

Just try to understand if i change in time
It’s because i never had anything that’s mine

You’re my perfect craft
You’re my wheel through the valley, even in winter without the sun
You’re my deepest key unplugged
Love and Light, baby
That’s what we do for love!

I think you’re beautiful
I think you’re perfect
I know how hard it gets
But i swear it’s worth it, worth it

Cause what you do, what you do, what you do, what you do for love
There ain’t nothing, there ain’t nothing, there ain’t nothing I won’t do for us
It may not be easy, this blended family, but baby
Cause what you do, what you do, what you do, what you do for love, Love


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Love & Light

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Watching the cursor blink. I’m thinking, “Do i press type on MS word or do i go Spartan with the ink?” So i ask the night shift nurse for my fine point, my pads were always on the shelf, by my hospital bed where i laid. Reki sent me this beat where he sampled Sade (my all time favorite artist), i told him i was really sad my late girl’s family wouldn’t let me close to my daughter, cut calls. I was deeply destroyed by that. She always showed me how young a soul can unmatch time, beauty immaculately canvassed on my little mirror. Mind baby, that’s my gift babylove, where you belong so is my love. My grandma, she told me it’s right inside, all the healing i needed. And my mama. You know i love you girl. I am your scar, but you remain love that words wouldn’t parse. I left Nairobi for New Delhi, she cried. A. told me if i ever thought there’s a wound love wouldn’t cure then i should know my liver as a reminder, that she’s herself root and i an everlast, a subtle seed-scar hole, that through me skies enwomb the depths of love as its earth.

Here goes:

Verse One:
You think I’d leave your side, baby

From the wounds of the black earth
From dead leaves becoming my liver
Scars from the soul, broken clay from the life giver
Divisible
You know me better than that
If i was an integer, divine curator, miracles that defy data
Invisible
Vivid frames reflect the bigger picture
Time amends, gifts of,
horoscopes true north through Red Sea battling life takers

You think I’d leave you down
Where shadows fade
And life-sketch detonates
Through t-test and the body rejects
Red flower wreaths, black sorrows and yellow tapes
When you’re down on your knees
You’re my black rose
My parsing code, my string log
I was the seed of stars died in the blues unbound
Labyrinth: am your endless roads
From blackboards, circuits in anthills am enwombed
To pathways in the sky am stapled in your sorrows
I wouldn’t do that

Verse Two

Blackbird
From tender eyelids i was closing my soul to hear you sing
Cancer
Prose embraces my pen and i become a paintbrush
Every stroke outstrips pain
Every fold, every lip hemisphere, stories untold by the bleeder
And if only you could see into me
Oncology on canvas
From jars of clay, mould my, beautiful scars
I am you
You’re drawn in my reddest marks
Slides of green humour foretelling my bleakest futures
You think I’d leave your side baby

Quietly
I sing the melodies of eternal rivers
Godspeed
White cellos, acoustic melanin, the first sweet fiddle violin
When i was broken you took my mouth to feed on your soul’s pin
You know me better than that
I was lost, terraces, are reminders of graves
I walked home, i wanted you to dig me my final resting place
At night i was bleeding and the kind moon shone
Made fire, a pot of seasoned veggies, the love was deeper than home
I saw, my loved ones reshuffle, old pictures on the wall
You think I’d leave you down
When you’re down on your knees

Back peddals, terraces slopes
Vinyls pricking on the gramophone
Raised me from the dead, showed me courage
The kind of love, that bonds gravity to a father
I wouldn’t do that

Ours were scars, sonnets and loved ones the decorated:
The lumberjack
Veins full of timber, knifed bad but i rise and fight back
I’ll tell you you’re right when you’re wrong
And if only you could see into me

Verse Three:

You’re my right wrongs
For nights i cried afraid to call home
For many times they wheeled me through the city to find hope
Homeless, never had a place to go
You think I’d leave your side baby
Wide-gapped odds, ain’t no place than deep inside i don’t find home
Syrian Eulogies
Black matter, so do grey, black soul obituaries
Make it through
That’s why we pore through metaphoric canopies
You know me better than that
That’s why we pap smear, soldier of love, periods radioactive
That’s why we bleed, red is red no matter where you come from
Gears push
hands of the clock, through tear falls we endure grief and loss
Bold and strike-through
You think I’d leave you down
When you’re down on your knees
I wouldn’t do that

Butterflies thought, it’s over, life is undone
Became a metastatic, see life’s tragedies can be beautiful turnarounds
Power grids lagged out day by day you think you phasing out
Love and Light homie, I’ll be on the other side of the dial tone
I’ll tell you you’re right when you’re wrong
And if only you could see into me
Before the ladder replicates
Less the length, you a survivor you the designated
Stay blessed let your kindness levitate
And touch a soul, the world is broken but we all full of grace

Outro:

See, i know everyone of us is going through something. The thing about life, it’s uncertain at its core yet the unknown is what makes it beautiful, what makes human look for meaning. Look inside yourself, there are wars everywhere but you shouldn’t be war yourself. Healing only begins by self-diagnosis. We can only love if the seed is brought from our innermost. I am so because love, because my miracle is love. I know what they say about journeys, that we are strangers, that some are richer, that others are deserving than yet some others. They’re wrong. We are all beautiful, no matter where, how and what we are flawed of. The godly seed is in you, light is in you as so is healing. This song is dedicated to the loves of my life. And is an expression of my cancer journey and love. I share it with you because i belong with you, in a sense art as is poetry is the nearest colour of love i can imagine. I wish i came bearing miracles, or something for you to see me heroic, i have none. But i hope my struggles, my journey, my flaws and my mind refreshen the wheel of love and light in you all. I hope it helps you go through something.

Ending a year in the journey with cancer with remission is powerful. Beginning a new one with recovery is even more beautiful. May my brachytherapy bring me healing. May these gentle hands guide that healing with a reference of love.

#wewon