Antes de seguir publicando, y para ayudar a superar la lectura de mi, con toda seguridad mediocre, poema-resumen en el post anterior, consideré justo dejar un verdadero "discurso" sobre poesía, política y práctica revolucionaria, pronunciado por un maestro en esas artes, Taalam Acey. Se llama "Mala Praxis Revolucionaria".

Revolutionary Malpractice

a Spell by Taalam Acey - on "Pain Remover", 2000.-

Just a little bit.
Just a little bit.
Rev-o-lution.
Yeah.

Just a little bit.
Just a little bit.
Rev-o-lution.
Yeah.

Half them poets… politicians.
They ain’t got no conviction.
They ain’t got no predisposition.

Their only revolutionary position
is exactly to become self-crafted caricatures
of the popular expectations of a revolutionary.

And if you punch half them male revolutionary poets
hard enough in their chest
they’ll give you whatever they have
on their person for free.

So how am I expected to believe that
this same individual is capable of stopping
a ruthless metropolis
from neo-colonizing a community?
much less a country?

They don’t want me to speak on government.

Any time I slide to the mic and start
“Marblez” or “Morally Bankrupt”
them punk propaganda poets should be lovin’ it.

They ain’t got no covenant.

It’s just the bullshit they’re full with.
Regurgitating impragmatic rhetoric
all over the pulpit.

Chile,
You got revolution backwards
and I can’t wait for the day
that they begin to litigate poets
for revolutionary malpractice.

Bankrupt all your fake revolutionary asses
for dressing the part
but just being actors.

You can’t completely open
your third eye as long as you
afraid to die.

Using your poems
to talk down about other people’s
9-to-5’s
when they’re doing whatever
they have to do
in order to keep their family alive.

Knowing good and well your ass
is scared to hustle to survive.

You’ll never understand the extent
to which this world ain’t no joke.

And you ain’t down and out
just cause you fell out with your folks.

And as long as them cats
is still middle class
then your ass ain’t never really broke.

So I suggest you
reconsider that impractical diatribe
before it exits your throat,
before some single mother
step up on stage and smack the shit
out of you
‘cause she relied on some bullshit
that you wrote.

With her kids about to beat your ass
with their toys
and ready to slit your throat.

And leave you for dead
soaked to the bone
in your own Malcolm X misquotes.

See the words of a revolutionary
have a fiduciary relationship
with his or her actions.

And whether you talking
Male/female relationships
or politics,
you just better mean that shit
like George Jackson.

Showing Angela Davis
why he needed her to feel him.

Establishing a relationship
with his brother Jonathan
that epitomized real men.

And even now in this new millennium
when chances for young black men
are still slim,
we gotta give it to him
for putting so much fear
in the heart of the system
that even in prison
they saw no other alternative
but to kill him.

But today’s poets are
indifferent
to this world’s capacity for
ignorance.

They’d rather gossip about
how we pimpin’ this with CDs.

Like we ain’t supposed to see G’s.
Like we supposed to take these degrees
and work for some other man and be pleased,
and wait for him to have some J-O-B freeze,
and get us out on the line for free cheese,
and watch our wives and girlfriends leave,
and have our kids bouncin’ up on
some big willies knees.

See that’s why them Black Panthers took off,
got them corporate jobs,
and wiped that Black Power look off.

And if you talked to them today
about revolution,
there’s a 99% chance
that they will attempt to hook off.

Cause they too had revolution backwards,
not that they were all actors
but their mathematics was inaccurate
see sharing cannot exist amongst greed
and socialists do not succeed amongst capitalist.

Now this is a little different from that spiel
with the cosmetic locks and fatigues
and other popular hypocrisies
that make mockeries of revolution
by improperly introducing
a cacophony of confusion.

that’s not for we to be abusin’
using false prophesies and illusion
like y’all do it to’em.

Like fake revolutionary poets
come in here to tell the truth and
there’s something about your ear holes
that’s seduces them.

There’s something about your ear holes
that make them bodies shake.

There’s something about your ear holes
that make their arms vibrate.

There’s something about your ear holes
that make their fingers gesticulate.

There’s something about your ear holes
that make them verbally masturbate.

There’s something about your ear holes
that make them prematurely ejaculate
into your soul
their fake
revolution.

Etiquetas: Poesía, Taalam Acey