N A Y S A Y E R S /


Ever since they shot Martin Luther, They say we forgotten how to dream.Brotha Malcom got X’d out,And we forgot howNecessary it is toGet it by any means.We lost Coretta ScottAnd our sistas don’t know how to be queens.Comcast switching us to digitalBut they ain’t programming “The Revolution” to our tv screens.They say we’re not champions But like Karl Malone We never gave in We just played with our hearts out;Legendary status. So fuck it ifWe ain’t never brought home no rings.Blacks come together,“Because too much of us equals forever.”We once draped ourselvesIn the jerserys of Bibby & WebberRemember when we were Kings?They say we’re no longer in tunedTo the sound of beautyAfter we lost Leena HorneLet’s make our leaders of Black History Past remembered; neverForgotten, just dead and gone.The Nay Sayers could never peakOur plateau so just to tell them grabAl Sharptons loafers and to it keep marching on. Like Frank Lucas behindThe pen; I cook up these poems And serve em up to you in the rawest form. 

| W O R D S | & | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A Y
13th Sep 201215:231 note

BUGG’N OUT IN BLACK EGYPT


Journey through the city and you cant help but notice the sea of people, flooding the circumference of your eye sight. Watch them as they move in waves through the cramped slits between the mountain of city buildings. Wonderful ethiopians and negro pharaohs traveling at their own pace, searching for their own rhythm beneath the curtain of this here city life. Here you can’t but help feel the watchful eye of the Big Brother Sun Beaming down on your arm, leg and back. The beads of sweat dancing on your forehead. See the many different variation of shades and color, making up one united skin tone? Down Town Jamal’s skin is as golden as the light bulb in the sunlight, sometimes we call him Mecca. Kansas City Mike’s skin tone is as dark as Panama Lewis’. Now walk up Fifth & Perdue, do hear the syrupy jazz pouring out into the streets from Brother Daru’s Saxophone? Ragtime bubbling beneath your feet growing larger at every beat tasting sugary sweet. Sister Fatimah got tomorrow’s lottery numbers and the answears to life hidden deep in her purse. Mama Stoney in the kitchen cooking up a hot serving of fried cornbread. Its 3 dollars off top if you want a slice. Here you can dance at your own djembe drum  beneath the curtain  of this here city life. Black Egypt
| W O R D S | & | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A Y
12th Sep 201222:38



WHISPERERS OF A HALF NAKED TRUTH


Scattered truths worth their weight in gold.Some told and some half told.Some young others just a few days past old.
Either gone by time, No longer existing Or breathing in continuum; forever drifting.What they took from us in the physical
We resurrect through sound
And worship through rhythm.
Planting Kick Drums, 808’s, Hi Hats,
Along with Snares; We grew a new religion.
Hands on God’s willAs we steer our town cars
Through the city with the volume
On “most high” blasting our new belife systems.
| W O R D S | & | D  E S I G N S |  N I C K M U R R A Y
12th Sep 201219:47
     F A D E
N O V E M B R   2011
You yanked the ground up
From beneath me.
Made me fall and knocked out
The wind. When I found my footing
I excepted you as truth.
Lusted you for months on end
Your lips were full revelation
Mouth wide your tongue tasted of sin.
Who but us know more about
secrets shared between women and men. 
I couldn’t wait to grind you,
To roll you up, inhale you
To breath you in.
          S T E M E M B E R 2012
Said “I Loved You” because it 
Simply felt good, Like smoke 
Rolling off the tongue. 
But then that trick wore off.
Strung together a collection
Of words, rambles and lucid talks
And tied them into a knot.
To prevent them from drifting 
Into my thoughts. 
Im stuck between what use to be
And what could have been. 
11th Sep 201221:251 note

E Q U A L / P A R T S




I dedicate myself to the art of Plethora.
In these dark days,
Im an enlightened pusher for your local Gifted.
 Im equal parts Myth, Dream, & Mystic.
Both Curator & Critic,
My blood type is Creator And my family tree is Cryptic.
A chaser of dreams and an architect of physics.
Cupid aint got shit on me.
Young hearts are getting Jux’d.
I took your mind as a hostage 
And your soul is getting lifted. 
Radicate the hate, flush out the confusion
And antagonize the ignorance.
A lie thats who we truly are
Conspired against Pluto,
We weilded together the night, moon and stars
With my own hands I pieced together the resistance.
I live in between Dope Street & Period.
Take a right on Exclamation Point! 
And you’ll end up on Interrogative Row
Where they drink Old E,
Turn LOL’s into frowns, make you denounce
Your own OMG and question your existence.
Im E q u a l P a r t s.
| W O R D S | & | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A Y
11th Sep 201220:401 note
W I S D O M
There are so many scars inside of people, it is incredible that we survive. Scars from childhood memories. Scars from dreams deferred. Scars from words, incidents and our judgments of them. WE cover the scars with personality, habits, and sometimes, drugs, sex and alcohol. We take our wounded souls into the world and pretend that we are not hurt. Yet every time we are confronted with an event similar to the one that caused the scars, the wounds are reopened. There can be no healing in our external world until we give intensive care and healing to our internal wounds. We may think we do not know what to do. We do. WE must first admit that the wounds exist. We must be willing to examine them, touch them and expose them to ourselves. Then we must wrap them in the most potent antiseptic there is-love.

| W O R D S| KRYS CAMPBELL | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R AY
11th Sep 201220:151 note
   U N T I T L E D 
Im a writer that stopped writing, a fighter that stopped fighting. A bad woman who lost her marbles over a dying iphone and an unfound charger. Lost my wit in the midst of this internet shit, competing with time & receiving no pay roll for the hours I lost losing my mind.  But with confusion comes, clarity.  How about I give my all like charity. Heres to my drive that eradicates the worry, & heres to my effort that often makes me look like an expert.  Disremember the obsession with their turnt up visuals & remain the trill theoretic residual. Heard him say “made a super model hold my liquor” … me too, now I see the bigger picture.  
 |W O R D S| KYLAH BENES-TRAPP |D E S I G N| NICK MURRAY 
11th Sep 201220:042 notes

L O V E PEDDLER /


I want to roll you up.Light you on fire, blow smoke through your lungs just to Inhale you. And I’m hell too. I got dreams I can paint, lies I can weave, vials of compliments I can use to regale you.
Promises disperse, honesty is fragile, And love is stale too. You don’t love me and I no longer hold the grudge, I just want you to use me up so I can use you, make your heart my rag doll, make a play pin out of it, toy with ur emotions, and tear you down. Im actually looking forward of growing tired of our play time together….just so I can shelve you.
Dont Tell A Soul, But Warn A Friend.
| W O R D S | & | D E S I G N S | NICK M U R R A Y
11th Sep 201219:521 note
 S U G A R WATER/
We Are
A product of fallen kings,
Half dreams and broken promises.
Zombies who parade around street pharmacists
Crack babies birth into failed marriages.
Sugar water, pop rocks, and mayonnaise sandwhiches,
Mere sheep running with gold grilled savages.
Children of a wounded age,
Disparity and a lost of hope bleeds though our bandages.
The reveloution lives 2 floors up in my project building,
When reality flashes through,
strike a pose and smile for the cameras.
In my hood “Freedom”
Is just a heart broken sex crazed atagonist.
Lusting over a distant
Lover named “Happiness”.
But he’s unsatisfied with
The extravagance of “Justice”,
“Equality” and all of her lavishness.
He dropped her years ago,
Nowadays he perfers them
Loud, fast, and ghetto fabulous.
We traded in our True Relgion for
Some knock off Christian Dior.
Who are we really, Lost they say.
We’re all blinded so
I doubt we have any eye-dea anymore.
I heard Ray Charlse snuck a glimpse
And Stevie was believed to have caught
Visions when he saw it.
We drive luxury cars through the street of mars
Get our product up the block on Planet Pluto
And sling star dust and moon rocks
Down the street on Planet Venus.
The misguided youth of a diluted truth
Crys out like kids chasing after ice cream trucks,
While  Mayor Mariam Berry fiends it.
Calling together all “Dope Boy Radicals”,
“Hot Boy Liberals”
And “Get Money Extremist”.
Its time to “Wake Up”,
cosume the pharse
And convey it the same
way Fishburne screamed it
| W O R D S | & |D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A  Y
11th Sep 201219:12
D R A G x P U L L / POCKET CHANGE
Breathe more often love.
If you want  a peace of mind,
Take out your jack knife and carve yourself out a piece. 
It’s as essential as your dollar morning paper,
An early jog, or your favorite blend of caffine.
Equal to, if not greater than the dragging and pulling of
That paper box of relief
Those 12 filters of escape, that chain of nictonie.
As Imperative as that afternoon confrence call,
That 2 hour briefing thats anything but…”Brief.”
Or rubbing those 3 quarters together for that
Evening snack from the vending machine.
As crucial as that company funded first class fight
Miles away from your morals, childhood, and beliefs. 
For only $5.75 plus tax who 
Haggled you out of your whole lot 
For a lousy cold slice of that American Dream?
Hail to the theif.
In Hell? well… breathe in deep, roll your tongue 
Exhale, now release.
Breathe Love, carve out your own Peace.

| W O R D S | & | D E S I G N S | NICK M U R R A Y
11th Sep 201217:15
Opaque  by  andbamnan