diptych for trayvon

by okanomodé

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1.
03:05
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2.
04:29
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3.
02:55
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about

:: a meditation on the senseless murder of black folks :: a conjuring of souls ::

credits

released 22 March 2012
all compositions were penned fashioned conceived designed & delivered by okanomodé of Newcastle/SoulChilde of the Emerald City

© ™ thepoppieefield/paganfire/ascap

tags

tags: experimental blak-punk new jim crow okanomode post-soul post-soul electro chamber pop soulchilde trayvon martin Washington

license

all rights reserved

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about

okanomodé [pronounced: uh-kahn-uh-mah-day] noun

1. performance artist

2. expressionist

3. composer

4. poet

5. dancer

6. master of arts

7. blak-faerie

9. ninja

10. high priest

11. soulchilde ... more

discography

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Track Name: song for trayvon
hole in my chest
hole in their hearts
how long did it take u to make that decision?

pool of regret
pool of my blood
just another black rerun with white revision

what did u think i'd do with skittles & ice tea?
& if they come for u, will u cry out for me?


i'm no john doe
name is trayvon
i might have made u laugh if i'd had the chance
what did u fear?
who do u love?
who would u be destroyed by if they left here?

what did u think i'd do with skittles & ice tea?
& when they come for u, will u cry out for me?
Track Name: the tao of monk
for trayvon – & all ya’ll…

& it was written
we are rural, urban, suburban, city monks
outfitted in oversized hooded bliss & blistered youth
armored & cursed with burnished flesh in every shade of earth
with hidden scriptures in our cavities, tao of war flowing from ipod to ears

we are walking meditations on capitalist patriarchy
redlined & severed nomads on gentrified pavement
we are the bastard children of reagan, bush, old & new jim crow

staring out from cages
both sides of charged fences
we sometime wait for peanuts to be tossed our way as colonizers in old navy khaki’s
& maww’s in chico sweater sets gawk, stare & snap-shots for their amusement
sometimes we like to amuse them
perform for them, little hams that we are
they love their sideshow darky safaris & we love being stars

but we in gap, urban outfitter, & nike-fresh dressed fabulous even in the worst of times
may not be the clowns played, nor the fools portrayed
& when we grow hungry, tired of peanuts
we become soldiers in class wars we did not design

some monk hooded in the dark of night says, i’ll take what’s mine because
40 acres & the mule been way long past due
some by way of the wu, 36 chambers deep have come to collect
might break a few necks

then there is a monk says, i’ll take what’s mine
crouching tiger in classroom turning page after page
flippin a after a
no less rage or more sage
than those street corner scholars

we are rural, urban, suburban, city monks
puma’d, nike’d & ninja’d in oversized hooded bliss & blistered youth
armored & cursed with burnished flesh in every shade of earth
with hidden scriptures in our macbooks & tales of war flowing from ipod to ears

we are clean & sober
we are drunk & high
we are philosophers, publishers, producers, street pharmacists & pimps
we are pariah’s, prostitutes, prodigal daughters & sons
confused as fuck & totally sure of every fucking move we make
we are doctors, lawyers, engineers, & artists
art gallery basquiat & subway car samo
we are public housing & park avenue,
institutionalized, & academic
we are children, parents, lovers, haters, dead beats, domestic violence, & divining rods
we are criminal record & clean slate
broken hearts & breakbeats
we are, I DON’T HAVE A GUN MAN, PLEASE DON’T SHOOT!
we are innocently suspicious & suspiciously innocent
we are fearless, & we are very afraid
we are post-traumatic-slave-disorder
only as heinous, despicable, & gangster as pale faces on wall street & the governments that spawned us

& as transcendent matter… in these earthly vessels… we are more in tune with our divinity than those warlords & dummy-gods who hide behind them pearly gates will ever be… & they can’t fade we

beware: the guns & gates will not protect u from your greatest enemy which is to say, yourself
& heaven cannot be contained in a cul-de-sac, no matter how many districts u hijack
henceforth we will be moving in to a hood, walking down a sidewalk, dirt road, & city street near u
hello neighbor, how is life today?

we are rural, urban, suburban, city monks
outfitted in oversized hooded bliss & blistered youth
we are angels blessed & cursed with burnished flesh in every shade of earth
with hidden scriptures in our book bags, nestled daggers beneath our tongues
skittled & ice-tea’d up
negotiating our own defense in this art of war

we are walking meditations on the inhumanity of humanoids
redlined & severed nomads on gentrified pavement
each moment plotting
to survive
Track Name: okanomodé and Spekulation - song for trayvon (the Spekulation remix)
trayvon "slimm" martin
feb 5, 1995 - feb 26, 2012

rest in peace
lyrics
hole in my chest
hole in their hearts
how long did it take u to make that decision?

pool of regret
pool of my blood
just another black rerun with white revision

what did u think i'd do with skittles & ice tea?
& if they come for u, will u cry out for me?


i'm no john doe
name is trayvon
i might have made u laugh if i'd had the chance
what did u fear?
who do u love?
who would u be destroyed by if they left here?

what did u think i'd do with skittles & ice tea?
& when they come for u, will u cry out for me?