Chapter 28

In a past life I was a wood-carver's knife. The
sharpened blade of a woodcutter. The eldest
son of the chief's brother. A maker of drums.

We scraped the insides of goat hides to find
the hollows where sound resides. Offering
the parts we did not use. To invoke the muse.

Music of the ghettos, the cosmos, the negroes,
the necros: overcomers of death; disciples of
breath. Dissection of drumbeats like Osiris
by Seth.

Breakbeats into fourteen pieces. Dissembled
chaos. Organized noise. A patchwork of
heartbeats to resurrect true b-boys. Be men.

Let's mend the broken heart of Isis. Age of
Aquarius. Mother Nature is furious. While
you rhyme about being hardcore, be heart-
core. What is it that we do art for?

Metaphor. Meta-sin. It's an age of healing.
Why not rhyme about what you're feeling?
Or not be felt. Deal with the cards you're
dealt.

Calling all tarot readers and sparrow feeders
to cancel the apocalypse. Metaphorically
speaking.


a piece by Saul Williams
from The Dead Emcee Scrolls: The Lost Teachings of Hip-Hop