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Concentrated Substance: The Chronicles of a Hopeless Optimist

by Karega Ani

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1.
Where I'm At 01:40
2.
Invocation 02:23
Please allow me to introduce myself I’m a man of wealth and taste A walking contradiction A hopeless optimist and a faith filled cynic Imperfect god in the flesh a saint and sinner A no-name famous legendary beginner a stumbling tongue twisting teetotaler drunken master of the sobering concept a stalwart vagabond light writer walking in a golden corona intergalactic aura a traveling doctor and a moonlighting coroner performing autobiographical autopsies in dimly lit edifices for your edification a man of wealth and taste a first string second line verbal horn blower meticulous sound-bending alchemist and soulful mourner the unknown soldier a liquid sword sorcerer civil war and uncivil peace reporter anonymous contributor to the book of life signing the byline with an infinity symbol pleased to meet you hope you’ve guessed my name the stress induced ulcer in the belly of the beast The aggregate of the good the bad and ugly pleased to make your acquaintance I’m you new best friend The self taught Home grown terror Desk ducking son of the Regan-Bush era independently distributed narcotic thought wholesaler ominous figure with somber intensity whispering generously offering unsuspecting listeners the first hit for free Scribbling and spitting a literary hallucinogen El Shaddai is my supplier I’m a man of wealth and taste A bad trip on a long vacation Multisyllabic gist dipped in a circle of fifths Liquid contraband delivered to your inner being changing everything Listen intently if you value the factual Imbibe and rewind me often Make yourself at home God is spoken here Slip me under your tongue And touch the stratosphere I am a man of wealth and taste A concentrated substance A weapon of mass CONSTRUCTION Smuggle me into the devils den and kill them softly
3.
Speak Freely 02:54
I am an inner city poet Black heterosexual male 30 something Hip hop rhythm in my speech T-shirt reflecting my left wing beliefs African beads baggy jeans and black Timberland kicks Nappy twisted roots peeking from underneath a camouflage bandana Wrist wrapped in a red black and green wristband Answering to an assumed nom de plume You know what I’ve come here to do yes, you have seen my kind before I am an irrational proponent of black liberation here to irritate you I blow things way out of proportion I complain too much I show no consideration for the pain of others Nor do I display commiseration for their struggles I am a misogynistic Homophobic Philistine A heathen In need of a salvation that only your righteous chastisement Can provide me I have a spontaneously combustible temper A predisposition towards inexplicable indignation And an insane tendency to literarily displace aggression After all You’ve never owned any slaves And anyone that would go out of their way to make one or two black friends can’t possibly be racist, now can they? You know me I’m a self righteous hypocrite Pro black and no reality Ex gang banger turned activist turned rapper and or slam poet but you You see straight through that charade don’t you You know I’m not an artist I’m a charlatan talking garbled nonsense calling it consciousness my thoughts are garbage Love Jones Mixed with public enemy Just another black-crab-in-the-bucket-wannabe Another weed inebriated Power to the people Rerun rabble rouser rapping revolutionary rhetoric as the crickets play along I am the ace of spades race card player Raising my right fist in praise of a nebulous black liberation agenda you know me I’m just another would be riot inciter I mix conspiracy theories with meandering listings of so-called political prisoners while attempting to convince you that its art I am an ignorant belligerent lost cause A marginally literate imposter Crip walking on your conscience And transgressing against your colorblind ideals I am so passé I still speak of white privilege As if it exists I am a card carrying reverse racist pig Dr. Martin Luther King would disagree with me because apparently I hate white people I am so redundant I really should expand my horizons after all The whole world can’t be black And all of that talk about the past can only make the race problem come back I am so damn divisive And as soon as I walked into this venue you knew that I came here to rain down licentious contrivances from stage Victimizing my listeners via tirades filled with inane inflamed and misaimed black outrage you may as well ignore me cause you’ve heard it all before right I am biased one dimensional and closed minded and you damn well know it so never mind me I guess poetry really isn’t my thing Maybe I’ll be enlightened if I just keep my thoughts to myself and listen to you my subconscious is a real pig sty and I don’t remember extending an invitation but since you’re already here- come on in just go ahead and make yourself at home please tell me how we’re all the same again show me how to make myself expression less intimidating I am begging you help me make my aimless raving relate-able to the mainstream way of thinking because you’ve already made it painfully apparent that I’m devastatingly incapable of expressing my own position without my skin and gender rendering me victim of a prejudicial stigma or having plight disavowed outright by so called open minded open mic attendees when I bleed its seen as weakness when I scream and when I speak of freedom its greeted with derision from the very individuals that claim to be proponents of unfettered self expression but my life will not be circumscribed according to their biases I am so much more than black heterosexual and male I’m music I’m grief I’m love I’m loss I’m father I’m bitter I’m brother I’m gangsta I’m son I’m faithful I’m joyful I’m wisdom I’m infinite I’m complex I’m a survivor I’m a survivor I’m a survivor I’m a survivor I’m a living breathing human being offering you a glimpse into my spirit and I am still struggling to be and speak freely
4.
Escapism 03:42
He is a slave to the rhythm and he dances his lash lacerated past weeps inconsolably but he still tries to dry it’s tears he is a sojourner and ancient spirits speak to him in pictures as he extends his branches and ascends into the atmosphere liquid prism prose descends and drenches his ambitious digits he is a slave to the rhythm and this is his midnight ritual he sits transfixed bloodshot eyes like apple tree fingers reaching into a December sky his essence is eclectic electric iridescent MIDI signals flicker in his sound garden he sits and travels tangential instrumentalist waxing transcendental transposing binary codes to good foot notes and incense quotes conjured in hopes to hit the intended target hard enough to give the Gods above a reason to believe in all of us again his passion is altruistic repentance for our collective apathy they speak to him in pictures and his ink slings whispered screams across the processed carcasses of trees his muse fiends for cocaine and gun powder and as she sniffs the mix the hit trickles into his pen facilitating his creative fix he is a slave to the rhythm and this is the way he scribbles hidden pain from his inner sanctum artistic doesn’t begin to illustrate this sick exchange and mere language is incapable of elucidating the peculiar images trickling into his veins so they speak to him in pictures delineating literary glyphs of Cadillacs castrating Adam raping Eve’s new year penetrating her raw dog (dog) eat dog (dog) days dawn (dawn) of the (dead) deadly words he speaks the unspeakable bitter pill chanting enigmatic riddles into phallic apparatuses as he peers into the black abyss behind his eyelids he is the aphrodisiac necromancer of dead poets smearing see men into the hollow sockets of sable sirens as they bitterly lament the lack of black back bone dismembering the grim reaper’s cadaver rendering resurrection obsolete he lives in the space between the rock and hard place dynamite and Namaste exchanging positive karma for God’s promises he is hip hop’s exiled messiah celestial graffiti writer spirit speaker zigzagging between frequencies intangible to the apathetic right brain they speak to him in pictures and captivated minds cannot reside in the Zion hiding behind his eye and eye he is Lucifer’s nemesis living in the center of his brimstone domain meditating in the basement generating salvation for heaven’s sake lyrical trickster attempting to pick the lock of heaven’s gate bartering insomnia for insight by limelight he is carnal complex he is God’s apprentice architect mimicking the master’s intergalactic masterpieces he is a ring shout and a rain stick a bebop walking jazz riff with Coltrane tracks in his forearms he is Satchmo’s grin he is minister mister magic’s everlasting echo the limitless synonym for soul he is a soliloquist disseminating his intense elixir mysticism city to city to displace pervasive complacency he is a slave to the rhythm and this is his ritual for escape…
5.
Vortexas 02:35
6.
<Karega's Verse> This is intended to enter your inner self and intersect with your essential center intellect is rendered irrelevant if the spirit isn’t resurrected however if you can remember how to listen between the measures heaven’s messenger is whispering within your inner rhythm expand your perceptions to catch the projected solar flare ballistic philosopher’s stone supernova groove induce the soul to move the soothsayer seduces the oracle to show the future overrule the mediocre rain or shine? antidote filled pens deliver analytical anecdotes sonic prestidigitation provokes and stokes the ocher flame we are anti-pedantic mechanics skillfully wielding the tools of the trade ratcheting catalytic concepts converting language to change mojo voodoo solar devoted voted most likely and expected to levitate kinetic meditation the inner space invader created to radiate radio waves ancient and alien avian sable Homo Sapien angelic and iridescent a futuristic relic sipping hard water a paradoxical logical ominous God a centripetal spirit spinning and spherical gyroscopic optic sensing images in 3 dimensions pre imminent lyrically rhythmic chemist spilling obsidian seed increase the frequency as Mr. Fiddler tickles the keys Spitting mystical sentiments scribbled in subliminal arithmetic prodigious and diligent metaphysician dibbling and dabbling in alchemy Melanin mixed with ancestral wisdom and elegance perpetually next level dwellers inextricably connected to the infinite intelligence forever ascending ascending
7.
I live to inhale your heaven To swim in your inner abyss To sip lap and lick the hallucinogenic sap dripping from the two lips in your secret garden sweet heart I am high Inebriated by the mixed scents of vanilla incense and uninhibited femininity I spend my waking minutes envisioning the chimera of your sun kissed unblemished skin undulating and drenched in me in you in us we meet beneath neon marquees and star constellations when the city sleeps and the senses awaken anticipating generating heat in crimson tinted chambers anticipating breaking the bed frame and waking the neighbors see baby I’m anxiously anticipating insatiable tongues honey glazed faces and sticky fingers baby I need to see you sweat see I came here to take you there to witness you glistening and grimacing in ecstasy I am a bit of a fanatic I will admit I mean I am a bit obsessed with the lascivious image of your exquisite skin jiggling and shivering your frantic fingers gripping sheets and reaching into empty space I am simply addicted to hearing your delirious screams repeated over and over in ever escalating octaves until your eyes roll back climaxing trapped in a spastic convulsion eyes wide open mind blown no God is not my name but thank you anyway baby you lay prostrated collapsed in the afterglow your essence dances on my tongue as a mystic memento slowly I drift into REM sleep hoping to again meet the sweetest dream I’ve ever seen and anyone who really knows me knows you to be inexplicably woven into my speech voodoo witchy woman that you are ubiquitous gentle twister you haunt me seeping into my blood and creeping into my subconscious embracing my perceptions and caressing them until every image within them is twisted into your likeness Miss you’re like this living rhythm a hypnotic overture washing over my senses scintillating and lyrical sweet sable siren song constantly calling me back for more baby I live for this embrace you are the air that I breathe and I can’t wait to see you again
8.
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10.
11.
As our children sit and listen by our bedroom doors we so called grown people grow into what will become of them deciding the future by the light of the moon evening screams punctuated by dissident midnight silences and screeched allegations of infidelities based on the second hand accounts of imaginative and envious witnesses we begin to consider each other guilty until proven innocent yet we remain obstinate in our suspicions no proof is sufficient belief trumps reason we grow intolerant and hard of hearing arguments growing louder and louder love notes gone sour dark blue duo singing dissonant two part harmony at the top of our lungs Clashing sarcastic acerbic and frantic slashing and cutting each other down to the bone marrow as our un-manicured egos come to overshadow our solemn oaths we grow and passions afterglow is exhausted fractured and collapsed surrendering before the panting aftermath of the most up-to-date mêlée with our better halves we stand before each other naked perspiring crying and bleeding and growing shocked into an unnatural catatonic posture rocked to the core by the harshness of our newly acquired perspectives we grow out of our imaginations and talk our of our heads snatching off our rose tinted sunglasses lenses cracked and shattered we stand there abandoned and bitter yet hopelessly hopeful tears of Crimson descending sprinting rivers running into reservoirs congealing and festering sweltering gradually growing greener it’s funny how unsophisticated we get in the midst of complicating the simplistic we use the same mouths to take vows as the ones we use to shout each other down and run each other through the mud and maybe somewhere deep down inside of each of us we believe that we can find our own salvation by sacrificing each other so we cut deeper attempting to bleach our grief in one another’s blood we become ghastly gardeners fumbling with envious thumbs spitting venom irrigating rows of white rose remnants we spit fire ‘til we set the petals ablaze leaving smoldering ashes scattered amongst thorn laurelled stems casting exaggerated shadows in the autumn sun standing singed solemn and grave we sleep restlessly in beds we’ve neglectfully made and we grow traipsing through the rows of our garden reaping pernicious epithets indelibly etched in the depths of our souls we grow out of our unconditional delusions I love you, but I love you, if I love you stitches ripped open with razor tipped slips of the tongue we grow outlook growing bleaker We grow distant Jaded eyes retreating into fields of iridescent blackberries And a thousand pixilated games and applications meant to save us from facing each other Crying out in desperation Praying for an electrified consolation We throw each other away and embrace the creeping vine wires rising from quicksand In our relentless pursuit of escape We get caught up and drawn down into a solipsistic abyss becoming ingrown people too busy to love contented memories fleeting becoming forgetful unable or unwilling to remember what we used to see in each other unable or unwilling to remember what we use to be to each other we grow unhappy to see one another we grow bitter we grow bitter we grow apart Your priorities begin to travel abroad growing more and more sophisticated more sophisticated than I ever could hope to be and I respond in kind lashing out in a prideful attempt to make things even between us even if it ends up rendering our evenings odd and distant we holler till we hollow out the hallowed home we used to have alone we grow cold becoming weary of the underestimated struggle heavy is the hand that wears the wedding band I guess too heavy so reluctant yet recalcitrant in tandem we press the big red button unified in suicide only we witness the vicious fission of the nuclear black family unit sitting back and watching the bombastic blast as if it’s an out of body experience while our baby sits there crying silently outside the bedroom door tip toeing back into his room slipping back under the covers and drifting into his first dreamless sleep he grows we grow into statistics becoming more and more ordinary
12.
What do I do now This was my last try Now I'm all cried out So now its goodbye Time will heal all wounds Right now I'm in pain Love I thought was mine I'm alone again There are so many ways To show I love you And only so many words I can say to reassure you I can only do my best To make you happy Just for you to fall in love With someone not me What do I do now It was my last try Now I'm all cried out So now its goodbye Time will heal all wounds Right now I'm in pain Love I thought was mine I'm alone again How do I mend my shattered heart When half of it left with you In a sense now I am color blind Cause everything is now so blue So What do I do now This was my last try Now I'm all cried out So now its goodbye Time will heal all wounds Right now I'm in pain Love I thought was mine I'm alone again
13.
Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away Act I Scene I 2008 As the moon breaches the Eastern horizon she arises for her ritual mahogany refugee manifesting African realities in American effigy she peers into the mirror meticulously slathering a MAC facade onto a dark deceivingly stark canvas getting glamorous for her date with escapism Scene II Her stiletto heels click a rhythmic cadence kissing the faces of immense steel sentinels that have replaced her neighborhood she is sleepless in Seattle, in Dallas, the Big Apple, Atlanta, Salt Lake City or Washington D.C. nocturnal queen walking beneath flickering streetlamps in a lost angel metropolis or hailing a taxi in the Windy City headed for the club district again Scene III As the alien cityscape sprints past her window her separation anxiety begins to flare again she closes her eyes and whispers her spirit a lullaby for consolation almost home almost home this is her new existence full of unfamiliar sights by day but transforming back into the lower ninth when the night falls she tips the cabbie as she arrives at the night spot outside she sees a dagger tongued arachnid leaning in to whisper sweet nothings into the ear of a giggling glitter caterpillar and she remembers her first time she remembers home almost home almost home stiletto heel rhythm clicking briskly she reaches the bouncer passes the velvet rope and reanimates happy to be back in the place where everybody knows her face and no one knows her name she is only 18 but her displaced age old scars find a familiar razor’s edge by the bar the DJ spins earsplitting tantric anthems to her backside drowning out the background sounds of Cancer crabs grabbing the innards of black men and women like her and her and her and him she sits silent gingerly gripping her lipstick tipped Virginia Slims cigarette flicking it’s ashes and peering into its smoldering rosebud she considers how far she’s come only to end up a fixture in dens like this one her legs have become estranged by a trail of deranged minstrels soulless men attempting to find God at his old address her inner space is sore and shredded but here she is again continuing her descent attempting to amend the divine oversight of her survival bar side her ghost filled womb gapes open jaded hoping waiting for the next chrome totting jester to invest in his dick with distilled spirits she sits there wishing for a new trick to rent her a Glinlivet filled snifter an elixir in which she can dip her memories and numb the pain finally he sees her she sees him he seizes his chance and three drinks later she is dancing beginning to forget the day the rain came once again Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away Scene IV At the witching hour they leave together headed to an all too familiar rendezvous three blocks away a short stay motel sweat stained bed drenched in the remnants of prior indiscretions as the ritual begins she disconnects he doesn’t notice he is a Martian astronaut geologist digging for gems beneath Venus’s crust only to discover stardust water logged bodies and a granite heart thumping an elegy he comes and goes promising to call she sneers dismissively knowing better she reflects “you never can tell with some men… he may even mean well…” but insanity is the only fellow that never left her side she knows his style always true to form he never ever disappoints her even tragedy hasn’t the decency to sleep next to her after he climaxes he hits and runs they always hit and run silence she sighs as she rises midnight phoenix ascending from the ashes of her innocence stiletto heels click a rhythmic cadence back to reality collapsing into a restless prostration fading as the stars begin to vanish and the city opens it’s eyes Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away Act II Scene I Flashback 2005 Southeastern Louisiana August heat Trapped in the attic for the past 16 hours nowhere no one to run to a crimson river bubbles up to the surface of a tumultuous obsidian abyss contractions attack her ravenous and relentless like her family’s backhanded quips about her ancestry and the vicious insults about her chocolate skin that singed themselves into her inner sense of self she browns out and nearly collapses snapped back to consciousness by the acrid stench of death she struggles to stand erect but another labor pain doubles her over buckling her knees shoving her nose to nose with her own distorted contorted reflection a motor oil slick waltzes in polychromatic paisley patterns poverty’s artwork wafting on a toxic canvas of raw sewage river water rotting meat bleach discarded syringes and gasoline liquor bottles insulation strips insects asbestos pesticides birth blood tear drops and God’s wrath bloody bare knuckles desperately impact the ceiling as she attempts to reach the sun No wait baby Wait no don’t come yet Momma’s gotta reach the sun God HELP us GOD HELP us God help us Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away She wails in agony as his head breaches her hymen her tongue is numb from calling on God calls for Momma stop in mid air dropping into the concoction sinking to the bottom drowning like her baby boy beginning to kick sporadic bloody knuckles thrash frantic the abyss is getting deeper minute old hands thrash frantic where is Grand momma’s Jesus when you need him she is screaming her six year old brother’s lifeless arm floats over draping her shoulder consoling her post mortem ancestral uncle ushering her son into the afterlife so soon No wait baby Wait no don’t come yet Momma’s gotta reach the sun God HELP us Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away Scene II Thrice denied by the divine The kicking stops The punching stops The praying stops The feeling stops Silence Sledge hammer explosions usher in the sun She doesn’t even hear them She is limp Senses numb Young would be mother Dragged from the attic and wrapped in a flannel comforter Nothing left to struggle for There is no land of opportunity There is no land Snapshot Blue Skies Black Water Black Bodies Blues People Red Eyes White Hands Black Guns Blue Eyes Black Cameras New Baby Blue Baby Blue Baby Noose lynched umbilical cord hanging from heaven Limp infant pendulum swinging in the breeze 21st century picnic postcard He came too soon He ^ came too late He came too soon He ^ came too late Cyclical refrain revolving in the darkness of her consciousness Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away Scene III September 11 2005 FEMA trailer solitary cell sweltering She sits listless Peering into empty space Images censored Deemed too explicit for CNN she’s been skinned alive repeatedly beaten by sanctimonious sensibilities and shifting eyes She is invisible Told to get over it over and over again Considered invincible Told to get over it over and over again spirited from the spirited from the Superdome to Astrodome to the four winds her neglected post traumatic stress descending into perpetual yesterdays as her existence is eclipsed by the next Paris Hilton headline repeatedly told she should be grateful that they came to save her she cries herself to sleep at night knowing better grieving parents recognize that there are some things worse than death “So many of these people in the arena here, you know were underprivileged anyway so this (chuckle) this is working very well for them.” – Barbara Bush Katrina levee Voodoo Woman’s water breaks Wash our Blues away Act I Scene I 2008 She’s awakened by a passing train Another tear soaked pillow As the moon breaches the Eastern horizon And she arises for her ritual Mahogany refugee manifesting African realities in American effigy She peers into the mirror knowing
14.
15.
Oneness 02:39
In the name of Allah the Beneficent the Merciful Oneness Characterized by unity undivided agreement Our unity is more powerful than an atomic bomb Elijah Muhammad When you see me you see the father for I and the father are one Yeshua Oneness Oh God of mercy I appreciate thee when I can’t see I focus because you say you are in me Nneka Oneness My life and my death are all for Allah the Lord of the worlds Oneness Don’t betray what you portray Saafir Oneness Servitude is the sincerest express of gratitude Oneness Reject the unauthorized authority of your impulses and emotions Rise above your emotions into the thinking of God Elijah Muhammad Oneness The universe is a woman and she will submit to anyone worthy Oh my father I saw eleven stars and the moon I saw them making obeisance to me Surah 12 Verse 4 Oneness where two or more are gathered in my name there I am in the midst of them Jesus the love affair that cannot be compared to any other Oneness God is One Oneness Karega the safe haven granting access to the upper room allowing the purified ones the freedom to run wild like an oblivious child both mentally and spiritually displaying his power to carry the chose ones into the fifth dimension God manifested in the flesh Oneness
16.
The Riot Act 06:22
I don’t think that I think like y’all think that I do When it comes to analyzing my mind insight defies you And you can’t define my life anymore than I can classify you Yet you continue to attempt to circumscribe me Issuing unsolicited critiques of who I be as if I breathe for your approval And I could continue to attempt to share my pain and bare my soul naked before you but I’ve come to find that monkeyshines and mindless high jinks tend to ensue When illiterate individuals attempt to proofread my truth So if I’ve been reclusive its simply due to the fact That an elder once said to me never to cast my pearls before swine And although I’m not implying that everyone in our community fits this description This is meant for the duplicitous Low life degenerates with senseless innuendo dripping from their lips Maliciously attempting to pit my kin against me as if anyone in my inner circumference would up and jump ship subsequent to listening to them it never fails to amaze me the crazy inane things the feeble and craven will say when they think that they’re safely away from my reach and enabled to hatefully speak on me freely the only impasse with that tactic is that if ever I become aware of your invective I will address it with extreme prejudice so welcome to my bad side HERE’S A QUESTION: Isn’t it ironic that the pathological community conditions that many of these so called militant lyricists tend to lament in their lines are immortalized by the very characteristics they tend to epitomize? moreover Isn’t it astounding how these same individuals are quick to get sentimental with anyone they figure they can manipulate to get ahead misappropriating labels like brother sister comrade business partner or best friend however if ever their unethical rhetoric ends up ineffective they’re ever so quick to switch to disrespectful I’ve witnessed this phenomenon so often that I’ve come to consider it inevitable so please bear with me if I initially seem to be reticent to let you in just consider it conditioned self defense given my own experience Don’t take it personal Just know that I’m just averse to bull And although I know the phrase poetry scene has become slang for pissing competition I’d much rather use my gifts to soothe the bruised and battered spirit And as opposed to whispering aspersions concerning the personal business of other lyricists I’d rather lift my voice delivering prescriptions scribbled down to mend the human condition wield your pen to heal them this is the mission I’ve been sent here to fulfill but it’s been my experience that there will consistently be a few covetous individuals nuts enough to try to undercut while I do my thing well okay if you insist proceed if you wish but please remember this admonition my malice for my adversaries has no limits nor has it an end I am a man of principles one being self respect and in defense of my principles I am naught if not direct therefore if any individual hearing this still feels the need to speak ill of me consider this an offensive a pre-emptive strike a wicked apparition penned with intentions to bring your entrenched fears to life whenever I’m incited to write a riot act my inner peace yields to a killer beast here spitting a bitter piece dipped in venom speech getting nitty-gritty knee deep in these blithering idiot critics and enemies bleeding crimson weakness shivering with each and every syllable I deliver I defy you to silence me bitch please More often than not it’s the small minded that try to malign me spitefully Whispering whimpering and whining to their friends that I’m some kind of supercilious elitist prick which is an awfully ironic indictment in light of the fact that I never take credit for my gifts Mr. Ani Is simply a mouthpiece for the ancestors and the grand planner that sent him and really its sad to witness cause I could be the guy to bring their wildest dreams to life via the lines I spit but now I’ve come to realize that in the eyes of some I just can’t win even in my absence there’s always some random asshole that’s ever so happy to slander and bash my image babbling asinine adjectives like conceited or classist that is without the advantage of having had a more substantial conversation with me than hello and goodbye and I am absolutely flabbergasted by the fact that the absence of this fundamental context hasn’t stopped some of y’all so called intellectuals from acting as if y’all have me pegged well if this is indeed the case you may consider this next declaration a statement of the obvious but for the edification of our non-omniscient guests let me officially go on record regarding y’all as follows and I quote: I find you sum total existence on this Earth superfluous Your surface words are worthless Regurgitated concepts diminishing in impactfulness As soon as they travel past your bastard lips And I could make you famous but in all honesty your names ain’t even worth mentioning as an afterthought Besides, as the perpetrators of this malfeasance Your ways and actions have severely diminished your humanity Reducing you to more of a social ill Therefore persona non grata You shall now and forever hereafter be branded as envy The living breathing embodiment of discontent excited by the sight or perception of another’s superiority or good fortune I know you well I know that loathing me is your only means of coping with a force that you can’t fence in I know you well I know that as opposed to forging your own path you’d rather be parasitic in attempts gain regain or retain attention I know you ever So well And you’d rather that I hate you than ignore you Then at least you’d feel important But I can ill afford to afford you that satisfaction I am entirely too busy to be dragged in to your low rent melodramatic fantasy Besides any idiot knows that mixing empty words with chittlin circuit business sensibilities begets penniless lyricists I don’t take advice from broke poets so stow it Go bestow your sense of decorum on some Joe Blow that don’t know no better In essence it’s a matter of perspective If you’ve never walked in my shoes then don’t ever assume to correct me This poetry thing may be a leisure pursuit for you But it’s the air that I breathe And ultimately you may be content to continue contending in slams for bragging rights Patronizing open mics Or recording your less than average poetry CDs Maybe even doing overblown features To give people the illusion that you are really doing big things But please Don’t be peeved when you see me living bigger dreams I wasn’t raised to be mediocre at anything but I get it low self image has some people thinking I’m attacking them by simply being me but please be clear I will not diminish my abilities to give your spirits ease Nor will I decrescendo to give you any sense of peace Your lack of skill will continue to render you second fiddle ‘til I get up and leave this piece And utilizing vulgar colloquialisms is typically something I choose not to do but F.U.C.K.U. Some may Find the Underlying lines Confusing but try to Keep Up I’m Friendly Unless Crabs Kindle Unrest I’m Firmly Undaunted though Critics Keep Underrating me I’m a Formidable Undertaker, a Calculating Killer of the Unworthy and this is my Final Ultimatum to Cats Kicking Up Fallaciously Unnecessary Confrontations with Karega Ani Unquote

about

Concentrated Substance: The Chronicles of a Hopeless Optimist, is a furtherance of that evolution. After years away from recording and a multitude of experiences, including becoming a single father of one and multiple cross country moves, Karega Ani has re-emerged more mature, more focused and more refined. Karega Ani has come of age, and the evolution of this lyricist is not to be missed.

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released December 9, 2013

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Karega Ani Houston, Texas

Karega Ani is a performance poet/music producer from Houston, TX. For over a decade, he's been busy developing his unique style, living by the credo that diligent preparation must always precede presentation. Karega draws from a wide range of influences, from Hip Hop to straight ahead jazz, from gospel to funk, from down home blues to hot buttered Soul. He is timeless...and always on time. ... more

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