The Q + L Sessions: 1st Entry

In any friendship, it is important that those people involved in it do their absolute best to not only support that friend but make them a better person by association. I think a lot of my friends do that. The friend I speak on now is a friend I have know since elementary-my boy Quinton (more commonly called The QZA). We both are blessed with lyrical skills and on occasion we bounce our words off of each other. The following is an example of that. Enjoy.




(Lucius)
Call 'em straight like they was Gibraltar
No F- fails at the graded range falter
Artist make eardrum canvases to lyricist art them boys say
So if Q be the Rembrandt...do that make me Monet?
Or Moet splashing folk in bubbly bastard spit shit... Read More
Quality, no qualms make 'em quietly quick quit
Plantation pimps the Southern boys make slave of the beat
Muthafuckas on weak rap, I can't get jiggy with that sheet
Blast ballads on you mallards, duck quick when I mic check
Cook not Raekwon chef but I'll Inspectah your tape deck
Get to root of the lesser lines against the greater
So can emulate my Maino to shoot salutations to hater
Dig down deep to throw diamonds Delta at our dynasty
Alpha kids take Beta bitch blasters to take out every B
Chuckles on the red nosed, not Rudolph but them clowns
Nines, ones, and two take verses and lay all stunts down

(QZA)
Okay, Lu's Monet, on the leaning tower of Pisa
With a piece of clay
I'm downstairs spitting game to Lisa Bonet,
Thats US, I'm eating her A
Sounds like a stretch, I'm Treach, A Hip-Hop Hooray
They say we're some fake rappers
Get their heads deflated, renamed MC Souffle

(Lucius)
The seventeenth letter boy Q be a clever Cleaver
Cool enough to Ward off Junes and any eager Beavers
If he Bonet, give Black that some Gilbert chick
VA born bourgeoisie met a Southern Joker’s pencil trick
Disappear, bone deep similar to how tandem offense cuts ya
Sluts ya, corner stalking looking Berry to feel good
Fake? We? Kill boy, Killroy on our domo
After massacre new masquerade caped and shaded like Proto (…man!!!)

(QZA)
My Gotham broham drop bows on Scarecrows
Bleeding straw out their stitches
Lyrics leave these lemurs leaking and twitching
Like Trey Lynah, the old Geechie homie
We eat golden ravioli off gray China plate
Peachy poems to screech the Terrordome, blueprint paper planes
Caught in my weather veins
Sever lanes to destruction with tethered domes
And electric dame forever doting
Ever the texture's tame, that's the aim, quote me
White pepper soldier
Stay grungy taking baking soda baths
Chicks out here hard as fuck, the boulder graspers, A rhythmic tick
Miss Fingerwood of the Hood, do the math

1 message received...

IMAGINE...

The furrowed brow be almost perfections to me
Her thoughts focused aphrodisiac potent more than poisons ingested
She is elegance among the elocutions, sensual sexy shown through concentrations
On this or any task set before that beautiful mind
Numbers ensnare her visage but do not lessen
That part that contributes to the complete set
Of all things that make me desire the skin
And the mind and spirit bound to them
(whispering)
You look so beautiful right now


(A cell phone buzzes, an a text message appears, taking her away from the mundane studies and making her...smile.)

Girl- My escape...such a beloved whisper.



My Escape (Beloved Whisper)

Intro
Take away tired days, sunset in simply said things
Idle minds refrain to seek flight amid wings
Silently pensive in a ponder of elsewhere land
Where a heaven behind sight counts forever in the sands
Off to distance too distant to measure or tape
Away and yonder is the pure greatest, my escape

Verse One
Random among tedious
Gallop about the moment
One thought stays constant
Perfect, dangerous
To linger on you
Dancing wild, adrift in smiles
An amazing thrill
My moment, my escape

Chorus
My moment, child of a dream
My getaway, beloved whisper
My moment, child of a fantasy
My escape, beloved whisper

Repeat once

Verse Two
Lost now in living boredom
Staring off into distant
Thinking it again
Fantasy, kingdom
All within you
Living amid this heaven
Heavenly dreaming
A second for escape

Chorus 2xs

Verse Three
Once upon a thought of you
Burning bright in a mundane place
Consuming the real
Transcending this, true
Beautiful ever
Waiting when eyes close tight
There in a daydream
My moment, my escape

Chorus 2xs

Intro

Chorus 2xs

What would it mean to you to...ESCAPE ?

"You act just like your daddy..."
"That reminds me of something your momma did when she grew up..."


Most people take these words and smile...but not all do that. There are times when we want nothing more to escape from what people have said about our family memebers gone and tread out own path...

...sometimes that path is one leading to fame and fortune...

...other times it leads to INFAMY.


Desires Of Infamy (Intro)
(Sprawled out among the flashing lights he was, caught up in the electric thrill of another year of life...everything seems sharper, more new than it had been before. The city waits patiently to be taken and he plans to take it, fast and willingly almost as if a hungry wolf seeking to devour every pleasure in one night. Only one thing stops him…)

Kingston-I can’t say I’m following what you’re saying, Robert…

Robert-Don’t you read? I’m talking about the greatest criminals this city has ever seen…

Kingston-(annoyed) I do read…and if I read correctly there are a lot of infamous factors of the ‘criminal element’ that have been noted since this city’s inception. You need to be more specific, Bobby.

Robert-(sighing) Fine, Stony…three people in particular are who I’m speaking on…a learned man as you claim to be must have heard of Douglas McCloud, Darin Black, and David Jericho, right?

Kingston-I have.

Robert-So what can you tell me about them?

Kingston-I know that McCloud was a monster, Black was a madman, and Jericho, if at all possible, was worse. (confused) What the hell are we talking them for?

Robert-Absolutely correct. (silence). Have you ever wanted to live beyond your name, Stony?

Kingston-I’m going to assume you mean to climb from behind the shadow of your surname and to make your mark in this world.

Robert-Yeah…that’s what I’m talking about.

Kingston-What’s so wrong with being a Riley?

Robert-I hate it…son of Maxwell Riley and Veronica Slade-Riley, grandson of celebrated detective Sterling Riley and businessman R. Tobias Slade, Sr. It’s a legacy I want no part of.

Kingston-Be glad you have one…I never knew my father and my mother is one of the most unassuming sorts you’ll ever meet.

Robert-I want infamy so badly I can taste it…and I will.

(This statement is spoken more to himself as Robert paces, almost as if he forgot Kingston was there. Kingston seems to see this and speaks, jarring him away from his mental solitude.)

Kingston-Infamy, huh? Well if you do what I think you’re about to do, I would like to hope you’re more original than quoting Greek mythology, stealing money from families, or trying to rule this insignificant city…they had no vision in my opinion.

Robert-(smirks) I believe you’re wrong but I’ll allow you your opinion. So will you go in on this with me?

Kingston-Absolutely.

Robert-And what about you?

(This statement is posed to a figure standing in the background of the scene. Standing in the shadows is Douglas Riley, Robert’s older brother. He had been eerily quiet throughout the entire conversation, merely hanging back listening. He speaks few words which is almost as insubstantial as his silence.)

Douglas-Can I have her?

Kingston-(shakes his head) Nothing changes…

Robert-Doug, I don’t give a damn what you do with her…just don’t call me if you make a mess, okay?

Douglas-Agreed.

Robert-Well, gentlemen, let us prepare to take our place in history…oh, before I forget…Kingston, I know how you love a good puzzle. (hands him a book) I found this notebook in the library. Look through it and see what you can find.

Kingston-Will do… (to both) later on, boys.

(The three disperse to their cars and drive away into the night that stretches on before them. Once again, after almost twenty years, we return to Hollyville; with that reurn is the likely and almost necessary return to Dirtyfoot’s. We, as always, begin with the ending in mind. So now we begin again for the last time.)

the absolute...FACTS

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The BEGINNING of my CLOSE

The amazing thing about a story or anything that you do is the fact that it so often reflects the people, the places, and the experiences that so mold us into who we are. This is no exception...

For the last two to three years I have created an album series that pumps, breathes, and exists among all the things I just named. It's called Dirtyfoot's. The albums in the series are as follows:

• LIVE @ Dirtyfoot's


• Dirtyfoot's @fter dark


• Dirtyfoot's @ last


• Dirtyfoot's: FIN@LE

As you can most undoubtedly see, Dirtyfoot's: FIN@LE will be the last one in the series. And like always, the people I know provide the influence for the songs, the stories, and the characters. Some of the people represented in verses in this album include my friends (Santos, Che), family (Mom, Clerona), and anyone else I so deem. Thank you all those who inspired what is to come.

Now on to business...


It can always be noticed that we as someone eles's child inherit or get certain similarities from our parents, whether it be personality or physical attributes; this song really deals with that.

A father looks at his daughter and sees too much of her mother in her, a woman he loved and thought her had gotten over. The result is this..."Nearly Mirrors"


Nearly Mirrors
Vegas-Nadra? Nadra? Nadi, we need to talk…

Nadra-What could we possibly have to talk about?

Vegas-Our relationship…we should be closer than this…we used to be closer than this…what happened?

Nadra-(looks at him) Please don’t act like you don’t know…

Vegas-(sighs, looks at her) I don’t…so please tell me, Nadra…

(In the throws of her explanation to her father she thinks back some years earlier when she had heard her parents in the heat of an argument. Their arguments and disagreements were nothing to get excited over in her thinking, it happened so often after all. But one particular exchange had caused the rift between father and daughter.)

Tara-Vegas, I’m not gonna be gone forever…a few years and I get breaks to come home in between. What more do you want?

Vegas-I want you to stay and be a mother to your child and stop chasing some model fantasies….that’s what I want.

Tara-(wrinkles face in disgust) Be a mother?!? You have the balls to tell me about being a parent when the most time YOU spend with Nadi is at meals? That’s funny. You act like you don’t want her…

Vegas-Like I said at the outset of this, I didn’t want you to keep her but you were so adamant about having my child that I caved…and in any case I’m forbidding you to leave.

Tara-Whatever…you feel how you want to feel. And as far as you telling, or forbidding, me from going, that’s not even a concern. I only asked to be polite…I told Nadi, Dana and Jonathan promised to help, along with my parents and E.J. You can continue looking past our daughter. I mean, that’s what you’re really mad about, right? (turns, walks away)

Vegas-Fine…leave.

Tara-Oh…one more thing. (takes off ring, throws it) I believe that is yours.

(Vegas was stricken silent in the past just as the Vegas of the present was at Nadra’s words; only in this instant did he realize exactly how much his daughter actually looked like Tara. When he finds his words again, they are shakily said but said all the same.)

Vegas-Nadi, when I said that, I…

Nadra-I know…you meant it. It’s okay. Auntie Dana, Uncle Jon, E.J., even Mommy has been here for me more than you have. And now, I’m a grown woman and you’re concerned about salvaging a relationship. (chuckles). A little late in the game for that, don’t you think? (turns, walks away)

Vegas-Where are you going?

Nadra-To Mr. Black’s house…Lucian’s coming home today.

(She exits her father’s house and leaves him alone with his thoughts. Foremost among
those thoughts is one that he had been thinking watching his child grow up into a
woman.)

Vegas-Another Tara Kelly if ever there was one… (sits down)

Verse One
Beloved eyes burn twice, hers like yours
Filled with disgust at life’s grandest fool
They emerald seem to pierce and do the same
The very likewise of ones once called beloved
In hatred oculars paint this into corners
Apologies seem worthless here in everything
Looking at progeny, trick of lights almost swear
That mother reflects, daughter nearly mirrors

Chorus
It's like looking in a mirror... but not

Repeat three times

Verse Two
Infatuated shapes boomerang so, built in same mold
Abused just the same by imbecilic motions
Each curve an homage to their genesis
That place is and evermore will be past betrothed
Such anger held in bodily perfection
Enough to quell any words put out to console
A child of mine looks to be illusion when eyes hang low
Almost looks like maternity maker, seed nearly mirrors

Chorus 4xs

Verse Three
Long desired fire burns again, ignite similar inferno
Set aside after a past stupidity returning to haunt
That something about her lives string in another
Born of us but beyond whatever contribution given
Disgust comes now from the passionate things
Love may have all but evaporated now
This daughter born from our becoming one confuses
Every time eyes glance, she nearly mirrors

Chorus 4xs

(Because he had no more energy, whether it be from thinking of Tara or arguing with Nadra, Vegas sits in the chair trying to numb pain with alcohol; after a while it works until he sees a picture of both Tara and Nadra standing with him on a nearby table. At that glance words, or one word, returns to him.)

Vegas-Damn. (throws glass)

Sound FX Sound of shattering glass

A Prophet?...maybe

Be honest...


Would you EVER take spiritual advice from a crack head? How about a heroin addict? A meth user?



Despite knowing within myself that God can work through anyone...


NOTE:...so far, it's been a stuttering murderer (Moses), a shepherd boy with slingshot (David), a rich man with terrible luck (Job), a Hebrew girl made queen (Esther), a tax collecter of all things (Matthew), and a fisherman, I believe (Peter)...


...I kinda doubt it sometimes. In all honesty it would be hard for me to have the Ten Commandments quoted at me by someone who may be coming down from high...I would imagine it would be that much harder for an atheist to readily hear that.


This is my attempt to explore that particular scenario.


Listen closely to the... Street Corner Prophet



Street Corner Prophet (Interlude)

Verse One
No God here to judge these pawns living
Not a chance at some redemption, at some forgiving
Live and die sans interference from a big brother being
Look into common senses as reference for seeing

(One God here, testament to life and death of age
Slide Genesis under eyes and gave servant page
Without a faith, foolish more than imbibing poisons as did
A joke told in outburst whispers, jester, as only one kids)

Verse Two
There be singular chuckle here-belief in absentee landlord
Fairy tales in elder tomes cannot work if there’s no faith to be restored
Poison pusher victims no prophet or no priest
Nothing more than a nuisance to say the least

(Absentee wording? Bow low and hope for bless
Cross sacrifice cost is humble service, no less
Condemned for the former man in face of alms heaven sent
Clock ticks away for the chance to repent)

Verse Three
A chance is taken in thinking upstairs neighbor cares for all and addicts
Dollars and gold against immortal soul that He is just a Benedict
So when ready to concede in nonexistent trinity, to live in reality
Drop supposed angelic study guide and take hold of destiny

(Lead horses to living waters even if those fail to quench thirst
No failure in this diatribe because hand fellowship reached out first
One day if the answers so sure give no solace but merely quit
Seek out a previous strung-out, a modern street corner prophet

Addict-No talking to some people, I guess… (looks around) well, I tried. (walks off)

(The reformed addict walks down the road and is nearly knocked over by the sheer speed of a elderly woman rolling by in her automobile. As fast as she is moving it is hard to notice things and she doesn’t notice anything until a dull but loud thud from the front of her car causes her to stop.)

Far Beyond Decent...INCEST!!

What would you consider a good reason to write?

A man always has two reasons for doing anything--a good reason and the real reason. -JP Morgan

Everything has a reason, no matter how intelligent it may be or however idiotic it may seem. For instance, I write and share a lot of my lyrics for the simple reason that a lot of the things I write are based in the reality that I live in. The events, the emotions, the thoughts, the people are major influences in my writing. If ever I have spoken to you about my writing, I am sure that I have told you this particualr statement:

If I've known you long enough or if I've talked to you for a second I can base a song on you. -Lucius Black

A few examples:
(NOTE: there are a lot more but I'm trying to get to a point here...)

CAM: "Infinite Gentleman" (ALBUM: Live @ Dirtyfoot's)
SANTOS: "Hustle For It" (ALBUM: Proving Ground)
MIYA: "Calypso His" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @ last)
DRE: "Search Home" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @fter dark)
LIS "This Called Healing" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @fter dark)

All of that of that was said to say this-there are four main reasons I write:

• To comfort people


• To honor a friend, family member, etc.


• To get out emotions and/or thoughts


• To push the envelope, making people think

This particular is the last reason. Before you go any further, I want to warn you...

WARNING:

This song will make you rather uncomfortable, I say that having written it and being so uncomfortable that I wanted to stop writing. But I ask you to look past that to the manner in which the subject matter is covered and the eloquence of it. Enjoy...

Kiss, Never Tell

Verse One
Young longing, viewed pleasures
The sinful fantasy
Quake slightly in passion
Over incest standing broad
Once lips kiss forbidden
Turn back, not an option left
Feel pounding deep within
Wrong nothing if it feels right

Verse Two
(All conscience scream stopping
Other regions play continue themes
Her touch, known for so long
Takes on a different flame
Beloved for other reasons
A lover unexpected here
Sweet sweat comes to ease nerves now
Because caress offers no console)

Verse Three
Quick paces punctuate this
Fantastic chance to know the pain
Of loving someone who
Loves you but not in lusting realm
Taste necks now, feel heartbeat
Nervous of hands that do not belong
Just one hit of the new drug
Please them as addiction of skin

Verse Four
(Threshold carries of willing
To imperfect euphoric momentary
Yield likely to quell a sin burning
Thrusts and strokes again then again
Yells continue until all blurs
As walls perspire written in our adultery
Climax comes to end motions
Until the moment repeats again)

Mother-(breathless) You are soooo good at this…

Son-(breathless) Thank you, I guess…so are you. Well…I gotta go. (kisses her).

(Whether he was ashamed of what has become a regular practice or whether his words were true no one will truly know. Mother dearest lies spent, sleeping for an hour or two after which she will try to shower away the sin and change sheets as if that might help. Father, conspicuous by his absence, sits discussing religion with the most unlikely sort-a recovering meth addict. One can only wonder if the reformed can change the heart of an atheist.)