|
|
| |
|
|
| |
i am: 40...a capricorn / moon in pisces / libra rising...an old soul with a young spirit...older than i look...contemplating my 3rd tattoo...NOT a web designer...a lesbian...working things out with the g.f....a native iowan...a graduate of cornell college and ohio state...a critical reader and thinker...really rather shy...agnostic...an ardent feminist...a bleeding-heart liberal...a pacifist...and so not your average white grrl...
e-mail me
feeling generous? *grin*
Who Links Here
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
April 11, 2003
i'm no poet...and i know it. but j is. so is michael franti. inspired by the former, i give you this, from the latter:piece o' peace
(every million miles ya haffe tek a first step
every million miles ya haffe tek a first step)
i was sick of flippin' channels / and sick of flippin' quarters
i called my man zulu / said, "meet me on the corner"
maybe we can check out the clubs in the city
'cause waitin' at the crib can make you feel shitty.
so he hopped into my ride on the squeaky door side and
we hit the upper room / where they keep the funk alive.
the man at the door invited us inside.
he said there isn't any cover if you're keepin' up the vibe.
we took it upstairs to big up the area.
the people in the house was shakin' up their derrier.
raisin' up their hands and raisin up their voices.
tokes was the d.j., i was happy with his choices,
maxin' and mixin' the beats they was fixin'.
my brain like a smoke that was doubly, triply, dope.
the decadence is gone and life may never be the same
'cause when the beat hits,
you feel no pain!
(chorus)
so a piece of peace for you, a piece of peace for me
a piece of peace for every peaceful person that you see.
a piece of peace for you, a piece of peace for me
but I don't act peaceful if you're not that way to me.
(every million mile ya haffe tek a first step
every million mile ya haffe tek a first step)
five-o was outside waitin' with their vans
hopin' that shit would get outta hand
so dat they could test their weapons
on innocent civilians,
the high tech shit costin' million and millions.
money should've spent on something for community
but that's o.k. because we got the unity.
so fuck the police! we can keep the peace!
we can make love and conquer that disease
because nothing in the world is impossible to me.
i can swim on dry land and run upon the sea
and nothing in the world is impossible to me.
you can chop off my legs and I'll land upon my feet.
i turn it over to the spirit and I leave her in charge
my favorite record sounds like an african head charge.
she'll beat up the beats with an eggbeater
pour 'em in the batter
she'll make 'em sound fatter and fatter.
'cause food for the soul is the flavor of the music.
spice for the brain is the essence of the lyrics.
songs can be delicious and also be nutritious.
you can't pay for culture, it can only be experienced.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
WELL, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN EXPERIENCED!
WELL...
(chorus)
if the funk is on time
then we call it punctual
we're matchin' up the footsteps
spiritual and functional.
like carnivale in rio,
the charlie hunter trio
had the groovers groovin'
and all the movers movin'.
cuba, twist, reminisce and NME
graffiti on the street for everyone to see.
even the elders in the house was havin' fun
because we livin' life at the top of our lungs.
it was truly a life celebration that night
had the world's greatest time
but we'd never sell the movie rights
to maury povich, or anyone like that
and anyone who does is really, really whack!
we fish or cut bait and we're not takin' prisoners
and if you comin' late then you might've missed some'a this
funky good time we had here in front'a you.
so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu to you.
(chorus)
—spearhead, from home, 1994
11:12 AM
|
|
| |
|
| |
