commun compte de faits...

racontes toi... un peu... douc tu viens... caisse tu fete... ki et tu... pourquoi pas... car moi... jeune fait que ca... a shack fois... avec excuses... evidement... c pour ca d'ailleurs que j'aime pas lire... ecrire... repondre... ecouter... lever la main... fayoter... me la jouer... aller au tableau... faire le beau... ca craint plutot... putain... deja que quand mon tour de lire s'approche... et que la voix des autres est plus forte... j'ecoutes meme plus... je m'en fou largement... faut juste que je me con centre... sur ce que j aurais a relire... reloux... cheloux... cailloux... hiboux... etoux... c'est bete... animal meme... d'etre comme ca... mais bon... comme je m'en fou... royalement... du sujet... de l'intro... de son nom... du developement... et que je veux juste conclure... alors comme dirais l'autre... avant moi... c'est la merde... et apres... c'est la galere... ouais... faut se mettre au jus... concentrer... anna lisait... bien meme... avant tous... cous... mousse... tout chuss... faut qu'sa... frousse... tache de rougir... peure... rousseure... mon coeur... ma biche... mon amour.. credule... balbutie... reduit ta sauce... met la... bien... entendu... voila... c'est mon tour... reparti pour un... racontes moi...

twice up on a dime...

400 years later... Caracol is still collecting sea shells and liberating their sound into his ears... his house is surrounded by an ocean of shells that keep his community alive and happy... he collects his treasures from the shores and reefs of a beautiful Caribbean island where his village drifted and settled... this small island remains relatively isolated from the outside world... during those long and painful years of slavery the villagers picked a few habits... such as drinking or wearing T-shirts and baseball caps... now they can walk unchained once again carrying a plastic cup and a big smile they refill at their neighbor’s house... by the time the sun jumps into the ocean the entire community is singing and dancing together under the newest boombox... the colour of their skin remains as dark as the racism that got them there in the first place... slavery is officially abolished but the power of money creates new differences... people that work the hardest make the least money... this time consuming machine is creating chickens without eggs... giving an answer to a multiplying demand of bird watchers that want milk coming out of eggs so they can break-faster... they need to feed of more energy to grow and consume more slaves... poverty is holding hands with slavery on this globalized galley... life is a controversial joke between the chicken and the egg... the infernal way they eat and live up in the first world has taken everyone natural rhythm away... Caracol still has this gift for music that enables to hear and play in tune with nature... his rap has kept traditions and legends alive... there is a beautiful place somewhere in the Caribbean Sea with people that love to dance... there are projects to sell out this tropical to turn them into oil platforms... tourist traps... meanwhile people enjoy every hour before getting back on a galley... history will keep rolling its shell on the white sand and repeat itself on another shore... Caracol is still listening to his shells today and this is not a legend...

ando vajal...

asi el tema... lame o... ya se... no se... pero si se... el arte del es cribir... acribilando... letra tras let rats... con fundiendo... mezclando... repitiendo... asi ten tiendo... en aguas pocas profundas... palabras cortas... condon quijote... el famoso que mancha... caballo pelao... mal cortado... couleure cafe... como me gusta tu olor tinta... fresca... bebe... que el hielo se derrite... con el alcohol... igual... en aguas mas profundas... deepa'... dis pas... chorreando... rap y ando... cantando... sin mezclas raras... en la batidora... anade unas palabras in... gles... shakespirando... batiendo records... abstracion poetica... completa... con palabar franka... sube el nivel... populismo opuesto... votacion olvi dada... senti dos... perdi uno... casi me entien do... s... eso... y aki llega lo bueno... el gran final... la queimada gallega... calentado... globalizado... ex puesto... numero zero... preparado... listo... y... ya... va... jalando... paso paso... baile callejero... complicado... com o... come on... pas toi... lui... lengua rota... rolled... roca rola... nacida... loca lizada... responsabi lizada... y nada... sin ley... con alma... eterno corazon de puta... acribi lado... dejado de... saber sangre... leer gente... instinti vida... propia historia... histeria... coco cortado... raices hundidas... el dolor es vida... mira... escucha ese tema... prueba ese... Don Rhum sin hiello... local warming... global warming... tata compris... compa'... va... jalando...

once up on a time...

There is a spirit that lives in every empty Sea shell... The sound of freedom is trapped inside and swirls... A legend says that a person can be free just listening to the wavesounds coming out of them... Once upon an endless time... some people believed the color of one skin was created for slavery... others had faith in the ocean and its sounds... somewhere along the West African coastline... a man collected sea shells he found on the beach... everyday... He would put one of them against his ear every morning... carefully listen to what the waves have to say... He was a great musician... had a very fine ear... He understood perfectly the rhythm of the ocean... His name was Caracol... The village where he grew up was totally self-sufficient... almost isolated from the outside world... Traditions and legends were kept alive there... people were free and jovial... They lived together at their own rhythm and dances... everyday they visited each others... every night night met in a different place to dance... One day Caracol found this unusual sea shell on the sand... He picked it up.. put it by his ear... was stunned by silence... He had heard tales from his elders about that rare silent shells... but never imagined he’d come across it... He ran back to his village to share his discovery... everyone was united under the oldest tree... Caracol carefully repeated word after word the legend about this silent shell... He reminded them how that silence was a sign... announcing the end of their freedom... pointing towards his house he said that each empty shell he collected year after year would be a safe place to hide their spirits... the legend said that their soul would drift to a magical land where their descendants will live free and happy again amongst colourful fishes and birds... after his speech Caracol threw the shell back in the ocean accordingly to the tale... to be continued...