The True History Of Da God Ghengis And Right Add's Prayer For The Fifth Bullet: Part One

                                                                                    

     The True History of Da God Ghengis And Right Add’s Prayer For The Fifth Bullet: Part One

 

    Me and this nigga Be God have been building, blazing equality, and sometime snortin’ understanding in the front seat of cee Allah rules for years and I know this nigga well enough to know what that look in his eyes means. I know exactly what it is. Here it comes. He is about to start reminiscing about the first time he met my brother Ghengis.

    “I can’t tell you enough about how your physical brother is standing strong for this Nation in the injustice God. The first thing your brother ever said to me was that Knowledge is the essence of all things. Your physical ain’t like these other niggaz who spew mindless cliché’s in regard to this math. Half of them don’t know what they mean when they say Knowledge is the foundation to all things in existence yada yada yada. Your brother summed it up perfectly, ‘Knowledge is the essence of all things’. Your brother would have the whole cipher captivated Lord. He’d ask every single one of us, ‘What is knowledge?’ He use to say that there is nothing in Webster’s that would be satisfactory enough to sufficiently lend us an exact definition of knowledge. If we are to draw meaning from the word ‘Knowledge’ we must find an adequate material conception of ‘Knowledge’. The numerical value of ‘one’ efficiently describes the nature of Knowledge. And this is why ‘one’ is symbolic to knowledge. Right Add-yo God-your brother use to be dropping mad jewels in the cipher Lord.” Be said, his eyes off in a distant stare. “Yo I went to see your brother last month. Da nigga had an I Phone in the Visitors Room. Three C. O’s in the room, all of ‘em acting like they’re blind and deaf and can’t see or hear this nigga Ghengis talkin’ on the power he one. He was loud as fuck and whoever it was that he was talking to he was cussing them out. I was sitting there trippin’ because this nigga is in the penitentiary with an I Phone bold as hell and the correctional officers ain’t saying shit. The big ass sign on the wall was clear as day: Absolutely No Cell Phones.” Be God reported, shaking his head with a proud smirk of disbelief on his face as he recalled the memory. “You should go visit your brother God. Ghengis would love to see you Gee” Be God finished.  

     It never fails, every time me and Be God build, he brings up my brother Ghengis—half brother: different fathers, same ole Earth. My ole dad was Puerto Rican and Ghengis’ ole dad was some crispy black Haitian movafucka named Jean Pierre. I hate my brother. I’ve never told anyone this, but I absolutely hate my brother. Now since we both have knowledge of self…well, it would seem that defining my feelings toward him as ‘hate’ is absolutely not right and exact, after all, ‘hate’ is one of the four devils, and as God it is my duty and also my responsibility to murder and rid myself of these four devils right? Fuck that, I’ve only murdered three devils in regard to how I feel about Ghengis. I will always keep that fourth devil of hate alive and breathing until my black ass brother returns back to essence. Fuck him.

   ‘Spicky Nigga’ or ‘Beans & Rice’ are just two of the names he used to call me before we got knowledge of self. After we got knowledge of self he called me ‘H.O.N.’ which stood for ‘Half-Original Nigga’. I’m brown skinned, and though I’m not crazy about the seed categorizations that Gods and Earths use to describe the variations of complexions amongst original people--I’m a wisdom seed all day, and a border-line knowledge seed if I get enough sun in the summer.  My ole dad was a brown skinned ‘Nigga-Rican’ and from what I’m told my ole Earth was pissed when I was born, upset that I wasn’t born with my ole dad’s ‘good hair’. Supposedly, according to my grand ole Earth my ole Earth’s reason as to why I didn’t get this ‘good hair’ was because my ole dad was slamming heroin in his arm around the time I was conceived. So because of the junk my ole dad put in his arm I got nappy nigga hair. At one point I even had dreads in the early 90’s. My brother Ghengis is so dark the night sky is light skinned compared to his black ass, so by virtue of Ghengis being blue black, he proclaims that he is somehow more God than the next God who may be of another seed categorization. “I carry more of the essence,” as he will quickly point out if challenged to show and prove his claim that knowledge seeds are somehow inherently superior, which is of course utter bullshit.  “Allah was a knowledge seed.” which was what he said when emphasizing his point and concluding his argument of the superiority of knowledge seeds in a cipher of Gods.

      My ole dad murdered our mother and Ghengis’ somehow blames me for it and over the years this blame has manifested in him bullying me, teasing me, and physically abusing me. Even before my dad murdered my mom, Ghengis was an evil bastard. “Spicky Nigga this, and Spicky Nigga that.”  I was thirteen and Ghengis was less than a week or so from his eighteenth birthday when my father shot our mother. By the time we buried our mother, James had turned eighteen and became my legal Guardian. Yeah, James Pierre Marcheux A.K.A. Ghengis Khan Allah became the new name on the lease of our Section Eight apartment in El Bario also known as East Harlem or Spanish Harlem. This nigga wasn’t fit to be the guardian of a gerbil least of all a thirteen year old minor.

     Ghengis is a big blue black Green Mile movafucka, always has been. He was naturally big growing up, muscles just began to burst out of his body. By the time he was fourteen his stankin’ ass feet were draped over the rail of the top bunk of our bunk beds. My mother was complaining that this niggaz’ shoe size and clothing sizes seemed to change weekly. She wasn’t exaggerating either, one week the pants he wore to school would fit, and the next week they’d be high-waters and you’d be able to see his white sweatsocks between the cuff of the pants and his big ass canvas Converse All-Stars. Four or five inches of his wrists were often exposed when he wore long sleeve shirts. My mother thought the clothes were shrinking because of the laundry detergent she was using, but my clean clothes would fit the same as they did when I took them off and put them with the dirty clothes that were to be washed. Her clothes still fit. It wasn’t the detergent. Ghengis literally grew before our eyes. He got bigger, blacker and meaner by the day.

     While we were growing up this big movafucka Jimmy Superfly Snuka’ed me from the top bunk, put me in Sergeant Slaughter’s Cobra Clutch, twisted me up in Rick Flare’s figure four leg lock, bent me like a pretzel in Bob Backland’s Boston crab and I can’t begin to tell you how many times I have been outright body slammed by this nigga. He has hit me with a multitude of atomic elbows, suplexed me on the basketball court in front of girls that I had crushes on, DDT’d me on the concrete, put me in countless sleeper holds and that’s just wrestling. I can’t count the number of black eyes, open hardcore neck slaps, chin checks, door blows to my chest, nor the countless slices of pizza he’d rudely snatch while I was in the middle of eating them. No, now cipher, I do not like or love my brother and so when he got shot the first time I was so overjoyed my dick was hard.              

     Back then I had no real understanding of how the black man was God. My brother came in our bedroom one evening and said, “We’re God,” and that was that. Okay big nigga, if that means you won’t put me in another sleeper hold or figure four leg lock-then we God movafucka. I was ten and he was around fifteen when he started spending most of his time up in his top bunk quiet as a church mouse.  For nearly eight months he was memorizing whatever it was that was in the contents of that spiral note book that I was not allowed to so much as touch. Soon I would come to find out that what he was studying was called 120.  No neck slaps, no chin checks, no sleeper holds, and even though he still called me Spicky Nigga here and there, his preoccupation with studying 120 gave my body a chance to recover from his tyrannical beat-downs. As far as I was concerned whatever it was that he was doing on that top bunk had to be righteous because it kept me from being the victim of his torture.

     I was a preteen and did anything to keep this nigga from using me as a crash test dummy.  When he finished 120, he became my Marine drill instructor.  The eight months free of abuse wasn’t free at all. Ghengis had put those back order beat-downs on layaway.  

       I’m laying on the bottom bunk, drawing a picture of Spider Man one day and the next thing I know he slaps me in my head, “Here. Memorize this.” Handing me a faded copy of student enrollment.

     “Who is the Original Man?” I read the question like a robot, sounding like a typical kid in sixth or seventh grade. “The-Original-Man-is-the-Asiatic-Black-Man: The- Maker-The-Owner-The-Cream-of-The-Planet-Earth-The Father-of-Civilization-and-The-God-of-the-Universe.” Seemed easy enough right?  Wrong. When he told me to recite it back word for word without looking at the paper I mixed ‘Original’ where ‘cream’ should be and ‘Universe’ where ‘Asiatic’ should be. The bottom line is, I fucked the knowledge degree up and that big black Green Mile nigga unleashed the eight months of ass whoopings he had put on layaway for me that afternoon.  The ass whooping he put on me that day was so bad that by the time my mother got home from work that evening I pretty much had student enrollment under-cap with tears in my eyes. 

    All this knowledge of self shit started around the time he was in Junior high school. He noticed some kids saying, “Now Cipher,” and “Y equal Self”. They were speaking above his head in a code that was driving him crazy. They were calling everybody else ‘85’ and calling each other God and demanding to be called by their new comic book like names. That shit fascinated James, causing him to be both envious and angry. This was just before the Reagan years, before free cheese, and free butter. It had to be around 1978 or 1979. This feeling of being outside of the loop caused Ghengis to do the only thing Ghengis knows how to do: fight. He beat some God up in junior high school and took his ‘Book Of Life’, opened it and there it was: A is for Allah; B is for ‘Be or Born’ and so on and so forth. When Gods ask me what family tree I come from, I don’t have an answer. Whoever that God was who my brother knocked the fuck out: I guess I’m from his tree.  

     I didn’t learn one twenty like normal Gods. Knowledge wisdom cipher was literally beat into me. Every time I showed and proved a degree in front of him I’d wince, scared he’d pop me with a slap or a chop, or a punch in the chest or maybe just a full out boxer’s body shot.

     “Tell us what did he promise this Nation he would do?” I stated the question to the wisdom understanding degree and before I could give the answer I had a busted lip,

     “Now Cipher Spicky Nigga. Nigga now cipher,” Ghengis ranted and raved, “Tell us what did ‘Yacob’ promise this Nation he would do?  Not ‘He’ you half original Spicky Nigga. What did ‘Yacob’ promise this Nation he would do?”

     Blood was trickling from my lip. I studied that degree for an hour before he tested me, and I knew for a fact the paper copy said, ‘Tell us what did ‘He’ promise this Nation he would do?’. Yacob’s name was not in the wisdom understanding degree. At least on our paper copy it wasn’t.  It couldn’t be. I was distillin’ tears and no other Gods in the cipher stuck up for me. None of them pussy ass niggaz said, “Ghengis that’s not right and exact-you shouldn’t hit da young God” none of ‘em said shit, just a bunch of bitch ass niggaz with tassles attached to Muslim kuffis. Nobody said a damn thing.  Ghengis was, and from what I hear, still is a very efficient knock out artist- on second thought and with all due respect to those Gods back then, I understand why nobody said anything: nobody wanted to get knocked the fuck out.

     A God named ‘Knowledge Dokwan’ could not break down the supreme spelling of the word Captain, in terms of ‘Cee-Allah-Power-True-Allah-I-Now’ and lazily said ‘captain’.  Ghengis knocked the God’s front teeth out in front of his Earth. Then Ghengis calmly tried to get with the God’s Earth while the dude was on all fours, bleeding, looking for three of his front teeth. It was gruesome. Gods would try to exile him from the cipher but he’d just intimidate or beat up whoever it was trying to exile him. Ghengis had a shoe box full of crowns, buttons and ‘Books of Life’ that he had snatched from Gods who he felt were undeserving and not qualified to represent Allah’s Five Percent. My brother was a neighborhood terror when he got knowledge. He was a monster. People would see him coming and literally turn around and walk the other way. Jehovah Witnesses didn’t even come down our street because he’d take all of their Watch Towers and throw them in the air like confetti. Once he dragged a Jehovah Witness man up and down the street by his neck tie all the while yelling, “Who is that Mystery God? There is no Mystery God…”

     Puerto Rican Stuff is the only nigga to ever stand up to my brother.  In the early build ciphers my brother was out of control. He’d walk in the bodega and take whatever the fuck he wanted and dare old man Sanchez to say something. He was a true bully even amongst men. It was when he tried to use these tactics on women that it all came crashing down for him. First of all, Ghengis had no game when it came to bitches, none. He thought he could treat wisdoms the same way he treated men: scare them into submission. Puerto Rican Stuff had a sister named Elizabeth and Ghengis was trying to force this girl to be his Earth. Lizzy was scared of his big black ass.  My brother was like 6’7”, 250 pounds by the time he was seventeen. The crazy part is that he was still growing. Lizzy was a small, cute girl around the neighborhood, she stayed to herself and never bothered anyone.  My brother just kept harassing her, following her to old man Sanchez’s bodega every time she’d walk to the store.  I can’t remember Puerto Rican Stuff’s righteous name and for some reason it never really caught on because damn near everybody knew him as Puerto Rican Stuff. There were actually two ‘Stuffs’: ‘Black Stuff’, who was also Puerto Rican but ‘Puerto Rican Stuff’ was lightskinned. So for the sake of clarification in the neighborhood, he was referred to as ‘Puerto Rican Stuff’. He was a short skinny dude, not big at all. On second thought he wasn’t really a God per se, he didn’t take the lessons ‘to heart’. But he did respond to ‘Peace God’.  He use to hang with Gods, so he picked up the lingo and whatnot and was swift enough to roll in our social equality every now and again. He was more Latin King than God. Anytime my brother Ghengis came around, Puerto Rican Stuff got ghost, he didn’t like my brother and I don’t blame him. Puerto Rican Stuff started gettin’ money when crack hit and my brother had yet to realize that those early crack dealers were dead ass serious about that paper, and weren’t gonna be intimidated by some nigga in East Harlem just because he was big, black and ugly and filled-out a wife beater tee like a professional body builder. The only street credibility my brother had was who he had beaten up in the past, he wasn’t a stick-up kid, nor was he a dope dealer, Ghengis wasn’t known for shit else accept for fighting and just being that big, black, ugly scary nigga named James who called himself Ghengis. If he wanted something, Ghengis would just Debow a niggaz’ shit, whether it be groceries, bikes, weed, money, or your girlfriend. He’d go to Universal Parliaments and start building with Earths, like their Gods were invisible. He was completely disrespectful. Whatever the fuck he wanted, he took Jerusalem from the devil as he called it. That was his attitude.

      Puerto Rican Stuff’s sister got flyer and flyer every summer. The flyer she became-the more Ghengis wanted her. One day he followed Lizzy home from Old Man Sanchez’s bodega, harassing her every step of the way, putting his arm around her, grabbing on her ass, making her stop by not letting her pass on the side walk. It took her damn near an hour to walk two city blocks to the bodega and back to her apartment building all because my dumb ass brother was harassing her. By the time she got home she was in tears. When Puerto Rican Stuff heard about what my brother did he tooled the fuck up, and came out of his house blasting at my brother.

    My brother was the first person who I ever saw get shot. Puerto Rican Stuff is chasing my brother, busting at ‘em and missing.  It was a hot day in August and I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. I was sitting on the stoop of the apartment building. My ole Earth was still alive at the time and I could hear ‘When Doves Cry’ by Prince coming out of our second floor apartment, mixing with the Salsa music coming from a window on the third floor.  Ghengis turns the corner looking just like that big nigga in the movie ‘The Green Mile’ with Tom Hanks. He was running full speed, pumping his arms like a track star, and a couple seconds later Puerto Rican Stuff turns the corner after him buckin’ at his big ass. Kids were playing in the fire hydrant that day.  That August heat was a beast. People had air conditioning back then but everybody was conscious of their bill and usually used fans during the day. Damn near everybody who lived on that street endured the heat that day by sitting outside in chairs and on the steps of stoops on the shady side of the street. They all had a front row seat to what should have been Ghengis’ murder. If they weren’t outside they were looking out of their windows. Six young girls were arguing over who’s turn it was to turn the ropes in Double Dutch. Though the block was full of children playing, Puerto Rican Stuff ain’t give a fuck as he recklessly unloaded in broad day light at my brother. Me and my brother locked eyes for a split second and I heard him yell at me as he was running, “Open the door Spicky Nigga. Open the door!” as he got closer to our buildin’ I froze. The sound of the gunshots from Stuff’s gun had me in a momentary state of shock. I didn’t like my brother then, he was an asshole and caused my ole Earth many of sleepless nights. As a matter of fact he had just finished arguing with her before he left the house to go harass Lizzy on her way to the bodega. The nigga had eaten an entire box of Captain Crunch and a half-a box of Trix and used a whole gallon of milk in one big ass salad bowl and my mom cussed him out and told him that his big ass needs to get a job. Mommy was pissed, so fuck that, I wasn’t going to open the front door of the apartment building because this greedy nigga ate the entire box of Captain Crunch and half the box of Trix. Fuck him, I hated Trix-Trix are for kids. He busted my lip because I quoted the 23^rd degree in the one to forty correctly. He was the one that was quoting it incorrectly, not me. I consciously chose not to open that front door to the building that day.  When he tried to turn and run up the steps and into the apartment building Puerto Rican Stuff shot him four times in the back. Even though Ghengis was smacking me around, making me parrot lessons I still believed in that mystery God back then and on that stoop in front of our apartment building I prayed for that Mystery God to make sure he died and I also wanted that Mystery God to send him to hell.   I heard four bullets fired and saw four holes rapidly open up in my brothers back. At that moment I exhaled a silent “Amen” in the name of that mystery God.

     “Die you black movafucka,” Puerto Rican Stuff yelled over my brothers body in front of our building on that hot August day in East Harlem. “Die you black movafucka!”

      Puerto Rican Stuff was a hero in my book. He was a hero for the entire neighborhood. Finally somebody stood up to my brother. After he yelled, ‘Die you black movafucka’, a second time I locked eyes with Puerto Rican Stuff, and I know he heard my thoughts, ‘One more time, shoot him one more time’ I petitioned Stuff with my telepathic powers.  Stuff heard my telepathic request and pulled the trigger a fifth time and the gun dry fired, making an impotent clicking sound. Stuff was out of bullets and sort of looked at me as if to say, ‘Sorry Papi hopefully the four bullets I already hit him with will get the job done.’ Unfortunately that big black Green Mile movafucka lived. He wasn’t even paralyzed. When I found out he wasn’t dead or paralyzed I was truly pissed and it was finally official: there is no mystery God because a mystery God would not have let that  movafucka draw another breath of life on this Earth.  

       My mother came out the house screaming, and did the whole “My baby, my baby. They killed my baby,” routine. The entire time while my mother is screaming for someone to call an ambulance, Prince was still singing about doves crying over a Salsa remix.   I’m looking up and down the block hoping that Puerto Rican Stuff went home to reload his gun so he could come back and shoot him a fifth time-oh how I prayed for that fifth bullet. The thing I remember the most about the moment my brother was shot is that I literally had an erection. That day I had on some cheap five dollar shorts my mother bought from the Ave and my dick was hard at the thought of my brother being dead. If he dies I’ll be free of him forever, and I could finally stop memorizing those goddamned lessons.

     Ghengis this and Ghengis that, Gods talk about him like they got a fuckin’ man-crush on this nigga. Be God included. Every time me and Be God have a build he has to bring up my movafuckin’ brother. This is one of the reasons I went outta town to get money, because in a new town I could be me, in Now Why I’m Ghengis’ younger physical. Fuck him. Gods come home from the Pen always talking about how Ghengis is standing strong for this nation and knocking niggaz out who disrespect this nation. My brother is huge and by being so big he naturally commands a certain respect, and my brother can fight. He can flat out fight, he never smoked weed or used drugs but from what I hear he got all them niggaz bitches stuffing that shit in their pussies to bring dope inside. Supposedly Ghengis is the unofficial D.O.C. push-up champion of New York State. What the fuck kind of shit is that to be proud of? Gods go on and on of how eloquent he is and how swift his understanding is. He’s a fucking push up champion and jail-bird philosopher: fuck him! I’ll never go visit that nigga. Let him rot. Oh and don’t get Be God and the other old Gods started on the story of when he got shanked by the Sunnis while he was screaming “I’m Allah, I’m Allah, I’m Allah” Be God can tell the story better than I can but I’ve heard it a million times. Gods come home and get misty eyed when they tell the story. “Your brother is standing strong-your Brother standing strong for this Nation! I miss Da God. He let them Sunnis know who Allah is yadda, yadda yadda.” Every time I hear one of them bald-headed old Gods tell them romantic war stories about my brother I feel like screaming, “Fuck Ghengis!”

     I can’t stand when niggaz do that shit.  They didn’t know that nigga back when Puerto Rican Stuff put them four bullets in his ass. That nigga wasn’t standing strong then. He was slumped on the stoop and thought he was gonna die, and when he came home from the hospital he stayed couped up in that Goddamn house like a hermit, scared cause he thought little 5’4”, 135 pound Puerto Rican Stuff was gonna put some more bullets in his big ass.  Stuff ain’t do time for that shooting, because nobody saw him shoot my brother. Nobody! It had to be at least 100 to 150 people on the street that day and nobody saw shit, including me. My brother deserved every single one of them bullets. Little ass Lizzy was barely 105 pounds soaking wet and this big black Shrek movafucka won’t let the girl pass to buy milk and a couple of cans of Goya beans? Detectives said the entire neighborhood was all of a sudden stricken with a case of massive blindness.  Disco was the unofficial Mayor of East Harlem at the time and put the word out that if anybody say anything that it would be met with consequences and repercussions. Nobody snitched. I looked the shooter dead in his eyes and knew him well and ain’t say shit. My mother told the detectives when they wanted to question me, “My son didn’t see anything officer.”  When the investigating detectives asked Ghengis, “Who shot you son?” even he ain’t say nothing. Fuck Ghengis.

       Puerto Rican Stuff got his work from Disco and Disco ran shit on 96th Street and was quick to let niggaz know that Harlem don’t begin on 110^thstreet. He was a serious business man, and made sure Puerto Rican Stuff ain’t serve a second in police custody.  

     While Ghengis was couped up in the house hiding from Puerto Rican Stuff-Puerto Rican Stuff introduced me to the game. By fifteen I was a little fly nigga and Ghengis was a fucking homebody, stuck up in the house lifting old cement weights watching General Hospital with his fat ass Earth Bunny. That bitch was fat as shit, she called herself Queen Mamasay Mamasan Mamakousa. I told her you can’t get your Earth attribute from a Michael Jackson lyric bitch, and then Ghengis’ big ass gets off the weight bench, flexing bare chested because he ain’t have but 3 shirts that fit. He calls himself checking me and says, “She can call herself whatever she want Spicky Nigga!” 

     By the time he was twenty he had pretty much stopped punching on me because he knew I had a .22 caliber for his big ass.

    All these Gods that don’t know any better romanticize about my brother but he was a corny nigga in the free cipher, never got no money, never got no pussy outside of Bunny’s fat ass, never had no clothes and after Puerto Rican Stuff put them bullets in him he pretty much was too shook to go outside again, and when he finally did go outside he ended up committing a dumb ass crime and getting a life sentence. The problem is-is that these Gods don’t know Ghengis’ history. I’m his brother and I know that nigga like no other. Fuck Ghengis!

      Fat ass Bunny, A.K.A. Queen Mamasay Mamasan Mamakousa gave my brother his first shot of pussy and the nigga was in love. The bitch weighed four hundred pounds easy and had a nerve to try to rock Spandex. Ghengis’ dumb ass for some reason thought she was a dead ringer for Pepa of Salt ‘N’ Pepa. That bitch ain’t look like Salt, Pepper, Ketchup, mayonnaise or Mustard. That bitch looked nothing like a condiment, she looked more like a big ass pig or a cow.

     Before my mother was murdered she had just got a brand new living room set out of layaway: sofa, love seat and chair. Not six months after our ole Earth dies, Ghengis moved this big fat bitch Bunny in with us. Bunny’s fat ass put a fucking permanent dent in the sofa. There was literally an outline of her fat ass deeply impressed on one and a half of the three square tan velvet sofa cushions, meaning that Bunny’s fat ass, also known as Queen Mamasay Mamasan Mamakousa took up half da Goddamned Sofa with her fat ass. And when I saw what this fat bitch could do to a toilet seat I packed all my shit and took a trip to V.A. with Disco and Puerto Rican Stuff and didn’t come back to New York until I grinded my way to a black Chevy Blazer: my first cee Allah rule.

    “I’m your guardian. What the fuck you mean you going to Virginia to sell dope. You ain’t going nowhere!” He yelled at me and started moving toward me.

    I pulled out my deuce deuce on that nigga, “Yeah, come get this fifth bullet nigga! Please give me a reason to squeeze!”  I was sixteen and that big Green Mile nigga was chattering like a chicken. Flashbacks from Puerto Rican Stuff I figured.

     Next time I heard from that nigga was in a letter he was doing three consecutive life sentences. Bunny had let two niggas run a train on her fat ass(ill). Ghengis found out and kilt both of the niggaz with his bare hands and then strangled Bunny’s fat ass, oh excuse me, Mamasay Mamasan Mamakousa.         

Receiving An 'A':

      Receiving an ‘A’ in ‘Islam And The Modern World’ felt good, it was a course that required a whole lot of reading, and the teacher demanded that ideas be expressed clearly. I would say that this class schooled me in the origins of Islamic law. I do understand that Elijah’s and Fard’s version of Islam had nothing to do with the actual historical accounts of Islam. I’ve known this for some time, and have come to realize that what Fard conceived in that prison cell in San Quentin Penitentiary was valid as a philosophy for social reform for Black People in North America. What Elijah carried out as a result of what he learned from Fard was also social reform. Was it Islam? The Asiatic Mythology he incorporated in his mission for social reform was not Islam b.u.t. it was however a valid psychological mechanism to usher original people into certain aspects of social and self awareness. Is the Black Man God? Well of course he is, however what must be understood is that anybody can say that their God, and if they choose to deal in that understanding of themselves well then that is their choice. The exclusiveness of the Black Man being God is only with the ‘Black Man’. If an Aryan White Male decided to call himself ‘God’-to the exclusiveness of that group he himself validates his own truth. My point is that under the ‘Freedom of Religion’ in the U.S. Constitution that exclusiveness to call yourself whatever you so desire is available. The Nation of Gods and Earths would not exist or could not exist in America without the ‘Freedom of Religion’ found in the first Amendment.  The first degree regarding who is the Original Man would not have made its way to Original people nowaday had it not been for the First Amendment. If Fard would have came out of a prison in Saudi Arabia in 1929 screaming the ‘Black Man is God’ he would have only done so till that following Friday upon which he would have been publically executed after Jumah. It is the law that defines the social context in which we live. Defining ourselves as God and confusing it with anything in history regarding Islam is not right and exact. There is nothing wrong with being God b.u.t. it should be understood that to think that ‘Islam’ has in anyway historically catered to that notion is incorrect. Falsely Islam has been attached to Original people as though it is our natural religion. Islam is a religion like any other religion, and its early theocratic government sought to colonize by way of the Quran and the Sunna of the Prophet Muhammad.

This was the question I chose to answer in the final exam.    

1.    In the Book of Religion, Alfarabi argues that religion and more specifically Islamic law mediates between philosophy or the science of universal ideas and the constantly shifting political/social/cultural fabric of the society. This mediation is, in turn, possible through the renewal of Islamic Law. Based on Wael Hallaq’s exposition of the structure, mechanism and sociology of Islamic law, to what extent do you think it can fulfill the task Alfarabi assigns to it? What picture of the role of religion in the political sphere and the relation between the private and public spheres does it depict?

 

      Alfarabi’s ‘Book of Religion’ and Hallaq’s, ‘An Introduction to Islamic Law’ make it evident that Islamic Law does not act as a blind ‘mechanistic social entity’ but instead Islamic Law is morally based in its intent. Islamic law does not fail to adapt to modernity, modernity on the other hand fails in many aspects to adapt morally-particularly in secular based societies where outlandish moral acts occur daily(Connecticut shooting). First and foremost Islamic law acts as a moral force (Hallaq, Pg.41) within the society, working as a moral force in the individual and then in the society as a whole. I found it very interesting that piety is a prerequisite for jurist and that such a quality as piety was/is an integral part of legal Islamic training.

     Alfarabi paint’s the picture of virtuous religion as similar to political science. Virtuous religion seeks to gain true happiness for the inhabitants of the community (Alfarabi, Pg. 89.). It would seem that balancing religion and politics would indeed be difficult however Islam proves historically that it can be done. Western thought would have you believe that there exist a disconnection and separation between religion and politics which is in my opinion why we witness every day on the news evidence of a moral bankruptcy plaguing the West. In my view there should not be a disconnection between religion and politics, and I definitely think Alfarabi demonstrates the harmony of how religion and politics connect. The practical things in religion are those whose universals are in practical philosophy. (Alfarabi, Pg. 97), it is in these practical things we determine the stipulations restricting them. Alfarabi is in my opinion suggesting by this statement that the particulars of the law are both practical and applicable to effectively governing a society.

     Friction between political points and religious law were constantly negotiated (Hallaq, Pg. 44) in Islam, and it is in this effort to reconcile politics with religion that Islamic law triumphs over many social challenges. Education is a pivotal social challenge that all societies must face. ‘Waqf’ were endowments which were very instrumental to the early educational advancements in Islam. Providing a Waqf endowment for ‘Raising a Madrassa’ was a great act of Zakkat (Hallaq, Pg. 48) and acted as a pervasive moral force in the society. The Madrasa of Mamluk sultan Hasan in Cairo was huge and it had four professors each representing a respective law school; Shaffi, Maliki, Hanafi, and Hanbali with student facilities. They offered classes in Quranic exegisis, Prophetic reports, language, logic, mathematics, and medicine and it is said that over one hundred Quran readers maintained a non-stop recital of the Holy Quran (Hallaq, Pg. 50). This was to me very impressive. The fact that the student was privileged to hear a master Hafiz recite the Holy Quran daily must have created a powerful atmosphere for learning in the university and had a profound moral impact on the educational environment. This is in keeping with Alfarabi’s ideal of virtuous religion as being a practical element in the society.

     Alfarabi’s enumeration of the sciences is extensive and well laid out, providing a blueprint of multiple aspects in regard to how a society should approach a myriad of universal things. It was Alfarabi’s sixth enumerated point in regard to dialectical yields that I found most in accord with Hallaq’s ‘An Introduction to Islamic Law’. Piety was the preeminent quality used to ascertain correct judgment and correct judgment was of critical importance. I contend that the dialectical yields were of the highest importance, in that those making an argument did so with strong presumptions. According to Alfarabi these strong presumptions were based upon demonstrative proofs with specific examination into the dialectic. The average person within the Islamic society did not have to be of high social station to understand persuasive things. Thus the dialectic and the rhetoric was of high social value because it could be used to lead, or mislead the people into error. This proves that the average person in the Islamic society was in most cases a critical thinker. To know that a quest for piety undergirded the nature of social interaction is impressive and again an example of the moral force present in Islamic society.

    By the end of the fifteenth century, the Shaykh Al-Islam (Chief Mufti) possessed a de facto power to depose a sultan (Hallaq, Pg. 56). This fact has in my view a direct connection in theme with Alfarabi’s tenth enumerated point as it pertains to jurisprudence, in that religion acting in the context of jurisprudence encompasses the particulars of political science (Alfarabi, Pg. 101). This gets into the area of ‘Kingly Craft’ mentioned by Alfarabi, who holds that this craft should be virtuous. He makes it clear that an ignorant King produces an ignorant city or nation and also states that it is impossible for a human being who is part of the virtuous city to be living in an ignorant city, voluntarily or involuntarily (Alfarabi, Pg. 104). Alfarabi depicts a political sphere of political cause and social effect: if the ruler is incompetent and or ignorant then the society suffers.

    Wael Hallaq describes the ‘Traditionalist’ as distrustful of political power in early Islam and that Caliphs sought legitimization via the jurist, and so fostered Islamic legal education. Hallaq explains that caliphal legislative function was minimal, falling well short of the role of exemplary religious and political leader (Hallaq, Pg.40). The ‘Traditionalist’ were said to be distrustful of government, equating government with corruption and in some cases dreaded being appointed to legal stations in the society (Hallaq, Pg. 41). According to Hallaq, The rulers were in dire need of legitimatization which they ultimately found in the circles of the legal profession. The Caliphs had no choice but to endorse the Islamic law.  This confirms Alfarabi sentiments as they pertain to the ‘Kingly Craft’. Alfarabi writes, ‘It explains that the things such as to be distributed in a city, in cities, in a nation, or in nations so as to be practiced in common are only brought about by means of a rulership that establishes those actions and dispositions in the city or nation and strives to preserve them for the people so that they do not disappear or become extinct.’ Thus the Caliph’s endorsed the legal scholars for the sake of the common good and for the preservation of a social piety. This precisely describes how the common good can be extrapolated from a moral force, in this case the moral force is Islam.

   Wael Hallaq depicts the genius of early Islamic legal academia and its progenitors that acted as substantive educators for the social and political engine in early Islamic society. Waqf endowment assisted in making the law a moral institution in the society. Hallaq’s touches  on Waqf in his exposition as being subject to exemption and that such property is not classified as any other property, explaining how Islamic law and Islamic education flourished using this discrete area of the law, in particular the law of property acquisition and inheritance.  Also Hallaq in his exposition uses his exposition to explain how these first generation and early Islamic legal scholars used their lectures and writings to explain Islamic law in all its historical richness and character. The legist formulate the bulk of Hallaq’s exposition, how they combined the disciplines of history, law and their politics in their lectures so that they could articulate to their students the origins and evolution of the law.

     Alfarabi makes ultimately what amounts to a sound argument that religion or Islamic law does effectively and efficiently mediate between philosophy in terms of universal ideas and their relationships to ‘particulars’ as they relate to political science and the Kingly Craft. Though Islam has endured a constantly shifting climate, it has managed to hold together the universal ideas found in the challenges of society, culture and the political sphere. In dealing with this mediation it has provided a rich compendia of juridical ideas via the constant renewal of Islamic Law. Islamic law has essentially acted as an evolving corpus of laws that have adjusted to the unique circumstances that arise when addressing the human condition. Wael Hallaq’s exposition is highly insightful portraying Islamic law as an advancing content of ideas, as well as in its development of legal instrumentation that both set the moral foundations for the court and settled complaints among disputants. As well as the Islamic court’s aim to restore opposing parties (Hallaq, Pg. 60) and efficiently mediate disagreements. The Shari’a is a full and complete juridical mechanism demanding an exacting logic that corresponds to the moral essence found in Islam. Islamic jurisprudence in practice fulfills to the fullest extent what Alfarabi ideally believes it should aspire to. The religion acting as the law establishes the nature of the political sphere and applies a cohesive relationship between the citizen and the state.

 

 

 

    

     

 

 

   

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The Trials And Tribulations Of Da God Right Add: Einstein In The Crayon Box

 

 

        “Damn!” Be God said. Shock in his voice from the intensity of Right Add’s ordeal.

     “Best thing to ever happen to me actually.” Right Add responded to the shock he heard in Be’s voice. There was an assuredness in Add, as if somehow destiny had been fulfilled. Be God could tell that something had indeed changed in his brother and companion, it was a something that was beneath the surface, a something that was buried there. Whatever it was, the difference was now obvious.

     “I became a lawyer.” Right Add blurted out bluntly without hesitation.

     “How the fuck did you become a lawyer? You never went to college, or law school” Be uttered in disbelief. “Nigga you ain’t no Goddamn lawyer. A nigga reads one law book in a cell--now he a lawyer. Yall niggaz funny as shit.” Be God broke into a sarcastic chuckle.

     “Einstein taught me.” Add said quietly.

     “Nigga Einstein dead, and he was a fuckin’ Physicist not a lawyer.”

     “Not Albert Einstein. Efron Johan Einstein.” Add replied.

     Be God was high but the name rang a bell. “Where do I know that name from,” Be God mumbled, and as if a dam had burst the answer flooded his mind, “The dude who killed his wife, and pleaded insanity? What do you mean he taught you law?”

     “Well when I told the C.O. I needed meds for my schizophrenia which was a lie-it was a lie that got me talking to the jail psychiatrists. I said I was God and they thought I was crazy, actually the way I said I was God sounded crazy but anything to get me out of the cell. Within 24 hours they shipped me off to South Western Virginia Mental Health Institute and put me in the Finley Gayle ward for the criminally insane A.K.A. The Crayon Box. I still had charges pending but at least they thought I was crazy. I’m there on what they define as a ‘Restoration of Competency’ hold, meaning until my competency is restored to go face the charges. Basically it was determined that I would be held until the effects of my meds get me mentally back in balance. These devils put me on 100mg of Geodon daily.”

     “Fuck is that?” Be God asked sharply.

     “It’s an antipsychotic med for schizophrenia and manic depression. I never took no fuckin’ drugs like that in my life, so now, here I am--in the Crayon Box taking Geodon like Skittles. No weed, nothing to snort, so I figure I mine as well fuck with some new high explosive: antipsychotic pharmaceuticals.  Drugs is drugs right? Wrong! That Geodon shit had me seeing shit, and hearing shit, little flying bugs would float across my field of vision. I’d wave my hand in front of my face and sometime I would see five of my own hands. Nigga I started hearing voices. ‘Add, Add, Right Add Allah’ I swear I heard somebody calling me. I’d turn around and look for who was calling me and nobody was there.  I was so high off Geodon that before I knew it I had been in the Crayon Box for three months and that was when Einstein walks in. Not only was his name Einstein but he looked exactly like Albert Einstein, bushy hair, bushy eyebrows—exactly like him. Dude told me that he killed his wife because she was mad that he had turned Obama down. And she never put the issue to rest—so he put her to rest with a Hunting Rifle.”

     “What da fuck you mean-‘turned Obama down’.”

     “Before Obama nominated Sonia Sotomayor for the Supreme Court in 2009, he offered Einstein the position. Einstein was like one of the most prominent legal scholars in America. When I found out he was a legal scholar I began picking his brain.”

     “Indeed, now I remember that shit. That shit was all over CNN.” Be God said out-loud remembering back to when he first heard the News ‘Einstein Kills Wife In Cold Blood’.

     “I wanted to learn the law. The Geodon had me woozy and drowsy as fuck but it made me literally sink into the concepts of law very deeply. I made Efron Johan Einstein my personal law professor. My tuition was paid by keeping the criminally insane inmates from beating him to death. First day I pull this big insane movafucka off of Einstein. Dude was a big low functioning retard and he was choking Einstein out. Einstein screams, ‘Consentientes et agents pari poena plectentur’ over and over again and I ask ‘em what the fuck was he saying and he said it meant ‘Those consenting and those perpetrating are embraced in the same punishment’. Essentially it was his way of saying how he couldn’t believe how people stood around and watched as he got his ass kicked. When I saved his ass that day Einstein was in my debt. After he calmed down and gathered himself I told Einstein, I want to be a lawyer.”

     “I didn’t want to be a lawyer, actually I needed someone who was half-way sane to speak to because I was lonely as fuck. The only intellect the criminal insane rectal diggers demonstrated was a profound gift for painting elegant fecal finger art on the wall.”

     “The first question he asked me was what interested me about Justice. And you know, I come out my face with ‘Justice’ in the Supreme Alphabet: Justice is a penalty or a reward. And then he throws some Latin at me, ‘Jurisprudentia est divinarum atque humanarum rerum notitia: Justi atque injusti scientia. Which means ‘Jurisprudence is the knowledge of things divine and human: the science of the just and the unjust.’ After he said that, I thought to myself that I can rock with this Jewish cat.  Already Einstein and I are hitting it off. Inwardly I realize something, and that was that I wanted to master legal concepts as if it was 120. I had the time, niggaz wasn’t doing anything in there but masturbating, fighting over crayons and walking back and forth like zombies. I wrote a new one to ten, a purely legal knowledge to knowledge the cipher. I asked Einstein what is the cornerstone foundation of Law? And he answers me with the words, ‘A true law is just.’  I snatch a yellow crayon, and write on a piece of construction paper for arts and crafts ‘What is Law?’ and then I write, ‘A true Law is just’. In my third eye, I establish this as my knowledge degree in my personal legal 120, making it the beginning of my new legal foundation. Einstein continued, telling me that a law is a system of rules usually established by a governing body.”

     “Wait God.  Wait, pump your brakes. Hold da fuck up! God you need books and shit to go to law school. How da fuck you gonna become a lawyer using a goddamn yellow crayon to write on arts and crafts construction paper? Just because you wrote, ‘What is the Law and the law is just’ don’t make a nigga a fuckin’ Lawyer God. Are you a fuckin’ idiot nigga!” Be God roared a thunderous laugh. His laugh seemed to shake the truck.

     “Now Cipher. Efron Johan Einstein was a living breathing textbook. This nigga guest lectured in every prominent law school in the U.S. He explained to me the context of law in its truest legal sense. This is a country based on common law which means that the law is viewed as an evolving corpus of doctrine determined by judges on a case by case basis.  Common law is in contrast to a group of codified expressed principles. The law grows as established principles and are tested and adapted to meet new unique situations. Like how niggaz be applying 120 to life. The application meets the uniqueness of the situation.   In common law, printed opinions are considered the primary source of the law. The opinions become legally binding rather than descriptive or analytical.” Add’s words burst-out as assured actual facts.

     Be God’s eyes widened, shocked at Add’s seemingly fluidity in the language of legalese. Quickly he dismissed it, “Naw nigga, you don’t know what da fuck you talkin ‘bout. You read one little law book and now you’re the resurrection of Johnny fuckin’ Cochran. Nigga please! Go on wit that bullshit.”

     “Now Cipher God. I’m telling you God that Efron Johan Einstein was a book. I spent knowledge knowledge months building with a living law book. Just like you’ve had 120 under cap for understanding cipher years-this nigga Einstein has had the law under-cap for over culture cipher years.  Imagine the shit you could teach a young God if you built with him every day for knowledge knowledge months?”

     Be God curled his lips in disbelief, still doubting his brother and companion, “Well what’s the president?” asking Add as if to test him.

     “What’s the president?” Add repeated, looking at Be, confused as to what he was trying to say.

     “Yeah nigga, the president. I be hearing it all the time on legal shows and shit. What is the president”

     “Ohhh, you mean ‘Precedent’. In a common law legal system precedent shapes the strategy for legal research. Einstein always whispered to himself, ‘Stare decisis et non quieta movere’ which means to stand by precedents, and to not disturb settled points.  It’s a doctrine that says that people similarly situated should be similarly dealt with, and that judgments should be consistent, rather than arbitrary. I built with him on precedent, and I personally determined that it goes into the essence of equality-equality means to be equal in everything, particularly if you and the next movafucka are ‘simularly situated’. In a common law system you’re judged based on the treatment of similar conduct in the past. What Gods and Earths call past Quran.”

     “You might know a little bit of law, but you ain’t no lawyer nigga. You ain’t passed no bar.” Be God reminded Add.

     “Y equal Self-you’re right, I have not passed the bar but if I were to take it--I’d crush it.”

     “Too bad you went to law school in the Crayon Box wit a nutty professor that shot his wife with a Deer hunting rifle.”

     “Nigga you’re the one talking about how a nigga could study ‘Justice’ in the Supreme Alphabet for a life time, and the minute a nigga really studying justice, you get on some bullshit negativity. I studied my ass off in the Crayon box. And yeah the only book I had was Einstein but he alone was the only book I needed. He taught me to think critically.”

     “God I ain’t striving to put you down but what I’m saying is that you talking about the fact that you in an insane asylum on Geodon, schitzo-bi-polar meds, talking to a legal scholar name Einstein-who you say looks like Einstein and who’s making you write your law homework with a yellow crayon on arts and crafts construction paper. Nigga you crazy.” Be God laughed with that loud laughter only heard when a Blackman is being clowned in a black barber shop.

     “Fuck you Be. I learned the law. I studied justice for real and it has become a pivotal part in my life because I’m learning how it works in the overall scheme of things as well as In the divine sense.  Knowledge degree: What is the law? A true law is just; Wisdom degree: What is Case law? Laws on a case by case basis.  Understanding degree: What is statutory law? Ans.  Authoritative and binding laws enacted by federal and state legislatures governing human activity. Culture degree: What is the tension between Case law and Statutory law and how are they reconciled? Answer: The tension between Statutory law and common law is essential to legal research. The tension arises from the two aspects of the law: Statutory and Common when a determination is in the process of being made. The ruling principle in some areas are determined wholly by case law; and in other areas partly by case law and partly by statute; or by statutes as construed and interpreted by the courts. Power degree…”

     “Wait, wait, wait, what the fuck is you saying?”

     “Like I told you God, I memorized a body of my own lessons that I myself constructed based upon what Professor Efron Johan Einstein taught me. Einstein determined the essentials of law critical to mastering the law and I put them in a 120 framework.”

     “So you mean to tell me, while you were in the Crayon box you memorized a form of 120 based on law? Is that what you’re telling me?”

     “That is exactly what I’ve been trying to fuckin’ explain to your ass God. I took what Einstein taught me under-cap in a format similar to 120. This is why I debated you in the first place because teaching a young God to memorize 120 is the most empowering thing you can do in a ghetto child’s life. Especially since ain’t no Ivy League schools in black neighborhoods. Think about it God: while you were in school, have you ever learned anything to the degree of perfection in which you have learned 120 and Supreme Alphabet and Supreme Math?” Right Add asked Be.

     “Now Cipher!” Be answered honestly, listening to Right Add Allah with a more seriously attuned ear this time.

     “Exactly! That is my point. 120 is the key that turns on the ignition in a blackman’s mind. The problem is-is that usually many Gods and Earths never learn with that level of fervor ever again, and thus the mental engine stops at 120 and they never attack another subject like they attacked 120. God when I was memorizing 120 over 20 years ago I was walking back and forth reciting 120 in the mirror over and over and over again until I had it perfect. That was the idea God. Don’t you see! Elijah and Fard’s determined idea was to turn on a black man or woman’s mental ignition. I realized that shit in the Crayon box with Einstein, God. I took the format of 120 and created my own supplemental plus lesson based on the critical components of U.S. Law and I took it under-cap like I did 120 over wisdom cipher years ago. Now I have a supplemental legal 120 on top of my foundational 120.”

     “So how does your power degree in you legal 1 to 10  go?” Be God asked curiously.

 “Power degree: What is the basic structure of the American Judicial System? Answer: The trial court has subdivisions such as probate, family court, small claims court. Trial court has a general jurisdiction in which most disputes, both civil and criminal are adjudicated by a trier of fact (judge or jury). An Intermediate appellate court is next on the tier. A case can be taken up to this appellate court if a valid evidentiary question is posed. The court of last resort is the Supreme Court.” Right Add spit the degree as fluently as he would spit, ‘What is the Area of Square Miles of the Planet Earth?’

     “Chill God. You fuckin’ my mind up right now son. Let me roll another one,” Be God opened the arm rest, grabbing a Philly cigarillo. As he began the mindless mechanical process of blunt rolling which had become second nature, he decided to question Add with more scrutiny. He was still pessimistic. If Gods were famous for anything it was for talking that shit. Be God wasn’t buying it. “Okay lawyer nigga: How do you see ‘Rule’ as opposed to ‘Law’? And specifically how do you see it in the Supreme Alphabet nowadays, especially since you’ve read a couple big ass law books or whateva-whateva?”

     Before Add answered, he rudely snatched the blunt from Be, also taking Be’s lighter to light it.  Add then inhaled deeply and held the O.G. Kush smoke in until he felt the Kush smoke swirling at the center of his chest.

     “It is nothing like discussing the law when you’ve blazed.” Add said with a smoky, blustery exhale. He collected his thoughts and thought about Be’s question for a moment, and then, as if a man possessed, he replied to Be God.

     “Every system of law has instruments, tools or what we can define as artificial devices. They are designed to promote convenience of the idea and the reality of security. These devices are for the public good. The devices take the forms of rules and standards to which every movafucka must essentially get down for or lay the fuck down for. The rule is the establishment of conformity. If a man’s mind could have its way, movafuckas would be literally eatin’ babies in the street. This is why we have law and order, because without no law there is no order.  The mind is wild. When niggaz talk that Universal Black Mind shit they’re building on what amounts to some wild shit because the mind is wild. Anything that has a universal scope in terms of existence or possibility, and is unbound-is wild. The mind is by nature reluctant to submit to the rule of law.   Ever seen a baby who doesn’t want to go to sleep? How their eye lids become uncontrollably heavy and they struggle to open them after they close.  The baby fights to keep their eyes open. Babies become irritable because they are sleepy yet they refuse to submit to sleep. Though reluctant the baby ultimately submits to sleep—so must the mind of man submit to the rule of law. Rules expand as society expands. The law must accommodate the society and be both flexible and strong. Unlike ‘Justice’ per se, the Rule of Law concerns itself with precision and accuracy. Justice is an abstract concept that is made functional by way of the rule of law. Most niggaz mindlessly parrot that knowledge build is ‘rule’, and indeed, that is conceptually concrete, in that knowledge to build represents the necessity of things needed to build. Thus the idea of ‘necessity’ arises by virtue of the intent to build’ and ‘necessity’ becomes a component of the ‘Rule. In short, you have a rule because you need the rule. ‘Need’ is the ‘necessity’. When the necessity is gone-you no longer need the rule. So the rule has an expiration date, or a duration. We gave the colored man the power to ‘rule’. What was the need or the necessity of that? So that the black man could show forth and prove his power. That was the need and that is what ‘needs’ to happen. We must show and prove our power. The understanding power degree establishes the idea of ‘expiration’ as congruent to a rule of a civilization set to a very specific duration. Thus necessity and duration are both integral components of ‘rule’.”

     “Einstein taught me a whole lot of shit in that Crayon box. He said if a rule does not function it is diseased and that if it does not work it should be done away with. Rule applies to circumstances, where as Law in a more matter of fact way is a statement of the circumstance. Once I was in the day-room of the Crayon box with Einstein, we both had on pajamas because that was all we were allowed to wear: state issue pajamas and slippers. He was striving to explain something to me in regard to the history of contracts, it was basic contract language. I wasn’t getting it for some reason so he abruptly changed the subject by changing the direction of my thought process in order that I may better comprehend the concept. He said, ‘In most cases the context of the law is to forbid, hence to deviate from the law is to break the law.’ It was the first time that I began to perceive the law in the truth of its forbidding context. This forbidding context can be either liberating or oppressive. Example, when Gods and Earths say ‘word is bond’, you must understand that the ‘bond’ works as a legal instrument. The ‘word’ is not in and of itself binding. The idea of it being ‘binding’ is based upon the agreed upon meaning of said word, and it is in this meaningful agreement we assume the forbidding context which subsequently suggest that the word as a binding agreement will not in fact be broken. The agreement is completed only when the penalty of losing your life becomes a consequence amended to the initial intent of the word.”  

     “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Goddamn! Give me some Goddamn Schizophrenic-Bi-polar meds because I know for a fact you weren’t this smart before you got locked in the crayon box. I’ve heard niggaz talk that word is bond shit for understanding cipher years and I have never heard a movafucka build on it like that. Goddamn nigga!  Nigga you use to be dumb as stones.” Be God said laughing. “You lightweight smart as a movafucka now!”

      “It wasn’t the pharmaceuticals in the sense that they cured me from any ignorance of any sort. They did slow me down in terms of my thought process. Nigga, that Geodon had me calm as fuck. Like I said, I never took no crazy pills in my life and I’ve always been naturally smart, however I’ve been out here in the world surviving sense I was knowledge culture years old God. The only thing I ever did remotely academic was finish high school and complete 120. The medicine in the crayon box slowed my thought down. Before Einstein came on the ward I was in my head all alone with knowledge wisdom cipher and it began to get ugly inside my skull Lord. Word is bond.  With that Geodon flowing through my blood and brain cells I was hearing and seeing shit. One night I woke up in the Wisdom degree screaming of the knowledge to knowledge the cipher: Who is the colored man.”

     “What da fuck you mean you woke up in the wisdom degree? And screaming for what?” Be God asked.

     “The Geodon makes your dreams mad vivid son. I had a dream about Yacob. That movafucka was black as shit, a knowledge seed to the negative three. Da nigga had a big black-double black alien head with the Alien eyes and shit. The dream was freakishly clear like it was high definition in my dome Almighty. I woke up from the dream like four times. I was in a dream within a dream, within a dream, within a dream.  Woke up once and I was absolutely sure I was woke. That’s when Yacob walked in with an alien head and big alien eyes eating a pretzel with mustard on it.  The nigga said, “I’m Yacob!” and stabbed me in my fuckin ear with a needle. I woke the fuck up screaming but I wasn’t woke. Next I  woke up in  the hospital watching my mama die. All my family was there and my Aunt Shirley said, ‘Baby your mama dead. Your Puerto Rican daddy shot your mama in the head.’ “Then I woke up screaming again but in the nightmare of my own reality at the South Western Virgina Mental Health Institute.

     “So when he taught you the law, is that what helped you get out?” Be God asked Add.

     “My knowledge degree in my legal knowledge to knowledge the culture is the Due Process Clause in the 5^th Amendment. There wouldn’t be any purpose in learning the law if I wasn’t gonna save myself with it. Knowledge Degree: What is the Fifth Amendment? Answer, No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger, nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law nor shall private property be taken for public use without just compensation.’  When I took that Amendment under-cap I began to feel confident. Einstein was schooling me on the nature of evidence and the burden of proof and the persuasion of that burden, meaning no material facts can be in dispute, the case in point of law is clearly with one party or the other. The highest obligation of judicial duty requires a peremptory declaration to that effect. Koons v Steele.”  Add spewed the legalese as if he was nonchalantly shooting the breeze as he simultaneously exhaled the weed.

     Be God was finally impressed, not a full believer in his brother and companions so-called legal powers but he did realize that Add did in fact learn a thing or two during his stay in the crayon box.

     “Since you learned all this law shit you should add Justice to your attribute God.”

     “That’s bullshit God, half those niggaz calling themselves Justice this or Justice that couldn’t explain justice if they tried. If I changed my name to Justice, I’d be associating myself with that type of illiteracy as it pertains to justice. Now Cipher God, I’m peace, Right Add Allah is good enough for me Gee.”

    “Yo, so God, I got a question Lord. What is that RICO shit.” Be God asked Add. The question rose up from underneath the coke, underneath the weed, proving a very real anxiety was buried there. As carefree as Be God made hustling seem, he felt a sword as an Emblem of Justice above his head indeed.

     “Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act or the RICO Act. Read chapter 96 of Title 18 of the United States Code. You can read can’t chu? Einstein also taught me don’t be giving legal advice for free. I don’t sell coke no more but I damn sure sell law nigga.” Add said cooley, slumped comfortably in  Be’s passenger seat.  

     “Well weed ain’t free either nigga!” Be God said snatching his blunt from Add. “You schizophrenic, Bi-polar ass, Geodon snortin’ ass, fake ass jail house lawyer ass nigga.”

     “I ain’t schizophrenic or bi-polar. I told you I just did what I had to do to get out of that shitty ass cell with that white boy.”

     “Nigga I’ve been to prison twice and I’ve seen mad niggaz clog-up a toilet to flood a cell. I’ve seen niggaz start fires in their cell to get out. They get sent to the hole not the crayon box. I ain’t dumb nigga. You had to do something else for a psychologist to deem you ‘fit to be tied’ in a puzzle factory or crayon box or whatever the fuck. What else did you do besides demand psyche meds.”

     In all of his new found legal knowledge, Add couldn’t hide from Be. Be notoriously called shit like a dice roll, or saw what nobody else wanted to see or was able to see. He perceived things that others attempted to obscure and hide, which was the primary reason why he said, and did wild shit. Be God was the type that would turn you upside down and turn your pockets inside-out, making sure that when he robbed you that he got every nickel.

     “When the psychologist at the jail interviewed me I told her I was God.”

     “Nigga that ain’t nuffin new no more. It was new when the Father did it in the 60’s and got sent to Matteawan. The Department of Corrections in damn near every state of the union know about the 5 Percenters. So that can’t be it-don’t tell me that shit God!”

     “I told them that I was God God, and didn’t present it in a 5 Percenter context in terms of the blackman being God. I said I was God-God!”

     “You told them that you was the God in the Bible?”

     “I told them that I personally created the entire universe from another dimension and my real name is Zotar and I come from a place in which there are seven dimensions and not four and that I came to Earth on vacation just to see how it was.” Add told Be the same story he told the jailhouse shrink.

     “Oh, I get it, you was really on some ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoos’ Nest’ type of shit. Well you really must have played the role convincingly for them to put your ass in the rubber room of a Puzzle Factory. Fucking Zotar! Nigga you funny as shit.”

     “Einstein pleaded insanity, that’s why he ended up there in the first place, but he was sentence to be there indefinitely, he gotta be in there for the rest of his life.”

     “White movafuckuz are a trip. White men kill there wives and plead insanity. You let me go and kill Darlene or Distilled Rain and they’ll put my Black ass under the jail. That American Justice shit you talking about-that shit ain’t shit. That’s why Gods call that shit the ‘Injustice’. I mean it is good that you’ve studied their language in law books but you still a nigga God.”

“Obama is a constitutional lawyer God. He is a scholar of the law.”

“God we have that nigga stain on us. That ingrained hood shit in our eyes. Lungs filled with the smoke of 10,000 blunts, and noses that have snorted 10,000 coke lines, we got stick ups under our belts, moved countless ounces of blow. We’ve bust guns after which- time served. We come from a place where shit is real. Obama is from Hawaii nigga.” Be God’s tone was philosophical and poetic  and reeked of melancholy. “You can’t compare us to Obama-Nigga we got murder under our belt!”

“And you think Obama don’t?!” Add said, “Obama got bodies on top of bodies like a movafucka son, drones done sent them Taliban niggaz back to the Black Mind of Allah by the thousands, and Osama Bin Laden’s head is the profile pic on theirr headstone.      

   “I guess you gotta point.” Be God remarked.

To Be Continued…