From the Herbin' Selva

In an urban celda� I was awoken in the concrete dungeon by the pill-call in the early morning. I asked my primos in the cells next to mine if they wanted to accompany me to a cold-setup. They replied sleepily (if at all) so I continued on my way to the medic, on the two-thousand�floor of the men�s central jail. I dreamily leaned my shoulder to the wall on the right-hand-side, and glided down the haunted hallways of the L.A. county jail... staring at ghost face killers.

When I arrived to the nurses� window for my dose of chemicals, I noticed the words engraved into the three benches in the waiting room: �VENI�, �VIDI�, �VICI�. 12 inch letters scribed in the wood with a metal router tip, which translated into English: �We Came, We Saw, We Conquered�. It was an arrogant slogan the European invaders used when boasting of their blessed slaughter history chooses to call a conquest. Cold set up, indeed!

When I got back to the tier, I asked the guard to rack the gates of the cell 12 on able row. When I passed my cousins in cells 10 and 11, respectively, I wanted to tell them of the mockery carefully scribbled on the wood benches; but, decided to wait till breakfast. When they racked our gates for breakfast (all the gates on the row rack at once), we assembled in the corridor and lined up for our trays. South side status was presence: optional and protocol: normal for hungry muthafuckas to get up and get ready for breakfast.

Sure enough, my primo-hermanos stepped into the dimly lit alley of the cages. �You�ll never guess what I saw written in the hallway�, I announced to them immediately. �Were you awake or asleep?� one asked. �Still not sure. But I saw it with mine own eyes- VENI, VIDI, VICI in bold capital letters permanently printed into the structure of the facility.� When we stepped out of the module we stayed on hush �cause of the watchtower guards.

During the day, Capster called me to the gate for conversation through the walls between our cells. �Hey, loved one, where you serious about the message you were speaking of earlier.�

�Dead serious, primo!�

�Okay. I�ll go with you for that walk at pill call, to see it for myself. So, if the Lord permits, and we make it out of this pit someday, we�ll testify of the symbols of conquest that exist in our pueblo� our beloved Pueblo, Nuestro Senora la Reina de Los Angeles.�

This one is dedicated to the Phillips Morris Corporation- for their propaganda marketing scheme that criminalizes the ganja tree and makes mad profits from selling cancer sticks to kids.

From the Herbin Selva,

Herbin' Selva

I come from slum crime scenes where time seems 2 fly,
and sweet sirens sing to sleep on beats like street lullabies.
Where angry cries echo through the ghetto confines
& spilled blood on concrete leaves behind a speckled design.

Where dimes of bud are sold for doves & crimes of love understood,
Where noisy techs are toys of steel for real Boyz in the Hood
Where "good intentions" seldom mentioned yet aggression is common.
Our home's a known danger zone- where even angels have fallen.

Best beware of crawlin' serpents for their purpose is evil,
Sole intent is hell-bent and so they tempt God's people.
But the wings of the Eagle bring the meek salvation
taking the snake in it's beak and shaking foundations

of modern nations chasin' total globalization
making homes for beasts and cloned police stations.
Infiltration of the varrio such a sorrowful business
real resistance is vital... it's still survival of the fittest!

We�re born in the jungle, raised on hot concrete.
Everyday�s another struggle, out here, hustling these streets.
Being chased like beasts by racist police.
Just tell me how many homies now are resting in peace?

We�re from these concrete jungles, not the suburbs, smoke herbs
Rock beats and battles, emcees get served by my third
Word incision�s my vision so can you picture me spittin?
Lyrics instead of bullets whether it�s freestyle or written.

So don�t push me, �cause I�m close to the edge�
I�m trying not to lose my head.

So I keep my head up to the sky and release my rage through a mic.
All this violence that we see and still no silence at night.
Not the System of a Down, But I could get political.
Soon as the mic comes around, I�m hittin� you with the lyrical.

This is Rhyme Asylum, that�s how we let it all out-
To keep the crowd jumping, plant the seed watch it sprout. No Doubt, The pen is my machete and I�m clearing a path.
In these streets we stay ready, moving forward- forget the past.

We�re born in the jungle, raised on hot concrete.
Everyday�s another struggle, out here, hustling these streets.
Being chased like beasts by racist police.
Just tell me how many homies now are resting in peace?

En esta selva quemo yierba y siempre seco el cerebro.
No tengo miedo al infierno, estamos armadas con cuernos.
Fumo humo. Sin dudas suvo del mundo. Que agusto sienten las nuves
Con pensamiento profundos. Naci suertudo

El vato reconocido por Gato.Hando las noches de vago
vendiendo discos barratos. Aveses cago el palo,
tomando tragos amargos, prefiero handar marijuano
con la gente mas despreciados.

Los Nuevo siglo soldadados, nuestro estilo es moderno
Solo componemos la rimas para tumbar el gobierno.
No es mi culpa si te asustes, mi destino es ser rido.
Te digo, mi vida es un sueno lleno de peligro

Pero sigo siendo rey, persigido por la ley
Me pongo grifo con los bandidos en la ciudad de L A.
Donde cada dia es otra lucha- desde la cuna a la tumba:
Somos decendientes de Cuatemoc, Mexicanos por fortuna.

For more information about the Stolen Lives Project and the October 22nd Coalition.

  • Stolen Lives Project Website
  • The October 22nd Coalition - to Stop Police Brutality, Repression, and the Criminalization of a Generation

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