Anthem to Abolish the 13th Amendment (Music Video)

Anthem to Abolish the 13th Amendment (Music Video)
Min King X Pyeface feat. Scarface

After serving 24 years behind bars for Bank robbery, 6 years in the feds, and 18 in California’s maximum security prisons, Min King X AKA Pyeface had hit the ground running, when he was released in July of 2019.

No other rapper in Hip Hop has done more through art-activism (Artivist), in the past three and a half years to highlight the plight of the men and women behind bars than the George Jackson of Rapp. A reference to George Lester Jackson, the 1970s prisoner and activist, whose murder in San Quentin during a prison riot, led to the worst prison riot in US history, at Attica, three weeks later, and a name given to King X by fellow prisoners, when he lived amongst them.

Anthem to Abolish the 13th Amendment features the legendary Godfather of Southern Hip Hop Scarface, whose long-standing political rap flows clearly impacted and influenced the early rap lyrics of both Ice Cube and 2Pac.

Also included amongst the political graphics is the artwork Incarceration Nation. Created in July of 2017, by California prison artist C-Note, as a promotional piece for the August 19th 2017, Millions For Prisoners Human Rights March, held in Washington DC and across the US, including Internationally, Incarceration Nation has become America’s premier artwork on mass incarceration.

Incarceration Nation (2017), Graphite on paper, Donald “C-Note” Hooker

The Mystical Painting

They ran across the railroad tracks and returned to the hood through an entrance in the rear of the Projects behind the office. The excitement of the fight still swirled in their minds. There were 20 of them and they had all just finished getting down with Los Angeles Jesters. They had represented the Barrio and slipped away clean when the Judas arrived. As they gathered at the Four Corners in the heart of the Projects, they were slapping five, laughing, and reliving the events and excitement of the fight. Everything was de aquellas, all the homies felt proud for getting down and representing the Barrio. It was time to take up a collection and buy some pisto and do some real partying with the homegirls. A couple of vatos brought their liras and when the pisto arrived, the gathering moved to the office, the playground behind the Project’s where Gato, Pastel, and Chico’s mom lived. In no time the party was in full swing. Tony, Lil John, and Lil Tiger were playing the liras and singing. Rabbitears and one of the homegirls were kicking up some dust and dancing a corrido on the grass, and the homeboy Karate was trying to convince his ruca that he single-handedly downed five vatos at the fight. In the background, Torito, Boy, and Lil Willie were taking it all in remembering the tempos they spent together in the joint and how they used to envision thoughts of partying here in the Barrio just like this. It was the ultimate viaje being here partying with all the jente who were willing to put themselves on the line for you, and who right or wrong, would always back your play, “jenti de aquellas”.

At midnight, the party was still blasting, all the jente was still there. Yet, as the party continued, Charlie Wino began to withdraw himself from the others. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a definite void in his soul. He decided to leave and take a stroll through the hood. As he walked away from the office he could still hear the laughing and partying in the background, and as it slowly faded he knew that the laughter would never again have the same meaning. As he walked toward Leroy Street, the mirror on the Big Wall came into sight. Zapata was almost lifelike standing there. A symbol of pride and dignity, a warrior of days gone by. Homeboy Rabbitears had put his soul into the painting of this mural and the result was a masterpiece, a beacon of strength watching over the Barrio. He felt drawn by the painting of the great revolutionary hero and as he approached the mural a voice startled him “Que pasa cholito, why aren’t you celebrating with the rest of the homies?” Homeboy Charlie Wino quickly looked around trying to determine where the voice came from, but saw no one. He turned slowly towards the painting and broke out in a cold sweat when he realized that it must be Zapata talking to him. The painting had came to life!!

“Don’t be afraid cholito, I’m only here because your soul has called for me,” Zapata spoke to him again.

“But you’re only a painting, how come you’re talking to me?” Charlie Wino replied.

“Do not ask who or try to understand how,” the old warrior tried to reassure him. “Just know that I’m talking because you are ready for what I have to say, even as you were fighting tonight, you were ready for what I have to say and why.”

“I wasn’t calling out to you,” Charlie Wino countered quickly, “I was just getting down for my hood!” But even as he denied it, he sensed the old warrior was looking directly into his soul, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. For a fragment of a second homeboy felt kind of foolish, conversing with a painting on the wall, but he continued– “You yourself fought in the revolution, you as a warrior should be able to understand why I am fighting!”

“Cholito, the old warrior almost laughed, “how can you compare our revolution to this gang warfare? Have you not read the history of your Mexican ancestors?” Zapata asked, but when homeboy didn’t reply, he continued, “We fought for the rights of the compesinos, the people. The farmers, the hombres who fought at my side were men of peace who until then had devoted their lives to work in the soil and raising their families. But when the little they had was threatened, they fought with great courage.” The old warrior paused, recalling with a proud heart the valiant men who gave their lives for the cause of freedom, who at times fought with nothing more than machetes against rifles and guns. Again, the old warrior spoke, “Cholito, you are a very brave and courageous young man, but these noble traits are being wasted because you are fighting for causes which have no meaning. Number one, how can you justify taking up arms against other Chicanos simply because they live in another Barrio, and another thing, how can you or the homies justify selling drugs to earn a living? Even if you yourself do not sell drugs, you are partially contributing to the destruction of your brothers and sisters who are destroyed daily by the current drug epidemic. Their jefitos are just like yours, they also cry when their hijos are hurt, they pray for their hijos just like yours and they swell with pride and joy with the accomplishments of their children and they eat tortillas, frijoles, and chile just like your family does. Ideology, there’s no difference between your culture and theirs. Yet you are killing each other with drugs and gang banging– why!!?”

Charlie Wino did not answer the old Warrior. But as he stood before the painting, The youngster felt the Warrior’s wisdom penetrating the core of his soul and he began to melt the doubts confusion from his heart and mind.

“Your life is so precious ese, the old Warrior sensed that the little homie was beginning to understand…, “yet you are willing to lose it for the sake of some excitement and a reputation, and to continue to live your present lifestyle, you will surely become your own enemy.”

With that final note from the old Warrior, the homie heard a familiar voice behind him. It was Rabbitears strolling and speaking to his hijo Snoopy. Charlie Wino turned and was greeted by the homie Rabbitears, the artist of the mural. “Orale homie, que paso ese, how come you’re all alone?”

As Charlie Wino turned to check out the painting of the old Warrior, he softly stated, “I’m not alone– I have been with him!!!”

Homeboy Rabbitears knew exactly what he meant, because he too had once spoken to the old Warrior and had his soul touched by the great wisdom of the old Warrior. The homie Charlie Wino turned and put his arms around Rabbitears’ and Snoopy’s shoulders and they all strolled toward the Four Corners–the heart of the Barrio.

You know Rabbitears, tomorrow I’m going to the library so I can begin to read and learn of the struggles of our raza and ancestors, because tonight I have learned in order to prepare my future I must also understand my past, que no?” And, with that statement he bid good night to the homies…”Ay te wacho minana Rabbitears and Snoopy!”

Well, it seemed the homie was on his way. He was finally going to make a stand against Barrio Warfare and drugs in the neighborhood. But as he walked alone that night, he was gunned down. What a loss!!! He was and could have been the tool to free his homies from the anguish and violence of the Barrio Warfare and drugs.

The time has come for you to believe in yourselves and to know that you can make a difference. Remember that gang banging and drugs will in the long run bring nothing but sorrow, misery and pain, and only take what is important to you away from you!

The time has come for you to believe in yourself and in your ability to seek the education necessary to open the eyes of your brothers and sisters in the Barrio and to hold one another up in a positive way.

The story “Mystical Painting” is a dedication not only to my Mexican race but also to all the brothers and sisters inside and out who have the inspiration to bring their people up. The task can only be done through education. So, take it upon yourself to educate yourselves so that you may be included in the driving force of educating those who will follow in your footsteps.

by: Robert Joseph Garcia

1992 PBSP-SHU

COPYRIGHT 1992 Robert Joseph Garcia

120-Secondz (Recorded and Produced in Prison).

By Square Cuz

The World’s Greatest Threat: Being Black With Self-Respect

They never likeded my swag
cause it was rooted in gang culture
cause out here in L.A.
WE DON’T PLAY.
Nineteen Sixty-Five
ain’t never died
year of the Watts Riots
cause thirty years later
Nineteen Ninety-Two
We kicked off some shit too
year of the L.A. riots
But who really brought it your way
N-Double-U-A
You know what dem Niggas had to say
about dem cops
Police brutality had to stop
But that was before Black Lives Matter
and that shit came from the Town
Oak Land
Where Huey P Newton was the Spokes Man
for the Black Panthers
and its Organization for Community Defense
you see it all makes sense
Now
that video recorders dun came around
But it didn’t to Rodney King’s jurors
who saw his Black ass take a beat down
from six cops standing around
Naw
six cops actively participating
in the demise of an uppity ass negro
cause who he think he was
that he can get away with running from the fuzz
It only took a dahz
of whites
to say
Hell No! To Black Liberation
if that shit didn’t disturb your sleep
Why are you surprised of white criticism
when Beyonce speak
of Female Black Liberation
so join Her Formation
But again this ain’t nothing new
in the Red White and Blue
maybe because whites refuse to have
that conversation
about Nationhood reconciliation
don’t talk about chipin in dem funds
for reparations
They can for the First Naytion
and American Japanese
but when it comes to Black folks
we only get sympathies
from overseas
Because whites don’t wanna
do nothing about changin
the situation
about Black acclimation
into fabric Americana
wit your dirty lies
about apple pies
and second amendment aggrandization
Cause when was there ever a time
we could do
what we wanted to do
as a Black man or woman
legally armed
with a gun in our hand

Change California law
when Huey went to the State capitol
opened and carried
Killed Philando Castillo
in Minnesota
as a illegally armed
Black motorist
Standing on her own property
as a licensed gun owning Black woman
Michigan would rather imprison
a pregnant Swatu Salam Ra for two years
than let her use
their “Stand your ground” law
Due take notice
these were all liberal States
It’s like fake news
in prison blues
that’s why my pants sag
and my Blue Rag hangs low
I’m all that’s negative
bet believe
If I didn’t make myself that way
they would have
wit their lies and alibis
targeting

A great wrong was done to
you my Black children
A great wrong was done to you
my Black child
A suspicion has been casted upon you
it’s called revenge
Revenge
for the wrong done to you
Revenge
for the wrong done
by hands pure as the white of snow
They just don’t know
when you will recomeuppance
You’re under suspicion
My children
My child
Just look into their eyes and you’ll see
Dis is why me brudda
Dis is why mee sistah
Dis is why mee children
you’re under suspicion
What y’all brewing in da kitchen?
We know it gots to be a special stew
full of wicked concoctions
each with our signed I.O.U.
CAUSE YOUR God is dat Voodoo
so we know He’s stirring dat stew
so we don’t want nothing from you Black America
cause we know you’re itchin
to get us in your kitchen
to serve us this brew
and watch it see
do what it do

So Black man whoa
So Black woman whoa
and that’s why you’re always remain
a threat
Da Black man or woman, with self-respect
So Black man whoa
So Black woman whoa
and that’s why you’re always remain
a threat
Da Black man or woman with self-respect

By Donald “C-Note” Hooker

Editor’s Note: To For more epic poems by this poet, check out: THE CRIMINALIZATION OF OUR AMERICAN CIVILIZATION (This Is Not A Manifesto)
STRADIVARIUS: Play Her Like
It Must End! (BLACK FEMALE BOYCOTTS AGAINST BLACK MEN IN THE PEN)

Here are audio links:
The Criminalization of our American Civilization (This Is Not A Manifesto)
STRADIVARIUS: Play Her Like
It Must End!: BLACK FEMALE BOYCOTTS AGAINST BLACK MEN IN THE PEN

THE PLEDGE

I pledge allegiance
to romance
of the Universal States of Consciousness
and to the essence
for which it stands
one love
under God
indispensable
with kisses and orgasms
for all!

To: Munchkin
From:C-Note
Copyright 2017 Donald “C-Note” Hooker

STRANGE FRUIT

California
is the place to be
Fun living
is the life for me
Spacious places
far and wide
Except at C.I.W.
home to women suicides

About the Paintoem
Poem by: C-Note
Painting by: C-Note

We create monsters
of ugliness
but we’re scared
to look at
our own creations.
—-C-Note

Strange Fruit, is an original work of wax on paper; made in the form of a collage. Done by Donald “C-Note” Hooker in 2017. “When I had to do an expedited visual work for the Paintoem, Life Without the Possibility of Parole, I used an image from a magazine, but drew the background,” says C-Note. “I have a push, or thirst to bring attention to women issues. That’s what Life Without the Possibility of Parole is about. Strange Fruit, is to draw attention to a report that I read in the October 2016, edition of the San Quentin News. It stated, ‘During an 18-month period in 2014-15, the suicide rate at the California Institution for Women (C.I.W.) was eight times the national average for women prisoners and five times the rate for the entire California prison system.’ When I did Life Without, there was an aesthetic there. This was from a fashion magazine. This was of a white woman, a young white woman, on a very serious subject. I say to myself, ‘Hey, much support in the prisoner rights movement comes from older white women in the Catholic Church. This is an image of them. They see their younger selves in her. Promote the $#@! out of this work.’ I could have used that same racial device in Strange Fruit. With Life Without, it was about the aesthetics. It was about the shape of that image in the magazine. Later on, I realized how I could use race to my benefit. That device really did not go unnoticed to me when doing a work on women suicide. But I couldn’t play on white populism; I had to speak the truth. So a black woman had to be used. Blacks out number all the other races combined in incarceration. There are lots of ways of committing suicide, but I think the hanging is the most salient in our human conscious. That being the case, that brings in Strange Fruit. Strange Fruit is the title to a song, sung by Billie Holiday. The tener of the song is about all this strange fruit hanging from these trees in the South. What was this strange fruit? Nooses around the necks of dead African-Americans. That’s why the piece is entitled ‘Strange Fruit.’ That’s why there’s a noose around her neck. Why a collage? Because I had discovered with Life Without, collages create a certain depth perception. The poem, is a play on the CBS television show Beverly Hillbillies. ‘California/is the place to be/Fun living/is the life for me…’ In Black intelligentsia, and its grass roots also, they have really latched onto Michelle Alexander’s seminal work, The New Jim Crow (Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. So here is her thesis, that 21st Century mass incarceration, and post incarceration reentry, looks very similar to 20th Century Jim Crow laws in the deep South. People generally agree with her thesis, and actively use the siren call end the New Jim Crow. Incarcerated blacks even started the Neo Jim Crow Art movement, to which this piece is a part of. I hold up Sandra Bland as our 21st Century’s Emmett Till. Emmett Till, like Sandra Bland was a fellow Chicagoan who went down South. Emmett allegedly in 1955 made a whistling sound in the general area of a white woman. He was only 14 years of age. He was bludgeon to death. His mother, from the North (Chicago), wanted an open casket burial to which a Jet Magazine photographer snapped a picture of his gruesome remains. It was the shot (photo shoot), heard around the world. Well, I’ve been holding up Sandra Bland to go with the theme of this work. She is our 21st Century version of Emmett Till. What was her offense that caused her to lose her life? It started with a traffic stop; whose legitimacy is dubious at best. But an officer who physically feels the need to pull a motorist out of their car for smoking a cigarette? An activity that is associated with a high degree of stress, to which this encounter with this law enforcement obviously was. But I think anytime a person comes in contact with law enforcement, and especially an African-American with a white officer, it is very harrowing; because an African-American never knows where this thing is going. And Ms.Bland allegedly or apparently committed suicide while in a jail holding cell for a nonsensical lane change violation. To which the officer was fired as a result of this incident. In certain activist circles, it’s common to hear women say, ‘Prisons were not designed or intended for women.'”

Strange Fruit is still retained by C-Note until he can find a party interested in the work. However, you can still buy prints of this piece, and other related products, at Fine Art America

[Editor’s Note ]: This Paintoem, like all Paintoems, are given to the public, to have free use rights, so long as acknowledgement is given to the artist(s).

Links to other Paintoems:
Mprisond
My Dilemma
Tears of the Mothers
Black August-Los Angeles
More Paintoems

Strange Fruit (Paintoem) available in prints.

It Must End! BLACK FEMALE BOYCOTTS AGAINST BLACK MEN IN THE PEN.

So they dun killed some black boys
that’ll never grow up to be black men.
So you dun had an epiphany
WHERE ARE ALL THE MEN?

Little black boy
killed in the streets
not guilty verdict
a jury did reach
Teary-eyed sista
signed off on Facebook that day
these final words, she had to say
BLACK LIVES MATTER

I know black folks
didn’t think
George Zimmerman
was the final chapter
Cause a young boy in Missouri
got killed
to show you
Black Lives Don’t Matter.

Presidential Election
now these women all in a tuff
Who dey think they is
calling out Hillary Clinton
that ain’t enough.

Bill Clinton’s Crime Bill was passed 22 years ago
So where have you been?
You just now dun figured out
black men
been languishing
in these pens?

I say “It Must End!”
and I swear I mean it too
cause it’s year twenty two
and I still ain’t got no letter from you.

Come on Sistas
y’all out there
loud mouth protesting
But you ain’t talking to me
you talking to them.

When I hear dem women speak
Mr.Charlie,
let my men free
Y’all make good sound bites
in dem public squares
But alone
in my prison cell
your voice is not there.

You can Instagram, Tweet, and Facebook all day
But when it comes to really giving bac
writing a letter
you have nothing to say

You’re speaking to the media
and whoever will listen
about what have you done
wit our men
you know
the ones locked up
in the pen

Now he’s been down thirty
Me
just twenty-two
Now I don’t know
What you got going on
but I never heard from you

When was the last time
you sat down and wrote him a letter?
I know he dun sent you five
and you still ain’t got bac
with some jive.

Where all the Sistas in the V.I.?
Just Snow Bunnies and Latinas
supportin your men
So the question gots to be asked
Where Have Y’all Been?

When I see a Sista
I can’t laugh
I can’t cry
All I can do
is die inside

For twenty long years
I ain’t never been
One of these Sistas
Brotha

Let alone
one of dey Lovers

You ain’t never seen me
up in the V.I.
Wit one of dem Sistas
who be lookn so fly

So you damn right
I’m bitter
Wit a Heart so cold
Colder than Sister Souljah’s
Coldest Winter

Cause where all these Black Women been
Since they dun hauled all us men
to the pen

Ain’t nayer a Sista
ever wrote me a letter
never gave me a chance
if I had words to say
to make her life better

But you won’t put paper to pen
Cause a real friend
you might find in the end

Just a bunch of lonely Black Men
dying for communion
without kin
Kinship
Friendship
Relationship
Companionship

A message to the Black Woman
come heal a Brotha
I know you think
your protesting and marching
is something true
But Black Women
ain’t writing Black Brothas
and that has meaning too

Some Brothas don’t care
you’re just now coming
late to the party
But I do
alone in my room
longing for a Shawty

Cause each year
tops the year before
of prisoner exonerations
Ain’t making excuses for the
guilty
but ain’t all convictions
real you see

25 years to life
for stealing aspirin
for a teething daughter
getting more time
than committing manslaughter

So you’re just now discovering
Black Men are locked
and you wanna protest
Am I supposed to be impressed?
Nah,
I’m depressed

Some men
in the pen
have been driven
to psyche meds
cause Black Women
dun left us for dead
I’ve chosen another route
instead
So let it be said
in the verses
you’ve read
It Must End!
BLACK FEMALE BOYCOTTS
AGAINST BLACK MEN
IN THE PEN

by Donald “C-Note” Hooker

Here is the audio version:
It Must End!: BLACK FEMALE BOYCOTTS AGAINST BLACK MEN IN THE PEN

Editor’s Note: To For more epic poems by this poet, check out: THE CRIMINALIZATION OF OUR AMERICAN CIVILIZATION (This Is Not A Manifesto)
STRADIVARIUS: Play Her Like
CAN’T BLACK LIVES MATTER TOO???
The World’s Greatest Threat: Being Black With Self-Respect

Here are audio links:
THE CRIMINALIZATION OF OUR CIVILIZATION (This Is Not A Manifesto)
STRADIVARIUS: Play Her Like
CAN’T BLACK LIVES MATTER TOO???

WHO AM I

Who am I?
The cool calm and collected kid wit hoop dreams?
The innocent kid wandering through the concrete jungle watching the flashing red and blue lights from police sirens as they give chase to the up and coming Hood stars?
Who am I?
The young boy looking up to Lil Sc60by and holding onto his every word wanting to be just like him?
The kid that traded his hoop dreams to become a R6llin Sixty Crip like Boo Manuel NewHouse Uncle C•Dog Lil Fee Peanut Blacx Mouse Big U Baby Wino and so many more?
Who am I?
The teenager kid that stays fly chasen paper in and out of jail? Becoming a young tiny loc line presser?
Who am I?
The 18 year old kid fresh out of Y.A. from doing 3 years and 6 months feeling like the world owes me?
Who am I?
The 18 year old young nigga that just passed for six figures?
Buying expensive jewlry fly whips in out the club drugged up?
Who am I?
They hot head kid that popped his blower over his chain?
Who am I?
The kid facing murder charges that didn’t stick?
The kid that thought he was untouchable having money?
Who am I?
The kid that had to face them murdered charges that I thought I beat?
Who am I?
The kid that took 17 years in the state pen?
Who am I?
The kid that been gone for 13 years that grew into a man?
Who am I?
The man that looked back and realized I wasted my life?
Who am I?
They constantly ask me time and time again?
The man wishing I could turn back the hands of time so I could tell that cool calm and collective innocent kid to follow his hoop dreams?
Who am I?
The man wishing I could go back.

written by Sauce

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