[Title image: "Vent"]
Contents: A Write or Die Zine Production
Featuring: Xzyzst, Kaos, Toth, Syeko, Negasi, Big Rock, Narmir, Joker, Wyld, Batman.
Graffiti Art by, J. KuL
The Vent Title Page Name
Master of Ceremonies VENT (prologue) Oscar Grant
Rap New Generation Rising Timothy Pride
Rap Like They Use To Sevyl Smith
Spoken Word Does It Mean to be Black Mario Woods
Rap Angry Black Man Micah Johnson
Spoken Word Audacious Demand Raheim Brown
Spoken Word Where the Children Play Lavell Mixson
Introspective No Man's Land Laquan McDonald
PAPCO Group Blog Recent Comments Kenneth Harding
Letter Narmir Nate Wilks
Letter (response) Spears & Shields Dante Parker
Mic Controller Cipher @Golgotha w/Joker Anthony Hiller
Introspective No Clean Hands Tamir Rice
Song Nobody Michael Brown
Mic Controller Cipher @Golgotha w/Wyld Alan Blueford
Rap Man Up Lin "Spit" Newborn
Spoken Word Root of the Matter Kieth Scott
Introspective Resolution of Power Treyvon Martin
Master of Ceremonies VENT (epilogue) Terence Crutcher
Piankhi -- editor
Anthony Rayson - Zine Publisher
South Chicago ABC Zine Distro
PO Box 721, Homewood, IL, 60430
Copyright Left 2017
THE VENT (Prologue)
Vent - to give vigorous or emotional expression to, an opportunity, or way of escape, or passage, or relief of pressure, to cause fresh air to circulate, so as to replace foul air.
Welcome to The Vent,
a subculture within a subculture. So, imagine, well, just those of you who haven't already experienced this, but imagine being arrested in America, oh lawd!
Yes, it's personal, and life just got real, on unexpected levels, you're sitting in a jail cell, prison cell, or Juvenile Detention cell, like so many of us, you hear sounds of rhythmic pounding; designers of institutions renders every captive blind, so there is no way you can see where the sounds are coming from, so, where is it coming from?
The sink? No, The toilet? yeah maybe, but for You, hell no, it's got to be the air vent, right? And by captive nature, you climb on top of the sing to press your ear against the air vent and discover an underworld, in real time, live sessions of other worldly spoken word performances, recitals of Poetic Asides, political dialogue, and commentary, All day, all night rap battles, and some of the best singing you've ever hard, No busters allowed clause in full effect.
Massive euphoria, applause, oohz and awwhhz, laughter, and the thick tension of silence when you hear voices inside the vent calling out to you, mostly to see if the new homie got flows, as the vent craves new energy.
Now, for a few of the elderly, the haters, and racist cops, all of this ain't nothing but a bunch of goddamn noise, and even those brief Rude interruptive static moments seem to be a natural component to what happens inside of the Vent, locked up, and locked down, and yet, still free.
(Oscar Grant) 1 of 2
The Vent cont.
A human beatboxer, or Table D. J. are the first people in our generation known to have spoken about this subterranean history, of musical and social connective creative space, that incarcerated Americans experienced before, during, and after many Civil Rights Movements and eras dating back into the days of blatant slavery.
Same songs, different lyrics, same movement, different generation, same hateful enemy, new solidarity of love, where the killing of dead time, with the energy of live entertainment, from some of the youngest voices that can only be heard, when the souls of the innercity streets of America consolidate in true power, simply by breathing in the fresh air of the fresh circulation of Will, and determination, flowing through the ventilation system of incarceration.
For this demo, we requested each contributing scribbler to identify by street Tribal name only, to highlight and honor the names located on each page, of just a few, of the thousands of victims, of militarized police terrorist murders, of American innercity youth, hey, y'all ready for some grimy consciousness?
So, without further adulation, Ladies and Gentlemen, again, welcome to The Vent, in prisoner zine format, at California deathrow, October 2016, Black Lives Matter!
-Sniper Azande Xzyzst
Master of Ceremonies
(Cary Ball) 2 of 2
New Generation Rising
by, Xzyzst (exist)
New Generation Rising
Kelsey, Pride, Jesse, Taco,
Tookie, J.Rock, Moyo.
New Generation Rising
Smurf Bird Lil G. & AL-B
Juvenile, Lukanoz & CharlieC
KiKi & Taco, DannyBoy & Goldie Loc
Rock Head, Scrappy Moja Time & Moe
B-Man & Cee, Javier & A.D.
Shawty & Christ, B.G. & Y.B.
J-Kul, Young Detroit & Mahdi
Rusty & Chaka, Potatohead & Brotha E.
Kwesi Snake & Whacc
Sugar Rah & Shaq
Adisa & AJani Kerm Muatta Lil Jack
Fee Tracy Nut & Spreg
Mao Bone & Bay
Ant Blank & Wiz
Jawaun Boo & Valley J.
Tajirio USO BOBO, L.A. Tone & Solo
Ken DOG_E.DOG_J-DOG_ N.G. & NONO
Bandit Jab & Swoop, LocSicc & Chris
Will Rocc Cain & Mal Knockout June & Element
Batman & B-Mo, T. Maxster & E. Mo
Dwayne Blaze Sanman Kelly lil Bandito
SKwondro Squabblez Chunga Sonny Loko BowWow
Sycko Two Crazy Bam Kaos C. John & Wyld
Nitty Jap & Roova Ray, K-Sean La-Twon & Saint
Rayon Big Rock & Ru P-Funk & Drew & Young G-Wayne
Monsta Wrink & Shoez, New generation youth
Caucasians Asians Natives Eses Usos & The Jews
1 of 1
Like They Use To by; Kaos
1 of 1
Man I can't even call it, it's scary
this solitary confinement, no commissary
to dine in, tryin hard to keep my thoughts str8
God got a plan for me what is my fate
I know it's not to sit here and rot in this place
I'm cryin on tha inside but all you see is mean mugz
having visions of my paper is what I dream of
But what am I to do while I'm locked in this pit
visualizing tha streets but I wake up staring at bricks
I'm sick and tired of being tired, what's required of a Rider homie
I'm not a sympathizer, I'll night a nigga ass on fire
And they tell me don't ever fire a bitch while you in the penitentiary
letters and visits is cool, but bread is what I really need
For my Ndugus, c-walkers and Su-woops, who was makin boo coo
bucks and they bitches fell out like loose tooths
now she act like she don't know me and she know I was rappin Ru's
situation got ugly not she don't love me like she used to
She don't love me like she use to and now she found somebody new
What is she gonna do, He don't love me like he use to
yeah tha homies acting brand new what are they gonna do
Family don't love me like they use to, I don't hear nothing but bad news
What are we gonna do, damn man I been down for a minute
I'm tryin hard to get out but still stuck in this predicament tryin to
collect my dividends I was livin like a stick up Man, hit a lick again
I will stick it in ya face and tell you open up the safe, I'm on a major
paper chase for paper from the caper to the razor, pistol packin
blastin shit even though I knew law and now I'm sittin in my cell
in nothin but socks and draws, it's not the life for a gangsta man,
never that, Babylons took my paper and I will never get that
cheddar back. Easy come easy go they make it to where we can't
stack it, you gotta learn don't put ya eggs all in the same basket.
Always roll solo man I found out the hard way, now I'm stuck
between a rock and a hard place, I'm deep in this game man, now
in too deep to get out, my dick so deep in her mouth I feel what
she thinking about. Now what am I gone do if I get out of jail
knock a hoe and collect my mail, then build up my clientele, stop
staring at me breakin ya keck, like I'm a fine hoe, when I get to
bustin you runnin like I'm tha 5.0, I'm doing time but you act like I
died nigga I should shoot you out there claiming what's mine, why don't
you love me like you use to.
What Does It Mean To Be Black?
Police murdered my Pop's when I was seven
they all can go to hell, cause aint no way in hell,
they can co-exist in heaven.
Police stole my youth,
a Fatherless child is all I knew,
and sadly, how a lil nigga grew.
Beautiful mother, so young and naive,
left to do it alone, no job, with four kids to fead.
We weathered many storms,
freezing, and hungry ights
with no heat to keep us warm.
Too young to be King, but this was my thrown,
the eldest at seven, strong, and playing grown.
They say black lives matter,
but the cops cant erase these visions of His blood spatter,
So, tell me, what does it mean to be black?
By, Aswad POPS
1 of 1
Angry Black Man
The invocational holocaust the time Fuk'd
black magical rhyme bomb'z yo mind Fuk'd
u muthafukaz iz fuk'n wit da unexplained
kemetic spirit'z and my nigga'z got'z da same thang
shit, candle wax dripp'n, innerspace exist'n
why Micah Johnson make dem bodiez come up miss'n
nigga fuk it up.
The force of havoc blame traumatic'z
yall cant touch me
Im not yo god, godammit
and I advise yall not to trust me
Kemetic active thug inside my mind (?)ull get yall fuk'd up
extremeley black wit slug'z inside diz shine U Niggaz cuffed up
fuk any counter pressure get'z da stretcha from deez slug blowz
traumatic'z got'z my mentalz tast'n death,
now test da blood flow'z
Young Micah inter Dallas sip da chalice fool whatz up
Kemetic boyz mass choir fuk it up.
I've been commission to position
yo existence come up missin look behind u
forget yo shoulder dont look over, cause it'z over
black bandanna'z boutz to blind u
now yo shit iz ova, my peoplez got some getback
BLACK INTERNAL GOD
but yall dont seem to get dat
yo systematic structure
cant save u from my mentalz
a black muthafuka wit diz barrel at yo temple
get aquainted wit rigor mortis demise u
surprize u, blacktize u
now cant nobody recognize u, ooooh.
by: Xzyzst (exist)
1 of 1
Tell me, is there nothing left?
First you relieved me of my native land
then raped, pillaged, and plundered every grain of sand
so please forgive me, if I don't understand.
You have enslaved me in every way
broken my back and crushed my will every single day
but this is not enough, so much more there is to say.
You have torn my kingdom from my bloody hands
robbed my palace, and savored the fruit of my lands
so forgive me again, if I fail to understand.
You have placed a veil over my eyes
denied my right to claim all that lay beneath the stars
but to even the blind, the truth is still clear to see.
You have sought to seize all that I had
look with disgrace, as if to say, I, drove you mad,
victim of such fates, I should be anything but glad.
How could you hide what stood before,
yet you still retain the arrogant audacity,
to cup your hands, and demand that I give you more?
Tell me, what fresh hell is this wretchedness,
that continuosly persisted throughout the years,
yet has failed to extinguish it's burning desire,
to terminate every single trace of my existence?
by: Kesaun "Sycko" Sykes
1 of 1
Where the Children Play 1 of 2
The dreams of the democracy that we inherited
echos the sounds of freedom that have been parroted
by our surrogate fathers, filling the voids that
fear has left in our subconscious, by an authority
that has no concious, and is unable to express remorse
So what course of action must we partake in, as we
we take in, the continuosly ridiculous number of
dead black men, leaving our mothers to bleach
the concrete clean of blood, scrubbing and scouring
with the strength that remains of this love, that we
feel for our fallen son's.
What new level of degradation and demoralization
must we accept in the process of dehumanization, what
new low must we allow to embrace us, before we
wake up, looking city to city, and state to state,
as hate falsifies its credentials, and murder's
deemed coincidential, live out conclussions that justify
the means of their illusions, making irrelevance
of the victims that testify from the graves, the young,
the black, the strong and brave.
I look to my community for answers to the questions
consuming me about the disillusion of unity in a world
attempting to segregate us from the respect of our innerspirit,
the spirit of persistence, embracing resistance,
with audacity, and such tenacity, that the Angels
descend and stand at attention, suppressing the contention
that moves them to tears of disbelief, where is our belief.
1 of 2
(whre the children play continues) 2 of 2
How do we console our parents, when it's
apparent that our every declarant will remain
unacknowledged, while our children acknowledge
their own mortality, what reality can we boast of,
what pride shall raise our chin, when the
very color of our skin is an accusation that
not even our wildest imagination would accept
as an association with sin, my mirror dont lie,
so the pain dont subside, when the reflection of
the image that I see, staring back at me,
mean mugs me with the recognition that I will more than
likely die, at the hands of curruption and deceit,
from the inner city police, leaving more mothers
to reach, for the bucket and bleach, that they keep
benieth the kitchen sink that they mix with tears
as they clean the concrete of another brotha's blood,
scrubbing and scourring with strength that
remains from the love that we feel for our fallen son's,
trying to wash the pain away, because no matter what,
the inner city children still need somewhere to play,
in the inner city
2 of 2
No-Man's-Land (LaQuan McDonald)
Coming from outta the 30s with an mentality of a beast. To be
loyal to the streets, loyal to my family, tru to myself and
to never become a snitch! I've banged, slanged, hustled,
traveled the world over on a regular. I have been known to
go beast on a nigga. but i've never harm a soul who didn't try
to harm me! But how do i get back at the state for kidnapping
me and destroying my family... The once athlete/gangsta turn
hustler who transition into a family man and a great father.
Who is now, a deep dark lost soul with a heart of rage &
diabolical thoughts without an outlet outside of this tuna can
of cell. Well the state was supposed to protect me, protect
my family but instead. Because I refuse to become the DA's
snitch bitch, I get railroaded to be executed for being what
I was groomed to be, a real nigga! Dont punish me because I
did what you couldnt do as a kid and not snitch on other kids.
Do you hear tha hurt in my tone, the pain in my words? My mom &
G-mom pasted recently without seeing their innocent son freed,
my babies has graduated college and gone on to have babies
Thirsty for retaliation against the state fills every micro-
fibers that dwells through my cells throughout my body.
Can anybody hear the beast battle cry for help. I've been
abandonned disscarded and even used as a political tool.
For a nigga that bang 30s all over the world this is the
thanks I get locked in a box with the key thrown in the
1 of 2
No Man's Land (cont.)
eastbay sea. Blood I didn't sign up for this. A man with
no country, no family, no friends, no hood, no specific
stimulate love for nothing! This all stems from not becoming
a worthless snitch. Can't respect it, but I understand it,
how the once rightous jumpship, but not I! Thank you for
leaning me your ear si i can vent.
The face of a nomadic in a no-man's-land
2 of 2
A Beautiful Day!
Raylon & Comrade Bird September 11, 2016
Peace & Gods blessings Be upon your first and most important I extend my respects
to both you brothers. I keep yall as well as you alls kin in my prayers. It is
my hope 2 sticc around and maintain but you both know the nature of our
surroundings, I'll try 2 make it bacc 2 (5yard). The situation with comrade Ray
has been resolved and we have been cleared to be bacc on yard 2gether so that
should not be a problem...
Bro Im heart broken my writing spirit has been crushed last year while
I was housed in a/c, my eldest niece was killed in some gangbangging
shit. Bird you remember her I used to show you all her pictures.
Well she got caught up homie she was gang bangging (Hoover) she got
caught up in a murder & the dudes got bacc., taking her & her baby Daddy.
Devastated me & my family. I've tried to write on some positive
Blck unity & Im lost homie. My thoughts are (evil) white & plane. I hope
2 find my way bout right now my spirit aint in it. I still laugh & clown
Im still the same wiz but somewhere deep lies an uglyness & its blocking my
shine... On the real Raylon / Bird yall both know how much I use to pray
its been a minute since my forehead touch the ground. Im angry, shit
homie I quit smoking weed... I cant even enjoy being high because of my
In the mean time I got a lil work out routine. I dont do it to work the hate/
anger out. I do it to give the hate & anger something to hold on to. Its
crazy Im 40 been on Death Row 20 years my niece 19, been on earth
19 years & gone but Im still here. Got to be a reason but its over my
As I opened comrades I shall close Peace & Gods blessing be upon you
I extend my respects to both you brothers. Peace to all the Lavells growing
in the Hoods (Lavell killed 4 Oakland pigs) Sincerely with honor & love
Mr. Michael Lamar Bramit aka Narmir
Spear's & Shields
Blessed one, we send our'z to you and the fam, and we talked about your
powerful words because most people in "The Struggle" dont realize that there
is another struggle going on within the hearts of those of us outhere in
street tibal warfare.
Bro, eve I questioned my own positive youth development work when I learned
that two Black, and biological Brothers, not older than 23 years old, killed
my dad in front of a store, he was 63 years old.
How could I continue to spill ink on behalf of a generation of youth that
just stomped, and kicked the brains of my hero out his scull? Man, fuck
Im not Jesus, so forgiveness, and forgetfulness is not my position on the
issue of black on black crime, Black Lives what?
However, like your niece, my hero loved deeply, and demanded the reales
So, what real? We sometimes forget that African's had shield's and spear's
long before enslavers set foot on the Continent, and they used them for
more than just hunting for food, and protection from wild animals.
Si, if no manner of tribal warfare constituted an excuse for others to
enslave, rape, and murder us in or near to 1619, then it must not be, and
cannot be used against us today; for there will always be tribal conflict
in our community.
1 of 2
Sear's & Shield's (cont.)
We grieve with you out of love and respect, yet, in our past life, even
we was enemies to eachother, and we are the only reason I just wrote the
I want to bless you with the following words that helped me regain my
ballance and continue this work, and pray that these words help you to
struggle the concept of continuing not your amazing work.
"The search for security in conditions of
oppression, the quest for personal harmony
in circumstances of social violence, or
the wish for private success at the cost
of betraying collective aspirations, require
little originality, and risk, because such
efforts accept the status quo of oppression
as immutable. Freedom requires new courage,
new vision, and new commitments. The
dehumanizing master without must be killed,
at least psychologically, just as the
slumberingslave within must be ejected.
Neither can occur without willed, organized
action. Both entail risking a psychological
crisis and even physical death. For then
and only then can a given generation of the
oppresses effect change and reclaim their
Bro, we are with you, this work needs you,and we will not allow
anyone to use our own shield's and spear'z against us, not even
our own hearts, your leadership is required, along with the
rest of us.
W/R Sugar Raylon - New Generation Rising!
(Stanley Tookie Williams) 2 of 2
ROOT OF THE MATTER
"Struggle" typifies a thousand branches
jutting from one tree,
Each limb an "ism"
Deriving from one seed.
A thousand and one "ism's"
Propagate like a plague
Complicit are those
Who allow them to spread.
Purge or be ruined
(©) Tim Young
San Quentin, Ca.94974 (Kieth Scott) 1 of 1
The resolution of power
It seems everyday, another unarmed black man is gunned down
by the police. And everday, someone picks up a mic, or get
online and rant about the injustice going on, but wheres the
change? The bibble says: "Faith without works is dead",
and I agree; "Protest without action is dead". You can march
all you want, you can riot and loot, boycot, or even take a
knee, but then what? Wheres the follow up? Wheres the action?
Though I do admire those who want to do things to start a
"conversation", my question is, how much "conversation" are
you going to have before you actually get up and do
something? Let me be clear, when I say do something, I
dont mean violence. I know some want to "fight fire with
fire", but that won't cause anything but more of what
we're mad about.
I truly believe nothing will change until we as a people
are ready to start putting action into faith, instead of
believing, or having faith that if we can start a
"conversation" with the police, they'll, all of a sudden,
start to hear us.
I think we should become the cops, we should become the
Mayor's and Govenor's, we, need to, as a community, come
together and make sure our children get the education
they need so that they can gain those positions of power.
Will it be easy? No. Will it be fast? Not as quick as we'd
like, but, will it work? Yes! It will work, but it's up to
us todo it, the police wont, the government wont, the
president wont, but we will. It's time to beat the
oppressors at their own game, it's time for us to take
the power, and I'm willing to do the work, are you?
1 of 1
THE VENT (Epilogue)
It's good to see more people from all walks of life in
outter society contribute their voices, resources and
skillsets to the movement against the crisis of
militarized police terrorist killings of Black people,
in the streets of America.
While recognizing laws associated with free speech,
and laws against incarcerating people without adequate
ventilation systems, we became interested in displaying
what a new generation of California's Death Row's
population of rhyme slingers, and ink spillers, had
to say about this issue.
To no surprise, the coming election which could end
the death penalty in this State, has created and
environment of fear that has enslaved tounges,
killed spirits, and has scared the living streets
out of the selfproclaimed realest.
The overall take away from this work, ecposes that
each contributor is a true example that true unity
is still achievable within our own community, no
matter where we are, and that only real niggaz can
step up to the vent and provide fresh circualtions
of air, by having the courage to speak into a
situation, that portion, of reality, that some would
rather pretend doesn't exist, or, simply pass off
as being nothing but a bunch of godamn noise.
-Sniper Azande Xzyzst
Master of Ceremonies
Silence gives consent
1 of 1
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