The Ephesian
Page Three: Xtreme Xpressions

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*** WARNING *** May be a little too angry for some readers...


by Eric Nunnally

NO sun, child, crime is high -
Jack Frost bit my mother and the baby died;
and when I reach twenty five Im supposed to fly upside
down six feet of ground.

Without a sound.

I save my voice and the others yell:
a skipping record plays a groove, Uncut: The Sounds of Hell.
The Warehouse beckons souls lost in the rhythm of pain
and I am caught up in the madness of the danz insane.

The HIs cut through the skies of my bottled bliss
while the bass BOOMs with an ache
that breaks my heart to bits.
The pieces scatter when they hit the floor;
some of them dont - caught by the greedy dogs of war

( and the dogs, in a frenzy, sniff around for more).

Static on the air comin in so clear
that its workin on that place beyond my inner ear.
And my fear is that the worlds got a hold on us;
that weve forgotten why were lost
and Who we have to trust;
that all the bullshit in the world has made a way of life
and, like a virus code named Wildfire, it wont be denied.

We have masters of the game but no integrity.
We have empty shells to teach us of posterity.
We have leaders that aint nothin but assassins of a cause.
We have got nothing nowhere no how cause the SELLOUTS number strong!

And my babys sposed to learn of Fairness,Truth, and Honesty?
Sposed to believe in myths called Freedom, Justice, and Equality?
Sposed to hold out not sell out even though most role models do;
Sposed to do what babys told and not do things that others do?

Whos sellin non-sense so damn cheap that niggahs linin up for years
to bite that piece of pie that soothes the mind and belays our fears?
What Dealers out there on the air just suckin souls like he dont care?
No bullshit welcome here.
No bullshit welcome here


March 17, 1994

Artist's rendering of Malcolm X

Did this on a Mac using ClarisWorks and a regular ol' mouse.


by Eric Nunnally

all My life
far back as I can remember
yo ass wadn't never no good.
frowned up all da fuckin time
lyin an smilin an scared cuz
I wuz lookin atcha

cuz you jus knew
soon as I got da chance
I uz gonna bust yo ass upside jo head
an take it all back -
what you stole from Me.

d'fuck wrong wit chall
'cho ass caint git along
wit nobody;
always startin shit
no matter where you go,

ventin diseases
an fectin people widdem.
poisonin minds, bodies, and souls...

fuck is wrong wit chall
dat cha got ta lie
steal cheat torture murder rape
an jus plain fuck up shit
all da got got dam time.

everywhere y'all go
hells on yo heels,
pollutin an corruptin
exterminatin and violatin
the holiest of holies:

caint nobody standja white ass
fuckin up da whole got dam worl
cuz you got a fuckin inferiority complex.

but I guess you want me ta understand dat shit
cuz I'm real good at forgivin
an it aint nuthin you can count on mo
than my willinness to forgive

fuck dat shit!

I'm spose ta understand?
I'm spose ta grin an bear it?
hell naw!

fuck dis turnin da udder cheek;
an eye fo a muthafuckin eye's mo like it.
its bout time I do ta y'all muthafuckas
whatcha been doin ta Me.

(an i know it don't make me no better,
an two wrongs don't make a right,
but it sho do make it even!
an these muthafuckas done went ape shit on me!
i'm spose ta take it?
i aint had no sons n'daughters fo dem ta be sold wholesale
to a fucked up world
run by fucked up people.
somebody got da set dis shit straight agin,
an if it mean wipin these muthafuckas off the face of the earth,
so be it.)

ya think We don't know what the hells goin on
listen to ya nightmares, ya cracka bastards
who da fuck you think is singin?
listen to me howl
you sons of bitches
I spill the curse of holy declaration
I am the reincarnation
listen to my terrible scream
let cho eyes burn gazin at My glorious fire

y'all fucked up.

toldja ta leave Me the fuck alone
but chall some hard headed crackas
don't believe...

y'all done fucked wit da wrong "tar baby"
an I gotcha number.
so fuck yo queen,
fuck yo pope,
yo president, and ya muthafuckin prime minister.
fuck all y'all

ya burnt up
an you've earned it.

November 15, 1995

"...NOT GUILTY..."

by Eric Nunnally

Did you see them gnash their teeth and
cuss and swear in disbelief and
sob and weep and pull their hair,
convict and act like they were there?

Can you believe their racist pride:
Jays guilt cuz both victims were white;
the way they prejudice their view
and spite the facts with lucky clues?
Like demon dogs, their faces red,
their hatred boiled inside their heads,
and gave no ear to lawful sense,
nor praised a life saving defense.
Who cares that Fuhrman plead the fifth,
and screw those damned racist transcripts.
To hell with gloves that just wont fit,
and lab drops lost and found (oh shit!)

They talk about what money buys
as if justice is color blind,
or prosecutors never lie
when someones life is on the line.
Garcettis on the voting block
and hears each tick and every tock,
so States Attorneys playing hard
to keep at bay his times up card:
a million plus in pro-bono,
the FBI and LA roll.

G.G.: By any means we must convict
who cares if Jays the true culprit?
Our reputations on the line:
lets make sure its done right this time.
M.C.: Weve got a pattern of abuse.
What else is out there we can use
to stir up outcry in the land,
confuse the issues, and kill this man?
C.D.: Weve got a case. Im surell well win.
G.G.: But isnt the Rooster a close friend?
C.D.: Hed sell his family for some doe
I cant respect his kind of show.

The DNA!! They cried out loud.

J.C.: The vile of blood was emptied out.
Jay volunteered a specimen
which disappeared with strange white men.
DNA proved what we knew
the contents from a lost test tube
why argue if the blood was his
if science says, of course it is!
The issues how it got around
so many days fore it was found.
Just a plain coincidence? See:
circumstantial evidence.

But its so far fetched someone would plant
the gloves and socks and evidence!
No one in this world would frame
an African-American with a household name!

The difference of experience
tween black and white and class and sense
is illustrated in the books:
from Kennedy to common crooks.

He beat his wife for heavens sake!
And let his friends enjoy his take.
And bought a franchise for Nikkis pops.
And financed cocaine party drops...
Lets turn Jays ass to horsey glue;
to hell with truth, thats what well do
This is the publics demand:
white is right to lynch this man!

They say that justice wasnt served;
boy, do they have lots of nerve.
Are lynchings all they dream about?
The devils finally coming out.

The portrait of Malcolm X is mine, done in AppleWorks on a Mac. Just fiddling around. 1998 Eric Nunnally