Monday, December 31, 2012

Door 5316, Volume 3: Black Friday


Hotep,
Today is considered to be the biggest shopping day of the year.  Christmas shoppers are going above and beyond – competing for that #1 spot, at a department store nearest you.  The holiday season; I just love it!  Much like those diligent Christmas shoppers, I’m keyed in, on the potential for lower numbers as well.  Except my mathematical figures have nothing to do with slashed prices and holiday layaway plans.  Feel me?
In case you haven’t noticed, the first two posts of this particular series (Adopting to Any Circumstance Volume #1: Meet the Neighbors) may have been clouded with negative overtones.  I gotta admit; going under the knife, and then spending 24 hours a day inside a prison cell – as a means of recovery – can have a negative effect on the best of us.  But the holiday season has yet to fail me, in my 44 years of existence.  So, please allow me to share some positivity in the truest sense of the holiday spirit.
My blood pressure has been a major issue since I took residence in the prison hospital.  Within the two weeks I’ve been here, my blood pressure has reached an all-time high 0f, 163/115, with an arresting heart rate of 92.  I was officially in the red and the medical staff was watching a little more than then sign on my door.  Na mean?
My frustrations with the sign posted on my door and the display of deliberate indifference by a handful of unit 4 staff, played a minor role in some of my high pressure readings.  It’s funny (but it ain’t), because other than the pain in my left leg, I felt no discomfort healthwise.  I guess that’s why high blood pressure is called “the silent killer.” Who knew?
Speaking of pain; after a long talk with my physician, I was convinced that enduring the pain without the aid of pain medication, would play a significant role in my blood pressure going into the red.  When I told the doctor (I’ll call her “Dr. Truth,” because she gave me the real) that the consumption of narcotic pills is the reason behind my high readings.  Dr. Truth simply responded:
                “Mr. Mann, you do not have a M.D. at the end of your name.  I know you’re more familiar with your body than I am, but trust me; surgeries, blood pressure and medication is my playing field.  I’ll speak with the staff about their availability, but you have to take your meds.”
Since that conversation, my blood pressure has gone from 163/115, down to 120/66 and heart rate of 62.  Good look, Dr. Truth!” My health is returning to the black with mathematical figures that just can’t be beat.  Ya heard?
My mind has been so clouded with frustration I haven’t even taken the time to describe my living quarters to you.  Well, I’ve said before, this new prison hospital is high tech.  I mean, they could actually shoot scenes for “Grey’s Anatomy” in this piece and you’d never know the difference.  Real talk.
The cells are spotless – thanks to my man, Rocky, an old-timer who mops my cell every day, and shaves a good 5 minutes off my 24 hours and day behind door 5316.  That’s what’s up!!
Listen, you wouldn’t know this was a prison hospital if the doors were replaced with those carousel – like curtains.  There’s a shower in every cell’ most definitely to my liking.  And dig this; for the first time in 17 years, I actually get to sleep in a bed.  Not a cot with a steel foundation – connected to a concrete wall, but a bed that inclines and declines to my personal comfort level, and possesses more than one exit route.  Feel me?
North Carolina taxpayers should take pride in this multi-million dollar facility, although it contradicts their last multi-million dollar prison facility (Death Row, Unit 3).  This facility is designed to restore life; a healing place.  The other facility caters to taking lives.  Maybe we shouldn’t tell the taxpayers that I’m utilizing their multi-million dollar life restoring facility.  Sssshhhh!
Nuff Said,’

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Door 5316, Volume 2: Meet the Neighbors

Hotep,
As you should already know, my new housing assignment is cell 5316 – located in the prison hospital.  My Achilles heel surgery is approximately a week old; 6 days to be exact.  I’m still somewhat frustrated about the sign resting on the outside of my cell door, but night eventually turns into day.  The weight of that small piece of paper is decreasing as the scales of curiosity begin to prevail.  Who knew?
My mornings normally begin with a nurse coming into my cell – assisted by an officer of course – to take my vitals.  The pain medication spikes my blood pressure, so I guess its protocol for them to monitor that.  There’s not much conversation, other than a “Good Morning,” or “Thank You.”  To be honest with you; the room is normally filled with tension.  But today was slightly different.
At the conclusion of my vitals check, one of the staff members kindly asked: “What really happened?”  As bad as I wanted to share this experience of injustice – I fought off the urge to spill the real with a subtle request: “Can I have some more ice, please?” My request was met with a smile and a refilled pitcher of ice.  No hard feelings, just laying the foundation for future vital sign checks.  Na mean?
The occupant of 5315 is physically and mentally disabled.  I have yet to see him, but I hear his voice all day, and all night:  “Nurse! Nurse!” His heart monitor is gradually becoming a fixture of my consciousness.  Real talk.
The cat occupying cell 5317 has 4.5 months to go, on a 40 month sentence for writing bad checks.  I overheard him speaking with the unit case manager about his parole guidelines.  They even joked about his next checking account.  SMH.
Then there’s me; the resident in 5316, healthy, but temporarily hobbled.  Full of life, but trapped on death row.  SMH.  Three lives predestined to briefly encounter the others – yet all 3 face different transitions within our current existence.  Only the Creator knows the final outcome of our transitions, but I can feel my transition changing lives for the better.  Ya heard?
Seeing my parents yesterday was truly inspirational.  Despite the fact that our visitation arrangements were filled with administrative chaos, seeing their faces and hearing their voices affected me the way that that Aliyah joint, “Back and Forth,” does whenever I hear it; I just wanted to get up and dance.  Na mean?
My parents are constant reminders of what my transition means – not just to them or me, but the many generations to follow.  And I’m not about to let them down.  This W2TM journey is a moment I wish I could have for life.  So, some of my better moments will be dedicated to reading cases such as Michael Dale Rimmer vs. Tennessee.  And then there will be those rare occasions when the low moments of my life will cause me to utilize a Styrofoam ice pitcher as a basketball rack, and the ice cubes as the frigid penitentiary issues I face on the daily.  With the form and eye of a pure shooter, I’ll hoist those ice cubes (issues) into the toilet bowl, from my bed, one issue at a time.  Feel me?
Believe this:  my emotional highs and lows aren’t trapped behind door 5316 or any other door within this box.  These highs and lows fuel this medium of W2TM, to go far beyond this neighborhood of social retardation and will into the next millennium.
I’m out like the 3rd strike.
Keep on Keepin,’

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Joy to the World

Once again its that special time of the year where we celebrate our Savior’s birth!  Spending time with friends and family, reminiscing of all the good time of the past.  Of all the memorable Christmas cards, Nativity plays and snowball fights.  Yes, the Christmas season can be the most wonderful time of the year for many. 
As I contemplate on this year’s holiday season, I’ll take the time to commemorate and send my condolences to the Samuel family.  My brother “Mann of Stat” lost his Nana this summer.  She lived to the blessed old age of 96 years old.  This will be the first Christmas that her five daughters won’t be able to celebrate with their mother.  Her passing without a doubt left a big hole in their hearts.  My thoughts and prayers will be with them and all the grandkids this year!
I also will remember the men and women in the Arned Forces.  Many will be on a tour of duty in the middle east and other various parts of the world.  While many will be in military hospitals nursing and rehabbing various ailments they sustained in the wars.  Most will be spending the holiday away from friends and family.  Let’s not forget those who serve that we might have our freedom.
Our foster care system in the U.S. is filled to capacity.  May God allow this Christmas season to bestow some good on the children in foster care.  Most of these children only want to be a part of a loving home and a family they can call their own.  As you know the holiday can be really hard on them this time of year.  Feelings of abandonment and unworthiness can set in.  As you spend time enjoying your kids and loved ones remember they in your prayers.
Each day is a gift from our Creator!  Continue to cherish each day and special events like its your last; not taking any days for granted!  I wish all the blogosphere a very “Merry Christmas!”  Big ups to Rochelle and her family!  May good health and prosperity be yours in 2013 and beyond!  I would like to wish a “Happy Kwanzaa” to Mr. Ed and “D.”  True diehard Eagles and Sixers fans.  And I can’t forget my fam!  Keep your heads yo and stay strong.
As I close, keep in mind; God and fam is really all we have.  Let’s set aside our differences, today , so that we can be the positive ancestors of tomorrow.
Peace and Goodwill to All!!
Chris Gregory
Copyright © 2012 by Chris Gregory

Monday, December 10, 2012

Adapting to Any Circumstance


Hotep,
On the door of cell 5316, there’s a sign that reads:  “Leroy E. Mann #0255136, Death Row.  No one is permitted without at least one officer.”  It’s been three days since I underwent my second Achilles heel surgery (11/9/12).  This journey is much different from the first.  The prison hospital is my temporary place of residence and let me tell you; it ain’t no picnic.  Word is bond!
Last year, I spent a great deal of my post-surgery recovery downstairs, on Pod 4.  If you’ve read my “On the Move” series, you’d know that my number one qualm about living downstairs is the fact that it isn’t a sports conducive environment.  Well, that time behind the Plexiglas, on Pod 4 doesn’t seem so bad – compared to this.
I haven’t had a disciplinary infraction in more than six years, yet I feel as though I’m being punished for my current medical condition.  I’m on a 24-hour lockdown status.  I’ve encountered a staff member who refuses to deliver or pick up my food trays.  Another staff member who has been reluctant about issuing my pain medication – as if my condition is some type of scam.  The doctor has prescribed that I stay off my left foot for six weeks.  Where’s the scam in that?  SMH.
The sign on door 5316 doesn’t indicate that I’m basically bed-ridden for six weeks.  It doesn’t indicate that this is my second Achilles heel surgery in less than a year’s time.  This sign merely instructs them to fear the inhabitant of cell 5316.  “Proceed with caution” would probably be more fitting.  Na mean?
I’m not the type of person who envelops being feared.  I will embrace any form of adversity, but being feared works for me like this year’s presidential election did for Governor Mitt Romney; you can’t win.  Ya heard?
It’s been said that people fear what they can’t understand.  In my case, I’m learning that people aren’t even trying to understand, for fear of learning the truth behind the sign.  As they choose to do no more than their state job requires them, the fear of learning they may be looking into the face of injustice will do far more to their psyche than I could ever do to them physically.
Crutches aren’t allowed in the hospital.  Ironically, a therapeutic walker is simply unavailable, at this time.  I’ve been hopping around on my right foot just to handle the smallest of tasks.  I bypassed four doses of my pain medication just to avoid potential verbal confrontations with the staff.  The pain in my leg isn’t overwhelming, but I can definitely feel the damage of that sign.  Feel me?
The sign on door 5316 makes it difficult for me to receive any type of medical assistance if any available officers decide to become unavailable.  The medical staff will simply move on to the next phase of their job, without the least bit of concern about the inhabitant of cell 5316.  That small piece of paper outside the door of 5316 carries a lot of weight, but it doesn’t bear all of the facts.  Real talk.
So here I am, wounded and scarred as I read and write to the cadence of my next door neighbor’s heart monitor.  Right now, six weeks in these living quarters would appear to be unbearable.  The weight of my cast – along with the sutures accessorizing my left inner thigh and ankle – isn’t the only hurdle I must overcome.
1997 is the last time I’ve had to endure a 24-hour lockdown status.  It wasn’t due to a disciplinary infraction either.  My trial was on the docket and the county jail feared my reputation as a murderer.  For 7 months, I went without television, newspapers or any social interaction with inmates.  Six weeks behind door 5316 is just another accomplishment waiting to happen.  Ya heard.?
Keep it 100,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Sunday, December 2, 2012

False Start


Hotep,
I think football fans around the globe would agree that the false start is probably the most frustrating penalty in the NFL rule book.  Think about it; the false start is indicative of a lack in continuity.  The anticipation of converting a 3rd down, or the imminence of the big play; thwarted by a lack of cohesiveness.  Na mean?
This football analogy describes my feelings to the hilt, after learning the postponement of my Achilles heel surgery.  What was supposed to have taken place on 10/26/12 (“Pump the Brakes”) has now been pushed back to 11/9/12.  SMH
In prison, whenever sudden changes come about, no explanation is given without a prisoner’s inquiry.  There is a handful of staff members that will do their best to keep you informed.  But the majority of the people in authority will give you the company line:  “I don’t know, but I’ll look into it for you.” SMH
However, if you possess the patience to call their “I’ll look into it for you” bluff, you’ll get a response similar to this:  “I called the prison hospital, but I keep getting voice mail.  I’ll keep trying though.”  I mean, WTF?!  Someone is always available in the prison hospital; it’s a hospital!  How is there no open line of communication amongst staff?  Does that not strike anyone in the blogosphere as odd?
I understand that certain precautions must be taken when transporting prisoners – whether it is for surgery, court or the general transfers to other prisons.  An attempted escape is always the administration biggest concern.  I get that, but I’m not that man.  Real talk.
You see, I’ve got little to gain in comparison to everything I have to lose by attempting to escape.  I’m not about to jeopardize that for the convenience of short-term thinking.  Believe that?
Besides, where would I go?  Who would I run to?  If I were to flee from my present circumstances, every person I love would be left behind in my wake.  Just take a look at some of the beautiful people who frequent this W.O.R.D. to the Masses platform.  The harassment they’d be subjected to isn’t something I’d want on my conscience.  Feel me?
There would be a bounty on my head with the terms, “Dead or Alive” attached to it.  That’s not the type of freedom I’m looking forward to.  Good people are counting on me to prove my detractors wrong, ya heard?
Whew!! Forgive me if I’m coming off as a little too huffy.  The negligence of my health; my case; or my mail tends to spike my blood pressure a bit.  Your ear has been therapeutic to my plight, Blogosphere.  Asante?  I can exhale with ease now.
In closing, allow me to say this:  my form of freedom consists of me walking there American streets – far from the shadows of seclusion – with my head held high.  So, C’mon!  Let’s all get lined up; get on the same page and bring the big play to fruition.  The corrective surgery for my Achilles heel is my only agenda – concerning my upcoming travels.  There’s no need to call an audible; just run the play, people.  My freedom will come the same way I lost it; in court.  That’s what’s up!!
Nuff Said,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Monday, November 26, 2012

Pump the Brakes: on the Move again?


Hotep,
A little over 10 months have passed since I had surgery on my left Achilles heel.  Dr. C. was quite optimistic, up to the 4th month of my recovery.  A small indention in the middle of my Achilles tendon is what raised his concerns.  I, however, was making vast improvement with my therapeutic exercises, so I felt the good doctor’s concerns were a bit premature.  I’m beginning to learn the doctor knows best.  Who knew?
I mean, I’ve been doing squats with free weights – problem free.  Doing step-ups with dumbbells; no problem.  I’m running wind sprints with my man, Dushame.  Can you blame me for feeling as though a full recovery would be imminent?  Well, my aspirations lost some steam when I came to the conclusion that a full extended calf raise – using my left foot – just isnt’ going to happen.  SMH.
My left Achilles heel didn’t mend the way the good doctor projected it would.  So, his follow-up prognosis is simple:  another surgery in which he’ll use tissue from my hamstring to graft the Achilles tendon.  So here we go again, another holiday season; another adventurous recovery.  Na mean?
By the time this goes to press, the surgery will be past tense (10/26/12).  While you’re processing this information, I should be out of the recommended soft cast and reunited with the RV ankle weight, better known as “Philly.” It’s a rough was to begin the holiday season, but I must admit; I won’t be defeated by the challenge that lies ahead.  Feel me?
I recently read an article about a 64 year old tri-athlete.  Nancy Avitabile swims a mile in 34 minutes and 38 seconds.  It only takes her 1 hour and 16 minutes to pedal a bike 25 miles.  And she only needs 51 minutes and 40 seconds to complete a 10K run.  Now, that makes my Kunta Kinte Thing look like a complete stand still.  Word is bond!
Nancy’s athletic accomplishments are just the boost I need to get on the move again.  This time I’ll do things differently.  My initial recovery time will be spent in the new prison hospital.  From what I’ve been told, television is not an option.  So, I’ll miss a couple of weeks of football.  But, considering the way my Eagles are playing.  That might not be such a bad thing.  LMAO.  Hopefully, I won’t have a need for crutches when I’m discharged from the prison hospital. 
It’ll be hitting you with literary napalm from my hospital bed because the less I’m on my feet; makes for a smooth process of getting back on them.  Ya heard?  I feel confident about this surgery going down, without a glitch.  But, nothing is guaranteed when your body is under the influence of anesthesia, so I’m making the most of this gracious opportunity to remind the masses of the joy I feel when I’m engaged in our cyber connection.  Asante, Blogosphere!!
I hope that I’ve given you a reason to add a little more kindness to your hearts.  Life can’t be as bad as you think.  Just keep me on your screen and I’ll show you that the truth is more fulfilling than the method. 
May your holidays be full of glee, and your New Year be prosperous.  Happy Kwanzaa to all and continue to fight the good fight.  Na mean?
Peace and Love,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann


Editor's NoteYour MannofStat's operation took place on November 9, 2012.  It was successful and he is recuperating in the hospital.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

A Thankful Mann

Hotep,
It’s good to be alive.  I mean, despite all of the drama surrounding my existence and the many days of watching time go by, like balloons in the sky, I am truly thankful for another opportunity to be so much more than my circumstance.  In so many ways, The Most Gracious ONE has given me much to be thankful for.  So this Thanksgiving post goes out to any and every one reading between the lines of this post.  If a particular category reaches you; then yes!  I’m talking to you.
First and foremost; the everlasting support system comprised of family members and loved ones around the globe is a gift that keeps on giving.  Thanks for the love, my Peoples.  It’s this type of love that puts me in constant interaction with youngstas seeking advice, from someone who’s been where they’re going, mentally and emotionally.  That is something worthy of thanks.  Peachy days are rare inside this box, but the sense of relevance relieves the anguish of my physical limitations.  Feel me?
How could a Mann not be thankful for the barriers put before him, as a means of derailing his progression?  I am so thankful for the word, “Impossible.” It’s the fuel that drives me to exceed the expectations of the so-called “experts.” Holla if ya hear me, People:  The only expert on the heights of my capabilities is The Most Gracious ONE, himself.  So, no expert of man can adequately deem the aspirations of a Mann as impossible.  Ya heard?
A great champion of men once said:
“Impossible is not a fact.  It is an opinion.  Impossible is not a declaration.  It is a dare.  Impossible is potential.  Impossible is temporary.  Impossible is nothing.” With that said; it’s only right that I’m thankful for those that suffered persecution, state sanctioned bondage, and threats of death, long before I had to experience it.  Their blueprint is encouragement for the mighty task I have ahead of me.  Word is bond!
My connection to the Creator goes far beyond the worldly understanding of thankfulness.  My infinite gratitude is the foundation for my daily walk.  The enemy will continue to step into my path; and for that, I have to be thankful.  Why?  Well, I believe the enemy comes in the form of detractors, haters and backstabbers.  To encounter them, is to know them.  To know them, is to empathize with them.  We empathize with them because at some point and time we were them.
I’m thankful for love of self, and the recognition of my human flaws.  So loving you is not incomprehensible.  Ya heard?
Keep it 100,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Lights Out

Hotep,
The public art display of internationally renowned artist Rafael Lozano – Hemmer graced the skyline of my city this fall.  “Open Air” is an artful expression that entails 24 search lights placed around the Ben Franklin Parkway.  Every night from 9/20/12 – 10/14/12, the lights could be seen from a 10 mile – radius around the city.  The lights created “light sculptures” that changed based on the frequency of people’s voices.
Nightlife in Philly has changed a great deal since I last frequented my home metropolis, but all the same; I’m drawn to this feel good effect of light within the darkness of night.  As extreme as this artful display may have seemed, it may have been a necessary exhibition for those who feel encaged by darkness.  So, put your seatbelts on blogosphere.  I’m about to make a sharp turn to the point of this literary expression.
The death row housing unit prepares for lockdown every night at 10:55pm.  “Five minutes til lockdown.” The sometime turgid command coming through the loudspeaker indicates the end of the “enclosed liberties” for that particular day.  Before I report to my assigned cell, I give acknowledgement to my inner circle (Bigg Dogg, Dushame, Smoke-Digga, Bucktown and Streez) with a pound.  I acknowledge the rest of the block with a simple: “In the A.M.” or “Next day.”  Five words to live by.  Na mean?
You see, I’ve learned that living on death row can breed fatal thoughts of suicide (R.I.P. Eric Queen, a.k.a. E-Boogie).  That 10:55 acknowledgement could be the difference between a person assisting the state by carrying out their own death sentence; or someone getting up for breakfast the next day.  If I can encourage someone to fight another day, I’ll rest a little easier when the lights go out.  Feel me?
When the lights go out in prison, the atmosphere changes.  For some; life stands still and the anticipation for social interaction becomes a lengthy countdown.  For others; the level of creativity is enhanced by the stillness of the penitentiary darkness.
W2TM is a firework that’s ignited when the lights go out.  As the author of this firework, it’s my duty to shed light where darkness normally prevails.  In saying that; I’m a firm believer in speaking the nonexistent into existence.  The worst of our circumstances can be like walking into a dark room.  A room unfamiliar to us, which makes finding the light switch that much more of a task.
What’s most difficult about understanding the darkness of our circumstances is the patience behind our anticipation to see the light.  Our vision will eventually adjust to the darkness.  With patience, we can see our way through the darkness, and find that light switch that we should all be drawn to.  Just because the lights are out, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re trapped in the dark.  Ya heard?
Be Easy,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Feeling the Burn


Hotep,
“Feeling the Burn” is a common term used in the confines of the penitentiary weight pile.  The burn represents the diligence of the muscle being used to complete a particular exercise.  The burn is also the body’s recognition of physical progression, the mental aspect being; your establishment of the will to endure higher degrees of muscle discomfort for the benefit of physical growth.  Na mean?
Now, allow me to switch gears and accelerate into the realm of mental calisthenics:
If a person plays with matches, eventually they’ll get burned.  The physical sting of a match burn may be just enough to compel this person to cease striking matches, but that’s not always the case.  Some may need a more extreme circumstance to acknowledge the damage a burning match can do.  Sometimes the burn has to go much deeper than a mere flesh wound.  Feel me?
A person may strike one match too many before he/she realizes the living room drapes have caught fire.  Then it’s the wall-to-wall carpeting and sectional couch that wears the flames.  This person may give his/her best effort to extinguish the flames, but quickly learns that their only option is to protect his/her fam and allow the fire to run its course.  Stay with me people.  I’m almost there.  Aight?
The trauma of losing everything you knew as “home” would be devastating enough.  The realization that you were responsible for this grave loss burns much deeper than any singed finger.  It’s an experience that reminds you of why you shouldn’t play with matches.  Word is bond!
You see, the reasoning behind this cautionary tale is I can deeply relate with anyone whose poor choice led to a traumatic event.  The internal burn can be devastating.  Womanizing is the match that torched everything I knew to be “home.”  It has charred my image to those believed to be my friends and until recently, seared my connection to society.
I’ve been burned and I’ve learned.  When I say:  “I’m done!” Believe me, I’m done.  Life on death row has been more than a scorching reminder of my poor choice to strike one match too many.  But, the sweet dream that lies within this living nightmare is an exemplification that good will endure the most horrific events.  Like the muscle enduring the burn; progress is inevitable, burning my loved ones, no longer is.  The burning match has been extinguished.  Ya heard?
Keep it 100,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Sunday, October 14, 2012

The Gestation of a Culture: I’m Missing You, Volume 3

I was born in 1979; the last of a dying breed.  As a kid growing up in the mid-late 80’s, Hip-Hop Rap was climbing the charts.  The music began to get very loud and throughout my neighborhood, speakers started to make a lot of noise.  In my bed at night I could hear the beats of Eric B and the rhyme of Rakim.  I could hear police sirens in the distance as KRS-ONE “that’s the sound of the police” came through the walls, either from my cousin’s bedroom, the row-house next door of the streets below.  This was New Jersey, Philly, New York, and the metropolitan north. 
The Hip Hop sounds of expression took me in as I developed premature thoughts of my surrounding society.  I wasn’t a menace; I was only what 7, 8, 9 maybe 10 years old?  LL Cool J’s “I’m bad” and the B-boys Kids on the block, everything around me, the Tasty Cakes, big tubs of sherbet ice cream (everyone grab a spoon).  All these things to me are what I remember about genuine Hip hop.
I was still too young to understand a lot of the slang and the lyrics in Rap, but I understood “F**k the Police” and the meaning of N.W.A.  I understood artist like Scarface, Ice Cube and Easy E, they didn’t just rhyme, and they were rapping about everyday life.  People were fighting to live and struggling to be heard.  Hip hop rap was the voice for regular people who needed to express the real deal. 
As I got older, the game out west took hip hop to another level.  I learned when you express yourself and speak out about injustice and oppression; your oppressor will put forth great effort to keep you silent.  The government or those in authority will even take action to prevent the masses from hearing you, but one the music gets out, you can’t stop people from listening.
Hip hop rap was no longer just music, but now it had become a revolution and with the 90’s, things evolved.  I got older and my years in the incubator were over.  I started listening to the old school songs over and over until I got a better understanding.  Songs like KRS ONE’s “Black Cop” or Rakim’s “Follow the Leader.”  Finally someone rapped about U-N-I-T-Y and it wasn’t a man.  Thanks Queen Latifah. 
Artist started finding out it was cool to challenge the status quo, customs and structure of things, like religion and so forth.  Nothing was exempt from the lyrical content.  Whether it was a “Death Certificate,” “Lethal injection,” or simply a ghetto bird, I understood rappers weren’t just making noise, but all this time they were protesting.  The lyrics had a meaning and the music became a movement.  That’s what I miss about Hip hop today.
Too much material and not enough substance.  There was once a purpose, a fighting cause for being a rapper.  Even in the mid to late 90’s rap was still argumentative.  Artist like Tupac, Richie Rich, Pastor Troy, Nas Biggie, and many more challenged listeners to use their minds and think four themselves.  It’s no wonder the movie Matrix came out in the 90’s.  Songs like: “Do G’s get to go to heaven,” Bone Thugs “Crossroads,” 2Pac “I wonder if heaven got a ghetto,” and “Blasphemy,” can’t forget Pastor Troy “vice versa.” Songs that asked for the listener to free their mind. 
Hip hop rap is a way to release the chains and limits and design your own outer limits.  A good artist will make you question the American way with its traditional values and beliefs, but more importantly hip hop reminded me that “Only God can judge me.”  Songs use to be more inspirational, not in a gospel way, but in the spirit of a warriors way.  And much respect given to the new school real hip hop you know who you are.  Because of where I am, I’m missing you.
Be Easy,
Dushame, a.k.a., J-Rock

Sunday, October 7, 2012

The Gestation of a Culture: Monumental Volume 2


The revolution has been televised in the form of hip-hop.  It has gone from the gritty streets of the Bronx to the halls of the White House, where a black man now sits as a president.  Imagine that.  I doubt Africa Bambata did or ever Kurtis Blow when he rapped, “If I ruled the world.” Yet what once seemed impossible has been achieved.  A black man is president of the United States, and not just any black man, but one who is truly of the generation that birthed hip-hop. 
Check the footage.  When political dirt was thrown at President Obama during his campaign he “brushed the dirt off his shoulder” – a gesture inspired by Jay-Z and showing the world his roots.  Dig, the first lady can do the “Dougie.” Look how far hip-hop has come.  Need I say more?
Despite its flaws and shortcomings, or perhaps in spite of them, hip-hop is the most prolific form of music ever.  No other music has accomplished more.  Just as the Negro spirituals and songs of the civil rights era motivated our ancestors to persevere in the struggle and strive for improvement, hip-hop is doing the same.  Though of humble beginnings, hip-hop has propelled our generation to heights no one would have ever imagined possible.  Yeah, “that black music” is lifting us back to glory.
Now though hip-hop was started by black people and is sometimes referred to as “black music,” it has crossed racial barriers and become universal, embraced by people of all nationalities and walks of life all around the world.  You need only look around you to see how enormous hip-hop has become.
Hip-hop has journeyed from Bronx River projects to corporate offices around the world.  Multibillion dollar companies like McDonalds and Coca-Cola have incorporated hip-hop music in their advertisements.  More than a few politicians have used rap or rappers in an effort to broaden their voter field.  Isn’t it amazing?  What was once considered just a fad has become the loudest voice in the world. 
Hip-hop is the sounding board of the world.  This is evident in its influence on society.  Issues – mundane and critical – can be realized through hip-hop music.  You want to know about the latest fashion?  Listen to hip-hop.  You want to know what happened of significance in Florida?  Chances are there is a rap song about it.  Trayvon Martin!!!  Google it.  Such is the significance of hip-hop in our social affairs.
Many people who would have been unsuccessful in life have found success through hip-hop, lifting themselves up from bad situations.  They have become pillars of society.  They provide for family and friends are advocates for their communities.  They are the true voice of the people. 
Let me sign off in the words of Pete Rock and Smif –n-Wesson…
Monumental
Rodney Taylor a.k.a. Bucktown
Copyright © 2012 by Rodney Taylor

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

The Gestation of a Culture


Hotep,

Hip-Hop is an awakening.  Since its origin, it has linked us to a glorious past.  From The Treacherous 3, to Rick Ross, hip-hop has been the speaker box of our struggle.  Xclan, Public Enemy and KRS-ONE gave us a reason to pump our fist with pride, but they never let us forget that the foundation for hip-hop is the dismantling of a nation once draped in royalty.  Word is bond!
The evolution of hip-hop has revitalized the legacy of our royalty.  This upcoming journey will guide you through our ancestral struggles and give you a look from the pinnacle of an evolved culture.
Mr. Blue, Bucktown and Dushame, a.k.a., “J-Rock,” are rolling down the windows and your MannofStat is pushing the pedal to the floor.  So brace yourself blogosphere; here comes the realness!  Put your face in the wind and let it do what it do.  Ya heard?
Keep it 100,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann
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The Blueprint of Hip-Hop, Volume 1
 In George G.M. James’ classic work, Stolen Legacy, he clearly establishes for people of African descent our undeniable link to the motherland.  This is a link, which in spite of the worst brutalization ever committed against a people that continues to this day – can never be broken.
People stand in awe of black people throughout the world.  Incredulous that despite discrimination, hatred, bigotry, rape and a concerted, worldwide white-supremacy genocidal campaign to demoralize and destroy dark-skinned peoples – we not only survive; we thrive.
There is no other people on earth who could have withstood this onslaught without becoming extinct.  It is a phenomenon that defies all reason until we begin to examine the link to a glorious past and our relation to the builders of the first civilization known to man.
That is our foundation, the roots of which will sprout an awakening, a new consciousness; a new beginning.  From this awakening must stem an understanding that war is being waged against black people.
With this new consciousness must spring the realization that from – Queen Hatshepsut – Nzinga - Shaka Zulu – Kunta Kinte – Booker T. Washington – W.E.B. Duboise – Marcus Garvey – Martin Delaney – Nat Turner – Gabriel Prosser – David Walker – Sojourner Truth – Harriet Tubman – Ida B. Wells – Paul Robeson – Malcolm – Martin – Medgar Evers – Fannie Lou Hamer and Nelson Mandela to you and I, it is the same struggle; it is universal.
Our new beginning won’t occur without recognition of our links.  The brothers and sisters chained in the holes of slave ships were from different nations, but here the same people engaged in the same fight.  And we are without a doubt, their descendants. 
I don’t like the fact that I’m on death row, but I draw strength from those who came before me. I am a better man for having met Leroy Elwood Mann.  His vision is timeless and his spirit is infectious.  It is an honor for me to struggle alongside him.  I will give every fiber of my being for those who will come after me and I thank God for the opportunity.  There is no me without we.
One,

Mr. Blue
Copyright © 2012 by Paul Brown

Sunday, September 23, 2012

One More for Deuce


Note:  This post was written on the eve of my 44th birthday (7/21/2012).  The Mann legacy continues to roll on and on like a rolling stone.

Hotep,
Looking at the pictures of my grandseed is a humbling experience.  By the time this goes to press, the nativity of my granddaughter, Daleah Janeice Mann, a.k.a. Tear, will be warming the heart of this G-Dad, another brick in the fortress of the Mann legacy.  Ya heard?
The baby girl will forever be her G-Dad’s Summer Breeze, but as the seasons change, her older brother Daveante Elwood Mann, Jr., a.k.a. Deuce grows one year older.  He continues to light up my life with his shiny smile and the dreamy brown eyes of every Mann before him.  That’s what’s up! 
To some, four years of existence in this cold world doesn’t come close to the relevance of living a full life.  Well, reading my Nana’s obituary helped me to realize that every root, branch or stem of my family tree is worthy of celebration.  Na mean?
I’m not going to wait until my grandson graduates Kiddie College or receive a basketball scholarship to USC to tell him how proud I am that he’s a part of me.  Here and now is the prime opportunity to just say:  I love you, Lil’ Mann.  You inspire me to be a much better Mann than I was the day before.  Feel me?
The roots of our family tree were cultivated by the hands of honor, moxy and reverence.  A crisis of today doesn’t stagnate the progression of tomorrow.  My will to live flows through the post-toddler veins you now possess, Deuce.  As you continue to grow, just keep in mind that your existence was predestined. 
Long before Daveante Sr. met Jessica; Long before Leroy Jr. meet Tweedy; Long before Julius met Rachel; the Creator knew what your existence would mean to me, Deuce.  He knew that one day I’d need to see the face of my future to understand how to turn the key of my existence.  Word is bond!
I can only imagine how advanced technology will have become by the time you and your baby sis are knowledgeable enough to operate the necessary software – linking you to the realness of your East Coast lineage.  My story is your history, Lil’ Mann.  Don’t attempt to follow in my footsteps.  All I ask is that you acknowledge them as you blaze you own trail.  Aight?
Happy Birthday, Deuce!!  Your 4th year is just as relevant as my 44th. Ya heard?
Much Love,

G-Dad, a.k.a.
MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Potential


“You can lose your heart, but keep your head.”
-          The Conversation

Hotep,
The jewel above was spoken by the grandmother of bestselling author, Hill Harper.  I came across these words of wisdom while reading, “The Conversation,” written by Hill.  The read has taught me that anyone who has experienced a failed relationship carries some form of emotional baggage.  Now, I realize this is a sensitive matter for some.  So before you replace this expression with your screen-saver; just hear me out.  Aight?
A failed relationship is a small portion of life’s letdowns.  Life’s letdowns can be a needed push into reaching our potential.  I’m a firm believer that reaching your potential is about effort and attitude.  Keeping your head is a must.  Na mean?
Potential may apply to the 8th grader with the wicked jumpshot, but the middle-aged adult who’s recently grasped hi calling isn’t short on potential either.  I mean, I write what I live.  My mission has always been about giving the masses a view from the inside.  In doing so, my daily expression have caught the ears and eyes of countries around the globe.  My life experience is gradually becoming a picture screen to the world.  Feel me?
Reading The Conversation has been more than an insightful experience.  I felt like I was looking in the mirror when I came across this particular quote:  “True power lies in our ability to create, to make something out of nothing, to invent in a way where there was no way, and to build what others had only envisioned.  That ability is potential.”  That’s definitely what’s up!!
This W2TM platform is notw something that stemmed from a life that is considered nothing.  I give my Creator all the glory for making a way out of no way.  Despite my shortcomings, periodical disappointments and various heartbreaks, my potential continues to thrive.  And God knows I’ve had some heartbreaks that would make me hold my breath if love was in the air.  Real talk.
My personal view of potential isn’t far-fetched.  Think about it:  Earvin “Magic” Johnson closed out a stellar pro basketball career with his announcement that he’d contracted the HIV virus.  Throughout his NBA career, most fans equated his potential with his ability to win championships for the city of Los Angeles.  In hindsight, we can see that he hadn’t even scratched the surface of his true potential until he hung up his kicks and passed the torch to “Air” Jordan.  Na mean?
Magic changed the world’s view of HIV.  I can remember saying: “If he can get it, anybody can.”  Magic taught us that HIV wasn’t about your sexual preference; it was about living a risky lifestyle.  But most importantly; Magic taught us that HIV doesn’t have to be a death sentence.  Can you feel where I’m going with this, blogosphere?
Two decades have passes and Magic continues to grace us with his Hollywood smile.  He is now more successful than he’s ever been on the court.  Magic had to fight for his life to reach his true potential.  And here I am doing the same.  Word is bond!
I’ll continue to fight for my life with the zeal of a champion, while understanding that whatever I may face is nothing anyone hasn’t faced before.  Ya heard?
“Whatever is has already been, and what will be has been before; and God will call the past to account.”
-          Ecclesiastes 3:15
Nuff Said,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann