beyond the veil of prejudice, there’s no doubt of who built the pyramids. if the advanced nature of [all of] ancient africa doesn’t outweigh the burden of proof, look no further than the american creations of their descendants. the explosive innovation of jazz + hip-hop cultures, sprung from the same oppressive dystopia, stand as proof of the african ability to do the unthinkable.
with all due respect, the historical artistry of europe took root in favorably fertile soil; a social hierarchy, that regarded the arts as an esoteric gift — a passion reserved for the opulent — was conducive to and encouraged the intellectual growth + expression that formed its periodic legacies.
jazz, a genre of unrivaled intricacy and a shining emblem of brilliance, shattered the glass ceiling of artistic expression that claimed the integrity of millions prior. pinned beneath the jim crow’s steel heel, we flaunted our inherited intellect in the face of an oppression that spanned so vast and so wide, laying the foundation for what was to come.
then, in a time when raining crack rocks split the trunks of our family trees, our branches reached forth with resilience, bearing an especially special kind of fruit. one with a bitter pit and acidic, yet savory, flesh beneath its ripe, vibrant skin. a taste as unpalatable as it is captivating.
with shackled hands, we shaped the colonizer’s language into a spear, and used it to pierce the white-washed fabric of our blindfold. out of piss-stenched staircases, blood-stained cement and the opaque fog of an erased history came the most unexpected yet compelling facet of american culture thus far.
who needs aliens?