What do you do when tradition stifles your artistry?… When the daily humdrum of routine life emits a high pitch bore that makes you grab your head and scream for the monotony to STOP? When words like “I get out, I get out of all your boxes
I get out, you can’t hold me in these chains/I’ll get out/Father free me from this bondage/Knowin’ my condition/Is the reason I must change” pervade your thoughts like neurotransmitters? How do you face a bland tomorrow with fidelity to the creative creature inside rejecting its endemic repression?
I imagine that this is a fight that I am suppose to lose so that I win. I imagine that surrender to the Creator’s creativity surfing inside His creature is a “dying to self” decision where the battle ONLY manifests when the inevitable is suppressed to assimilate for the acceptance of fickle beings with capricious heart conditions.
Is this a vocabulary lesson? Nope.
This is the onset of an unleashing. This is a “because I felt like it” fro, gold Adidas, stretch pants with a Wu-Tang baby tee while teaching teachers how to tap into the attention span of teenagers who care nothing about you or what you have to say unless you ask questions that make them curious and spat info that makes them tick, literally … from the pit of a university lecture hall.
This is the “oh shit!” moment that nay sayers refuse to regard. The essence of a “come forth.” This is the “under the influence of what is Greater than the hemispheres encased between my ears in submission to words worthiest of my hearing and doing.” The absolute attribute to a reintroduction of myself, to myself, post death of pimped butterfly. Lathered in faith; dripping purpose. I am exposed.
I won’t support your lie no more/I won’t even try no more/If I have to die, oh Lord/That’s how I choose to live…Oh, just get out/Of this social purgatory/Just get out/All these traditions are a lie/Just get out/Superstition killing freedom/Knowin’ my condition/Is the reason I must die.
Lyrics by Lauryn Hill, “I Get Out”