"I can take you archaeological digging, or I can let you barely scratch the surface. The choice is yours" ~Kai Anerahs
Loading New Ep Drop 88%

Eye know what you think you see. But you have no eyedea. ether between my ears, galaxies in my being, blood🔴 that’s seen many moons and breath of the great sky. eye come from a people long forgotten, but forged in the throne room of every mind in this place. our babies left to fend against parasitic consumerism described as “culture” devouring their essence with division and aiming to re-place it with plastic. woes but a lab…..❌ well things are heating up what is not fortified will melt and the non perishables will not be in your cans. – 🔼 on us, there will be lables, titles, definitions even perspectives and all kinds of word sorcery to keep us from us – 🔽we are organic and fluid, water, divine conduits NEVER meant to be hardend and diced up and broken down or man-ufactured. Meant to be unrefined, unified, whole. Fact is, what makes water the strongest element on earth, that fortification, is its ability to achieve molecular unity, and movement as it sustains life, we first live in water. If you pour water in a kitchen calendar it will keep moving pass it.⭕ –  to let you know what “time” it is : this person you see will not live the same “calendar” year over and over and over again. she will run like an unstoppable river bound by nothing and wake everyone she touches. and if you think you know what that means hold the definitions as they will not sufice.  – its as simple as this: When you were looking for that thing you thought you lost the other day and you found it in a place you already “looked”. and if it was a snake it would bite you. Not because the snake is your enemy, your lack of intuition and focus is…. the genesis of the war that you face is behind yours. *alarm clock goes off* —-  this is not entertainment but can be if your mind & heart is in the same place (should be)

Body of Work

Audio visual experiences
Poems & Sigils

What Happens to “love” deferred ?
Does it dry up like wheat in the sun? Or flow like a river— And then run? Does it stink like journeying bare feet? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just trips like a long road. Or does it explode?

“Heart’em” by Kai Anerahs Adapted from Langston Hughes‘s “Harlem”