At 5 feet 10 inches tall, weighing in at 155 pounds, soaking wet, fresh from off the streets of the urban ghetto fast lane life that goes on within the big bright city lights of the so-called proud and boastful « land of the free ». But if you’d ask this young kid what exactly do you mean, he’d probably tell you back then in the year 1991 it was all about hustling and survival of the fittest. Young Randy would be his name, and in that era of time, what young kids and pre-adult teens nowadays call “Thug Life” was his game.

Only difference is, back then in those days, “Thug Life” was not considered a privilege, nor a way to glamorize or glorify a hip hop trend, but indeed they way to survive, and the only way to survive.

In those days, it was “get over” or “get messed over” by what we called “the man”, and the well fortunate.

Translated in modern terms, as the “status quo” and the upper-middle class/elite suburban livelihood of the fortunate.

Because at the tender age of 18, and already with great responsibilities of raising a baby, and taking care of her young/uneducated mother, for young Randy, it was all about Get money – Take money. Aside from family, and my neighbourhood, we simply call “The Hood”, nothing else really mattered. God didn’t visit my hood, nor my home, so I thought, only “the Man”, be the policemen or bill collectors, and they were always considered the enemy of the poor underprivileged. Simply because their motto was/ have always been, to take away what little you have left of value and significant meaning to you. So whereas, to others a man/woman of uniform is considered a friend, a protector, a person of great dignity, they were just the opposite to us. The young hustlers, the drug dealers, the gang bangers of my era was our neighbourhood Robin Hoods. We were the heroes, because we robbed/stole from the rich, and we gave back to the poor, [or so we thought]. The cops were the real crooks, the real drug dealers, murderers, rapist that lurks throughout the crevices of our back alley streets.

It was their evils that brought death to our communities, with all the poison they dumped in our community through the disguise of drugs. It was the drugs and the capitalist mind set that murdered and raped every black face that was subjected to live in such infested environment. Because almost every one I knew either was a user or a dealer, or a holder for someone else. Either way, one’s hands were always inside of the cookie jar, involved one way or another.

But this was my reality, this was all I knew! They say dreams are from on high, no man alone can create but for me, hopes and dreams was all I had as a form of hope for a better and brighter future.

But whether sunny or gray, we were gonna do whatever means necessary to make money to feed our families, and survive the struggle. “Make me or break me” is what we called it, and being born in the struggle, none of what we saw or experienced on a daily basis was new to us; and so being broken (spiritually and mentally) was never an option [or so we thought]. It wasn’t until 7 years later, that my conscious spirit seemed to be reposed on me. At age 25, a young stellar African American man that went by the name of Greer-Bey, reflects back on the days of his childhood youth from the jungles of the streets that he once considered his safe haven.

Thinking of how it used to be, and the “what ifs”, crosses his now conscientious reformed mind.

He is quite bitter of his circumstances, as he awaits his visit to appear before his cage in the visitation room on Texas Death Row. He is awaken by the very first words of his visit from his then 7 years old baby girl “Sharita Charmaine”, Daddy-Daddy my mommy said she loves you and that she is sorry she couldn’t come to see you. Greer-Bey smiles and gives his baby girl a look of assurance and acceptance, and ask her to give him a kiss, even though there is no possible way she could physically touch him because of the heavily guarded thick glass bullet proof partition that separates them ; they still manage to show form of love, compassion, affection that only a father and daughter would ever understand.

Eight years later, Greer-Bey still dreams, only now, I do so through the eyes for my now 15 year-old daughter. At age 33, a now older but much wiser and mature Randy Greer is on a path of enlightenment like never before. No longer addresses himself as Greer-Bey however still embracing the attributes attached to his last name, as a tribute to the principle teachings of a poor righteous Black nationalist/socialist teacher/messenger of a social conscious movement by the name of Moorish Science Temple of America.

A group of brothers that helped him awaken my spirit from a dead sleep that was politically, socially and psychologically non existent. Amun smiles as he thinks back on the once deprived youth he was of equal opportunity and justice to make something of himself. No longer bitter, no longer angry, Amun accepts the good with the bad, but pauses to say, in a melody buth mild manner “people think that they know, they know that they know, but nobody ever actually knows, lest he or she be or experience that in which he knows!”

Thug Life they think began with slain icon hip hop late great rapper Tupar Amaru Shakur, and died when he died on September 13, 1996, but Thug Life was before the man whom called himself Makaveli The Don, and have and shall continue to live on even after him…Criminals aren’t born by genetics as the status quo/the system would have you to believe. True – their born into this systematic demonized oppression, that feeds off blood being shed. But criminals are made, by the same society that now says they are unfit, unworthy, unsafe to even breathe/exist.

And with more stricter/heavier prison sentences being handed down within their judicial system court of law everyday, and no method/practices of rehabilitation programs being no longer funded by government aid assistance package programs ; more and more crimes rates are on a rise all time high! And while the politicians such as George W Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Robert Gates, Governor of Texas Rick Perry, whom by the way was just re-elected again to preside over the state of Texas, as well as executions in Texas. There is a game that is being played. Sad to say, the joke is on the American people, as well as the entire world. The most saddening part that I deal with and face on a daily basis, is how it particularly affects the communities of the under class/least fortunate by which I come from, and as far as I’m concerned is still very much a part of.

Young people of the world, of our future, I stand here as a means of sharing with you this pregnant moment, in hopes that possibly what very little inside view I’ve allowed you to see inside of the world and reality in which I live, may rouse your commitment to self, to your families, your friends and communities, to make a difference. To actively share in this struggle to make a change in the way we as a whole human race is so divided and misled.

I’ve shared a small portion of my life with you to help you understand that, even though you may feel down and out, depressed, frustrated or even on the verge of giving up; don’t stop, stay in school, and don’t be nobody else’s fool. Because knowledge is power, and knowledge can empower you as an individual in the assisting of helping you to become a very meaningful asset for the Human Rights/Equal Justice. When you think how bad you got it, always remember that there is somebody else on the other side of the fence that is in a worse position than yours.

Tonight is November 8th , 2006, and tonight I lost another good friend to the Texas Death Machine, Willie Shannon was the 24th person/human being that was murdered by the state of Texas this year.

Compliments of President George W Bush, Governor of Texas Rick Perry, The TX Attorney General, the Court of Criminal Appeals, the Federal Court of Appeals, the US Fifth Circuit of Appeals, and last but not least, the highest court in the land, the US Supreme Court! No Justice – No Peace! Head held high, disappointed but not defeated, with a twist of fear what awaits him in the unknown, Willie Shannon, my friend waked up out of here in chains and shackled ankles to be led to his death! While members of a Death Row Prison Activist group “DRIVE” held non-violent protests! As I address the officials of my demonstrations, by refusing to eat or accept anything the prison administration tried to force upon me today, I think of my dear friend Willie. Three tears fall from my left eye and I hold my clenched fist high in the air, symbolizing Power to the Power. The Oppressed – the Poor – the Crying Voice that have for so long went unheard!

The Cries of Texas Death Row shall go unheard no longer…

“Still Black – Still Strong”

All Eyez On Me

For those who would like to write to Amun or would like to just read more about him (the man in the mirror), go to : http://site.voila.fr/amunreakhenaton

Or write to :

Amun.Akhenaton

In/Care/Of Mr Randy M Greer

#999042

Polunsky Unit

3872 FM 350 South

Livingston, TX 77351

USA

D.R.I.V.E.

DEATH Row INNER-COMMUNALIST VANGUARD ENGAGEMENT