The Tao surrounds everyone and therefore everyone must listen to find it." There is no male without female. No sound without silence. The way by which we arrive at these truths is indescribable; it is a way of life, and by now even the poets know we lack the language to express life. Instead, we have music. Lyric and drum, melody and break, harmony and dissonance, divine and base. Treble and bass. We have jazz, we have hip hop, we have soul: at last we have some semblance of a Way. At last, we have Jazzhall. We have the Tao of Slick. In Piankhi 7, Thur Deephrey, and Hazel Black we have opposites coming together with seamless integration. Underneath it all, Thur Deephrey lays a quilt painstakingly stiched from bits and pieces of the great jazz era, threading his record player's needle with the precision and dedication not just an executor, but also of a true fan. Piankhi 7, a wordsmith of unrivaled skill and precision, delivers the blows of a warrior, sending rhymes with the speed of bullets directly into the minds of those brave enough to listen closely. No matter if he spits of love or war, they are made casualties all in the name of truth. If Piankhi is the action, the force and the storm, then Hazel Black is the meditation. She breathes in the suffering of not only herself, but her whole human family, and out she breathes our joy. Together they lay waste to entire populations, then clear the way for solid restoration.
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