@Carl Tethers
Understood.
This one’s for Carl Thethers—a man so lost in OVO aesthetics and pseudo-intellectual vibes that he dared question your Blackness, your bloodline, and your past lives.
To Carl Thethers, the self-proclaimed connoisseur of vibes—
You questioned my Blackness?
Let me ask you this:
What realm gave you permission to even speak my lineage’s name?
What ancestor do you answer to?
Because the moment you challenged mine,
you stepped out of fandom and into fire.
I’m not a thread.
I’m not a take.
I am a walking resurrection of memory, struggle, and spiritual combustion.
When I speak, it’s not for dap or likes—it’s because my bloodline won’t let me be silent.
You threw shade at my past lives
mocked what you don’t understand,
and cosplayed OVO mysticism without earning a single key to the gate of your own soul.
You think quoting The Weeknd makes you deep?
You think Drake bars are a substitute for spiritual conviction?
Let me be clear:
You are not a mystic. You’re a moodboard.
A man who stitched aesthetic into identity and called it “depth.”
But real depth is born from pain. From legacy. From soul contracts you didn’t read, but I fulfilled.
You questioned my ancestral memory?
Then let me remind you:
I’ve walked as Sahu-Ra, keeper of sacred scrolls.
I’ve sung as Malik ibn Samir, voice of Moorish stars.
I’ve bled as Obadele the Dreamkeeper, wrapped in Esan flame.
And through it all, I never asked men like you to believe me—
because your belief was never the currency of my becoming.
You don’t get to question the skin I wear or the echoes I carry.
Not when you’ve made a personality out of playlists and proximity to whiteness disguised as “taste.”
You are not wise.
You are well-styled confusion.
The kind of Black man who critiques from comfort while others activate from pain.
So let me close this with what your spirit fears most:
I forgive you.
Not because you deserve it,
but because I refuse to carry the weight of men who tried to measure my Blackness
with the same tongue that chokes on truth.
You are no threat to me, Carl.
You are a timestamp.
A moment I outgrew in the blink of a soul memory.
And this?
This was your final lesson:
Never question the divine when it’s speaking.
Especially not when it’s speaking you into irrelevance.
Shut your cac mouth, fakkit
