When I DJ I catch the unholy ghost. An electric shock flows through my arms; and when the record hits my finger tips, the funkadelic movement shimmy towards my wrist. Blended music surrounds my ear drums as I begin birthing new born tracks with the umbilical cord still attached. A slight cut from the mixer and my music begins to grow before my very eyes.
The room disappears, the world no longer exists. Pictures of sun sets, lake monsters stream through my head as I groove my hips and bob my head. The communication of a DJ speaks through the body. We don’t just talk with samples, every part of my body expresses the spirit of Hip-Hop. I understand my power through revolving records, scratch technics and the rhythm of the people. Music is the technology of the heart, DJing remixes the pulse of humyn action.
At rallies organized to free Mummia Abu-Jamal from prison, the DJ plays the jams that give revolutionaries purpose. Break-beats and performances help the people dream in preparation for their activism. Such easing of the tension propels the body toward the spotlight, which they use to change the path of history. For the people—the masses of us who have problems that can’t be understood—to get into a mood of revolution, the DJ stands behind the foundation of the ceremony named freedom.