Ermias Joseph Asghedom, known professionally as Nipsy Hussle, rapper entrepreneur, from Blood affiliated Rollin' 60's to community activist, shot and killed on march 31st, prompting the talk-about significance of a legacy, and a murder that had a vagrant in north London offering his opinion on the mood, of "that" world.
Whilst motives for his murder range from the ramifications of 'gang ties', to his 'Blood Alliance', starting with his April memorial service, live-streamed online, whilst providing a moment in a black defined importune of a black-alike tragedy, notably the outpouring of grief is ultimately what struck a life-affiliated chord, one of which transcends an affiliation within the confines of a plot with God, and Satan and Mississippi always withstanding.
The rhythm of this particular chime assisted a congregation of artists from yesteryear to now, wax lyricising heartfelt eulogies on behalf of a story-sharing tapestry, about human loss and rediscovering life, amongst the people engrained in the Nipsey legacy, with former President Barack Obama, giving a letter offering condolences to Hussle's family, whether it was a personally hand-delivered sentiment, or not, in the context of the grief, and for whom, it is ultimately in the why, which speaks to a legacy that Nipsey's death pays the most fitting condolence.
21,000 fans walked alongside the coffin, polished rims rotated just short of stop still, handkerchiefs were waved in gospel unison, and gang ties were set aside so that Nipsy's legacy could walk in the manner Stokie Tookie Williams wanted his memoir, 'Blue Rage, Black Redemption' to articulate. Involved in community activism, working to empower and employ underprivileged groups through real estate investments, and science/tech learning centres’ for teens, as such his death made it apparent that his legacy will also be anchored to his successful journey out of the roughest corners of Los Angeles; the historical legacy prone to a contemporary symptom?
And beyond the death and dying in all its stunningly savage appearance, and the glorious, deceased end, walking a staggered pace, purposefully slinking through the “neighbourhood”, past stop and stares and wave backs announcing hello, it’s this sedate temper, visible on who ever looked at somebody else for the one second too long they were there, whether tightened by a grimace, or agitated by that “road to perdition” stroll, it was an anger incensed at the loss of pride, dressed in black and colours affiliated, the only conscious sight being the attention on the colour of the people; each to their own considered your own, marching the manner of a sanctioned way, a way having its way with an aura knowing sensation still has yet to realise the eloquent expression of the colour.
With the harmonic alterations- our music in public- walking with so much black, emphasising a tone cut from the same cloth, ultimately the quality of a creed codified by a lack of holy humanity, and oh have mercy on thy soul, because of the sight of it, despite all the endurance everybody there is struggling to keep up, everybody there essentially exhausted of wanting nothing more than to rid the dark spectacle of this customary moment in the sun, shine.
Under the exertion of the liberated humming it's the mazy depths of gloom that the Nipsey legacy unconsciously pays homage to; the pestilence of short lived rebellions, snuffed out in their prime, the nature of social standing reaffirming it's swivelling in lucid agony, in its very morbid essence a legacy inspiring poems of gathering shade under a leafless tree.
The grief is unrelenting, it's transcends farther than the bounds of what breath imbues, Nipsey Hussle was not considered an A-List celebrity, or had a line of music awards that would outstretch the scent of his accompanying ghetto nostalgia, what he had was an idea, and energy, and regarding the level of grief at his passing, a type of mourning usually afforded to those of a saintly order, what the legacy of the grief represents is the death of his ideas, and at the very least the death of a somebody with the energy to facilitate his ideas, for the love of Nipsey's people.
Approaching the vagrant, somewhat proud that my jingling sixty pence might ease the heavy sombre of his day, as I was dropping the change, into his polystyrene cup, riddled with holes, he looked up and exclaimed "rip Nipsey Hussle", and whilst the thought of a black association wondered whether that was the reason for his voice uprising, asking him what he knew about Nipsey bought about an understanding that a poverty of anything acutely appreciates.
He said the grief of the people was just like his grief, grief for the poverty of food he begged for, a grief born out of a hunger, a legacy of hunger older than he was, and will ever be, a legacy he could recognise sat in the damp doorway of the local coffee shop in west London, letting me further know that asking what he knew of Nipsey, was the same sense of hunger, and association I hesitated to ask him about.
.............He got a fiver.