Jay Electronica: An Origin Story (Better in Tune With the Infinite) Posted by Alec Seigel on 03/31/14 | Filed under Jay Electronica, Creative Writing

The red sand is at the mercy of the wind, shifting one way and then the other, like a bunch of snakes tussling in a giant pit. An ocean sized pit. Dunes stretch endlessly in all directions, with no other structures or life to distinguish North from South, East from West. Directions are not even a concept in this barren wasteland. Blinking stars consume the purple sky. It’s silent, aside from the soft whistling of the wind. One of the stars blinks for the last time, as an Electronica falls down and lands softly in the sand. He stands up and brushes the sand off his naked body. A cordless microphone materializes in his hand. “To stand exposed and naked, in a world full of hatred, where the sick thoughts of mankind control all the sacred.” He was born to rhyme. He was born to speak the truth. Timothy Elpadaro Thedford, his Earth name, was born underneath the stars and far away from the bullshit.

It’s hot as Hell. And out of any being, Jay should know just what that means. He walks the sands, which are also hot as Hell. He doesn’t know where he’s headed, but he walks on into the purple night, always moving forward. The wind whistles a shrill whisper. Five men appear out of thick air, and surround Jay in the form of a five-pointed star. One claims to fight for truth, the same truth Jay knows so well. This man, who speaks well and dresses better, holds a tattered document that aids him in his quest for truth. The second man is also a protector of the just, and a sworn enemy of the unjust. A man of power, powerfully built. Something silver glistens at his hip. The third is old. Wisps of graying hair barely hang on to his scalp, and his skin is withered. He and the first man give each other knowing glances. To his left is the fourth man; a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He reeks of guilt. He wears his conscience on his sleeve, and is anxiously digging in his pockets.

The man at the topmost point of the star is the leader. He holds a leather whip. Dressed in a blue suit with a tie the same red color of the sand, he looks around at his comrades with a nervous yet excited look. Jay stays standing and looks at each in turn in their wide green eyes. He puts the mic to his lips. “Strip, crown, nail me, brimstone hail me, they might defeat the flesh but they could never ever kill me.” The star converges on Jay the second he finishes. The leader’s whip snaps on Jay’s flesh. It hurts like Hell, but feels like Heaven. A release. 

Detroit. A desert of its own kind. Among the abandoned automobile factories and its gray Midwestern sky, is an oasis. A place where the humans of this battered city go to rejuvenate. It’s in the center of the city, underground, beneath the police sirens and cracked streets. A crowd is jammed together just in front of a stage. It’s hot as Hell. People sweat in their beanie hats and ratty clothes. Towards the front of the stage is a cordless microphone on a stand. The lights dim, except for a small spotlight on the stage. The people hush, and a man slowly approaches the mic. He’s wearing neatly pressed blue jeans, simple black shoes, and a black tee shirt with a five pointed star printed on the front. The music begins to play: short, soft notes on a violin, coupled with a sporadic piano. It sounds like love lost, or a deep look into the past. The man with the star on his shirt grabs the microphone. “My brain pours water out my tear ducts to heal me. My Lord’s too beneficent. The message grabs a hold of every ear it gets whispered in.” The audience seems to be at prayer. They belong to Him. He belongs to them. As soon as he finishes his sermon, he turns and walks offstage, back into the night, which is cold as Hell. But that’s a feeling Timothy knows all too well.

Cold is a feeling Jay Electronica aims to obliterate with a microphone. He has one goal for himself and those who follow him: being better in tune with the infinite. 

(By Alex Siegel)

RefinedHype has merged with The DJBooth. It's the same articles you loved on RefinedHype, new address. For more info, check out the official announcement.