ABOUT LARVELL “SHAKABAKA” LILLARD

I was fifth-teen yearz of age when I fell in love with writing. It began with songwriting and a microphone plugged into a living room desktop computer. My sista and I were tag-team rapperz, drop-kickin’ lyrical barz from da’ turnbuckle of a converted closet booth, onto a bedroom studio turntable. Da’ number of local fanz quickly grew at ringside. I went from being announced as “Larvell Lillard,” hailin’ from

Winter Haven, Polk County, Florida, to a high school crowd rootin’ my stage name “Book G”. I was on my way to that heavyweight championship bout of success. However, in 2007, I met my match with life when it pinned my pen for a three count, splatterin’ my ink in a cell with a life sentence.

At first, I didn’t understand the severity of what “LIFE” meant. It seemed like another common word to my nineteen year-old earz. I still wrote and rapped. Music has always been my deep-rooted passion that blossoms the trunk and branchez of my soul beyond da’ heightz of da’ heavenz. What was a life sentence to a young, Black, and gifted musician, who took five hundred dollarz from a carjacked vehicle without any bodily harm done to anyone?

By da’ time I was 22 yearz of age, I realized that “LIFE without the possibility of parole,” actually meant that I was to live, age, and finally die in prison. Da’ revelation crushed my dream of makin’ music for humanity. A concrete wall convinced me that my voice will never again reach da’ earz of da’ world. Thus, my world sunk into depression.

Time ticked by. Depression became a livin’ fact. It grew gnarled legz that trudged in worn, state BLUEZ. Its muffled voice strangled my musical sound into a coma. I had vowed to never utter another musical bar until I could proclaim to the world, “I’m finally free.” However, I was still in love with expressin’ my thoughtz and emotionz with a pen. So, I never stop writin’. Countless composition bookz and notebook paper became my therapist. I even taught myself screenwriting, which helped me understand da’ art and principlez of storytellin’ in any form. Yet and still, my Being felt empty, as if my soul had vacated its fleshly temple.

2023 was a year of rediscovery but also one of pure hell!

Nothin’ seemed to go right from da’ outset of da’ calendar. I even experienced a romantic heartbreak so grave that I literally wanted to dig and bury myself into one. “Fed up” can’t describe da’ incarcerated mentality of a broken, flight-restricted eagle, who had lost all sight of its personal and purposeful vision. All I saw was a temptin’ edge of a cliff and da’ relief that lied below.

But then, another concrete wall, displayin’ an “Exchange

For A Change” signup sheet, began to speak to me, and da’ Holy

Voicez of my Ancestorz persuaded me to unearth my pen and shovel my name on a blank line beside “Lyrical Literature”. Somehow and someway, I had to get outta depression, and I was willin’ to exchange da’ pain for a change in experiencin’ life. I needed somethin’ new.

Spoken Word. Poetry. Three simple wordz that engulf a universe of infinite possibilitiez. My divine encounter with this sacred art form opened up a world to me unknown in da’ cosmos of my life. I always knew my solar gift in a musical system could get other celestial bodiez to gravitate towards da’ rayz of that particular sound. But da’ “SPOKEN WORD” sound blessed me with a new experience of beauty, power, freedom and most importantly, of life. It beaconed my soul to reenter its temple and replace itSelf on its throne. Da’ E4C writing course led me to rediscover my voice by helpin’ me discover da’ power of da’ praised Spoken Word.

But there’s always a j. edgar hoover for a Panther. As a

Black Man in amerikkka, I experience life differently than other people. As a Black Man incarcerated in amerikkka for da’ past seventeen and half yearz, life is nowhere near as kumbiya as da’ song says, and my Black Lawd knows it! So my tongue paints what my ink observes and experiences on a day-to-day basis -- both systematic and occasionally overt racism, racial and penal oppression, and Black injusticez in a white-powered justice system... amongst many other topicz. So I rub a lot of ‘dem upper echelon folks da’ wrong way.

Da’ point is... Spoken Word poetry chose me to utilize it as a medium for da’ artistic gift blessed upon my spirit by da’ Most High Mother Goddess of all creation. And once I fully became aware of that, I chose Spoken Word poetry to be a dedicated voice for da’ incarcerated voiceless and da’

Ancestral culture of my people... no matter da’ consequencez.

I dare to go from da’ obituary of “LILLARD D33084”, state property of da’ Florida Department of Incorrectness, to da’ pulpit of “Shakabaka”, whose poetry bears fruit, not from a laurel, but from a baobab tree.

Shakabaka Larvell Piankhy-Ra

(Larvell Lillard D33084)

Da’ People’s Poet