The Khalil Amani Reader

Hip-hop/Spirituality/Freethinking. Speaking for all underdogs!

Contextualizing Hassan’s Words…

By Khalil Amani

When it comes to Khalil Amani, he’s very succinct with his words. He is a wordsmith; a man with a college degree in English, so there’s no need to try to reinterpret his words. Khalil is very transparent! (You probably already know this by now!) He’s written about the skeletons in his closest. Having a great command of the English language allows him to paint beautiful pictures with words. Whether Khalil is writing a book or doing a YouTube blog or writing some hip-hop shit for Allhiphop.com or writing an article for DJ Kay Slay’s Straight Stuntin Magazine—Khalil’s pen is whet (SHARP!)!

Hassan can’t stand the fact that this old guy, Khalil Amani is still quite relevant. He wishes that Khalil would go sit down somewhere with his old ass, but the fact of the matter is that Khalil is such a great writer—a great raconteur (storyteller) and his talent is undeniable! This is the difference betwixt taking up the profession of writing--verses—say—being a rapper. There is no shelf-life on writing! If Khalil was trying to be a rapper—Hassan might have a legitimate gripe, but great writers can write for a lifetime. So! Somebody tell Hassan that his "old man" argument is stupid and pointless when dealing a great writer like Khalil Amani.

Hassan claims that he’s gonna write a book one day. That will be the day that he puts some respect on my name—that is, if he truly sets out to write his book without using a ghost writer. The writing process is something that many find very difficult and a daunting task when they think they have writing chops. I can tell you for a certainty that most YouTubers—when you look at the titles of their videos—most assuredly, they are riddled with mistakes and grammatical errors and downright misspelled words. Hassan is definitely guilty of misspelling words in the titles of his videos. How then, does he think he can write a book?

Now to my point…. Context!

There’s a chapter in my unpublished book entitled, "Stolen Innocence: Memories of Molestation, Sex & Him." I put the book on YouTube as an audio book. Back when Michael Edwards (Shout-out to him!) and I were feuding, he read parts of this book and came across a story where I talk about wondering what my mother’s vagina felt like after seeing her having sex with a man that was not my father. The story is told from the viewpoint of a 10-year old boy—a boy’s first encounter with sex—seeing his mother fucking. This excerpt was passed on to Hassan where he decided this would be great fodder to make me look like an incestuous person—desiring to have sex with my mother.

I get it! Try to destroy me at all cost! Hassan tries to retell this story in the most grotesque and out-of-context way possible! He’s doing his best Michael Edwards impression, but fails miserably.

Hassan is upset once again, because I did a respectful blog on his wife. I can speak on her because she’s YouTuber, so, as I said, she’s fair game for deconstruction. It was no personal attack. This hypocrite Hassan is fake-mad at me for blogging about his wife—again, respectfully, but acts like he’s never spoken on other people’s wives. Can you say, “Mrs. Sa Neter?” Can you say, "Mrs. Michael Edwards?" What did you say about Sa Neter’s wife? Something about her AIDS infected vagina? You, Hassan Campbell, are in no moral position to chastise me about speaking respectfully about your wife when you have said some of the most egregious things about other men’s wives! Shut the fuck up and save me the false-flagging and false outrage over your wife! My pen treated her very respectful!

As far as Khalil Amani’s so-called “magazine” that Hassan speaks of--I don’t have a magazine. I simply write for DJ Kay Slay’s magazine, Straight Stuntin Magazine! I just give him content! Don’t hate! Kay Slay recognizes great writing! How does it feel Hassan to walk in a Bronx or Harlem bodega and pick up a Straight Stuntin Magazine and see Khalil’s old ass? LOL. How does it feel to have vlogged to get me fired from Kay Slay's magazine and I'm still up in that bitch! Every issue!

Great writing is all about the exploration of ideas—not being afraid to tackle tough subjects—being fearless in your delivery and if you’re writing autobiographical material—being ruthlessly transparent. This is what the subject of my mother and I was about. Exploring an idea through the lens of a 10-year old boy whose first introduction to sex was seeing his mother fucking.

It’s all about CONTEXT Hassan! Non-readers will hear the words of Hassan speaking on me wanting to have sex with my mother and believe his account because they are simply too lazy to go read the chapter for themselves and contextualize that event. And since some of you are just that literarily lazy—and lack comprehension—and just believe any ol’ conjured up cockamamie from the mouf of Hassan—a bunch of poppycock while holding Poppy’s cock in their moufs—let me read the chapter in question and give you some CONTEXT. Let’s go!

The setting: Miami, 1970. A 10-year old Khalil running into his mother’s bedroom without knocking and catches his mother having sex with a male friend. The chapter reads as follows:

Me and my mama R.I.P.

"Black boy, who has just watched his mama fucking turns around and runs out of her room. I ran straight to my bed and dove on it like I was Superman taking flight! By the time I landed on my bed I was balling hysterically. I cried a river of tears. I don’t know why. Maybe because mama hollered at me. No, I don’t think so. Maybe because I was afraid that mama was gonna whip me later. No. Definitely not. I was just confused. Did daddy have big pee-pee like Mr. Robert? Does daddy do the nasty with mama like Mr. Robert? Babies come from mama, so daddy must fuck mama, but son has never heard mama and daddy fucking—ever! Daddy liked to beat mama. He would beat her for sure if he saw Mr. Robert fucking mama. Why did I have to see mama fucking? 
 I think I cried because I should have known what they would be doing in mama’s bedroom with the door partially closed. I was mad at myself for not knowing, but I was never mad at mama. I saw real sex in real time! I saw what Becky wanted to do to me in Oxnard three years earlier. Becky was mama. Becky took charge of my pee-pee in that dimly lit rec room and mama took charge of Mr. Robert’s ding-a-ling in the same bed where my mean daddy used to sleep. 
 Later, mama came to check on her son. She was compassionate, but stern, telling me, “Don’t ever open my bedroom door when it’s closed.” We never spoke about it again and I never tattle-taled to my brothers about what mama had done.  
 A year later, when daddy came back from Thailand he sat all of us boys on the couch and demanded to know if mama had any men in our house. He had suspected mama’s infidelity but needed a confession from one of his children. Daddy threatened to whip us if we lied. We all stood fast. Mama, looking at me the most, searched me for a sign that I would give up our secret, but daddy was not gonna get our secret. I hated him and I loved my mama and by the time he came home from Thailand, I think I sorta-kinda understood what mama was dealing with and the needs of a woman—sorta-kinda. 
 I lost my ocular virginity and innocence that day in 1970—at ten-years-old. Seeing Mr. Robert’s huge dick stayed with me—throughout my adolescence and teen years. Mr. Robert’s big penis gave me nightmares—even Incubus nightmares, which caused me to have deep sleep night terrors where I couldn’t be woken up. I’d scream uncontrollably, so much so that mama would have to pack all her kids up at midnight and have my older brothers carry me to the car and drive me some 60 miles to Homestead Air Force Base to the hospital. They said I wiggled and writhed around in the back seat of our Vista Cruiser station wagon like that girl in the Exorcist. I do remember screaming in the corner of my darkened bedroom and waking mama and my brothers up at two in the morning. I remember screaming in our car. I remember doctor sedating me. I do remember Mr. Robert’s humongous pee-pee chasing me and I can never seem to run fast enough in my nightmares. Yes! I remember that these night terrors started happening after I saw mama riding Mr. Robert’s big black pee-pee. In the eyes of the little ten-year-old boy, Mr. Robert’s penis was a monstrosity—a gargantuan phallus that made mama make hurting noises, which frightened the little Colored boy.
 After seeing the big pee-pee in mama, I remember my pee-pee getting hard more often. I remember putting soap on my pee-pee in the tub and thinking about mama and Mr. Robert fucking and my ding-a-ling getting hard. (Was mama’s hairy spot slippery like soap? I imagined it was.) I began to masturbate at ten-years-old and mama and Mr. Robert and Becky were the sources of my arousal. I thought about what it would feel like to be inside my mama like Mr. Robert. I think I began to experience some form of Freud’s Oedipus Complex mixed up with a little Penis Envy for a big penis like Mr. Robert’s. They really fucked up a ten-year old’s mind that day.
"-

Did I have aberrant and inappropriate thoughts about my mother after this experience? Yes! How ever perverted, in its proper CONTEXT, this is great writing, truthful writing, cathartic writing, and great storytelling! Get over your own internalized perverseness and literary immaturity and deal with the breath and scope of what this little boy had just witnessed and how that effected him. To dumb down this great piece of literature as "Khalil wanted to fuck his mother" is ignorance personified and a gross misreading of a sexual coming-of-age story. Sitcho-ass down somewhere and read Maya Angelou's book, "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings" and get a fucking clue about this thing called READING! That's why when you come to Khalil Amani's channel you are coming to read along or listen quietly as I let my words infect your spirit.

After Hassan finishes making fun of Khalil’s first encounter with sex, will he be able to deal with his own sexual past in that book he’s claiming he’s going to write? Perhaps someone will come along and take out of context Afrika Bambaataa’s raping of Hassan and read more into the story. Perhaps they will take out of context Hassan’s words and have him sucking Bambaataa’s cock. Go ahead Hassan! Pervert my innocence. Taking things out of context is your M.O.

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