Updated Thursdays

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Letter to Devon Anderson 7

Time for another letter to the DA; as always please feel free to copy this one, write your own, or send one of the blog flyers.

The Honorable Devon Anderson
1201 Franklin Street, Suite 600
Houston, Texas


I’m writing to you today about the case of Carlos Coy, #908426.

There was an excellent article in The Houston Chronicle about quality control; a gathering of Justice System officials, lawyers, and doctors and aviation officials met in Pennsylvania met to discuss the merits of a formalized post-exoneration review process.

            The idea of a non-punitive review of each wrongful conviction to determine what went wrong, and how to avoid similar errors in the future, is a great one; an oversight committee dedicated to improving the justice system, and not parcelling out blame, could save future innocents from suffering in prison.

            I believe, if such a committee ever reviews Carlos Cy’s case, that they will likely find examples of Brady violations, of court officers that were peculiarly supportive of the prosecution’s attempts to change testimony mid-tial, and of experts that utilized their position to make claims that cannot be supported by science.

Please, consider reviewing Coy’s case. We have no new evidence, but a brief glance at the old will show that the case against him was weak, and seems almost manufactured. The complainant’s own testimony undermines the charges against him, and if we have learned anything from the numerous non-DNA exonerations in the last few years it’s that anyone, anywhere, could conceivably be convicted of any crime, even if they were out of state or in prison at the time it was committed. 

Me, my address, etc, etc.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Dear Family 19

Dear F.A.N.S. 

     Hey, I love you. I wrote you a quick Cold Forty, with a brief mention of the S.O.N.'s change in release date. Got more mail coming your way.

Con Amor,


(Another Cold 40)

Call me Billy Grams as I put you in a trance
not a witch doctor but I am what I am
no Ma’am, no pay for da gas, or da ass
it’s all Taco Bell, run for da border fast
whip lash, whips dash, but I slow for the fans
Autographs, plenty laughs, brothers, uncles, aunts
all cash, no tax, Screw chopped, wid da ax
now watch, how he acts, nonfiction, all facts
let me dip into my story, Dope House for da glory
Big Shot Bob Horry, Asian man, “So sorri”,
Neva say “poor me”, all I say is “pour me”
a four please, mornings, approaching the floor G
that rhymes with orgy, but I stay porn-free
even when I’m corny- neva rock the mike poorly,
Losy flow, shocka fool, wreck me? imposterbull
rooster like “Cockadool!”, even make ya momma drool
pop a few of these pills, I’mma bring da medicine
music for ya felon friends, music for da eloquent
hataz got me hellabent, I don’t ride a renta-Vette
nigga in the pen ‘n’ gettin lit, wait a second pimp
let me catch my breath again, new name, guess it, mayne
Super Power Mexicain, but I changed it yestaday
Sand Piper Musicman, Him and All Da Screwston Band
neva will I lose a fan, if he leave he stupid man
watch how I shoot the can, even when it’s far away
Crane Style, Tiger Blow, so my good Karma stay
new date, is Ju-ly, sorry for the June lie
if I gotta lie again, sorry Pain but you die
nigga still blowin minds, kids good, growin fine
Momma gettin old with time, Gina on the sofa cryin
pourin my, fo in sty, -ro as I’m, blowin pine
lost in the ocean tryin hard to reach an open line
Love is what I hope ya find, mesh it with ya own design
bless’em with this flow of mine, play it on a slowa grind
walkin under solar lights, sippin drank and holdin mikes
askin if I’m throwed is, like, askin if a cobra bites
life is still an open book, only hurts when no one looks
first chapter, Coke and Crooks, let the bakin soda cook
product that the hopeless push, in tha city, or da woods
ghettos gettin overtook, sing it if ya know the hook.......


Friday, April 4, 2014

Contest Winner

Alright, the voting is closed; the winner of our contest is commenter Eddie, who said "I think it means he writes with a blue pen but its red cus hr killed rob with it.. Its bloody"

Here's the answer SPM provided:

At the end of my forty, I say a man was killed by a pen. The pen is red from blood, from being used to kill the man. But it writes in Blue. 

Thanks so much for reading and participating, everyone.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Waco Lake Murders

For today’s post, I’m going to point you to an excellent article over at the Texas Monthly, which I stumbled across via Grits For Breakfast.

This is a long, long, (longlonglong) piece written from various perspectives about the Waco lake murders. Four men were imprisoned for the rape & murder of three teens. One, David Spence, was executed by the state in 1997, one died in prison, one was exonerated in 1993 and one, Anthony Melendez, remains incarcerated.

It’s sobering, because it shows how much time and effort it takes to get a wrongful conviction overturned. The level of bullshit displayed is a little disheartening; that’s what we’re up against. Still, the dedication displayed by numerous unconnected people is awe-inspiring. People can’t give a shit, unless they’re aware of shit; but you get information into the hands of the right people and mountains can be moved.

We need to know about these cases and be able to talk about them because I don’t believe that what happened to Carlos Coy was something unique, or out of the ordinary. Texas has railroaded its citizens, locking them away for years for crimes they did not commit. It’s documented, it’s publicized, and yet it’s not going to stop without the informed outrage of its citizens.

Monday, March 31, 2014


Alright, ladies and gents, at the behest of Carlos Coy the blog will be running its first ever contest; the prize is a short personal letter from Coy, and an autographed picture, along with up to ten autographed picture to be sent to friends.

“Whuuuuuut,” you say, “Incandesio, how can you offer such a fabulous prize? How is this going to work?”

Well, this is all going through SPM; needless to say, if you’re not over 18, you can’t play.  If you’ve been banned, you can’t play. Answers will be accepted for four days, or until someone guesses correctly, whichever comes first. The first one to post the correct answer under this post will be notified via the blog email, and I’ll get your mailing address. DON’T POST YOUR ADDRESS IN THE COMMENTS. You’re going to need a Google account for this, if you comment as Anonymous, or don’t have an email address in your blog account, I can’t contact you and I’ll have to go on to the next correct answer.

The riddle is simple; it’s the title of SPM’s last Cold 40: “The Red Pen That Wrote In Blue”. The question is, “what does it mean?”

One entry per person, so make it count. Comments are moderated so it won't appear right away, give it an hour or two.

Happy Guessing!

Friday, March 28, 2014

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Dear Family 18

Dear Fam,                                                                                                      3/7/2014

            I’m working on mail for you, but Incandesio sent me Rob-D’s response to my last wrecking ball entitled “SPM Wrecked My Son and All I Got Was This Stupid Shirt.” He came back improved, I thought, and now he’s only two million miles away from me. He’s gained about three miles so far. Let me repost his flow:


South Park Mexican??? The fuck??
I just knew you'd be back.....

See I respect you SP but one thing I can promise you,
A lot of fools have fallen got demolished, fought the God of Doom,
Crawling from the bottom womb flaunting like the modest do, solemnly I'm only showin skill like you taught me to,
Mockin me will cause a wound, a loss to greed is all we knew,
economies have gone to be the mockery of "logic" goons,
Follow me then profit too click it back and cock it fool,
Callin me to table 3 you think I'm not gon rock it too???
Look at what you've made me do I'm sorry Bro but here's the truth,
I gotta be that guy that be the guy that sees a dying crew.
Don't tell me that I'm lying fool,
Your cell has seen you crying too,
My minds in twined with lines that rhyme with shotti hide the body soon
I'm lyrically a sonic boom and spiritually demonic soon,
No fear from thee the one who seeks unleash the beast with toxic fumes,
You say that raps a simple job but you could never cripple Rob
Comin at you for the third time call it triple hom...
Think I'm in a pickle dawg? SPM I'm pickin on,
Takin on a legend got my writing Skillz kickin on,
Poverty we livin on, robbery and petty mobs,
How the fuck we sposed to take this life se-rious-ly God??
Picture perfect home's crumbling before your children's eyes,
Keepin life disguised till they're old enough to realize and see it with their real eyes and know the truth from real lies,
Coldest roots tied up in a knot, I mean real ties,
Competition's field mice, can I get the meal price?
Chill guys I'm only in this deal cuz I'm still ice,
Y'all knew that I was fidna wreck,
No I'm not illiterate, you can paint the picture homie I can be the silhouette,
Kill it bit by little bit, "Fuck money cuz it ain't shit,
You need enough for a forty and a cigarette",
I'm a beginning vet nigga so I'm intellect
Shouldn't of hit the 'X' key homie Shoulda hit select,
And picked a different Mex Los, make you second guess,
Far from blessed yet I still pray with emptiness,
Check the synthesis, give ya best attentiveness,
Next thing on my agenda is to light a sack and reminisce
Don't want me as your nemesis, the king of Sega Genesis,
Olympic hits, tremendous gift
Yet still I'm on the menace list,
I'll end this with these sentence's every time you try ta send a diss,
Ill twist your wrist, you'll slip a disc
Rob D you best remember this......

"Yippie Kai Yay Motha Fucka!!"
(Bruce Willis in Die Hard)

Holla at ya Los.
-Rob D-


Here’s a message to my nigga, Rob D: Wut Up, Playa. Always good to hear from you. I’ve got a few things to say about your flow thus far. I actually rewrote the first eight lines, just to give you a different view:

See, I respect you S.P. but one thing I can promise you
a lotta fools have fallen to the wall of tombs God of Doom
bodies fill embalming rooms, movin to a coffin soon
glocks that shoot for small disputes, honest truth I’ve gotta prove
that on the cool I’ve chopped and screwed, not just a few but all da crews
droppin dudes in boxer shoes, I’m Mista T in Rocky Two
mommas lose and fathers sue for murdas I put on the news
double barrell shotties pointin at’cha like some college boobs......

            The last line has only one 3-syllable-rhyme-structure – at the end, of course – but the simile was decent enough to do that.
            Other lines, such as line 2, line 4 and line 5, have four 3-syllable-rhyme-structures, (the most you can have without tongue-twisting.) Lines 6 and 7 have three 3-syllable-rhyme-structures.

            The secret is delivering skill, and at the same time, connecting with the human soul, by using words that feel natural to the listener, not foreign, or unclear. You’ve got to speak to people, the same way you would if you weren’t rhyming, yet it must rhyme, and must sound like natural conversation. We’ll call it “skill they can feel”, and that’s the only way you’ll ever give them goose bumps.

            Some of your rhymes had power, others made the cut as far as rhymes, but didn’t make the cut as far as a clear, natural message. Rhymes like bottom womb, “logic” goons, and others that were cleared for use leave the listener reaching for their meaning, just as you reached for the rhyme. Every line you write has to make you smile, laugh or say, “Ooooooh!” I don’t care if it takes you two hours to write two lines, keep digging till you find the words that feel 100% right. Making real money ain’t easy, bro it’s a lot of work. Fortunately, I don’t have to work hard to wreck you, so here’s your plate of ass-whippin and gravy.

The Red Pen That Wrote In Blue
(Another Cold 40)

True street fighta, Sheedy say it again
my nigga said something like, “Let the games begin”
from the start, from the heart, fulla passion and pain
in the rain, but it’s funny cause I’m dancin and playin
two fingaz for dem boys doin time in the pen
two fingaz for my niggaz out tryin to win
one finga for a nigga think I ain’t the king
twenty Cadillacs drippin candy paint with screens
fly talka, sky walka and a sidewalk chalka
yeah, I saw the name brands, red Izod, Dockers
only problem was the shirt, used to be snow white
only problem was the fool believed his own hype
Mr. God of Doom, meet Mr. Lord of Fly
even though ya real job’s a fuckin storage guy
We’ll just act, but the fact is that, class is in
ya last flow sounded like you had to grasp for limbs
silly stabs, twisted raps, listen, man, I live for that
have ya ass floatin in the pond, like a lilly pad
it’s a fact the Billy Bad attitude you’ve taken on
isn’t healthy so ya whole family is sayin, “Rob,
leave Carlos Coy alone, no one can destroy his throne.
Son, ya getting fucked, ya even smell like the boy’s cologne!
Only worse can happen next! How you gon’ match the best?
Damn it, let ya rap suggest you’ve had it lest you ask for death!
Fans and friends will know ya tried. Yes, you’ll feel a hole inside.
But Losy is The Chosen, like, Moses on an open mike!”
roll the dice ya soul’s the price, nigga, I jus do my job
do it in the bluish fog ‘n’ post it on a Houston blog
stupid dogs’ll bark at dragons, who can squab with darkness that is
brutal, Rob, it’s art with madness, Screwed up songs so far from average
said we had a dyin crew, I’m the one who’s dyin, fool
dyin to get out this fuckin private zoo, remind ya who
da fuck I am, who we are, Dopest of rosters
this is gold verses copper we got hoes who can drop ya
Brown skin, Brown within, lived the life of-a-thousand men
made front page of-the-town you in: “Man Got Killed By A Fountain Pen” lol!

PS.       The “Yippie Kai Yay Motha Fucka!” statement, from Die Hard......
            When I first saw that part on the movie, I thought to myself, “What kind of fucking nerd would think that sounded dope?”
            Well, I guess I know but, honestly – and I do mean honestly – that shows that you were raised well, brother. I’d like my sons to think parts like that are cool. But street niggas don’t feel shit like that. That was the corniest part of the movie!

            A few more words to Rob and the fans:
Like I said at the beginning, you’ve got to find the right rhyme. Since yesterday I struggled with a few of my own rhymes. Yesterday, I had:

            isn’t really healthy so ya family is sayin, “Rob
            leave Carlos Coy alone, let the man enjoy hs throne

            But I didn’t feel good about that rhyme. It wasn’t strong enough, for some reason. First of all, I didn’t like the vulnerable message of “let” the man enjoy his throne, as if you are harassing me, So, I woke up and gave it some more thought, it took some time (quarter of an hour) to find the right one, “no one can destroy his throne.” I’m not even happy with that one, because I’m not sure if “throne” is in the right context. But it’s passable. I also had:

            brutal, Rob, it’s art with madness, Bruno Mars on bars and cabbage

I also had:
            brutal, Rob, it’s art with madness, movin blocks to farms and ranches

            Still, I didn’t like it enough. I knew it would take more work, but I knew it would eventually pay off. So, I thought, in fact, I was on the toilet when it hit me, “Screwed up songs!” I had something nicer than “movin blocks,” but what could go with “Screwed up songs”? Ten minutes later, it came to me, and I knew I found it. How? Because it was the multi-syllable rhyme, but the words were so natural, “so far from average.” That was it, I was cool with that. Then I find other things that can improve. And after a while, I’m cool with it. Do that everyday, like a job, (unlike me), I never practice anymore, but work hard and you grow hard, hard on the mike, that is.

            I could show you many more that I improved, but don’t give clearance to rhymes less they pass the test, ay. Rest, play, press lay, west pay, crest yay, blessed day, fence pray, red gray, sensay. And you just keep trying variations of words that rhyme. Don’t stop till ya rhyme fucks you up. And never be easily entertained.

Gotta Go,