This is colour of the sea. One mans homage to the emotional current of life and the lives of loved ones. Time moves so fast, every soft bead and line becoming transitory, and under stars words will swear into the mud, into the infinite cold elastic. No title, just rhythm for now, all I got is a beat.

My name is Nadeem Gibran Salaam, i'm a writer working on my first chapbook of poetry, my family moved to Brooklyn, NY in the 60's, settling in Greenpoint then in Parkslope where I was born and raised.

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colour of the sea.

wait till you hear the bass on this track! new #Thaddeuslowe

no special effects were used

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no special effects were used

Mar 24th at 1AM / reblog / 1 note

Hands down one of the best live acts I’ve ever seen!! #Warpaint at #websterhall

#Warpaint live at #Websterhall tonight changed my life and entire concept of is musically possible!

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#Warpaint live at #Websterhall tonight changed my life and entire concept of is musically possible!

Mar 22nd at 1AM / tagged: warpaint. websterhall. / reblog / 1 note

new tunes spring thing #acousticguitar #weirdtuning

As you guys know, I play music under the moniker Thaddeus lowe and this year i’m working on putting out my next record and doing a few shows here in Brooklyn. Here is a sample of a new song called Wake up now.


Here’s a cool track from ALTA. Female singer has a great soulful voice, glitchy electro beats with swelling synth. 

There’s a caption for the captured in rapture.

Feb 9th at 4AM / via: e9productions / op: e9productions / reblog / 4 notes
I don’t mind the winter, it’s February I despise.

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I don’t mind the winter, it’s February I despise.

Feb 9th at 4AM / reblog / 1 note

You are kind…

At 1:40 am, while cats ponder and play and I work in the ever aqueous conundrum that is the mode of language—the exodus of the past, present and future—I cannot be any less willed to just give thanks. Thanks to all those that linger.

The rainfall at this five hour consistent flow, demands like all small God-like things do, that I write and bid you well like code across the world. Where does the time go when we sleep? Where does God go when we try to see him? I often ask the small of the world to decipher, but the small of the world pressed on the window, gains only more flow, only more consistent.

We are more than hard-working cyphers; we are more than Boheme, because our aim takes mark at more than just pleasure. All Native sons of New York like myself know and will eventually know the world cares so little for the things you struggle for the most; the art you create, the music, the language you mold from flesh, the bones you bleach in fire just to see.

Though, nothing else than the indifference of others does the artist take flight. Against the struggle and tension to create the body of work; the denial of rite; to create the space that when placed, just right, is art.

Even at 2:00 or 4:00 am, while the cooling machines sleep like dogs, I find the right words, they’re the simplest and most familiar and digestible, they are the “thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Nadeem G. Salaam

“candid / triangle wallpaper / wax / peeling skin / clove cigarets / captain crunch / unshaved region / map / sudoku / lighter / stale / old / new / lost”

Jan 30th at 12AM / tagged: poem. less is more. sexy. / reblog / 1 note

Dear New York, Dear America,

Dear New York, Dear America written by: Nadeem Gibran Salaam

January 3rd, 5am, a day since a new mayor was sworn in, as the snow falls in the tri-state area, pounding the city, I write this unintended, “Dear Mr. Bill de Blasio letter” of sorts wondering, will I not be able to raise a family here? My family has been here since the 70’s risking all to be in the country and they choose Brooklyn, New York.  I was born in Parkslope where they raised three…

As I push to 5:45, it feels like we are sailing away in the decay of snow, holding our breaths under the chilled 2013 air; still lingering in our awareness… Somewhere a fuzzed crackle of a record player spins in Greenpoint; it echo’s a generation garnished in a very, at-times, tired display of when art was in your face like you knew it was the only thing that could change you like Church. As much as we miss a generation of the 60’s we never lived—1984 babies well into the era of Gadgetry—still believe somewhere deep down in the mantra, “Don’t follow leaders, watch your parking meters,” and that now, it applies more than ever.

As a lifelong Brooklynite, I live in a borough more and more where people think they are special by being here, but bring little to enrich the lives of others. The other day, I saw a sign that said, “Living here doesn’t make you a New Yorker.” Simple true words that suggest that there are ways we can fix that; by action. What if tomorrow when we wake up, you shoveled your neighbor’s sidewalk, their brownstone, their walkup, or you can create your own interaction with a stranger instead of waiting to be harassed by the more than often homeless and criminal. (Who are a part of the mentality unstable living in a microcosmic picture in New York and America at large but that’s a whole other story.)

How we deal with the less fortunate, first we bully the anti-herd, then we bury the failures of our own displaced, not even Bill De Blasio can fix that. He can only work to maintain a fair shot; he can only unclog the sectors that have silently turned to money laundering schemes under the guise of the public trust and at the betrayal of public interest. He cannot make us turn to our neighbors to create opportunities for all to not just not go hungry, but own property again, continue to raise generations here not just turn over and flip rentals to a certain flight of uppity class, and lastly guide those turned to crime to healing and future productive members of a society through Education.

But the towers and rents are rising and the jobs are underpaying over qualified young, our understanding of our socioeconomic problems will come by knowing why we are in the need for good leadership to keep the dark seeds out of governance. (Part of the problem is that we participate in a passive aggression, we see leaders as saviors, leaving them to fix or save us from our dystopia ideations, voting as the bare minimum, crucifying them at the stake when they fail us while the rest of us must resort to doing enough to just get by) 

During this depression more than any in American history do we have a serious spread epidemic of financial gutting of programs funded by the Government. People are cash-strapped and while the gap between the rich and poor has widened more than ever before, the absolute hysteria of money hoarding for the top of the top is busting this city one bolt at a time, of its very function, and its highest calling of tradition and folklore. We don’t need more departments that can profit from yet another failed Government funded program. The old and sick need us, they need us to get their financial security back, if we can’t protect the most vulnerable, we can’t get our children the future they deserve. While I acknowledge full and well what is needed at the top, a wise and familiar face in Parkslope once told me, “What the governing can’t fix, the governed must provide.”

Well into a sleepless blizzard, the new Mayor of New York watches the snow fall with each and every person of and in this city, either richer, or poorer: the feeling of a New Year, the potential, “New Era” dangles before us, ever delightful of promise, being slightly tarnished by the larger problem-picture of this country in the 21st century. We are The Lost War Time Generation of the Digital Age. We are inundated with New Things, yet we are more depressed more alone than ever, illuminated in the pure clean light of our iPhone screens. Our Country at large is losing it’s most foundational elements, felt by all, a growing feeling of, “something wrong” and a nostalgia for times past. Unfortunately times that were never real, thus all the memorable stories are the most familiar, stories of hope, of change, and corruption and justice, of peace and love, they all exist in the air tonight. And when that feeling of a nostalgic time that may have never existed swells into the gasping cold of 7am, I think of when I was younger, when I often wished I lived in the 60’s, now, realized, for my last year on earth as a 20-something? I only know that love for the present moment will set us free and back into us back into each other… We define us, politicians define themselves, and together we have the chance to shape each other… It starts in streets, on our stoops, and the places in New York that honestly, we couldn’t imagine having to give up because a class of people decided we weren’t going to be a part of…because we weren’t wealthy enough.

So tonight, while The Newest Politician in New York City Leadership, Mayor elect Bill de Blasio dusts his shoulders of the Powder of 2013, a most unceremoniously fossilized time, remember something that was real Remember why you love being in New York, yes you, the New Yorkers on the fringe, remember what your family and the generations before them came here for…

Towers are made of luxury, their bones of stone and homes are made of love and love alone…

Acoustic melody →

Hi tumblr friends, this is me and an acoustic on a snowy day this past week, this is off my last solo album The Oceanic Feeling, have you heard it? Downloaded it? share! ;)

Great Stories…

“The secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn’t. And yet you want to know again.

That is their mystery and their magic.” 
― Arundhati Roy

the light of the heart

the light of the heart

Dec 3rd at 8AM / tagged: light. india. taj mahal. spiritual. / reblog / 3 notes