"Still waters run deep"
Sounds like praise. It's a free pass. Depth for free — for anyone who keeps his mouth shut.
One man at the table says nothing. Afterwards the word is: deep, that one. Not a word risked, the halo pocketed.
But. Silent doesn't mean deep... Even the shallowest puddle gleams under neon light!
A face in the half-light. A figure at the edge of the bar. Hood down low. Not a word too many. Eyes to the floor. The room, the light, the camera do the rest. Everyone watching writes something into it: Trauma. Hardness. Secret. History. Danger. Talent. Abyss. Maybe it's true. Maybe it's just styling! Nothing behind it. Depth is not an outfit. Depth needs traces. Paint. Moves. Voice. Timing. Truth. Blood on the beat. Something that comes out of you and changes the room.
"For whatever is inside somewhere wants to show itself; prophets have visions, poets make verses."
Exactly that. Hermann Hesse said it more cleanly than any pose ever could. What is inside does not stay away forever. It presses. It looks for a wall, a line, a beat, a mistake, a deed. It becomes daylight. It becomes image. It becomes voice. It leaves damage or beauty. Whoever merely stays silent does not yet own depth. For now he owns nothing but silence. The rest is credit. And credit is not wealth - worth nothing! Not every still water runs deep. Some of it is a dry zone waiting to happen.
In rap, looking dark is not enough. You have to deliver.
