Come and find me feasting
in the belly of the beast
with imaginary fleece
in some negative degrees
used to get up to the desert Sun
setting in the East
where I made beats
‘till them beats made me See
I’m not a human Body
I’m a complex concept
convex confection
compressed in sections
by those who confuse rules with suggestions
crazy over coal? there’s jewels in my sessions
Man made the Tool
the Tool made obsession
to make more Tools
for use with aggression
I ain’t trying to act like Man made aggression
just saying that an ax is
Man-Made-Agression
I spent so much time in the South of France
North of Spain
I feel like sometimes I just tie my hands and force the pain
Why?
I just don’t know
but the Moon rises also . . .
I feel so free in the moonlight
‘cause you can’t see my face
and I can’t see your hate
Everything you’ve thought has already been known
any scheme you could plot has already been grown
so keep bliss I’ma work to be wise
‘cause wise men know the systems of our demise
but Wisdom isn’t knowing
it’s just something that we made
to create something out of something vague
and since we know Nothing is it Nothing we create?
I don’t know.
We’re nothing if the value that we made made slaves
bottles of ***** just for the tension
bottles of ***** just for attention
everybody waiting on Divine intervention
if jesus came Today would Anyone receive ascension?
I got blood, sweat, and tears on my clean slate
my new religion is Faith
I don’t need Hate
keep your Judgement
keep your D day
eating on this Earth
then I’m leaving with a clean plate
I spent so much time in the South of France
North of Spain
I feel like sometimes I just tie my hands and force the pain
Why?
I just don’t know
but the Moon rises also . . .
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Even though I should be paying full attention to
[insert whatever ******** priority is taking up your creative space here]
I must write this:
Things are slowly becoming less magical
My view is less romantic
I'm trying very hard to see it like I once did
But songs are becoming a blend of different frequencies
Writing is becoming a clusterfuck of sentences that may or may not be important
People are becoming an amalgamation of what they want to be -
A pastiche of everything they once dreamed they could be but slowly realized they are not
But my intuition is still right
Sometimes
Every now and again it reminds me that these little instinctual things
These nothings that pop into my head
Come from a higher place
Should this place be a part of my brain
I cannot access - so be it
But if it's a force of some sort
Pushing me further and further into this illusion
I think I would prefer that
It saves me from doing all the work
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
The artist is strong
He has the power
to make anything that he wants
He wears the cloak
that all others seek to dismantle
So they can wear it for themselves
He has influence
he has control
The man is weak
He crafts his artwork
to cover every single flaw
To rewrite everything
He is burdened by whatever vulnerability
all others cannot imagine
His insecurities fuel him
he has no control
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
I do things that as a kid I promised I wouldn't
and tell myself that it's alright when I probably shouldn't
because my brainpower
could be used for staying power
'stead I fly for cover like birds in a rain shower
We go bad like curds on the Mayflower
hoping we can make one moment last eight hours
forget our jealousy
convinced we're making memories,
but something in my heart keeps on telling me:
Somebody tell me why I'm so mad
and why growing apart makes me so sad
sometimes I wish I could go back
I really wish I could go back
I've made mistakes, and I know that
I have a good heart, but I'm so bad
sometimes I wish I could go back
oh how I wish I could go back
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC