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Klvshp0et  Oct 2015
"Sound Check"
Klvshp0et Oct 2015
Mic check. Mic check.
I know you hear what I'm saying
but are you listening?
There's a difference in hearing
and actually listening.
I inform you of my day
and the demons I'm slaying.
Yet, you change the subject
like passing periods.
Fast and furiously,
far more than seven times
You've disregarded my troubled mind.
To talk about others problems
all as if they were mine.
Actions that drive me far away
from my eternal sunshine.
Only to leave me far behind.
to realize that our love is blind
And that it may not
be love at all.

Mic check mic check
testing One,two,three.
Are you listening to me
or are you just hearing me.
Mic check mic check
testing one,two,three.
I show you love
Why can't you show me?
Why can't you show me?

I know you hear what I'm saying
but are you listening?
There's a difference in hearing
and actually listening.
Your actions are prohibiting me
from giving you factual conditioning
of my love and how I'm feeling.
Silent as the night they are.
Derailing my train of thought.
This is why I hold **** in
like a reservoir.
And you begin to wonder
why I'm so angry and bizarre.
It's like I'm talking to myself
and I'm locked behind bars.
Oh well, I guess I'm
going crazy again.
Self indulging with drugs
just to feel loved again.
So far gone
when you knock
you can't get in.
Smoke fills the temple
that my soul sits in
because Im at
my wits end.
All because you struggle
to take the time to comprehend.
Mic check. Mic check.
Drop what the ****
you are doing
this is a sound check.
It's just you and I
and our hearts on deck.
I will do my best
to hear what you have
to get off of your chest.
I just hope when I'm next
you set your pride aside
to hear what's on my mind.

Mic check mic check
testing One,two,three.
Are you listening to me
or are you just hearing me.
Mic check mic check
testing one,two,three.
I show you love
Why can't you show me?

-Klash
For all of those who struggle with communication in your relationships. This is for you. Please like and share! Much love!
Rob Sandman May 2016
Playin' games.
=============
Jay Text Sandman aka Skitz Text

Set the timer click click now the clock is tick tockin'.
I came to play the game. Like a KNIK KNAK knockin'.
Your rhyme flow is slow you know like PLAYDOUGH.
I gobble up fine rhymes like a HUNGRY HIPPO.
Like SUBBUTEO I kick it.
Shruggin' off your challenge like BUCKAROO kickin'..
..up ****. I sunk your BATTLESHIP.
You played out your game of CHARADES. That's it.
I dig deep in me rhyme dictionary.
You scrawl on the the wall like palsy PICTIONARY.
Not strugglin'. I'm jugglin' the rhymes in me head.
Slam dunk. KERPLUNK. Nuff said.
No, never. No way. Who am I kiddin'?
You know I got the rhymes. And I got the rhythm.
I confess. Like a game of CHESS.
Checkmate. No debate. Not a pretty pawn missin'. *  

It’s the end of the games like RIP,
I Multikill MC’s like COD,
Keep your mind on your MINECRAFT can’t catch me,
Cause Skitz is EC's Artillery,
droppin bombs watch the FALLOUT or you’re Dogmeat
FAR CRY from the old days of CRT
So your attempt is DOOMed best clear the room,
SWAT’s get Swatted Mic shotgun BOOM!,
Blast backdraft will destroy your CIV,
No cheat codes PAC em up MAN time to give,
RESPEC- to the PORTAL gun hangin’ on me hip,
You’ve got HALF a LIFE left faster than NO CLIP
But I said no cheatin’ Hackers get Hacked up,
No Multiplayer,cause you’ve no backup,
I’m glorying in the games we play,
Checkmate VS XBOX  pass to Jay.


Chorus
Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic and it's Jay to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

When I flex it's hectic. Like SCALEXTRIC.
Switch lanes to PERFECTION.
I've a MONOPOLY in this game.
Don't pass go. Go straight to jail.
You fall like DOMINOES. I leap like a salmon.
Tisk tisk. Big RISK. Now I have BACKGAMMON.
Stamina. A steady hand OPERATION.
Ace up me sleeve and I'm just playin' PATIENCE.
Got me POKERface on.
Read 'em and weep as the game plays on.
I got a dead mans hand but I animate the mic.
BULLDOGS charge. You know I'll reach the other side.
Back to me den.
Repeat after me like SIMON SAYS.
RED ROVER, RED ROVER. I call Jay over.
You think it's over ?
No my friend. *  

Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic Schizophrenic to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

This Steam Machine is heatin' up a treat
So don’t be TEKKEN the ****,just feel the beat,
This KOMBAT’s MORTAL to enemies,
But it’s a full HEALTH PACK to Fans of E.C.,
So OverClock your CPU,
get your Soundcard Jumpin like chimps in SIM ZOO,
drop DICE on ICE from here to Timbuktoo,
STREET FIGHTER’s and Writers BIOSHOCKin' you


Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic Schizophrenic to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

I SPY with my little eye.
Somethin' beginnin' with J. I let fly.
As your JENGA tower wobbles.
I smile. You drop tiles. Dropped your poxy box of SCRABBLE.
Look out. That could spell disaster.
Triple word score as the rhymes rip past ya. Blast ya.
Quick out the trap like The Flash playin' SNAP.
Check the lyrical master. *
As the Dungeon Dragon spreads his wings-lets fly
playin' the game the pied piper pies,
catch you rats in me MOUSETRAP its a snap,
"cause I wrote the rhymes that broke the bulls back"
I'm the KING OF THE HILL I got ya QUICKSCOPIN'
in THE SHADOWS OF MORDOR prayin' and hopin'
for a hero like MARIO to bust you loose,
Jay's SNAKE'n' up the LADDER time to twist the noose


Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic E.C. to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

What ya think ?              
Me rhymes kink, bend and fold like TWISTER.
A wicked rhythm like DOUBLE DUTCH. Skip, skip.
Like EVEL KNIEVEL. Flywheel spinnin'.
Rev it up. Dump the clutch.        
See me grinnin'. Knockin' down the pin and..
SPIROGRAPH lines in me rhyme. I'm spinnin..
..out of control. You can't cope with me GYROSCOPE.
I bring you back to the beginnin'.*

Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic E.C. to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.
Jay came up with this idea and tried to mention as many games we played as kids as he could fit in,when  he invited me onto the track I went more down the PC/Console game route,
let us know how many we missed!.
Ayeshah Apr 2013
I step up to the curtains
they weren't open yet,
but I could hear the melody of the music
and
I listen curiously,
as
the man performing before me spoke,
he used words to address me as a
Afrocentric --Soultress
with a little bit of Boriqua aurora ,
I bow my head and laugh.
The curtains lift as I walk out & up
I open my mouth softly
I tells of lovers wrapped entwined entangled
as
sheets become hiding places as lips taste of honey
from valleys of lustrous milky--juices
from a our oasis
of ******* *******,
and
overflowing valleys fill to the
brink with sweets raunchiness hehehe...
I step to the right to
look at the crowd
making sure they get the effect of how he tasted
as
I hold the mic
I gentle massage it
while motioning
to a man sitting right in front,
he licks his lips
and
I then turn my head to my left
addressing
the parties sitting right up front on my left,
I speak to them of the swells of his back and how
my nails dug deep as he enter me swiftly
with his Mandingo shaft...
how his blue eyes seeped into my brown eyes
while
he drove deeper inside of my mahogany velvet box,

a women in front crossed her legs tightly
and
wiggled in her seat,
I bow my head so I don't laugh,
I watch the center crown as
I explain how he  the man with this enormous
Mandingo ****
stuffs it down my throat
and
I **** him in choking as he trys to insert it deeper,
I'm lavishing up every bit of his essence, 
 the couple in the center hold hands even tighter
and
look at each other with a shared memory.
I flow with the music softly slowly
I connect with each member of my audience,
sharing with them the way he bent me over his stool inside
his photo lab
and
kissed between my cheeks as he spread me open
and
softly fingered my ***
while using the other to finger to lavishly assault
my chocolate velvety muffin,
as
I moaned he readily spread me,
telling me as he moved in front of me saying be still,
he tied me up to this tall stool, the crowd leans in
as if ready to hear the next verse,
I give in after a moments pause,
sharing with them how he spread my legs
and
tied them right after he spread
my hands on each leg of his stool.
In his photo lab he lubed up moving his hand up
&
down
his light skinned shaft,
I watched
and
longed for him to touch me again,
the radiance crowd
sitting on my left seemed
to be thinking as I did,
"is he going to stuff his **** back inside my mouth,"
I speak again
seeing how their all
longing to know he did in fact slowly 
walk up to me, lifting my head and saying open up baby,

I did as I was told,
the man sitting in the shadows
on my left
seems
to be stroking his **** as
I proceed to explain in poetic
****** verses
of this tall
high--yellow
black man
with the
blue eyes,
he seems in tuned
so I keep speaking of how
I licked his shaft
then allowed him to slowly meticulously
push
his **** inside my mouth
and
slowly pull out again .
I tell the audience how he ***** my mouth first slowly and then like a beast, he was ready to explode I explain how he grabs the head and stops him self from *******,

I get an
"Ah'awe"
from all the men in the audience
and
I laugh..
but
continued to explain
how he didn't want to just yet...
poetically
I explain how
he wanted to ready me for his assault
on my sweet *****,
using words to describe it ;
like mahogany rose buds or petals.
Explaining
how his Mandingo shaft
would be his weapon...
They seem eager to know more,
I tell a tale of how this light skinned brotha had me tied and teased me in his photo lab,
explaining how he pulled out a ***** just
as big as
his manhood was
and
while eating me he slide it inside of me
as
I quivered and shook he'd stop,
it seemed right when I was about to ***,
he seem to laugh out loud at my misery,
he knew just what he was up to, the audience seemed to get deathly quite,
seems even the music died
as explained the rough treatment I received at the hands of this blue eyed light skinned devil
of a man,
He licked me even at timed used his fingers along with this *****,

I explained to my audience
how he stopped his assault
on me as he slide his Mandingo up and down
my *** teasing my *******
putting the tip of his head in and then taking it out,
I told them how he finally stopped for a second,
then he entered my *** with the ***** and slide his 12" ****
deep inside my ***** causing me to cry out,
I tried to stop him but my hands were tied and that of my ankles as well,

and

he moved with such force and swiftness
I couldn't utter a word,
the more he moved the more
my body betrayed me as it heated up
from the inside out as
if he ignited something new and longing within me
he moved fast and ferociously in and out of me in sync
with the enormous ***** until
I myself was begging for him not to stop,
I
poetically
spoke memories & fantasies out loud,
letting my audience
know how
I
came so close to a ****** I've never ever got to feel or come close to feeling again,
I acted as if there was more but I then kissed the mic and walked off stage ....
  
  Another
Story
perhaps
another night
&
I'll
KISS THE MIC!
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
**All right reserved ®
Thank you for Matching
the Tinder Call Center.
My name is Nick and I will be helping you with your order today.
And your name is?

Hello, Port Veritas

I'm so glad you called
because you do qualify
as one of the first 100 people
I find attractive!

So Where are you from?
Oh Wow, I've never been there,
you ever Been here to Bull Feeney's?

No? Well look at that,
I guess we've never been
too each others places before.
Hah!

Looks like we have something
in common.

What was it on my profile that got you interested in swiping right?
Oh I see, you like love poems,
you like new ****,
you just wanna make everyone cry.

How long have you been interested in that?
Wow that's a long time.

What else have you tried
to hear love poems,
see new ****
and make people cry?

Wow that's...

that's kinda ****** up Port Veritas.

That's really ****** up.

What's the worst part about dealing with that?
I see, well I'm glad you called.

Tell me a bit
why it's important
to do something about this now;
it's a little different for everyone.

I see, it's Valentine's day. There's a valentines open mic and LOVE SLAM Tonight!

I'm just gonna ask a couple quick questions to see if you qualify,

Will you all answer them for me?

Do You want **** poetry?

**** poetry IS the best sticky note to receive in your eighth grade lunch box

Do you want Radical Self Love?

me too, let's keep looking

Do you want love Poetry?

You just want so many things from me that i can give you.

Do You want people to need a towel by the time you leave the stage!?

You're right, they shouldn't call it dry *******

You know, Port Veritas. I can't wait for you to watch this amazing show we have for you tonight.

As my profile states,
we're gonna give strangers this microphone for four minutes.
Where they are gonna say whatever the hell they want about terrible dates, passionate love, terribly passionate ***.
And that sounds great doesn't it?

Just imagine how wonderful it will feel when
you get up here
picture all these lovlies in their underwear
feel cold and alone
with nothing but your words
and a microphone
Then drop the god ****** heat on us.

Imagine a chorus of ****
and Mmmm and snaps

THAT'S really why you swiped right today, isn't it Port Veritas?

Excellent! Let's get you started!

As you heard, we've put together a Special Package, with this Valentines open mic. A LOVE SLAM.
And an extra free second date when you try this First One for just your body.
Plus, since you're one of the first 100 people I find attractive,
I'm gonna throw in a Third date. so you get three, for the price of one!
And remember that swiping right on a Poetry slam is risk-free because it's backed by our 30-day Text you back guarentee.
So put your name on the sign up sheet.
next to your $3- $5 dollar suggested donation
bus your tables at the end of the night,
Tip your bartender Leah well for putting up with us every week.
use whatever bathroom you ******* want

and one last order of business
to wrap things up
like a good boy practicing
safe ***, who is totally not trying
To get you all pregnant.
when he asks how you like
Your eggs in the morning.

Un-fertilized.

If someone gets up here and says
something during their four minutes
That makes you feel unsafe
you can do one of three things
1. Silently get up, leave the room and come back when you're comfortable
2. Get Nate or myself and tell us to provide floor for a calm discussion.
3. Go home write a ******* poem about it. and bring it back here next week!

Now
WHO'S READY FOR A VALENTINE'S OPEN MIC?!

UP ON DECK
WE HAVE:
Sethnicity Oct 2015
I was a fiend ... before I became a teen
I melted microphone instead of cones of ice cream
Music-orientated so when hip-hop was originated
Fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated
Cause I grabbed the mic and try to say, "yes, y'all"
They tried to take it, and say that I'm too small
Cool, cause I don't get upset
I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet
Back to the lab, without a mic to grab
So then I add all the rhymes I had
One after the other one, then I make another one
To diss the opposite then ask if the brother's done
I get a craving like I fiend for nicotine
But I don't need a cigarette, know what I mean?
I'm raging, ripping up the stage and
Don't it sound amazing cause every rhyme is made and
Thought of, cause it's sort of, an addiction
Magnetized by the mixing
Vocals, vocabulary, your verses, you're stuck in
The mic is a Drano, volcanoes erupting
Rhymes overflowing, gradually growing
Everything is written in a code, so it can coincide
My thought's a guide
48 tracks to slide
The invincible, microphone fiend Rakim
Spread the word, cause I'm in
E-F-F-E-C-T
A smooth operator operating correctly
But back to the problem, I gotta habit
You can't solve it, silly rabbit
The prescription is a hypertone that's thorough when
I fiend for a microphone like ******
Soon as the bass kicks, I need a fix
Gimme a stage and a mic and a mix
And I'll put you in a mood or is it a state of
Unawareness? Beware, it's the re-animator
A menace to a microphone, a lethal weapon
An assassinator, if the people ain't stepping
You see a part of me that you never seen
When I'm fiending for a microphone, I'm the microphone fiend

After 12, I'm worse than a Gremlin
Feed me hip-hop and I start trembling
The thrill of suspense is intense, you're horrified
But this ain't the cinemas or Tales From the Dark Side
By any means necessary, this is what has to be done
Make way cause here I come
My DJ cuts material
Grand imperial
It's a must that I bust any mic you hand to me
It's inherited, it runs in the family
I wrote the rhyme that broke the bull's back
If that don't slow 'em up, I carry a full pack
Now I don't want to have to let off, you should have kept off
You didn't keep the stage warm, step off
Ladies and gentleman, you're about to see
A pastime, hobby about to be
Taken to the maximum, I can't relax see, I'm
Hype as a hypochondriac cause the rap be one
Hell of a antidote, something you can't smoke
More than dope, you're trying to move away but you can't, you're broke
More than cracked up, you should have backed up
For those that act up need to be more than smacked up
Any entertainer, I got a torture chamber
One on one and I'm the remainder
So close your eyes and hold your breath
And I'mma hit ya with the blow of death
Before you go, you'll remember ya seen
The fiend of a microphone, I'm the microphone fiend
The microphone fiend
Microphone Fiend by - Eric B & Rakim
**Rakim is a Supreme Favorite lyricist of mine and this rap is
1 of My Top 5 favorite Rhymes of All Time!**
Not to be out shined his partner in crime Eric was a mastermind at the time on the steel wheels that underline all of their tracks. Take a moment and recognize and respect the raw untamed talent that these two present.
Erin  Dec 2013
Getting Miced
Erin Dec 2013
You're here.

We don't talk,
but I'm quietly watching you,
so when you make eye contact shyly
it's easy to know what we are doing.

You approach me,
sanitizing wipe, Band-Aid, and mic
(complete with wires)
and peel the plastic.

Swab my cheek gently,
and I smell the alcohol
but it's a pleasant
smell now.

Put the mic over my ear,
position it against the side of my face,
tape the Band-Aid to my cheek,
fingers brushing my skin.

You send the wire down my dress,
pull up my skirt and reach up for the end,
soft fingers lightly skimming over my back.
Adjust the mic in its belt, and lower the fabric.

Tell me in your sweet voice:
"Look right"
I do, "oh, hair", you say, and I pull
my ponytail out of your way,
thinking of your soft short hair.

Then, "Look straight"
and as I do, and you tape the mic tape
against my neck, I'm thinking
"I do."

Backstage I think to myself
that you haven't done anyone else's mics,
and this makes me feel good.

I know later I'll be watching for you
to be free, so I can feel your hands
near me, watch your eyes rimmed
with liner as they study the mic
hooked to my face.


Crouching slightly as you are up
on tip-toes, and we can communicate
silently once more.
December 8, 2013 /itsjusterin
.how does one spell theatre terms
The room was packed in a kinda vacant almost like my mind way.
People posting words most spelled right most all  deep with big words which I really didnt understand.
Dam you kindergarden why didnt I pay more attention !

I was deep in some sort of cult meeting.
I belive people in that third world country called Canada people
call it a poetry reading.
You here to share your work sir?

the woman asked in a strange way unlike most women she didnt seem to be armed with anything but thoose dam tassers were getting smaller and smaller everyday but hey it isnt how big your tasser is it's how
you use it right girls?
Im know im not right.

The grand dragon or queen and owner of the cult approached the mic with a lingering want in his eyes
he gripped the mic firmly in his hands and from the way he handled the mic i could tell this was a man who enjoyed holding a mic in his hands hmmm must be playing for the other team like Green Bay Packers.
But enough about the man for who's name I cant mention or i'll be thrown in the princeple's office yet again.
And no man should have to face that *** dungeon by themself or at least without being paid first.


Hello poet's welcome to are open mic night he said in a very manish like Justin Bieber tone.
Oh baby but enough with the forplay children.

One by one the group said there verses covering many subjects most which were about fairy tales
like love and men who put down the seat after taking a **** duh who ever does that!?
And as these hampsters went through there woe's and tales of  lakes and long walks on the beach many had to question on such a deep level.

What the **** was ******* up semi insane ****** with a heart of gold like myself doing the **** here?
Im kidding im not a ****** I never charge.

And now fellow poets id like to welcome a very special guest.
Please give a warm poetry welcome to notorious black sheep of the site
one word can only describe him the man the mith the ******* who's so long winded he'll
put you into a coma Gonzo.


Without wasting time to speak utter nonsense in a utter crap style
Drew how we miss you.
I stood befor the group.

The silence a strange sister indeed many looked and i could tell what they thought
Whos this long winded *******.
Okay that kinda hurt.

I took a nice long breath of air in looked to the cult leader handed him my drink .
And began.

Poetry what can I say about it ?
Why did I ever start writting?
You may belive it was to voice the inner struggels of daily torment to give art to chaos.
Yes indeed.
Ahh **** folks im kidding i just did it to  make chicks think i was deep and its the only sport ive played where being a drunk is just a added plessure

Hey we can express are pain or just party are little drunken arses off
Me I only drink twice a week.
Weekdays and weekends.

Sure I could have come here been serious uptight never cracked a joke or mispelled anything cause i was having a few social bottles of whiskey with a like garnish of acid but what fun would that be?

Look everyone needs to laugh and every class needs clown just like every town its *****.
And every village its mispelling  idiot!
A voice said interupting my epic speech theres always a smart *** somewhere
but hey that was a good one ******.

Mr Gonzo is there any advice you can give us to make this write any longer?
Why yes young little hampster.
Always carry plenty  of cash for the strippers write more about drinking and *******.
And most of all Stay Crazy


Oh yeah and if your parents like your writing  it probaly *****.

And from the hushed voices i could tell i had touched the young minds but not in a weird avoid uncle Charlie and his nonexistant candy bar in the pocket kinda way.

It was more like uhh what the **** is he on and I hope insanity isnt catching cause i was
sitting next to that perve kinda way.

And so like a mad hatter or a kinda weird guy dressed like one at a all you can eat buffet
I was off.
And as I  put the pinto to the wind I herd the   applause
As that person for which we do not name said.
And finally that twisted freak Gonzo has left the building
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water.
I know some annoying little ***** always takes a leak in the pool.
No wonder i stay in the pub.
XIII  Jun 2015
Fliptop na, Rap pa
XIII Jun 2015
Ehem ehem!
Mic test, mic test
Ayan gumagana ang mikropono
Siguro naman makikinig kayo sa sasabihin ko

'Di ako nandito para makipagtalo
Kung sino mas gwapo, ako o si Piolo
'Di ako naghahanap ng gulo
'Di naman kasi ako palalo

'Di ako nandito para makipag-away
Nais ko lamang mag-aksaya ng laway
Pati na rin bumuhay ng patay
Na sa bawat isa sa atin ay nakaratay

Kasi sinabi nila na naiburol na ang mga salita
Nailibing na kasama ng mga tekstong sa eskwelahan ay ginawa
Hindi na nga daw naaayon ngayon
Sa tinutuntungan nating henerasyon

Pero, saglit, teka!
Pakinggan mo, ang ganda diba?
Kung paano magtugma ang mga salita
Kung paano magtugma ang mga letra

Kasi sabi nila ang korni tumula
Na namatay na lahat ng bayani, kasama ang mga makakata
Na hindi na uso 'to, hindi na tayo bata
Na nauuto ng mga **** na gumawa ng talata

Pero ano ba ang fliptop, ano ba ang rap?
Hindi ba nagmula din ito sa parehong ugat?
Walang kwenta ang melodiya kung walang liriko
Hindi masasabing awitin, kung walang mensahe ito

Kaya ito ang subukan mo
Isulat mo sa papel ang nararamdaman mo
Ang sarap sa pakiramdam na mailabas ang mga ito
At bumuo ng isang kwento

Gamit ang mga salitang akala mo'y walang kwenta
Magiging himig ang bawat pagtutugma
Ang iyong kwento ay magiging tula
Na mananatili kahit ikaw ay wala na
Akemi Nov 2018
Blanket city run along soaked in rain. Idiot Boy wastes his time visiting a passing crush at the other end of town. Slips between two houses and a metal sheet, communal refrigerator in the middle of the road filed with half-empty soy bottles.

Dead bell stop, mocking red blink of the operator. Father arrives, a mess of wiry muscles and hair.

“Hey. Is Coffin Cat here?”

“Who?” Father squints at Idiot Boy’s cap. Idiot Boy avoids eye contact.

“Um.”

Recessed in the blackness behind Father, a Figure says, “You looking for Coffin Cat?”

Idiot Boy nods.

The Recessed Figure turns. “I’ll go get her.”

Father returns to his parched body on the couch, content.

Indistinguishable forms move back and forth in the kitchen to the right. They stop their pacing and glance at Idiot Boy as he passes. Idiot Boy avoids eye contact and slips into the left-bound arterial vessel.

“So this is the heart chamber I’ve been living in,” Coffin Cat says as Idiot Boy enters her room. There is music gear. “It’s pretty comfy.”

“Oh, sick mic,” Idiot Boy says, pointing at the mic behind Coffin Cat’s head.

“I feel like a ghost,” Coffin Cat replies, falling on her bed.

Idiot Boy settles next to her. Animal distance. Intensely aware of his rain-soaked right shoe. “Same.”

Nothing comes out right, intersubjectivity a false God to mediate the impossible kernel of being, nobody can find nor express. Idiot Boy searches for connection. He glances around the heart chamber, at the music gear, but nothing grips. Four pears sit on a table by the window, their skins garish green in the harsh grey light.

Coffin Cat moves from the bed to the floor. She opens a virtual aquarium on her computer; fish eat pellets dropped from the sky to **** out coins to buy more fish to **** out coins to buy more fish. Capitalist investment and accumulation. Every few minutes a rocket-spewing robot teleports into the aquarium to attack the fish. Ruthless competition in the global marketplace.

“No! Why would you swim there, you ******* fish?” Coffin Cat yells as one if her fish is eaten by the nomadic war machine. “So dumb. ****. Why did it eat my fish?”

A knock at the door. The Recessed Figure from earlier enters the room. “Hey, mind if I join?” Their arms dangle like fine threads of hair.

“I like your music gear,” Idiot Boy says, pointing at nothing in particular.

“Idiot Boy also makes music,” Coffin Cat adds from the floor.

The Recessed Figure does not respond. They are enthralled by their phone, streak of dead pixels along a digital chessboard, minute reflection of their own gaunt face in the glass. After an extended period, they decide to move none of their pieces. A gaping coffee grinder rises out of the rubble at their feet. They begin filling it with tobacco from broken cigarettes.

“I’m surprised you’re still playing this,” Idiot Boy says to Coffin Cat. “I swear this is one of those games designed to ruin your life. Get addicted, stop going to work, become a hikik weaboo.”

“Already there, man,” Coffin Cat laughs. “Nah, this is my new job. I’m going to be a professional gamer.”

“Stream only PopCap games.”

Another knock at the door. Tired squander in an endless pacing of flesh. Strawman enters and nods at the Recessed Figure. “Hey bro.”

“Good to see you, man.” The Recessed Figure plugs the coffee grinder into the wall. “You got any ciggys?”

Idiot Boy points under the table and says “Ahh” with his mouth.

The Recessed Figure empties it into the coffee grinder. The device whirs into motion, creating a centrifugal blur, a mechanical and headless hypnotic repeat.

Idiot Boy and Coffin Cat look for horror movies to watch. The Recessed Figure empties the contents of the coffee grinder onto a metal tray. Strawman repacks it into a ****. White smoke fills the empty column, moves in slow motion like an oceanic rip a mile off coast, surface seething with quiet, impenetrable violence.

Idiot Boy refuses the first round. It’s never done him any good. Face turned to smoke and the wretched weight of a tongue that refuses to speak. Headless carry-on as time ticks through the clock face.

The door bursts open. Everybody turns as Manic Refusal or the Loud Person saunters in.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. They’re selling me off!” the Loud Person says in exasperation. “First time back in New Zealand in five years and they do this to me!”

“What? What’s happened?” Strawman asks.

“Some rich ****** in Australia has bought me as his wife. I knew it, I knew if I came back, my parents wouldn’t let me leave again. Whole ******* thing arranged!” the Loud Person laughs bitterly, before hitting the ****.

“Oomph, that’s rough,” Coffin Cat quips from the side.

“No, you don’t even understand. This is the first time back, the first time back in five years, and I’m being sold to off some rich ****** who owns all the banks in Australia.”

“But like, who is this guy?” Strawman asks, pointing.

“And he’s been reading all my profiles. He has access to all my information. I don’t even have control over my Facebook profile. Grand Larson’s logged in as me, posting for me,” the Loud Person continues. “I met him once in Australia, clubbing, and now he’s tracked and bought me.”

“That’s creepy as ****,” Idiot Boy says.

“So he’s not a complete stranger?” Strawman asks.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. First time back in five years and I’m being sold off!”

Idiot Boy decides one hit from the **** wouldn’t be so bad. He packs the cone with chop, lights and inhales. Smoke rushes through the glass channel, a swirl of white ether, more than he’d expected. He quickly passes the **** to Coffin Cat, before collapsing onto the bed, eyes closed. A suffocating sensation fills his body. He sinks into the chasm of himself, further and further into an impossible, infinite depth.

“Still working at . . . ?”

“Yeah, yeah. Management. Hospital. You?”

“Like, property. Motions.”

“Subcontracting? Intonements?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mmm.”

Idiot Boy doesn’t know what’s going on. He feels sick and tries to get Coffin Cat’s attention, but cannot move his body.

“Come on. Sell me drugs, Strawman.”

“Nah. I don’t deal drugs. I don’t deal drugs.”

A strange silence stretches like an artificial dusk, a liminal duration, the hollow click of a tape set back into place in reverse. The Recessed Figure coughs and the Loud Person whirs back into motion.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. They’re selling me off! First time back in New Zealand in five years and they do this to me!”

The Recessed Figure makes a noncommittal noise.

“I knew it, I knew if I came back, my parents wouldn’t let me leave again. Whole ******* thing arranged!”

Coffin Cat laughs quietly.

“No, you don’t even understand. This is the first time back, the first time back in five years, and I’m being sold off to some rich ****** who owns all the banks in Australia.”

“How about this fella? He doing okay?” Strawman asks, pointing. Everyone turns to Idiot Boy and laughs affectionately.

“Still working at . . . ?”

“Yeah, yeah. Management. Hospital. You?”

“Like, property. Motions.”

“Subcontracting? Intonements?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mmm.”

“Sell me drugs, Strawman.”

“Nah. I don’t deal drugs. I don’t deal drugs.”

Idiot Boy slowly opens his eyes and stares out the window. The same grey light as before. He moves his arm further towards Coffin Cat, but is still too weak to get her attention. The same strange silence stretches. The Recessed Figure coughs and the Loud Person whirs back into motion.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. . . .”

As the conversation repeats over and again, Idiot Boy begins to think he has become psychotic, or perhaps entered into a psychotic space. He thinks of computer algorithms, input-output, loops without variables, endless regurgitations of the same result. Human machines trapped in their own stupid loop. Drug-****** neuronal networks incapable of making new connections, forever traversing old ones. Short-term memory loss, every repeat a new conversation of what has already been. The same grey light painted upon four pears by the window.

He’s not sure if Coffin Cat’s laugh is getting weaker with each repeat.

Signal-response. The exterior world oversaturated with variables: roadways, rivers, forests, wildlife — an ever changing scene to respond to — the illusion of depth. Automatic response mechanisms reorient to new stimuli. The soul rises like surfactant, objectified fractal diffusion. A becoming without end.

But within the border of this interior world, the light stays grey. No input, no change; the same dead repeat, over and over, until sundown triggers a hunger response. Lined all along the street, a black box ceremony of repeating machines, trapped in their idiot cults, walls of clay and blood.

Idiot Boy finally gets Coffin Cat’s attention. She helps him through the house’s arteries to reach rain and wet stone, overcast skies. As he shakes in shock, Coffin Cat mumbles, “It’s cold.”

Idiot Boy sits silent on the ride home. Travels through himself. Tunnel through the body or Mariana Trench. Loses his footing before a traumatic void. Leaves the car and pukes.
Reverse back to the verse
I throw ya in you cursed
Watch me put them rhymes in a hearse
Sound the eulogy
Cuz none get next to me
Im swift as bruce lee
Kicks hard like Chung Li born in 83
Add the 4 more ya get *******
Im crazier than Cujo these putos
Dont want it on the mic
You aint murderin nothin'
but ya own sight
I brailled ya envision changed your decision
Whatin' n guessin' a prediction?
Is it me or is it the way the
Way my rhymes please ?
Bow to ya knees
I make the crowds freeze
Even ya fans say bless you! when i sneeze
I bet you still wear dungerees or high heels with tight capris
I thought ya heard  im the rappin' don Shapiro
Shine n spin  around haters like disco
Sip old school Sisqo hit the blunts slow
Let the smoke meditate my mind flow
Learn how to grind ill put  ya on a flat line
Resuscitate your rhymes just to put you back on the flat line
Searchin' for the light im dolemite
My game **** tight know how to write
When ya step to legend im gifted
Young black n hung
I keep ya lifted
Got hoes on the tip of they toes
Just to hear suave flow
Pockets of dough
Thats how it goes
Pistol cocked to ya nose
Ya thoughts are froze i suppose
Dont redeem ya self
My rhymes hittin' so hard
Made the minds deaf
Cuz when ya try to diss me ya diss ya self
The microphone murderer
Aint never left !!!!

Yo everyboy gather around
Hand me the crown
Cuz ya know im King of the ****
My NY freestyles stay lit
TEXAS is where i reign
Home of the ******* up clique
This life i live aint no ****** puzzle
Tryin to figure me out gets gun to ya muzzle
Dont meddle in my ****
Spinnin' out the wombs
From cradle to my tomb
Im hittin' ya curves that go straight
Flows penetrate so hard make girlies mind  *******
Who can relate?
To my skills raws as ever
Goin' in with my raw potato skin
Bust my nut then i leave em blowin in the wind
If ya a hater i gotta mack 10
Extra clips on my hips ****** done then i dip
Listen closely to the story being told
I wont grow old never will i fold
Platinum or Gold knots
check the tic toc
My money on clockwork  
rolex watch
Worth 50 gran an on the other hand
Is the microphone
Turn the amps up mic up
Leave crowds minds blown
From nut being shown my tone
Is laid back these nigguhs
Spittin' is wayyy wack
While you pushin' Honda im in a Maybach
No frills only the real i spit so you can feel
Givin' head aches to radio station
Cant tune me out im like exacerbation
Crush my opponent everytime he bust a rhyme
They give up even before they heard mine
Intimator from dope originator
Now im the terminator eliminator
Showed up yo party they still didnt play ya
Im old school fool soul filled with blues
Leave my competitiors on front line news
It goes a little like this
This is a replica of a Chris this aint a diss
But an address
To you punks who wanna **** around
With the master of this ****
Duck quick or these rounds will put you in the ground
Flat line..........

— The End —