*****, I’m still deft like a leopard;
Repping these streets,
Still chasing da paper
Quick wit the maths,
SoCal’d-rap c u lator
Innovative & faded,
I drink it straight up, no chaser

Backw(ar/oo)ds I’m facing
I’m trippin’ my laces
Inhaling clouds of a thousand lit vapors
Sowing my seeds,
Young man he ain’t got no patience
Be wading my way
Thru a crowd of y'all haters

Insane bro,
How they still don't know my name
Money and fame
I scream while I slang,
It's lame
And I can't move my feet,
my knees are weak
Padlocked to my mafkin’ seat
Yeet YEET

****** around and popped some molly,
U know I be boolin’
Wit a couple of y’all thotties
My Impala’s no ‘Rari
I’m not saying sorry,
***** I got no money
My Mom’s where my house be

I see you sneak dissin’
Just gonna squeeze this in
I’m a heathen and I mean it
~Ope please excuse the dopeness,
I’m just wokest with the flow dontcha know it?
Best have some hands to throw 4sho,
Unless u glow wit it

If I had as much love
As I had **** in my pants,
I’d fill you up at the first glance,
Given the chance
Got u entranced,
We **** when we drance
I’ll show you London,
You show me France yeah

Suicide’s on my mind
Though I can’t seem to find
Motivation inside
I say I wanna try
But I’m wasting my time
Just want some good vibes
Hmu if you find em?

Said I'm havoc wit astounding clout
Blow clouds spit them fractals wow
shifting shapes, him prismatic now
-I’m in another dimension
Guess I never questioned
the consequences
of my pathetic aesthetic

Ya I wear a ****** mask
so you can’t see my pain
Tell me does it resonate,
Does that penetrate your brain?
Man everyday, it straight feel the ****** same
So let’s just vegetate
Now watch me steady levitate
I’m breaking loud,
Falling apart like towers to a plane
Flowers to a flame burning down,
Mayday, mayday
You melt the beams in my heart,
What can I ******’ say?
Catch me diving headfirst in them opposite lanes
Then my mind,
Gets flushed down the ******’ the drain
*****, if you ain’t a succubus
Get the **** up out my gravy train

I smoke big doinks
Gets my mind zoinked
To the point I’m anointed

All about the jinkies
When I'm smoking on that ******,
Take you to the movies,
Tryna feel up them *******
Finna get *****,
I’m no noobie wit a Hoop-D
Shoot my shot up in the *******,
When I hit her wit da roofie

That beat slap harder than a drunk stepfather
When you feeling up his daughter
Got some choppers in the locker,
-Steady mob but I’m a scholar
Now they droppin’ all these dollas
Got the armor to conjure
& conquer the darkest monsters
Hollerin at my partner,
Slobber on my whopper while I stomp em’
Noggin I’m finna clobber
Coldest shoulder on the mountain

My manhood hooked in the crook of ur nook
Y’all wanna tip toe but I don’t pussyfoot,
Wanna throw bows?
Tell ya *** not to look
Vibrate in the ****,
You could say that ***** was shook

Yeah my lines are blurry,
Insufflate blizzards in a fury
Digging where the sewage be
For all these ******* I am luring

Skewering all you limp *****,
Ripe for the barbequing
Cos I been roastin y'all ***,
This **** just ain't ****** new to me

Suckle on my Johnson just to savor the taste
That’s real cheese flavor,
Parmesan off the grate
Got some fries with that shake,
Know those thighs make me quake,
Great Value™ cellulite it’s processed Equate™!

Assassinate you with stealth
God's not gonna save you
When you’re screaming for help
Guns drawn, black lung,
***** I shoot from the belt
Dead-Eye in the sights,
Just need five perfect pelts
Gettin’ litty
Spend $50’s
Pet kitties
**** *******
On this niftier side of ******
while I acquire the wealth

Yo, I smoke a rello
To un-harsh my mellow,
Y’all yellow bellied fellows
Can’t reach my own level

Don’t like my rhymes?
You can fight me
Ignite whilst I smite thee,
From the sky
These bolts come to strike, see
Now I’m magically
Sporadic as lightning

Got Gucci on my zipper -
Throw me a bag, u kno I’ma flip her
Call me Jim Lahey, *****
Cuz’ I am the ******* liquor!
Gonna put on my slippers,
And rock you wit da dripper

In tha cut,
I’m tripping ****
Yuh rolling up that indica

Priceless unrecognized art in our midst
What this is about will fail from my part but along the way hopefully it will be worth the read I don’t know why unless her lost
Love is trying to channel feeling through me all I know when something grips touches moves you and won’t let go you must
Give it the fullest expression of your ability so it is a great endeavor we reserve Lincoln and Jefferson as great topics of dissimilation
In my case Mulholland Drive it speaks of place and immediate recognition of a greater place as a whole the same here I will be
Speaking of a single person but as in Matisse’s art you will find yourself in the overall theme and parts will speak of you then end
Modernism cubism Jackson *******’s power art fracture they said it’s not getting there that’s important but what you end up with
Jack the dripper was what he was called but they said mathematicians can tell his work by the amount of paint that he places in
Mathematical perfection in each section of the canvas this beautiful young woman can only be summed up that way she starts and
Flows on the canvas I have it easy sort of I’m not making a life I’m only revealing one even so following God pointing out his handy
Work his ability to reach forth and actually handle and hold intangibles this girl this woman God desires light moods he reaches out
Picks out laughter and merriment where and on whatever shelf it rest on he places this in the heart it outwardly produces tender
Moments that reflect and hold desired effects of casual looseness that brims with joy the filling of human kindness it ebbs and flows
Like a musical downbeat that impresses and gives enduring pleasure somber can accentuate deepen as it has done her personality
So God just picks up a frown with a deft hand he puts it in place at the precise right moment into the fabric of her life gold is laced
Among the hidden divined parts this glows mysteriously in her personality so the greatest artisan of all worked this master piece on
Living loving canvas of sweetest soft flesh the smiles and playful way are evident in all of her outward show of giving and being
Emotional stirring anchored in loves unmovable depths her heart was perfected by the man He gave her to love great years followed
She grew from girlhood into womanhood her countenance and face her glorious hair the true nobility of her quiet way is not easy to
To capture in words but it takes you to another place it gives evidence of the finest quality that is set in stillness a true master piece
Of art in her presence richness invades your soul you are set forth to discover masterful wonder gleaming in a living dream it stands all
Scrutiny her being holds mystery undivided attention to detail will enthrall move carry you to a place of appreciation and thankfulness
And some have the greatest blessing of being her friend thank you for this art treasure if you look at it as a portrait its name would be
Iva he calls her my beloved wife for then and forever

hollow Rd. ---parallel to sunbeams
and tall flowers.

dreams about lazy statements
seen like tracers filling the gap of eye and ear. lazybones, glue like marrow stapling body to bedcover; I eat.
(lighter?)

blue brick yellow. firebox baby. 'Darlin' yur a honeycomb.'

Windowbird. I eat.

Higher. (lighter?)

Mummy,
Happy birth-mothersday
Throw ya toast out the window
Feed it to the dog
Kiss me with your laughing eyes
Kiss me kindly with your lips
Touch my cheek with your smooth brown hands
Not one more time
But forever more times please Mum
Let's get ***** growing potatoes
Let's get paint on the carpet
Let's write love notes on the walls
Like all normal people do
Tell me to make you a cuppa tea.
(I'm turning into you mum.)
Sing my songs to me mummy
Tell me about Rindacella again
please tell me how she slopped her dripper on the stairs
Can you hear the morepork Mummy? Listen with me
Did you see that shootin' star?
Are you smelling these trees?
Wrap me up in itchy woollen cardies
Put my odd socks on
Puddle jumpin' in my gummies
In a land called Honalee
I'll climb into bed with you tonight
Lace bedspread catching my toes
Curl up in the nest of the crook of your knees
It's cold, sleep back-to-back
Dance in front of my friends if you like
They all think you're cool
Sorry I didn't tell you.
Teenagers ****.
Tell me I'm amazing
Adventurous and strong
Your courageous daughter
Smart and beautiful
Remind me I can sail ships through storms
That God is always close
Pray over me and praise with me
Read the bible again to me
Come play piano with Isobel
Or computer games if you like
I think I've killed your Farmville farm
Sorry .
Mummy
Chat with me on Facebook
Ocean's teacher likes Donald Trump
Be outraged with me please
Come with me to the school
I'll hide behind your storm
People aren't afraid of my
Gentle, steady rain
I think I hear my babies stirring
They're amazing Mum
You should see the stuff they do and say
You should see how fierce they are
You should. You should. You should.
Be. Here.
They're creeping round the house now
Making my heart laugh
I better open up my bedroom window
Ready for the toast.

https://tinyurl.com/y2wh9v4n

two crushing days, Atlas must have taken a break
and dropped the entire earth on my shoulders...
or rather: my stomach...

    burnout! completely lost my bearings...
or i copped out... whichever it was...
        i guess all those poets in China who wrote
haikus didn't have such problems...
they'd drink for a month before sitting down
to write the bare minimum...

i mean: i'm not a novelist! i'm not built for fiction!

at the same time what exhausted me
was finding out that i can actually sing in a Mongolian
fashion...
three nights ago i sat there disappointed with
myself... or rather...
           i was doing some housework...
drank a little of my mother's gin... poured some water
into the bottle...

i'm pretty sure it was water! i'm certain of it!
because i sipped some of it prior...
                     so what, the % went down from 37.5
to 35%...
                  but i get called in the evening when
she's about to have her drink... my father shows me
the bottle...
there's oil floating on top... body lotion oil...

and i get all defensive: because i know this tactic:
it's regression... it's implanting false memories into
someone's head: some sadistic psychiatrists
do this... i know what the psychological "game" is...

so i tell them... i can separate these two substances...
father exclaims! do you not know anything
about chemistry?!
        basically: you're stupid...

   oh sure... i keep my mouth shut... but i'm devastated...
he so easily insults me when it's "necessary"...
well: he can be a ******* but he still
has some hidden bitterness over the fact that
his mother abandoned him, his father abandoned
him and he was raised by his grandmother
and her second husband: so not even his grandfather...

i'm not a push over either...
but certain things at certain times just crush a man...
it doesn't have to be a massive rock...
stress at work... it's always the little unexpected thing:
and it's not even external...
its whimsical and within...
             it arises just as well as an ingenious thought...

2 days in bed...
        strapped to it... lethargy... a general unwilligness
to see either sun, moon or stars...
or people...
                   because i have studied chemistry...
to a degree level... i know you can separate oil from
alcohol... esp. since we're talking alcohol and not water...
not... completely...
but to a good degree...

which i did: took an empty ketchup bottle... petite?!
no no, i forget the names of equipment sometimes...
since i don't use them...
poured the bottle of gin into a bowl...
and watched... probably the best movie i've seen
in years...
there's that joke about watching paint dry...
this one was better...
  
watch oil float on top of alcohol and...
     i'm good with words... but i don't want to describe
what i saw... i did feel like a warlock looking
into a cauldron... an alchemist...
at first there are these bubbles of oil...
that are below the surface level...
then... all of a sudden they start to join up...
creating these surface level contact lenses...

i mean... until the whole thing comes together...
it's the best thing i've seen in a long time
and i'm planning to see the Walter Stickert
exhibition at Tate Britain in the near future...

but i used this empty bottle of ketchup
like an inverted dripper...
     i pressed the bottle.... to get all the air out...
and ****** up the oil...
    
almost like that... ****'s sake... chemistry at university
level and yet the fondest memory
of a chemistry experiment was from high school...
the even horizon of synthesising polyester...
a bit like this... two liquids... and you'd have
to pinch the event horizon and strands of white
polyester would "magically" reveal themselves...

so i ****** most of the oil from the top of the gin...
eh... a little bit of oil... well obviously i'm not
going to empty this gin into the sink...
don't be silly...
                       i once heard that a good breakfast
is a cup of black coffee with some melted butter in
it... sugar... yeah... tried it... disgusting!

so i started drinking this gin...
and... melancholy... sadness... something was stirring
in me...
i was already exhausted from working
with a kango into the garden... 30kg... i mean...
it's not an easy tool to work with if you don't
have an upper body stamina...

not that i don't... and a 7K+ poem spread over
5 days will always disappoint you...
now i have to train myself:
a poem in one sitting...
    remember: the Japanese circular form...
ensoo... one sitting... not ******* trying to be a novelist...

i can't go back to something i already
started... either in one go: or no go... at all..

in the night it came...
   Asia... she came in the night...
           Azja...
                   from history: the Golden Horde...
the great Khanate did knock on the doors of Europe...
it stopped around Poland...
******-lack-land...
   King John: Lackland... same ****... different cover...
how the king lost the Angevin Empire...
eh... ****** noblemen and that silly
idea of an elected monarchy:
   foreign rulers... the ***** of European monarchs...
that's what the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth
was...

but she came... and i truly don't remember
hearing this music before...
i was sitting there... drinking my gin...
and...

                    the khoomei...
Tuvan throat singing...
                           i can't say: like a professional
singer... but... it was... Mongolian...
where did i learn the technique?
it's almost as if your nose disappears...
best with vowels... the least amount of
consonants... there are some...
but... i wouldn't be surprised if i have some
Mongolian ancestry...

i'm not even going to get a DNA check...
i heard once... what you're interested in...
is where you come from...
but i wasn't expecting to break into
a Mongolian throat singing...
      
                             it felt a bit like that sketch
from Family Guy... when Peter first farts...
maybe that's why i was bed ridden for the past
two days...
     old history woke up in me and crushed
me... i started to look for this type of sound...

but because my voice is a bit deeper than
the above given example... where did this khoomei
come from?!
what ancient darkness is stirring in me?
how did this technique just come out of me?
the wind heard it, carried it away...

   maybe for all that's Europe's implosion:
i'd love to meet Douglas Murray...
   if there's any intellectual alive today: he's probably
my most respected example...
even though: i much prefer listening to him
talk than actually read him...

but i'm sitting here... bewildered...
surely you need to be taught to sing like a Mongolian...
unless of course...
well: the famous Hejnał Mariacki -
St. Mary's Trumpet Call...
a story about how a trumpeter was running
up the stairs of St. Mary's of Cracow
and was shot in the neck by a Mongolian
arrow...

stated each noon... or... however often...
i was born only 3 hours' bus journey
north of Cracow: i still don't accept Warsaw
as the capital...
   what are the chances that... one of my ancestors
wasn't ***** by a Mongolian?!

i've seen it in real life...
i used to date a half Indian girl...
lovely girl... she married a white guy:
i guess that tends to happen...
women of mixed-race heritage will choose
the race of their father rather than their mother...
2nd generation in? her daughters?!
god bless her... she didn't catch on...
when i said that on her fifth she had the saddest
expression on her face...
she responded: well you don't have any children!

i didn't mean it in that way...
    Henry VIII's complex...
            five daughters, i.e. no sons...
must be frog season...
      i mean: esp. since she had two younger brothers...
a bit ******... no? just being able to pop out
daughters and having no ***-diversity like
having a son... must be frustrating...
but obviously i didn't tell her that:
because she didn't figure it out in the first place:
what i was implying...

but 2nd generation in and... you couldn't tell if
these five girls had a half Indian mother...
they were... ahem... bleached!
so... it only takes about 2 generations' worth of
******* for the race "balance" to return:
so... we don't somehow end up looking
like a globalist neo-Brazil or H'arab Central...
coppernecks and all...

   - because isn't diversity our strength?!
last time i heard, that was the message...
  it's good to see black people, asian people...
eskimos... mongols...
   every single ****** time: i go back and visit
Poland... usually to "smuggle" cheap cigarettes
since... now that my grandfather is dead...
and my grandmother didn't tell me about his
deteriorating health only two days prior
to his death: while he was struggling for a month
and i could have went and helped out...

n'ah... i have no ties with that country...
excepted some fixations in my head...
                 historical narratives... but... everything else
is gone... plus i write in English predominantly...
so... go figure...

every time i go back... nausea hits me...
it's so... monochromatic... homogenous...
            wow! i don't feel unique: i don't feel like a minority
like i do back in England...
i can't pretend to be a German whenever
a Muslim asks me / insinuates that i might be!

wow! two generations... before the bleach kicks in
and a half Indian girl is popping out blue eyed
girls...
          obviously the same is true for...
                   the chocalatier department...

but i wasn't expecting to be singing: in that sort of way...
i'm truly bewildered...

hell... with my deep voice... it was more of
a kargyraa (каргыраа)! which implies that it was of a lower
pitch...
   but i felt so down in that moment...
and perhaps i needed to be comforted by
the ghosts of my ancestry...
    which just so happen to have come from Mongolia...
but like i already said:
2 generations and you wouldn't even know if you
had any Asiatic blood in you...

you have to start looking somewhere...
and if it just comes out spontaneously...
   without any restrictions...
                 you must be the designated inheritor of what
sometimes passes off as sleeping...
i don't need to do a DNA test...
no one taught me the Kargyraa...
                 or the Khoomei...
                    and from what i can remember...
it's not easy...
                      
you enter into a trance... like a Sufi dervish might
while spinning... mix that with a little
bit of alcohol... i forgot how long i sat there
while the night listened to me...

                        2 days later i've come out of the trance.