Oxpecker:
    "Impala,
may I offer my services to you?
I can clean you of your ticks and insects;
They must cause you great discomfort!
I'll eat them and keep you free of unwanted parasites.
I'll also clean your ears of wax and dandruff, helping you hear your predators approach."

Impala:
    "Oxpecker,
I would be grateful for your services,
it sounds too good to be true!
What's in it for you?"

Oxpecker:
    "Impala,
I only want to help you with your troubled condition.
I see your suffering,
I want you to be happy.
Your smile of relief will be my payment.
In order to carry out these burdens of care,
will you grant me permission to perch upon your back,
watching over you,
for your future well-being of course."

Elephant:
    "Impala,
don't believe the tick birds lies.
He'll feed on your pests and then on you!
His motives are sinister and self serving."

Oxpecker:
    "Elephant,
you spread malicious lies about me,
all because I refused a seat on your back!
You don't suffer as much as the impala,
he needs me more than you do!
YOU'RE a jealous, spiteful creature!"

Oxpecker:
    "Impala,
the elephant's trying to trick you so I'll take a seat on his back and care for him instead.
I know YOU'RE smart,
don't fall for his deceptions."

Impala:
    "Elephant,
you won't trick me with your duplicity!
You want the oxpecker all for yourself!
I'll accept the oxpeckers invitation at once
so you no longer try and steal him away.
YOU ARE a jealous, spiteful creature!"

Elephant:
    "Impala,
remember this day!
I warned you,
you chose to ignore me!
You've made a decision based in fear.
You take the word of a creature that eats other creatures,
you'll suffer for your rashness!"

As Akurra got into his 1960 Impala his cellphone rings.  "Hello Amber what's going on?" asked Akurra as he cranked up his Impala.  "I'm here with Jade.  She's ready to do business.  The Black Crime Syndicate and the Jade Dragons are both waiting on you Akurra" said Amber as she stood across from Jade.  "I'll be there shortly Amber" said Akurra.   Akurra ended his call with Amber and drove off.  Akurra drove to his scrap yard on the north side of town where the Black Crime Syndicate and the Jade Dragons were waiting for him.  When Akurra pulled onto the premises of his scrap yard which was actually named The Scrap Yard he saw the Black Crime Syndicate and the Jade Dragons waiting for him.  I'm going to have to come up with a better name for my scrap yard thought Akurra as he exited his Impala.  Akurra walked up to Amber Forest and asked her how long has everyone been waiting.  "15 minutes" said Amber Forest.  "What type of mood is Jade in?" asked Akurra.  "She's in an up beat mood" answered Amber Forest.  Akurra walked over to Jade, gave her a hug and asked how was she doing.  "I'm doing good" said Jade.  "Let me unlock the gates to the scrap yard so we can get started" said Akurra.  As Everyone stood in the center of the scrap yard Jade told Akurra to make this quick.  "I hear you Jade" said Akurra.  Jade was a tall dark skin woman with plump lips and a small nose.  While standing there Jade thought about how it would be much better if the Jade Dragons and the Black Crime Syndicate was one organization.  I did always like Akurra, Jade thought to herself as she watched Akurra walk to the trunk of a smashed up Volks Wagon.  Akurra opened the trunk of the Volks Wagon and got out three pounds of ******.  "Is this what you're in such a hurry for?" asked Akurra as he held up the ******.  "Yes that's why I'm here" said Jade.  Removing her pocketbook from her shoulder Jade pulls out stacks of money.  As Jade paid Akurra for the ****** she pulls him close and whispers in his ear "Akurra I would like to have a private meeting just the two of us."  Akurra handed Jade the ****** and gave her a hug.  Akurra whispers in Jade ear "Ok but we will meet at Club Envy on Saturday at midnight."  After Jade and the Jade Dragons left the scrap yard the Black Crime Syndicate top ranking members wanted to know what Akurra and Jade was talking about.  "When the time is right I'll tell all of you but for right now y'all need to stay in your lane and let me and Jade take care of things.  Now it's time for me to go home and record this and mail everyone's pay check" said Akurra.  After locking up the scrap yard Akurra drove home.  Akurra lived alone in a one bedroom apartment and drove a 1996 Impala.  Akurra wasn't a big spender or a show off.  He liked staying under everyone's radar.  Only a few members of the Black Crime Syndicate knew where Akurra lived.  Amber Forest was one of them.  When Akurra pulled into his parking spot in front of his apartment he saw someone slumped over on his doorsteps.  Looking at the figure Akurra could tell that it was a woman.  Who could this be thought Akurra as he got out of his car.  Slowly walking up to the woman Akurra reached out his hand touching the woman.  Akurra then crouched down to look in the woman's face.  "What on earth is going on here?" Akurra asked himself.  "Oh my God this is Violet.  Someone murdered Violet.  What is this in her mouth?" said Akurra.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Softly caress my ears, songs of yesteryear
Making sense of the here and now
When was your sound, you play so well?
Stunned to find you're active now.

Expectation, that song of yours
Makes me feel comfortable with break-ups
Crying my tears dry imagining,
If it ever happened how easy it would be.

If I hung out with you guys, I know
We would be like long lost pals
The music you play is my truth also
Your songs are like inspiration calls.

Vintage sound, yet ultimately timeless
I think you deserved that Grammy
Vampire Weekend, I couldn't care less
Could never imagine your infamy.

Awakened my kundalini for sure
Such a connection to your genius
Your messages loud and pure
Thank you, Tame Impala.

“You know the worst thing I ever saw?” He asked.

I sighed to myself, took another gulp of beer and fixed him with a look of half-interest. He was drunk. A complete ****-up and a bore when he's drunk. I don't know why I drink with him. That said, he probably thinks the same.

“What's that?”
“Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard.”
“Ye-what?”
“Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“The homeless. Right.”
“I'll get us another drink.” he says, “then I'll start where I left off.”
“Oh, good.”

He comes back with two bottles. We drink and we start talking about football. We're just about getting by before he raises his palm to his face.
“Aw, ****. I forgot, yeah. The worst thing I ever saw. I never told you.”
“You did. Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“Yeah yeah, but that doesn't really say much, does it? You're probably wondering to yourself why that would **** me off so much?”

Not really. He's the type of no-action, all-caring, bleeding heart that sits on his fattening **** every day, 'liking' rhetorical captions over pictures, and signing petitions to axe some ***** politician or other.
“I guess. Shoot.”

He shoots.
“I wanna burn down the churches. Seriously. Stupid ******* religious folk. I bet they go home and post pictures up of themselves, all busy in the soup kitchen, ladling minestrone into some poor *******'s styrofoam bowl.
“They'll never touch them. Always at arm's length. You don't wanna breathe in the pathogens of the anti-people...”
He slurred a little, went to carry on, but took another gulp of beer instead.
“What does that have to do with bedsheets over the benches in the church yard?” I took a gulp myself, this time watching him with a little more interest. Probably just because he looks like he could spew at any moment.
“You're not letting me finish...”
He finishes his beer, gets up, almost bumping into his piano-***-keyboard. He's off to the fridge again. I have a look around while he's out of the room. I can hear him ******* in the kitchen sink.

I've seen the place a million times before but it always has a whole bunch of new **** tacked up on the wall or else bundled in the corner. He's no hoarder, just gets bored and throws out all the stuff he bought the year before.
There's a framed picture of himself on the wall, cradling his Fender as if he's a master of the arts. It's signed, too.
I've seen him play. Probably will tonight. Wouldn't be surprised if he's written a protest song called: bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. The old **** can't even hit an F major with regularity.
He'd decided to put up his vinyl sleeves on the wall like a 17 year old would with an array of **** pop-punk band posters.
Blink and you might think he's the new John Peel or Phil Spector. Stare, and you'll realise he's twice as crazy, yet half as talented and half as interesting to listen to.
His room is like a CV to show to interesting, young indie women. Shame he's hitting forty now,and hasn't been to a club in about 3 months.
Last time we went he just sulked in the corner and got too drunk. He cried in the smoking area about his job before going round and asking attractive girls whether they think he's too old to be out. Most didn't even bother to give an answer. Probably best.

He comes back in with more beer.
“A-anyway...” He says, groaning a little like an old man as he settles back into the chair. “As I was saying...” he sloshes beer on the carpet, rubs it in with the heel of his shoe. He spits on the mark and then rubs again.
“What I was saying was that the church would be a whole lot more useful to the homeless if it was burned down. A condemned building is a whole lot more useful than being looked down on by holier-than-thou, middle-class, white Christians.
“They go home after an hour, bolt the church doors, and then watch TV in their brand new conservatories that they spend several thousands on. Just give the losers a place to shoot up and sleep in safety. That makes sense, right?”
“I guess so.”
I couldn't think of a change of conversation. So I just drank some more and pulled out a cigarette. It's nice to smoke inside for a change.

“It's a ****** ******* awful thing. If people were actually religious, they'd throw open their ******* doors for everyone. It's what Jesus would do, right?”
“Right.”
“He'd have all the **** in his bedsit, piled in like sardines, spreading TB like wildfire.”
“And that's a good thing?”
“Well, it can't be any worse, right? Sleep's important. I learned that the hard way.”

He didn't learn it the hard way. Not really. He's a self-motivated, self-harming insomniac. He spent his teenage years listening to bad music and staying up too late ******* over his French teacher. I should know, I mostly did the same.
He hit the **** pretty hard during college. Never really looked back until recently. ****** him up worse than you'd reckon. He couldn't sleep without the stuff. Man, if you'd have seen the poor guy whenever he couldn't get hold of some for the night. Eesh.

“...you know what I mean though? I'm sick of charity. Those fun-runs you get. A load of women in pink pretending that they care about breast cancer, before posting a million and one pictures up of them in ankle warmers and a kooky hat...”
“**** of the Earth.”
“Yup. Right up there with the women who have 'mummy' as their middle name on Facebook.”
“Yeah.”
“Honestly though, it's the laziest form of charity. Throwing a couple old, mouldy bedsheets out on some bird-**** bench made of wood and ancient farts...”
“It is pretty lazy.” I drank some more.

It was getting late. We swallowed three temazepams each, moved onto the cheap shiraz once we ran out of beer. We leant back in our chairs, barely talking and letting Tame Impala supply the conversation for us.

“You know what?” I ask, pretty much out of nowhere. His eyes have narrowed. He's not sleepy, just ****** on ***** and tranquillizers. He takes a moment.
“Huh?”
“From what you were saying earlier... you know, about the bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, why don't you?”
“Why don't I what?”
“Burn it down.”
“The church?”
“Well, you go on about being lazy and ****. Here's your chance. Help the homeless. Break the locks, pour the petrol, take out a few bottles of wine if you find any...”
“Now?”
“I guess so. Homeless folk are dying of pneumonia out there. Not a second can be wasted.”
“I dunno. I didn't mean I had to do it. I was just saying...”
“I guess they were just saying too.” I felt like I was being a ****, so I changed the subject to women I haven't laid.

I stumbled home leaning on my bicycle all the way. Daylight was just about visible off in the distance. I passed two homeless guys on the way back, gave one of them a fiver, the other one my big mac and the last of my cigarettes (well, leaving a couple for myself).
They said thanks, god bless you, etc, etc. I carried on walking.

I woke up the next afternoon with a mouthful of sand and in desperate need of a hangover ****. I hadn't shaved in about two weeks and there were dark circles under my eyes. I thought about going out to the diner for a full breakfast, but strange people were beyond me.
I ordered a pizza full of meat and grease and garlic sauce instead. I text him to see if he wanted to come over and nurse the hangover with a little ****. Watch a film. Get drunk again. He still smokes it on special occasions, and this ******* of a hangover was pretty **** special.
No reply, and I end up rolling up a joint for myself, smoking it by the window and watching the magpies peck around the grass. It's nice out.

The pizza guy comes. He's holding the pizza up like a map, calls out in a bored sort of voice: “Hello sir. I've got a large Palermo Pizza here, with a side of chicken strips and a can of Dandelion and Burdock?”
I say yes and he hands it over.

I tip him with the coins still left in my wallet from the night before, and he sheepishly says he picked up my post for me as well.
I look down at the pizza I'm holding, and there's a few envelopes that look suspiciously like bills, rival takeaway leaflets, and the local paper. I say thanks, give him the best sort of smile I could, and then close the door.
I turn on the TV. I forgot the England match was on. I turn over to something more interesting. There's nothing, so I switch back over. Before I open up the pizza, I take the paper. A small-town existence, nothing ever happens, but I could do with a new job.

The front page is on fire. A church has been burned down in the early morning. A forty-something man has been arrested and then taken to hospital for severe burns to the face. A load of children's art has been lost, along with countless Bibles, prayer cushions, and vaults of cash.
“****.”
I read through the article. The whole place was gutted. Nothing could be salvaged. Nothing could be redeemed. In the corner of the picture, through the red, green, and blue dots, I could just make out some bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.

(10/13/12)

At the beginning of “64” - I packed up my uniform
And walked out the door- it was the beginning of
The Vietnam war.
By August of that same year
President  Johnson started the draft
Under protests and jeers.

Then he made it a full scale war
And sent our soldiers to Vietnam shores.
The Beatniks in Greenwich village
With their long hair, beards, and
Flip flop sandals - wrote their poetry
About this undeclared war, and why
Our men were going to those shores.

This created a new generation called ‘HIPPIES”
The hippie generation was groups of protesters
Against everything that they found wrong
The draft , the war , pollution
And loved to stay high with ***, hashish
Coke and acid (lsd) which kept them blasted.

This also created the “ flower children”
Who like the hippies loved to be high
And on certain flowers they would fly.
But they spoke of loving one another
And gave out flowers as a sign of peace
Which to the president was a relief.

They all started painting this “53 Chevy impala”
With the words “ flower power”.
Now the “ flower children and hippie movement
Was in full swing, and everyone was doing their own thing.

They had  Greenwich village under their control
And not one coffee shop would ever be sold.
Every coffee shop had a poetry night
And going there was such a delight.

Then in AUGUST of “69”
The WOODSTOCK festival was on the rise
Over half a million people drove to that farmland
And set up tents , hammocks, sleeping bags and such
And the police found it was much to much
So they had no choice but to see it through
Because there was nothing else that they could do.

The WOODSTOCK  festival had become world wide
And to this day it still thrives.

© L . RAMS

Bumping the hydro
On the 64 impala
Straight out of cail
With all the homies

Hitting up the club
Like we do every
Weekend in L.A.
Leaving the impala
Low so low its
Hitting the floor

Lowrider hitting the floor
Staying to the floor
Sparking up the night
With the candy paint color
Girls always looking
Trying to get a ride.

****** with headphones in
Longboarding never felt so
good this late at night.

"What else are you doing today?" asked Jewel.  "I'm going shopping.  I need a new outfit" answered Olive as she paid Jewel for doing her hair.  "We'll get together Olive.  Just let me move things around on my schedule " said Jewel.  "Yeah sure Jewel" said Olive.  Getting back in her car Olive drove to the clothing store New Fashions.  Strutting through the store Olive began looking for an outfit.  I think I'll start with the shoes first.  The shoes can make or break an outfit.  Olive thought to herself.  Standing in the shoe section of the store Olive saw a black pair of knee high boots that would make any outfit look good.  "I can't believe no one has purchased these" said Olive as she grabbed the boots.  "Now I need to find a shirt" said Olive.  Walking through the store Olive spotted a red v-neck shirt that would match her black knee high boots just right.  "All I need now is a skirt and I'll have the perfect outfit" said Olive.  After a few minutes of searching Olive came across a black skirt.  "Now this is a killer skirt.  I'll have everyone looking at me all day with this outfit" said Olive.  After purchasing the outfit Olive drove home.  Olive spent the rest of her weekend relaxing.  By the time Monday arrived Olive was refreshed and ready for work.  I hope Akurra come into the bank today thought Olive as she got ready for work.  Getting in her car Olive checked the time.  "I won't have to drive like a race car driver today" said Olive.  When Olive arrived at work she didn't have to run through the bank's glass doors she walked.  Right away her co-workers mouths fell opened.  One by one Olive's co-workers complimented her on her new look.  "Wow Olive you look great" said Terry.  "You look amazing" said Willie.  Olive thanked her co-workers for their compliments.  "You all made me feel very beautiful.  Thank you for your kind words.  Now it's time to get to work" said Olive.  As Olive walked to her office she prayed for Akurra to come to the bank today.  Every time the bank's doors opened Olive would would walk out of her office to see if it was Akurra.  Please god let this man come to the bank thought Olive.  Near closing time Akurra finally showed up.  "Mr. Akurra Wings how may I help you today?" asked Olive.  "Wow my whole name first and last.  I would like to purchase a security box and make a deposit" said Akurra.  "We country people like to say your whole name.  Please follow me to my office Mr. Akurra Wings" said Olive.  "You have to fill out some papers for the security box and how much would you like to deposit?" said Olive as the two sat in her office.  "I would like to deposit three thousand dollars" said Akurra.  "Akurra I'm going to ask you a question.  This is a question that's hard for me to ask" said Olive.  "Ms. Olive you can ask me what ever you want" said Akurra.  Slow to speak Olive says "When I first saw you I wanted to ask you this but I said no it would be wrong to do so.  Now I just changed my mind.  What I want to ask you is can I take you out?"  Sitting straight up in his chair Akurra says "I'm speechless.  We can go out but under one condition."  With a surprised look on her face Olive says "Oh do tell."  "If you let me me take you out and pay for everything" said Akurra.  "You have the heart of a real gentleman" said Olive.  "So is that a yes?" asked Akurra.  "Of course" said Olive.  "We can meet in the bank's parking lot this Saturday at 6:00pm" said Akurra.  After filling out the paper work for the security box and making a deposit Akurra left the bank with an ego the size of the city itself.  As Akurra got into his 1960 Impala his cellphone rings.  "Hello Amber what's going on?" asked Akurra as he cranked up his Impala.  "I'm here with Jade.  She's ready to do business.  The Black Crime Syndicate and the Jade Dragons are both waiting on you Akurra" said Jade as she stood across from Jade.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum

What's up, Chicken Little? Whatchu think you know?
The sky is fallin', Skittles droppin’ out the rainbow.
Don’t hate me cuz I’m fast. Don’t hate me cuz I’m keen.
Hate me cuz I got more tiger’s blood than Charlie Sheen.

My rappin’ is a skill, wait, matter fact a habit.
This rhyme is so rare I threw a Masterball at it.
Ima get you to the point when you done think you had it
then keep on chuggin’ through like the Energizer Rabbit.

Runnin’ this game since I was born in 1990.
Ball so hard like Waldo everybody wants to find me.
Watch me as I fly free, practicing my Tai Chi,
soarin’ through the sky like Ben Franklin with his kite key.

I slay wicked verses like they fire breathin’ dragons.
Always down for an adventure so they call me Bilbo Baggins.
You got your feet draggin’ from all your pithy laggin’.
Chokin’ on my farts, left you in my dust gaggin’.

My girls be elegant while yours be nothing but ******.
No diamonds in my ears cuz I don’t like to be flashy.
You just can’t get past me, kilo in the backseat.
NOS tank in the front so them piggies can’t get at me.

Lyrics like the plague so they call my **** Bubonic.
Sittin’ at the bar gettin’ drunk on gin and tonic.
Blowin’ on that chronic, so fast they call me Sonic.
Watch me transform as I go Megatronic.

Is my **** too fast? You need to stop and smell the flowers?
I am just a human, I ain't got no special powers.
I could go for hours. The rap game I devour.
Like Frodo with the ring takin’ down the Two Towers.

My rhymes are heavy duty while yours be made of plastic.
Better call the Doctor cuz this **** is getting’ drastic.
Snap back like elastic, I made an instant classic.
Light the roof on fire with a flick of my matchstick.

I’m tellin’ all them haters that I’m wicked sick nasty.
Dissin’ all they want to but they too scared to come at me.
I go where the cash be, rappin’ makes me happy.
Don’t wash my hair for days cuz I like that **** *****.

All I really wanna do is have a rap battle
cuz my rhymes are so disgusting they’ll make your head rattle.
You’re in a boat with no paddle, on a horse with no saddle.
It’s lookin like you’re gonna hafta ******* straddle.

I know I have the sickest flow that you have ever felt.
There’s nothin’ you can do it’s just the hand that I was dealt.
Killa Kraig will make you melt, yes it matters how it’s spelt.
Get it right the first time or I’ll leave you with a ******' welt.

My game will give you chills from your head down to your feet.
Sittin’ on the couch cuz I love to chill with Pete.
I’m the man to beat cuz I bring all the heat.
Grew up in the burbs, didn’t grow up on the street.

They gave me a gold medal when I scored a perfect 10
cuz I got the versatility of an erasable pen.
Singin’ like a ren, no need to pretend.
Murkin’ rhymes like zombies like my Asian friend Glenn.

Honesty’s a virtue so you know I never front it.
Always swingin’ for a homer, ain’t no need to ever bunt it.
Now you really done it, watch me as I run it.
I made it to the center of the Tootsie Pop in one lick.

Crusin’ round town in my green 6-4 Impala.
Drop so many bombs that you think I worship Allah.
Dolla’ after dolla’, cute as a koala,
but ruthless as a renegade Viking in Valhalla.

My lyrics kick you in the nuts now you talkin’ like a munchkin.
Drop you to the floor like some Mohammed Ali punchin’.
Where is Conjunction Junction? Do the number crunchin’.
Get you home by midnight so you don’t turn into a pumpkin.

Stickin’ to the game like some universal duct tape.
Give you three tries while I nail it in one take.
I'm the sugar on the cornflake, the reason for an earthquake.
I'll toss you like a salad or a chicken in some Shake n’ Bake.

Now grab a pen a paper cuz here’s the final lesson.
I know who’s on first so now tell me what’s on second.
I did the number checkin’, I’m the best I reckon.
While you standin’ at the wrong end of my ******’ Smith & Wesson.

Justin: Born On Wheels
@2012 Linda Barrett

You always lived on wheels:
a newborn infant
perched in a car seat
beside your mother
when she drove
Her 1973 Green Impala
The toy Knight Rider car
was your first one
It cursed at you
from its imaginary dashboard
You hummed your open road song
while holding onto
the sides of the Red
Wheel barrow
as I bumped you along
our back yard’s stone walkway
Out in Chester County,
you roller bladed
and skate boarded into adolescence
Every Spring Break,
You traveled in
your grandparent’s  station wagon
down to Florida
One winter,
you drove to Colorado by van
to snow board the mountains
Other guys chose college,
you took your mechanic grandfather’s cue
studied up in Boston
learned how to fix cars
inside and out
then put them back together again
You inherited the 1973 Green Impala
with its torn off vinyl top
let it go to rust and to the junkyard
then bought Red 1968 Ford pick-up
Your mother gave you a motorcycle
so you could scream down the Turnpike
with your Independence Day spirit
Nothing out on the road
can stop you
as if you were born
on wheels

the cheetah is  a lovely cat  a splendid cat indeed
not like all the other cats he has the faster speed
chasing after food impala or gazelle
with his turn of speed that he knows so well
hunting through the day sometimes early night
hidden in the grasslands hiding out of site
waiting for his prey so he can have his chase
jumps and pulls it down with his faster pace
then he begins to eat to fill is  appetite
then wonders of so gracefully
deep in to the night

*****, 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

More than just a dream
More than just a dream

40 days and 40 nights
I waited for a girl like you to come and save my life
All the days I waited for you
You know the ones who said I'd never find someone like you
'Cause you were out of my league
All the things I believed
You were just the right kind
Yeah, you were more than just a dream

You were out of my league
Got my heartbeat racing
If I die, don't wake me
'Cause you are more than just a dream

From time to time I pinch myself
Because I think my girl mistakes me for somebody else
And every time she takes my hand
All the wonders that remain
Become a simple fact
That you were out of my league
All the things I believed
You were just the right kind
Yeah, you were more than just a dream
You were out of my league
Got my heartbeat racing
If I die, don't wake me
'Cause you are more than just a dream

You were out of my league
All the things I believed
You were just the right kind
Yeah, you were more than just a dream
You were out of my league
Got my heartbeat racing
If I die, don't wake me
'Cause you are more than just a dream

More than just a dream
(More than, more than)
(More than, more than)
(More than, more than)
More than just a dream
(More than, more than)
(More than, more than)
(More than, more than)
More than just a dream
(More than, more than)
(More than, more than)
(More than, more than)
More than just a dream

Like a patterned rug
Beaten to be rid of dust and
Flopped over a balcony railing, a leopard
Hangs her hefty hands beneath a bough.
Head lolling lazily, she awakens.

Fingers like silent meteorites dig
Craters in the loose, dry earth.
From the grasses emerge many warm black eyes, unseen
And vicious: floral pockmarks on
Her carpeted exterior: cruel camouflage.

Deftly lugging her **** back
Into the branches to feed on its flesh:
Patterned rug stained.

Ears ***** and whiskers twitch
As boughs creak and twigtips reach
For the ground: the impala’s weight
Has weakened her arboreal home.

She panics not.

She slinks softly back into
The grasses: better to sidle away unscathed
From immediate danger.
Pride and body intact, she will **** again
Elsewhere.

I couldn't seem to find where you had gone.

The road narrowed down to a small passageway in the woods,
getting lost in the crowds of trees surrounding it.

I walked until my feet ached,
until the gravel beneath my naked toes cut ****** rock sized openings into my skin.

You were nowhere to be found,
I realized that now,
but I kept walking,
as if each step could somehow guide me to you like a compass,
pulling me in the right direction,
promising an answer.

I wanted to know where they had buried your body,
where your still decaying bones lie a clean mess inside the earth, but I couldn't find it,
I couldn't find where you had gone.

The moon had once before,
promised me a source of light,
but now,
it only provided a terrifying, crowding darkness.
I wanted to lie underneath it,
urging her out of the sky and onto me.
I wanted something heavy to plunge me underground
so I could worm myself to you,
find the body that belonged more to me than it did, you.

I just wanted you back,
and if I couldn't even have that,
than a piece of you to hold onto;
something I could look at to know you were once a living being, once a boy I loved and always will.

I walked back then,
after allowing myself the refusing will to move on.

In the impala, on an abandoned road,
I pulled your cold blanket over my own decaying body,
trying to wrap the ghost of you around me.

Pushing my nose into the wool,
I smelled the last remaining parts of you.

I closed my eyes,
not willing to imagine the small space where you should be,
vacant.

After all,
how were you supposed to wake up there with me,
when I was half gone myself?

I sit down in front of this piece of paper, pen in hand, the wind through my hair and a single dim light’s reflection in my glasses. I close my eyes, tired of repeatedly trying and failing to write an article. I wearily rub my eyelids and sit still for a while.
And that’s when I see him.

He stands against the backdrop of a waterfall, the green grass gently caressing his bare feet as he walks slowly towards the calm, turquoise lake. A sudden whiff of tulips assails my sense of smell as he walks into the water, his composed steps mirroring the complacence of the cool blue he walks into. He wades in till he is waist deep; birds chirp in the distance, trees sway in the wind and everything the sunlight touches melts into a golden brilliance.

As he walks in, ripples branch out from his torso, tattooing themselves upon the surface of the water. They move forward with him, each with a colour that merges into a thousand new hues as two of them meet. I stand there watching in stupefaction; he does not acknowledge my presence as he continues to walk forward, his eyes fixed upon the blue-gold sky over us.

All of a sudden, he climbs out of the lake and begins to hurriedly hunt around, muttering to himself
‘It has to be here somewhere.’ He darts off between the trees, with the raw agility of a young impala. As he continues to fly over the many shrubs and roots in his way, I chase behind him panting and puffing as the entire forest falls behind in a blur of green and brown. And then we hear it, the scream tears through the woods and the sky explodes into a whirlpool of colour; he turns back and looks at me, his eyes wide with horror and disbelief. I skid to a halt before him and I realize that we had reached the outcrop of a cliff. I turn to him, my back to the massive drop from the bluff, a quizzical look in my eyes as I find myself unable to articulate the words in my mind. He puts his hands on my shoulders, the fear etched deep in his wide eyes. And he pushes me off the cliff.

The air whistles past my ears as I fall to the ground; it seems like an eternity has passed before I finally rest my head on the hard ground beneath me. Every bone in my body feels like I have walked headfirst into a moving train, I gingerly raise myself off the cold floor to see him standing over me. He raises a finger to his lips, signalling me to follow him. We walk forward cautiously, the fear of an unknown disturbance still hanging heavy over us. We walk through an open field of wild grass, the pale silver stalks dancing in the breeze as the moonlight lit up our path. He doesn’t say anything to me; I walk alongside his shadow as his shadow. We come to a clearing with a single tree standing proud in the middle of a vast expanse of nothing. He gestures to the tree, we make our way there with haste. I walk into the cool shade of a massive oak and collapse under its mighty protection. He walks around the tree and returns with a figure in his arms. Next to my tired form he lays her down, a look of gentle calm upon his hard features. The moonlight dances upon her face and her shallow breath rattles through the night. Her stormy grey eyes lie wide open as she continues to struggle against an unknown force so as to keep breathing. He stands at a distance, silently watching the two of us on the ground; one battling for her life and the other silent and still like the great oak tree above us. Her lips part slightly, a single droplet of light rises upwards into his palm and she falls into a silent stupor. He gazes at the pinpoint of white in his hand, bringing it slowly to his mouth. I watch on as he proceeds to swallow it, confused about the events transpiring before my eyes. He throws his head back and looks up to the pitch black sky and a million tiny lights wink back at him in response. His eyes open wide, his jaw falls low and a burst of brilliant white light breaks through his tall, proud form. I see the mouth move, I hear him speak a few moments later. The voice rings loud in my ears, resonating from everywhere and nowhere and he says to me, “The path you seek is straight ahead. Do not deviate from the road and you should be fine.”

My head falls back against the firm bark of the oak as I witness my guide disappear into thin air with no evidence of him ever having existed. My eyes close of their own will and I embrace the comforting darkness of slumber enveloping my mind.

My eyes fly awake as a sharp ray of light dispels my drowsiness. I wake up to find myself looking towards a convoluted, winding path leading into the woods. Against my will, I find myself rising and walking down the dusty road. I try to hum to myself, no sound greets me. I try to dart into the woods, but something brings me back to the same path no matter which direction I turn. The sun beats down hard upon my head, and in the distance I hear the faraway call of an eagle. Resigned to my current fate, I walk forward taking in all that I see around me. The sunlight dances between the shadows of the twisted trees, the brown floor beneath my feet gradually begins to evolve into a lush green lawn and the air I take deep, calm breaths of is painted with the scent of rain. I brush aside a shrub and stop in my tracks as I take in the view before me.

I stand before an ocean. The sand twinkles against my eyes, giving me a psychedelic glimpse of a million pinpoints of colour every time I blink. The tide rolls against the shore lazily as the sunlight bounces off the surface of the water. The sky lies mirrored before my feet and my toes play with the fine grains as I walk onto the beach. I sit against the onslaught of the slow tide and feel the refreshing spray of water upon my tired form. The sun begins to drop gently from the sky, retiring to his home beneath the vast expanse of water. I watch the sunset, I watch as the sky is painted by the whims and fancies of the final rays of sunlight as they herald the appearance of a single crescent sliver of silver hanging delicately in the sky, casting a dim white light on me. An ethereal breeze gushes past me, and I find myself obsessed by an urge to enter the water. I stand up, the waves breaking around my ankles as I walk into the water with an oddly familiar slow, composed gait. I walk forward calmly, the waves breaking against my torso as I begin to feel the ground sink below me. I let the ocean cradle me; I surrender myself to the mercy of the sea as she carries me in her lap. All emotion begins to wash away from me; I do not feel the familiar wave of fear as wave after wave crashes over my head, pushing me down beneath the surface of the water. I feel no panic as I take in the water in deep gulps, I feel nothing but a calm of certainty as I feel the ocean filling up my lungs. I smile and close my eyes as I begin to plummet down under depths. I embrace the vast nothingness that spreads out before me and fall unconscious.

A blinding pain flashes behind my eyes, as I gasp and sputter to find myself on a jet black rock, sprawled out like an empty carcass. I look around, unable to find my bearings, and my eyes fall upon a massive, emerald green pillar. It stands on the shore, firm and unmoving even as the ocean tries desperately to push it off its pedestal. I lift myself off the rock with difficulty and force my sore feet to stumble towards the pillar. I fall at its base, every bone in my body feeling like a deadweight. I rest my head against my arm, panting and coughing when I feel a hand upon my shoulder. I look up to see a small boy smiling down at me with an odd benevolence, the light of ages of wisdom alive in his eyes. He puts his hand to the pillar, and I watch in awe as it begins to crumble to a vibrant green ash. I look at him in plain bewilderment, and though he chuckles silently, I hear his deep, rumbling voice in my head. “You have nothing to fear from me, I am merely here to deliver to you what you have been looking for all this time.” I hear his voice tell me. He walks over to the shimmering green pile of dust and pulls out a piece of paper. He places his hand on my head, clasps the paper in my hand and smiles. I see his small head throw my face into shadow as he blocks the sunlight falling on my face, and I sit still, relishing the cool shade.

I open my eyes in front of this piece of paper, pen in hand, the wind through my hair and a single dim light’s reflection in my glasses. And on the paper, I see this article.

It was a magical summer.
Lodi blared as fireflies glowed,
leaves fluttered in the pure winds
of those cool Georgian nights.

We scared them foxes
something good.
You were classic in
your favorite auto.
They peed in their pants
seeing a werewolf and me
driving around the park
in a beat-up Chevy Impala.

You’re gone now,
alcohol took you away.
I still have the mask
somewhere in a box.
I sure miss you,
those good times
and Fogarty.

Anywhere in time and space, where do you wanna start.
Saving people, hunting things, the family business.
High functioning Sociopath.
You're a wizard Harry.
Divergents must die.
New Directions won nationals.
This is what happens in fandoms.


The feels
The crying
The laughing
The dying
The OTPs
The NOTPs
The romance
The bromance
This is what happens in fandoms.

The Tardis
The Impala
The scarf
The trench coats
The wands
The factions
The singing
The dancing
This is what happens in fandoms.

Your OTPs aren't safe.
No one is safe.
Don't try to run.
Don't try to hide.
Once you are in
There is no getting out.
Save yourself.
Save your sanity.
This is what happens in fandoms.

Mandolin harmonies
trailed up Bear Hair Gap,
echoed between
the chestnuts, hickories
& sweet blackberries.

Lodi & a bad moon rising
stifled the cool air,
wood spirits whispered
secret incantations
to the fairies & sprites
flying amongst the fireflies.

This is the sacred
Coosa place,
where bricks have names,
where the wolf man
drove his Impala
spooking summer campers
& where old blackie
got trapped.

Two are gone now,
one succumbed to the bottle,
the other still stalking hikers
near the Raven Cliffs
o'er near Helen.

The bricks will remain forever
'neath the phases of the moon
beside the maiden Trahlyta,
up from Blood Mountain.

I'll killa chawawa
Sell it for a dolla on Alibaba
Exchange for a Kawala
Black range red impala
Rocking nirvana pre Madonna
A Chubby monkey eating chunky monkey with ice cream and a banana
Bo bama Ina pajama spinning a spammer after a root beer slammer an alabamer and a cheese platter I slide off in a subtle manner like a salamander to empty my bladder in a place that doesn't matter

Home - what is home?
Most people equate it with where they live,
but I have a different idea.
Home is where the heart is, right?
And what's to stop your heart from going to some place you've never been?
Nothing.
Just as you can't help falling in love with people,
neither can you help falling in love with places.
That's why, to me, Hogwarts is home.
221B Baker Street is home.
The TARDIS, the Shire, the Burrow.
All are home.
The USS Enterprise is my home away from home.
Same with the Winchester's 1967 Chevy Impala.

They say you can feel homesick for places you've never been.
Most people can't quite understand how that works,
but I know what it's like.
While I may get to visit all of these places in my mind,
thanks to the stories surrounding them,
I'll never be able to physically visit these places.
They're real to me. They just don't exist.
But I have been there - to all of them.
Through words on a page or through scenes playing out on a screen,
the stories surrounding these places have allowed me to visit them.
I know from these stories what it's like to travel through time and space.
To live in King Arthur's court.
To witness Sherlock Holmes bored.
Stressing over Potions essays, adventuring to Mordor,
bonding through hours-long drives across country.
These things, these experiences;
they've filled gaps in my soul that I didn't even realize were there.
And that, I think, is why I call them home.
So that even when their stories are over,
I'll still have that connection to them.