The mythical ethereal tree balancing 9 parallel dimensions uniquely different to our own. In perfection the equilibrium of its natural power gives life to the heavens fruit to the earth and water to the stars. A holy reverent insignia a symbol of justice and order the tree itself is the embodiment of the individual soul of God. The root of the tree is indestructible and immortal. It's branches flourish thru the cosmos and it's splendor can be seen from the most far away star. Deep within a Heavenly Realm the tree has its resting place. Secluded and alone from the rest of the Heavenly host. Alone only God himself is allowed to visit it's hidden location. Three Querubins watch over the tree at all times never allowed to leave their post. This is known as the "Mother Tree" part of the core to God's soul.

The wisdom and freedom the tree itself carries is superior than the one God has. Henceforth, if the tree were to get destroyed somehow Gods immortality will seize to be. For the fruit that the tree carries grants it's consumer immortality and limitless power to control time, space, creation. The power of destruction is only given to those who have earned it thru endless evil delegated from deep within their corrupted soul.

The perfect creation a Querubin made in Grandiose Splendor... Insurmountable power yet inferior to his Creator. Deep within the Chariot Of God Lucifer plotted to take down God and take 4 million Angels from Gods heavenly Army. In total God had 12 million Angels protecting Heaven and its contents. So Lucifer being in the hierarchy bracket of the Angelic Host Beginning with the Master Angel known to be the primordial spirit also known as the Holy Spirit a being that Humans can feel Angels can't see or hear him but they can also feel multirealitic presence for he inhabits all the 9 parallel dimensions. He is the Main Chief Executive Master of All Angels Heavenly Creatures and Heavenly Host including Gods only begotten Son Jesus Christ. From a time when time and matter didnt exist antimatter was the only thing present in the Unique Dimension
That God alone and nothing resided there because is known as the Reflection Master Black Hole it means only God knows the code to enter this dimension separated from all the other 9 Dimensions for this are the 10th and 11th Dimension the 10th being a place so miniature and so undescribably small that his particle alone existed there. The 11th dimension a dimension that only God himself knows what's inside for it is told by an Ancient Rumor that there is something beyond eternity and immortality something beyond the scope of limits and limitations powers and imagination of even knowledge of all heavenly host combined even to Jesus it is not permitted to enter this realm for whatever is being held there puts his life at risk and his immortality at stake. For only Yahweh holds *Ultimatum Immortalis or known as Ultimate Immortality the unique gift to live anywhere where his imagination and force of power is able to roam and create or destroy. Even it it's made from the massive unexplainable and inexplicable force that a supermassive black hole has. Pressure and Force unknown to man and for us to calculate even the smallest black hole in the universe its size force and power is mysteriously unexplicable and unobtainable now let's take a supermassive one which is out of our rational thinking and yet so much so more mysterious than the ordinary black hole. Knowing God alone all knowing and unknowning in the Multiverse the deepest most illusive and superior knowledge known to man and even God alike is who created the Book of Life there everything containing life has a word a meaning and a unique life attribute and death attribute vibration in the multiverse.  

The Only One containing neither attribute eeriely is God also known as Yahweh or Emmanuel and to some Creator. For eternity has not immortality and immortality supposedly has a destruction point and the final letters which are seven secret letters that unlock and relock dimension 11th to be opened or closed so that destruction won't consume all realms and God himself.

From then on nothing more is known to Angel, Demon, Man or Beast or Ethereal being...

Seven trillion years had passed since the beginning point of creation when God alone had created the dimensions >6.9< being his primordial creation the Son along with the Holy Spirit and in latter time came the Heavenly Beings and even later time extraterrestrial species and mankind. God ruled over all parts of the Heavenly Kingdom which consisted of 8 different parts. The Altar and Courtroom of God's heavenly host located in the North Side of the Heavens. The Majestic Garden placed in the Northeast of heavens. The palace of the Grandiose Predecessor God of the Old and Savior of all existence known to God himself as the Original God speculated to be the creator of the Book of Life who's immortal existence and Ultimatum Immortalis was destroyed by unknown reasons to all except Yahweh. This particular place is located in the Northwest of heavens. In the Southeast part of heaven lies all the heavenly creatures. Including 3 dragons with celestial beauty and tremendous power. The first Dragon had a Dark pigmentation and red smoke emanating from his body his eyes where red like the color of blood. The second one had transparent crystalline like skin and golden eyes. The Final Dragon was a small petite dragon flying I n between the two big dragons small in figure but very radiant in light he had 13 halos on his head and 12 wings... Five mighty beast like where also in the room. The first was a lion head with griffons wings and a rattle snake tail the second beast had a face of an eagle with a body of a cheetah and the tail of a scorpion the third had the face of a elephant with the body of a human being decorated with precious stones and mir. The last creature had the body of a giant with 8 arms and five legs he had a mysterious glowing mask on that revealed 4 faces each with a unique expression on their sculpture. From there there was a long corridor that lead to the southwest side of heaven in this place was a city made out of Gold the floor made out of platinum and it was really bright and shiny everywhere. I could see mansions as far as the eye could take you all prepared for the saved and rescued souls Jesus had gathered on Earth. From there we visited the South side of heaven where 12,000 Querubins 25,000 Seraphim's and 75,000 Messenger Angels gathered listening to Arch-Angel Nathaniel stood giving direct orders to all the Angels gathered. In the middle was a huge rupture on the floor that from what I heard Nathaniel say leads to one of the 8 Circles of Infernus the hellish realm of all condemned Angels who had revealed or betrayed God. It is said that God did not create hell but that it had always been there locked away and kept contained and under surveillance by all Warrior type Angels. The Angels that had been in missions and had taken a trip down to that Dark and Infernal place a place of pain and horror a place of solitude and no presence of God anywhere to be found the majority of them revealed or had turn their faith from God and became a Demon but the ones who had come back victorious and conquered within are a selected few and lived to tell the tale. As this speech was going on Lucifer was preparing to give out a speech in the throne room for him being Speaker Of the House and the the Second Commander of Platoon Squad Army of Angels composed of 1.8 mil Angels with the 2 other Arch Angels known as Jarvan and Krylinn. Arch Angel Jarvan is first in command then comes second in command Lucifer and lastly but not least the beautiful warrior angel known as Krylinn Elite Angel Squad #6 composed of 4 Arch Angels who took down a Legendary Beast in Infernus known as Inrah

Inrah resides in the 7th Circle of Hell...a collosal beast with tremendous power Part Demon and Part Angel it's a hybrid Demon 11 ft tall with 9 wings a small wing emanating from his head and four wings in his right side on his back and another four wings from the left side of his back.  Each wing had a natural element 2 made out of ice another 2 made out of fire another 2 made out of thunder and the last 2 made out of earth. The small wing made out of Shadow. From what the Angels could see Arch Angel Valerye Arch Angel Leona Arch Angel Krylinn and last member Arch Angel Sebastian. Each Arch Angel had a Legendary Equipment on Sebastian he weilded a Heavenly Crossbow with precious stones on it. A light armor to be able to move efficiently and quickly Sebastian is a Master Archer LvI for there being three levels of mastery in total and only 777 Angels made the cut to become a LvI Mastery Archer Angel. In the bracket of the Angelic hierarchy there is Levels of Power, Skill and Tactics. The Levels range from Messenger Angels range from Lv1-Lv150 max 200. Seraphim's range from Lv200 to 450max Lv. Querubin range from Lv400-750 and the unique couple known as Lucifer and Querubin Morrigan who's power ranges from Lv475 to Lv800 and Lucifer from Lv500 to Lv850. Arch Angels range from Lv500 to Lv1000. God's Lv? Lv?. The Son Jesus Christ has a power level of Lv1000 who he himself has Elite gear Legendary gear and lastly Juggernaut gear. His partner Arch Angel Leona she wilded a Heavenly sword shield and Special Heavenly Attributes to use a doppelganger. Her Armor was Legendary. Armor Levels Regular Lv1-150 Rare Lv150-300 Elite Lv300-375 Legendary Lv375-500 Master Lv500-800 and Unique Lv 800-1000.  The Third member of the Group Krylinn was wearing a hybrid armor made out of glass/blue crystals a specially made glass so powerful it's Lv is Unique. She was wearing a Heavenly gun with a Heavenly wip. Lastly the final member of the group Warrior Valerye also known as her nickname Grand Valkerye of the Heavens for her wings are slightly bigger and her body anatomy is muscular. She wore a platinum armor with a large Heavenly Sword. From what it seemed it was a two handed weapon. Each Arch Angel range from 6ft to 8ft rare ones 8 and a half. This Hybrid demon however could talk each of their Angelic Tribe Language...and they where all surprised. Inrah being from the Southwest side of heaven had revealed over 2 years ago and was never seen in Heaven anymore but now he had resurfaced more powerful and a total corrupted Arch Angel who's level was Lv502-747 now he possessed a Lv of 1000. There it floats slowly but directly toward the Angels ... About 400 ft away floating in mid air and slowly depending to the ground of Infernus. To the Left what seems like a Lunatic Army of Lesser demons all decapitated and a Demon Lord killed deep within a crater of Infernus. Telepathically the Hybrid demon Inrah said to them in their native Angelic lenguage "Come form a pact with me and obtain Ultimatum Immortalis by me consuming your delicate feeble and frail immortal link between you and the spirit of God...hahaha you cannot defeat me."

Valerye looks at Sebastian in an instant like .4 seconds Inrah disappears and reappears so quickly that his immediate attack punching Valerye in the face and leaving a small bruise and a cut...As soon as she put her eyes back into focus with Inrah he lays headless in the ground It was Lv4 Cosmic Light Arrow that hit him directly in the forehead...says Sebastian to Valerye who still rubbing her eyes due to the force of the punch...9 seconds later ...
Valerye: -Inside her head...I hear something as they where 366 ft away from Inrah who Sebastian and Krylinn checked his head and it was literally browned to pieces skull and all. Even his power level diminished slowly right after getting killed...or so they thought as much. Then Valerye quickly teleported directly in front of Inrah and suspected the worst his whole head was slowly rebuilding and reviving itself so before she even asked for help from the others they teleported directly to her location in front of Inrah. As his head was slowly yet increasing speed as time moved on from second to second so Krylinn took out her gun and shot him in the head about 100 times...then took out her special weapon the RocketGalacticGun equipped to be a minigun and a rocket launcher. So she used all her attacks on the body of the demon dispersing his body parts everywhere...it was a grotesque scene. The main part of the demon the torso was heavily damaged exposing parts of heart lungs and backbone. The wipp made huge holds with gushy wounds everywhere one lash hit Inrah so hard that it cut off his whole arm. They all looked at the extensive heavy damage they done to the Powerful ArchFiend. They all communicated to each other and agreed that Inrah's power level had hit 0 and they have waited 5 minutes for him to pull a stunt and reform but nothing so as soon as they come to agreement to leave the exact moment they decided that telepathically to each other Inrah pieces of flesh started to move and we're turning a metallic silverish goldish color. They tried to stop it but all of their attacks where somehow ineffective. Then they looked at the pieces all gathered in the ground they slowly started flossing and at first creating a small transparent shield slowly turning the color black till it was pitch black and huge about 25ft tall and 30ft wide. It then all the sudden standing in woe the Angels saw the horribly demonic ugly and ferocious zombie dragon. Green blue and red in color with soars all over the dragon licking fluid from the soars and this transparent white smoke coming from it. It had perfect denture but it was putrid and smelled like sewer waste and water. Yellowish black smudges and smears all over the dragons teeth. It roared and it's powerful battle cry made the Angels be a bit uneasy and scared to some degree...

The dragon with a whopping power level of 1000 yet Valerye a Lv 787 Berserk Warrior Angel couldn't dodge the attack of the monstrous dragon which spat a bubble of toxic liquids with a mixture of awful fumes that hit Valerye and she crashed to the ground...all the others came to her rescue...Sebastian using the Heavenly Crossbow Explosive Holy Rod Shots being the biggest and most heavy arrow with a powerful explosive ability creating a whole in it'd victims. The dragon oddly stood there calm and getting hit by the shots which where 5.  He shook his body as the last rod arrow hit him and wow only 1 stuck his body penetrating his body creating a wound and it gushing green thick with bluish lines liquid from its body. As Krylinn was hitting the dragon in the face causing it a couple lacerations. Trying to shot him in the Eye Krylinn gets smacked by the dragons hand and crashes to the ground cracking part of its armor. They telepathically get communicated by the dragon and he says "You shall not win this battle Angels for I have trained long and hard for 2 and a half years ever since I left heaven to seek for more complete power. Now you shall bear the fruits of my training. Now die...

*In the second part of this sequel we will review what happens to the Angels and with the speech Lucifer will conclude to give in Heaven in the Throne Room.

Gun in one hand, bible in the other.
Is not the word a sword?
Why need for a gun too?
Or is it a justification to ****?
The same as a rocket launcher on one shoulder,
and the koran in the other hand.
Or a flag in one hand, and a sword in the other.
The image says justified intimidation.
Fear me, for I have the Authority.
But really, the Authority is only as valid
as there are fools who submit.
And the only true authority is the gun, or sword,
as you certainly know it.
And the flag, or bible, or the koran,
are but for your own conscience.
or cover for your lack thereof.

The bible and the gun:
an oxymoron;
a display of faithlessness,
the defilement of holiness,
a blasphemous act;
affirming the proud fool you are,
that says in its heart, there is no God!

When I was a child,
Watching a wayward world through a lens of wonder and possibility,
Bound to an unusual captor of bats and gloves,
Reaching towards the rest of my life,
Over the head of the life I was already living,
I fell in love.
Not with a person or an object,
Nothing but a symbol of everlasting youth.
A team,
A place,
A game,
It was baseball.
Not just the game but everything that accompanied it,
A family,
Brothers becoming brothers.
A world,
The smells of trees and rain and concession stand hotdogs,
The sounds of a ball thudding into a catcher’s mitt and cheering fans,
The tastes of early morning Starbucks and corn nuts and bubble gum,
All of it stuck between basepaths,
Sitting on a bench in a dugout,
Spilled on the seats of my father’s car.

All of these little things,
All of the memories,
Just moments passed,
Lost in the depths of my mind,
Taunting me as I wish to return to them.
Although not yet old, I am older,
Reminiscing on the good and the bad of my youth.
I can still remember the veil of paralyzing loneliness,
Pierced by the family found in my brother’s team.
I remember the tears shed as I watched my father devoting his life to that team.
Those bad times were outshined by the good,
Team dinners in faraway towns,
Sunsets over outfield scoreboards,
Driving back to hotels in the dark with the windows down and classic rock blaring.
This is the way that I grew up,
Lonely but free,
Unhappy but secure,
In love with a thing that took so much from me,
Lasting Stockholm Syndrome bleeding from my life as it was to the life that I have.
I have lost this love,
No longer experience the ups and downs that can only be described as the reality of life.
I cannot weep over this lost love,
Cannot wallow,
Knowing that this is how it must be.
I must let go,
Grow up,
Get old,
Move on away from the family I found and the world I discovered,
Life doesn’t slow until it stops,
Barreling towards a hollow canyon,
Disappearing over a cliff to be covered by fistfuls of dirt,
Watered by the tears of loved ones left behind.
I must leave my love to rest before I lay in that hollow canyon.

Why must we grow up?
Grow out of our innocence and naivety, careless inexperience?
Why must we take for granted the memories of our youth?
Where do we retrieve them when our age returns to us and we miss the forgotten beauty of the world through a child’s eyes?
I wish the softness of the summer breeze would return to me,
Find me again in my days of regret,
In the sea of sorrow following me from my youth,
Sending waves crashing over my head.
I am not yet old, not yet wise,
But still, I mourn the loss of days past,
Loss of sweet summer softness,
Of the relentless rain ruining the chances I had of forgiving my father.

I have forgiven him since.
I forgave him like I forgave myself,
Regretfully.
I often miss that swirling storm of emotions I felt,
The loneliness, the worthlessness, the heart sickness.
So young and so filled with pain, balanced only by the Children of the Sun radiating from my chest.
Views of the maple-*******, the leather-launcher, the grenade-catcher,
Smells of earth and freedom,
Sounds of gentle violence, drawn-out intellectualism,
Overwhelming my senses and filling my days.
Those memories will follow me into the reaper’s grasp,
Rest with me in my eternal cradle.
Despite the storm, the pain, the sickness,
I dream of that cradle where the memories, the bitter and the sweet, will come together in the storm,
Meet like lightning and thunder,
And follow me into peace.
I am not yet old, but I long to be,
To once again feel my love and its infinite reach.

War isn't that fusillade you hear in the distance
betwixt the government troops and the resistance
it's the civilians getting tattered in the crossfire
it isn't the wham of bombardment from airstrikes
by blaring Jet fighters across a shower of black in the sky
it isn't the badonkadonk of a Rocket launcher or Black Mamba
but natives being swept like Safari ants in chunky numbers
War isn't those mines planted in hitherto playing field
but the ignorant innocent children in search for a distraction killed
War isn't the televised scorched homes and gardens with corns
but the consequent drought, scarcity and "famined" and feeble as thorns
War isn't those vehicles and motors torched
it's the blameless owner who in tears the absurdity watched
War isn't that cacophony of politicians on stuffed tables
their speeches filled with hypocritical vocabulary are but fables
speak to the maimed and dead whose voices are never heard
it's those who want the anarchy to end, it's they that are tired
War isn't the nations battling or the parties in contention
it's those set, torn and cast apart...the ones we seldom mention
the parents and siblings forced to say goodbye
while their Breadwinner falls victim to conscription
despondent and despairing as they look on and cry
knowing their brother and Son's like those taken before bound to die
or those refugees wanting to return to their cradle
but having no home and nothing to return to but rubble
those forced to stay in the first world midst racist chants and hate
jeered by the "civilised" like they chose their skin-color and fate
War isn't the famous voices we hear and talk about on the media
but the ****** girls abducted, gagged, ***** and mutilated
War isn't the beautiful monster tanks wrecking
but the historical landmarks and fashioned roads
reduced to nothing, the lives within squashed under their loads
War isn't the glamorous documentary films censored and unreal
but the muffled deadbeat voices from heartbreaks that never heal
It's seeing one's whole life sublime in one moment of savagery
compelling the orphaned and widowed into manacles of *** slavery
for with the loss of their husbands and parents, neighbours, Uncles
comes the tight grasp of inhumane chains and anchors
in those places they are forced to seek refuge
places where they are treated worse when they attempt to refuse
War isn't just being apart from your people by a million a mile
War's learning to wear a weighted mask of a smile
while the heart, Soul, Mind and one's entirety's in Tears
War's knowing all one's "perspirational" toils were but wasted years
fearing to tell one's story because among the presented ears
one can no longer tell one that truly listens from one that just hears
..
whatever's in speech be it poetry or Documentary isn't War
War isn't words, war isn't testimonies, there's more
destruction to War than the eyes, heart can handle
not ever can War fit in the descriptions of words we bundle
War's something humanity never deserve
so unfair for we make war when most can hardly make love.

It was past 10 pm
Indian Standard Time
And the score was
Two O Five

Klusener was the launcher
Donald was the Duck

Hansie had the fancy
That he will lift the cup
Seconds ticking
One, two, three, four, five…

Damien Fleming’s the bowler
And he’s known as a troller
Windies was the victim
Eight years ago

Steve Waugh!
The man who made Gibbs drop the cup
Stood there
Like a commander
Klusener like a slaughterer

Yorker’s the marker
To stop the nine runs needed
From the Klusener blade

NOW THE LAST OVER
ONE went for a four
TWO went for a four
Tensions flared up
We are on the proverbial Edge-of-the-seat

Steve stood there
No expression on his face
Hansie's in the pavilion
Like a warrior king

THE THIRD BALL
Damien's running like he do
Yes, bang on target
Klusener's couldn't get it off
Like the way in his earlier knocks off

One run needed in three

Just a recap again

Final over
last pair together
nine to get in six *****
player of the tournament on strike
Successive fours from Lance Klusener
and it was one from four *****

Then came the comedy
for South Africa uniquely in the game's annals
the tragedy of a tie.

Moments before it
Steve Waugh was
As cold as an Iceberg
To the Titanic of South Africa

(To be continued in next part)

Half starved by the cold
or is it old age creeping in?

is time pulling the pin
on me?

will the crack shot shoot back
or accept his lot?

I have still got questions that
need answering
so
time's not
pulling the pin
on me yet.

This son of a gun has
love
keeping him young and
nothing creeps past me
that's going to outlast me

not yet anyway.

I love someone I do not know
Yet the love continues to show
He conquers the walls of my brain
And invades my thoughts
What is this blitzkrieg rain
My mind has caught?
My first impression
Was a deep depression
As I began to notice
There was no solace
After he shot his rocket launcher
At my heart's monster
There's no way to console me
When his forces control me

My mind is under assault
He's laying siege to my vault
Synapses in my brain firing like a gun
All just to convince me he's the one
My mind is senselessly skewed
By the possibility
I hope to be of the select few
That tests his virility

My fortified castle is falling
Before my one true calling
When his inscription
On my prescription
Is a prophecy
That's mocking me
The uncertainty
Starts hurting me
So I surrender my throne
To be his queen
At least I'm not alone
And we're a team

Tony was the alpo manny was the lil rich two dream chasers started off from ****, manny got the links up tony did the hit ups before they knew it they were getting bread faster than a baker.
Tony was a man to his word if he said he gunna get ya then you better hide like a worm manny had a heart that wasnt so cold but he always had tony back because he was in for the gold.
Tony got the power he always wanted and manny got the money so he was always flaunting.
Tony loved his family but they werent his biggest fans mamma always chased em, sister loved em papa was never around tony shared his dreams with em but they werent interested manny on the other hand like the little sister they kept this a secret cause tony was trigger happy.
Tony made some bad deal left a ***** brain on the dash board his dealer wasnt happy so he sent down a hit on the lil alpo.
tony phone ring momma on the line have you seen your sister she ran off for the first time, tony send out a search reached his old mansion saw his sister with manny and couldnt believe his eyes he draw his gun and let it fly manny hit the ground tony started to cry.
the hit came fast within mins the house was surrounded tony grab his gun with the grenade launcher war was starting in the fight he felt like a god but little did he know he was being creeped up on one shot in his back let him fly he was literally in his own pool of blood his life wasnt long but he did what he wanted the life of tony was ignorant yet strong.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you artists like no other,
who lay their hearts down on the line day and night in every line they write.These artists are the next generation rappers and the new generation poets, they can't be defined by a genre, but you can call them the spoken word artists.

Let me start off with, I’m just a black man
coming up from the dark side, so I’m having a hard time
staying on track, man.
But man, this track I’m on was paved for me
and to stray would be an act of heresy.
Heretics present and act when
a sheep who strays is a black one,
so every time a black son rises to the occasion,
they act like there’s an eclipse with a black sun.
And our sons can’t be young because they have sons of their own,
so busy trying to strap up and act up they can’t wrap up their manhood.
Trying to act grown,
and they can’t grow up to be fathers because they never had fathers of their own.
How you have four fathers whose forefathers fathered four, and didn’t even know.
Black men have lost their backbone,
but that’s okay, cause I’m the black stone
in this bedrock that is our culture, and I’m here to bring ya’ll back home
like the fathers you never had back home.

It's not real, I don't care how you feel.
They are real people, but you know what I hope? This is a movie with no sequel.
You started this trend where you whip people into submission.
You make grown men beg and fall into fetal positions.
Yes, this was over 50 years in the past, but the effects are long lasting.
And the worst part is the youth doesn't care; all they want to do is smoke grass and remenisce in a past that they won’t have if they keep on the one way track to destruction.
Yes, we are a new generation, but all you want to do is stick your head in the lyrics that have no values.
Martin Luther King had a dream to lead his people into a bright new future, but you have a dream to dive in to the unknowns that will cause you diseases and leave you dead without a purpose. You say you’re sweet and you’re quick on your feet, but you won't be when you pass out on the street from a bullet in the head, or even the AIDs that you got from laying between the sheets in the bed with that broad you didn't even know. Because you thought you was dope.

I done used a pack of 24 pencils, a couple pens, 10 erasers, I ain't got no utensils, that's what happens with that word – it'll hit you, going so fast, the opposition comes up and they blow a whistle, They call me Mainy and I promised not to say nothing, but these wanna be rappers, they gotta say something, but those words that you spit better than you saying nothing, cuz I got these bars on my tongue jumping like they double dutching... You wanna battle me? fine. But you know what's behind me? You got a gang and some killers, man I got a Army. You got a couple thugs, a sawed off shotgun, 12 SMGs, a ****** rifle and a rocket launcher..beat so dope I mess around  till the time go off, army so strong, you coming off?  Then your heads gone.

And I'll assist with the ammo in the truck, let’s do a 2pac and hit ‘em
up and drive away when the cameras come. America’s most wanted times 4 my man Jermaine, Monsell, Rachelle, and the truly yours. Our lyrics are mythical but not stereotypical because we're vicious like werewolves
and cold zombies; you can say that this is the world’s lyrical mythical
army.

Go get your money up, cheese, lettuce and get some bacon , while you’re at it go get some bread, I'll be hungry later, gotta do the math for this quick cash, I'm rappin’ so bad, it sound like I belong on a soundtrack. God got me counting money like I won the lotto, smoking so much color purple you can call me Hoppo. The verses that you be spittin’ is so inferior, ****** that she wrote every time I pick up a pen again, and before I stand up here and make proof of liars, I let my rapping do the talking, ready, aim and all I spit is fire.

mama warned me about the missiles
whose streaks resemble
pasty fingers of thoughts with
ill intentions.

jawlines layered with grassy residue,
a time bomb—
tick tock ticking throughout
a timely test.

silly me,
sentimental turnstiles turned back in time and
an eruption of vivid green
internally bleeding.

melancholy magnolias blooming
behold.
shadows capture my
gentrified façade
in our yellowed mellowed atmosphere.

morning bells
delight the Sapphic sleeper,
but not
the creature of the night.

enchanted amongst
the vulnerable,

beautiful,
beyond,
belief.

citadels built from bedframes,
trailing magazines
of livid dreamers
and adolescent ideas—
not an isolated incident.

mama warned me about clasping wrists
and bruised collarbones
replaced with titanium plates.

dandelion fuzz fraught with
five o’ clock shadow,
a delightful daze—
distraction.

fluid familial instinct,
virtually incapable of
****** affection.

riotous, rugged, risky.
backbone crooked
rickety.

knuckles lined up in reverse
chronological,
no,
alphabetical,
no,
circumstantial
order­.

petrifying wisps of morning’s light,
sacrificial intents of starry nights.

bruised knees and white thighs
bruised words and white lies
bruised hellos and white goodbyes.

superficial daydreams
mistaken for junkyard radiators
and the little engine
that could not.

singing birds shot out of the twilight sky,
and the red rush of accomplishment
tip-toeing towards the truth.

skipping stones disturb
the salmon’s
cove while

my butterfly’s monarchy
is out of order.

mama warned me of backfiring cannons
with delayed reactions,
laughing at the purple pigeons
who can sing the swan’s song.

cyclical and cynical
cried the weary modem.
awe inspired anticipation
set against relations.

table tennis played
with a chocolate chip,

curled eyelash confusion,

and I can’t touch my toes.

mama warned me about big guns
that don’t fire,
about broken rigs
that insist you go higher.

a projectile clock haunts my memories.

forbidden animosity plagues
the higher order,
consistently screaming
take me! biblically.

a rocket launcher versus
your catapult,
a millennium of thought
discredited.

stained tablecloths of mutiny
and sin.

an uproar of the masses threaded
between frosty fingers, and
his lullaby?
her nightmare.
a song of Peaceful Persuasion.

mama warned me about loose ends
and splitting ties,
or was it split ends
and loose ties?

belligerent invitations disguised as
fruitful farewells.
a thought for the reckoning—
mistaken mothers made merciless,
warning bells, or
morning bells?

flawed and broken tattooed
on ivory skin.
ebony lost and confused,
cracks against its own nature

wind the winding wind,
explicitly innocent—
masochism foretold.

evergreen amongst the sunrise,
pitiful playthings
strewn across the floor.

****** screams
piercing my skin,
a call for help seldom answered—
tectonic plates.

**mama didn’t warn me with her words.

sometimes I̲ wish I could
go back to the time of late childhood & youth
not that that tI̲me was real good (overall)
but those days bY̲gone were some—
—what pleasura[—]ble years
less stress, bother, more fun
while the last several years
have been, like a vengeance by a psychically mU̲cked up per-son
[for example: Jennifer Hills; Beatrix Kiddo; Arthur Fleck]
a mental nightmA̲re (kind of)
[adult life is burdensome & this world is terrible, for the most part]
it's been felt like being stuck inside a **** loop
not the tY̲pe some would choose
there's been some deli̲ght, but the blues
and other negatives have been piling up tO̲
a qua[ɑ]ntum that you'd find somewhat tough to consume
as far as p[ɑ]ossible, you try to rU̲n from the gloom
but, in the end, the dismals hunt ya
down, like you're Beatrix Kiddo fro[ʌ]m the
Tarantino's "Ki̲ll Bill" drama
targeted by the Deadly Viper hit crew
["The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad"]
[the 6th chapter of "**** Bill" called "Massacre at Two Pines"]
and the main thought that I̲'ve been pursued
of late by reminds me of
tragical vigila[ɛ]nte-turned guys, because
it says "nigh on nothing to lose" (nigh on nothing to lose)
besides, it seems li̲ke I have a sick psychopath inside me that
could use a punching bag, like a guy who has
to get prepped for a fighting match
that devil'd be satisfied to have
a mean au[ɑ]tocrat or another black
hat as a hostage to get the spleen dU̲mped on at
times when I'm ******, like sO̲meone af—
—ter having an alco binge; but, in fact
I'd be sO̲mewhat glad
if I̲ just smack or fling sO̲mething frac—
—turable so that the thing wI̲nds up smashed
it'd be nice to have a long-lasting bout of that
as far as possible, I satisfy this app—
—etite for demolition with vicious-sounding tracks
and rhyme-heavy lyrics with evil-minded crap
try to keep that sick **** sE̲rved with
so to speak, loco motifs (loco)
like rail vehicles; I've gotten a mI̲te sidetracked
["locomotives"; "like rail vehicles [,] I've gotten a mite sidetracked"]
let me rewind a tad
the thought that I've been pursued
by saying "nigh on nothing to lose"
as for saved-up money, I would
say there ain't much someone li̲ke me can do
with it; since we can't buy different realities to
live in, I've been thinking... (thinking) of buying a new
PC (for a long while)
[not "new" in the sense of "recently developed"]
as if I were some ****** tycoon
dealing with private military company bull—sh#t
["PC" stands for a number of things, one of which is "personnel carrier"]
[hence "tycoon dealing with private military company bullsh#t"]
a PC, for games are something I'm used
to & that can make hI̲gh someone who's
got pro[ɑ]blems with mood (problems with mood)
neither drown so[ɑ]rrows in *****
nor get high on dO̲pe when I'm low
get lifted up by music listened to by me bO̲th when I'm home
and when I'm outdO̲O̲rs for a stroll
and as someone sometimes
spending some time on O̲U̲tdoor strolling, I'd note
one downright downside
regarding U̲rbanized zones
which is go[ɑ]ddamn mO̲torized road
vehicles: much noise evoken by those
started; that's so much provoking you hope
to find a grenade launcher with a whole lO̲t of
respective rounds to throw a fine show (hell yeah!)
what about drivers &, maybe, passengers present
inside? well, those are so-ca[ɔ]lled
"collateral da[ɛ]mage"
[just in case, I'm joking]
[I just hate motorized road transport for annoying noise it generates]
that's like a GTA-like game come
to life; music ain't one, but the main love
on this dark track to nO̲where I go (track to nowhere)
we're together till the moment I croak
(unless, of course, I̲ end up placed)
(into a mental asylum someday)
————————————————————————————————
since I've brO̲U̲[ɑ]ght up this subject (music)
what should've been dO̲ne's to place mo'
lines with cO̲[ɑ]ntent regarding
it inside this O̲ne; mid-paced so
called "dark clubbing" & dA̲rk synth
some slowed phonk, complextro
trap & hip-**̲[ɑ]p beats, & ro[ɑ]ckish
electronic stuff from Zardo[ɑ]nic
or I can use some lines from a prior-writ pro[ɑ]ject
of mine; went from somewhat generic electro[ɑ]nic
sh#t, both ba[ɛ]ngers & melo[ɑ]dic
ones, to heavier & dA̲rk sh#t, however, I, regardless
still dig some graves, like a fellow with boneY̲A̲rd shifts
[Christian Mochizuki, better known as graves]
[the last 4 lines are from "a depressive rhymefall"]

Yeah, right, those times when
you get involved in all those street fights
and you win them all
and all those fights are just to prove that
you're stronger
whereas your heart keeps on hollering in distraught
and suffocating in poignancy.

Yeah, right, there are those times,
you have always wanted to say,
"Dear mother and father, I have won this fight!"
after you actually conquered what the real fight is—
which is battling your fear in places where you feel unwanted.
And thus you said it with gleaming pride to the two souls who raised you.
But unfortunately when you come home they disowned you
for they have grown weary of all your shenanigans and juvenile delinquent brawls.

Even the place that raised you has eradicated your presence
and thus you have nowhere you find tranquil
and you keep on counting the next battles and fears.
And yeah, they feel privileged to call you anything,
be it a libertine with a ****** up life,
or the kid with the lowest rank of worth in the school of the heinous world.

Indeed, you can thrash the living **** out of them with your fists and guns.
But when they throw menacing words at you, you become weak
and all those fighting skills mean nothing to you now
for in all conscience you're weaker than broken branches
behind all those façades of the savage delinquent persona.

And your mother, her no-longer-precious young vine is out for war everyday,
but she keeps insisting that you're not fighting for anything at all.
And your father, his not-anymore shining crescent is now a forlorn and disoriented shipwreck,
but he keeps focusing on your rebellious surface rather than your shattered heart.
And your delinquent mates, they only used you because they think you're the strongest.
And the people who only know your surface, they're almost always out to haunt you everyday.

It's not about me, it's about you.
If one day you reach your limitation of strength
and you can no longer save yourself,
then who will do?
If there are plenty of kids who share the same fate of you
in this atrocity-ravaged world of seven billion,
then what can I do?
If lives keep on falling because all of us are weak but never get protected,
how dare I pretend that I'm unaware of it?

In the end, we all die.
Some die in contentment, some others in destruction.
Some die of fate, some others of choice.
But how would you feel
if the one who has always been in the front row of your gigs,
and the one whose artworks you have always adored,
and the one who always lights your circle with their vibes,
and the one who invincibly skates through high valleys,
and the one who sends you encouragement every night,
and the one who sends you to a real home when you're nowhere man,
are all the ones who die of choice?

Those conformist educational institutions give awards and homages to the ones
who are the smartest and brightest with scintillating future ahead of them.
But no one has ever given any awards to the strongest fighters
whose dark and distorted future is completely not their fault.

We didn't **** ourselves over shattered youth.
Those low-life swines murdered us after leaving us a shattered youth.
And thus I only have one single word;
Fight.
Not with fists, not with revolvers, not with explosives, not with submachine guns, not with daggers, not with ****** rifles, not with multiple launcher rocket systems.
Fight
with thy heart.

The raccoons on this Kentucky farm formed a quagmire. They're wild thieves embedded in the ecosystem. Irreplaceable valuables are erased in the cover of night. The farmer offers to negotiate with the masked vermin. A raccoon response results in scramble trash, they say they've got a birthright from the past. Wits end is where dog ownership begins after the adoption of a rabid dog that only sees death. Regret rocks raccoons wrestling with Cerberus but there's no turning back, Cujo is chained in their yard.  Hellhound terror leaves spellbound hares abandoning their warrens until only reddened raccoons remain with their canine warden.

Lamenting the loss of liberty, a revolutionary raccoon resolves to romp around. The dog of damnation's laser locked bloodlust focuses on the rodent-like rebel. Charging like a rocket out of its launcher, the driven dog is lured from its isolated den. This game of cat and mouse has magnanimous stakes reaching across the farmer's lake.

The rebellious raccoon runs rapidly from the rabid ravenous Rover. The runner dips and dives through cover to avoid the teeth of the other. A snapping jaw matches the movements of the juking and cutting critter. Inside of a hollow tree becomes the raccoon's destination, he enters and ascends, the snarling snapper chasing in after him.

Death's embrace seems certain for the raccoon as the hound's teeth shave the edge of its fur, but at that point the fatter can go no further. The hound's blinding bloodlust vanishes upon realizing it's stuck. Its unwavering rage turns into panicked fear once it realizes its end is near. The raccoon revels in the dog's misery, enjoying watching it slowly starving.

The raccoons revelry is rebuked once the dog just starts staring at it. They both stare at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to die. Neither of them willing to move an inch for fear of accidentally helping the other. Both willing to die to ensure their opponent's death. The hollow facade that saved the raccoon now becomes its tomb. Defeat and death act as a sedating punishment for the dog's aggression. Fierce foes drink the poison of resentment as they both accept their demise while staring into each other's eyes.

Like a faster than light chicken attack
Breaking out of the Higgs field,
With an explosive egg launcher in my backpack
Redundantly pecking at the spaghetti-like wormholes,
As if I can actually eat them
With destiny calling,
Like saying goodbye to the Bekenstein limit
And applying some pressure with an infinite-bit tourniquet.

Born to die away by the ripped tide side
Gripping one's love in stride

You with the clapping hands
Screaming for the win
Where will you begin when it ends

Smiles thought they were the show
And the bows of the liquor lows
Candles burn until they are blown out by the storming snow

Nightmare sister where is your little shadowy mister?
I got the blues for you baby, yes I have this feeling you got the blues too
Where will you be little sister when you ain't got your mister?

Another morning in the tides of a late May
These were the days I tried to run and stay away from
A feeling feels foreign only when one is boring

Market place is burning and downtown don't have no friends
The trash cans are rolling westward
What was that pause when I asked you for your word?

To and fro as well as the too late already done's
I used to love baby
What a fool I was back then, what I used to be

Ride care trolley tracks with the basement breaks on our knees
Are we the men we were born to be,
Or are we excusing ourselves to let out a whimpering sneeze?

Pencil pads ***** brashly for a poor excuse of work
Turks with guns and missile launcher rad fads
A war is yonder don't you wonder?

an old, decayed mine, far from civilization
psychotic warriors occupy alleys, resolutely
this here is their last match, the death match
only one survivor remains, bloodbath

walls are covered with intestines and *****
fuckburst killed five, a female voice moaning:
double ****, multi ****, mega ****, ultra ****!
each increase is arousing our speaker

unreal tournament, land of fun and gore
your addiction is called "flag canon",
"rocket launcher" or "monster ****"
i'm all in now, no worries, no regrets

bloodshed covers you in bloodred
but i don't know the truth, barktooth
we are drinking silver-blue fantasies
as bullets spraypaint your apartment

you switched the game off, but the
monsters are attacking you, warrior
vibrating echoes and their dark voices
in rainbows, in rockets, in repetitions

shadows eat up your courage
motionless, swooshing swoosh
you are trapped inside their thoughts
no chance to escape, you get crazy

I was going to write you an epic poem.
A soliloquy of vibrant, passionate, verbiage.
It was going to woo you off your feet.
Make you float like a falling feather in a light breeze...
indeterminately hovering in the golden light.

I was going to present my epoch to you with gilded wings and valiant trumpeting ostriches, on satin rugs in a grand hall.
Amidst a gathering of your closest friends.
I was going to lay bare my love for you like a plucked flower, opening to greet the sun before it's last gasp. Naked. Unafraid.

But then I remembered...
That for the next 42 minutes it was Happy Hour on Call of Duty Modern Warfare. And if I was smart - I would double down and activate my 2X weapon token...and rack up some serious XP.

So I left the comfort of the soft space our love occupies
And the dreamy pillowy sinews of our collective mind's eye...
And I rained a blood fury down on those dumb ******* like no one has ever done in a multiplayer first-person shooter, ever.
Laughing the entire time.... composing this epic poem for you... while shooting virtual people in the head with my rocket launcher.

Thus, is my true call of duty.

I envy the men who can smoke yet run like an Olympic athlete,
I really do.
The best I can do is operate a machine gun or a rocket launcher,
With a fat *** of dip in my jaw.

To me, you know, you can't deny,
for I can see the suffering in your eye.

This is more than a battle between me and one,
because now I see, who is holding the gun.

Put down the rifle, take out the mag,
for these bullet's are not yours to drag.

I paid for the mystery box, plain and simple,
It is my turn to take out the rocket launcher missile.

I tell you now about Juggernog and Quick-Revive,
because they aren't enough to keep us alive.

I've got you're back, and you've got mine,
as we battle through the challenge of the canine.

Board up the windows, blocking us in,
as we wait for the next level to finally begin.

We are together through this, one and all,
yet you won't always be there when I fall.

Let me take the ray gun in my hands,
as we travel together through the badlands.

I want to hear and feel the thrill,
as the voice around me whispers *Insta ****

Diamond trucks 40 feet tall turned into a tank missile launcher never seen mo city 10 thousand stacked barely fit a highway i feel bad for enemies death is tiny twister tools mark the sky shine the shed of beast 10 these hoes hold 100 people i pray please Lord guide us to truth not faction

Together forever spread my joy an fly protect with pride here to feed house an safely live here once and forever save these people we pray no pain pain makes me hallucinate because were real so is Christ rise no more time to cry forgive those sins delete earth rewrite in 1 day plant wake an ride this is our lives standing tall strong and above the gospel serves cures creates and keeps growing i know in the end we all believe in god the father son holy spirit and you and me they shall not tresspass unfaithfully lets sing

1 an only scream my name
Todays the day
Our freedom reighns
Stands tall an frees from death an ****** mysterys
We plee pray for saving
Why not save us all now
Break our backs an pop off