There was a dream of mine,
an idea of most in a different space of time.
I dreamt of a place where a man stood in front of a crowd. People of so many colours.
Unashamed of the colour on his face,
nor the song underneath his voice.

Some of course,
hated him and his so called gang of "stereotypes".
And in all honesty, it wasn't a shy away from racism,
cause they introduced them as short time hypes,
failing to even pronounce their leaders name.
 
So that's what they walked in as, "The crazy gang of dangerous stereotypes".

They crowd fell quiet at their arrival,
and really the few who understood their vision came up in front with their tiny cheers.

Those against them sent their spies to try and infiltrate the group inside,
But their leader didn't mind. "Let them try and break what's outside, we're much stronger inside".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.

Those against them tried to pull the plug on their little performance,
but it just made the leader chuckle.
"They can turn our mics off, but our voices will always be on".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.
And now turning to the crowd.

"I know you hate us, I see it in your eyes.
You think we're quite strange for being a gang of such vibrant colours,
Which is the case, but also the case of how different we are from one  another.

There's white on our keys, 
black on our drums,
yellow on our bass,
red on our strings
And mixed in the lead.

I understand being mixed seems a little overwhelming,
but trust me, it was for all of us at first.
Still we need you all to listen,
we've got a song to give.

We're tired of this hatred for different colours".

Their leader gave the call,
as the drum began the count,
The crowd grew closer. A few began to dance, while others still stood in their places.
But you could see the jig expressed out of their faces.

As the song was halfway done,
the crowd was entirely full.

Where the leader swerved left and right,
the crowd did so without hesitation.
And those who had stood in place where now dancing with everyone.
Dancing as one entire nation.

Their leader lifted up his voice to the Heavens as they rained down a shower of lights,
flooding the entire room.
The leader fell to his knees as did the people,
his voice was tired and broken
But he kept the song going strong.

He got back up building his voice till it was echoed high enough to bring down a mighty tower,
And with one mighty call to the Heavens once again,
the song had filled the room with cheers and tears.

Those against them had stood behind explaining,  "sorry but you've been suspended".
The leader with a smile replied, "we kind of figured, so we're taking this party somewhere else".

As he left with his stereotypes, the people inside had begun to follow behind,
They tried to break what's outside, but we're much stronger inside.

And that's the strength of our song that goes,
*** *** da da di *** ***,
*** *** da da di la la.

& now I know we share Oscar Peterson in common
I want to love you all the more,
till the world ends
Let our beloved rain fall
Let our days howl of our Ginsberg
Plath, Eliot & Dylan
& others, more obscure
Let us buy that Edward Hopper
we both love
& let us sleep in your car
out on the Yorkshire Moors
You're the milk in my coffee
Let me be the billboard
you advertize our love on
lets be breathless metaphors
of each other
the quotation marks
around each others words
high on the ******* of stars
& always read
each others poems
drag each other to open mics
& drink too much
let's make Cupid jealous
of the fiery arrows
we use to stab
one another
if it doesn't work out
& make the Angels
jealous of our heaven
if it does
lets be a restless breeze
that blows
through the world
& stirs each leaf
with our words
lets just be us
fellow hermit
fellow poet
Soulmate
that's
the word

Connect like comets,
got thoughts but won’t comment,
controversial as a result of being honest,
honestly sick of the politics & sick of the nonsense,
actually I’m sick of it all to be honest but still I won’t *****,
conflicted by the conflicts that’re inflicted on my conscience,
from the constant onslaught of plots that they’ve got that I’m barraged with,
in this enormous orbit that we’re all in it’s ugly & gorgeous I’m nauseous but conscious,

just wishing they’d stop it & I’ve lost my train of thought but haven’t yet lost consciousness,

at,

a house party in The Hamptons,
July 6th. 2018,
last week D.C.,
next week Miami,

bless the vibes like we bless the mics,
that’s why they want us around,
if I get the invite & have the time I might take that flight,
because I’ve been all around but still up to get gown,

buzzing off of a mixture of different chemicals,
feeling Sharon ****** operating off of basic instinct,
Semi-Quasi-Serious-Centennial-American-Millennials,
wer­e are what is in so we tell them to get out with their doubts & we dismiss what they think,

live big & still get enough to give more than a little bit away to various charities,

with 3rd Eye Vision that’s 20/20 so they can’t pull a fast one on me,
in the perfect position I see everything while most of them can barely see anything,
not kidding but we do play no kids no way,
our artistic creations are what we will leave behind as our living legacies,

staying grounded at the same time we’re all stars outta this world like a fabulous galaxy,

where we connect like comets,
got thoughts but won’t comment,
controversial as a result of being honest,
honestly sick of the politics & sick of the nonsense,
actually I’m sick of it all to be honest but still I won’t *****,
conflicted by the conflicts that’re inflicted on my conscience,
from the constant onslaught of plots that they’ve got that I’m barraged with,
in this enormous orbit that we’re all in it’s ugly & gorgeous I’m nauseous but conscious,

just wishing they’d stop it & I’ve lost my train of thought but haven’t yet lost consciousness…

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

Rugby town, of landlocked streets,
of wasted field and barefaced retreat;
I miss you now, in absence of a friend,
I miss you now, in the verse that I lend.

Suburb grove, of sleepy mist,
oh, battered housewife, oh blastocyst;
you will remain in place forevermore,
and forevermore, you'll become a bore.

Holding cell, of sporting fame,
you stole my dreams but gave me my name;
I think of you: a multi-storey view,
of happy faces, of which there is few.

Still, my town, in debt's nightgown,
the shop-fronts vacate, we're feeling down;
these streets are poisoned with names of the past,
each memoir to teach: nothing's built to last

Rugby town, of weary folk,
the private school is a private joke;
I miss you now, as I sleep through the day,
I miss the old walks, and all that you'd say.

Old market town, the aftermath,
of British summer, suicide bath;
of open mics and closing the shutters,
of waking graveyards, sleeping in gutters.

Hopeless climbs, of dreary times,
of childhood state and nursery rhymes;
each time that I come home, I know you less,
becoming a stranger in my redress.

Clock tower, chiming, chiming loud,
singing for history long and proud;
of Rupert Brooke and the question: “what if?”
What if I was born to some lover's tiff?

To some large and friendless town,
to some body of land, which I drown;
to some active place of pain unknown,
to some place that I'll not gauge that I've grown,

oh Rugby dear, stay with me,
let  me live on the periphery;
and although this town seems terribly dull,
it could be worse – I could live in Hull.

Ten-thousand mics under the sea
and the stage was an island, stranded
on another planet's horizon.

By Saturn's rings
I saw a tiger.

Bittersweet, I miss that;
The longing, the madness.
I ask: is context all that ever is?
Yes, but there's more to life than it.

Living in Progress, the purpose subaqueous
like waves lapping on temporal sand.
Keep an adaptable mind at hand.

This is more than a dance, humans in motion
react differently. Like sheets of silk, smooth yet trippy.

Acid burn,
Liquid trance.

On old mainstreet, sits an old café,
Where home-town-grown musicians play.
Sometimes they like to change its name,
But the clientele stay just the same.
When times are tough down in the town,
You know you can’t get the Black Dog down.

Rednecks and faux-necks and used-to-be-loggers,
Crafters and rafters, and activist bloggers,
And poets and hippies and mystics and fools,
And outcasts from the secondary schools,
And gypsies too: you’ll find them here,
Drowning in local, hand-crafted beer.

At night, locals sip organic tea,
And turn up the menagerie
Of lights and mics from another age,
Pieced together to make a stage.
And there, the guitarists waste their breath
Beating the Same. Four. Chords. To. Death.

There are some new lyrics, there and here,
But all of them memories of yester-year:
A year spent in the same **** space,
With others who’ve never left this place.
They sing of their dear loves and pasts,
And how much longer the wandering lasts.

And on they wail, and on they moan,
And twang the antique, rustic tone,
But their faces show they like it here,
This breaking haunt of yester-year,
And after the set, they carouse with cheer,
And smile contentedly to their beer.

On old mainstreet sits an old café,
Where home-town-grown musicians play.
Sometimes they like to change its name,
But the clientele stay just the same.
When times are tough down in the town,
You know you can’t get the Black Dog down.

My Sunglasses

I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.

I've been looking for you in each stranger,
Each blue eye with sand hair makes me turn,
Each musical note I play is a reminder of your name,
I often forget to distinguish my voice from yours though this mics
I said I'll be strong but mama I miss you.

I guess blood is thicker than time than death since,
Each eye on this arena feels like yours
Every time I give life to this fiction characters
I hear your laugh,feel you cringe,
Each attempt to hide from this paps,
Feels like a carbon copy of yours,only with a failed attempt
I said i'll be strong but mama I miss you.

It's been a decade,I want to lie i'm stronger/mature i'm not
I still ball over and cry sometimes,especially days like this,
I still let them in even though you warned me about naivety,
I still shy away from the life you and dad gave us,
I know I said i'll be strong but mama I miss you.

I have loads of questions,so I ask the siblings you gave me,
Hoping they asked the same questions to you,
Hoping they pour your knowledge to me,
I watch  you,how you were,so beautiful so young,
I know I said i'll be strong but mama I miss you.

I've tried been good,
Though this creepy's make the search engine say am not,
I want to talk about your old man and your boys,
Right now though I'll be a little selfish because,
I know I said i'll be strong but mama I miss you.

I have a right to stand
I'm claiming it now.

Turangawaewae; 'a place to stand'
Is a deep empowerment from the land
Learnt through ancestral connection
Strengthened through ahi ka; 'keeping the fires burning'
Well, my ancestral stories ain't so impressive
There were few battles
Though my granddad worked for the air force in world war two
- As an accountant
We didn't encounter the gods or try to bring down the sun
Though when my Grandma arrived here she built up the soil
Soul of the Earth
For 70 years
As the city sprang up around her
And my mother aged 11 played follow the leader with a goat in the next door construction site
Where her house is now
My uncle found an old mans false teeth in a cup
Climbing through an abandoned house
My aunt visited James K Baxter's Jerusalem
She wasn't a fan of his poetry
But his wisdom spoke to her
My other aunts jumped through the neighbours trees
Who threatened to shoot them
My father followed my mother here
After her O.E with my sister in the oven
He ******* about John Key as much as anyone
And praises this land; it is home.

I stood on a windy cliff surrounded by pohutukawa and learnt the whisper of the sea
Roughing it on an island I tried determinedly to turn into a pukeko
I got my first cut, bruise, scrape from this land
My first breath, poem, touch of a violin, my first kiss was here
I know the rough patches, the fringe scene, where the best soil is
(It's at my grams house)
I know how to spot a drug house, which cafes will let us jam, where the open mics are 5 days of the week.
I know Kirikiriroa.

My fires have been burning
And I have a right to stand
I have learnt through my own evolution
Through Janet Frame's railroad country
Through a history
Cities growing and spreading
They weren't just here
As it has always seemed to me.

The countryside, what was here before?
Landscapes of forest and mountain
Familiar yet unknown to me.

When I go away I will know the difference
When I return I will know this land
The depth recognized through contrast
Defined by difference
As the sun and moon complement
Light and dark
Sorrow and joy
And,
As in yin and yang
I will know nothing is completely separate.

When I go away I will know
So fully
And I will return and say:

This is my place to stand
My turangawaewae
My Aotearoa

One phonecall? Alert the public
Who would you call in a stance of conundrum in case the sky's falling down?
Desperate measures in desperate times
I carry an emergency kit with extra ink for my rhymes
And a band aid for my lips to cover up the disease they diagnosed me with;
Of Spitting up filthy ****
Labeling ill kids,
With conditions made up like myths
Deluded? Please.
Excuses are sad pleas to ensure the public's attention skips the obvious.
So I'd rather lock myself away,
And use my notebook to convey my love;
For the person I'd dedicate one last phone call to.
Lock myself away like Anne frank in the attic and write so much fire it produces sparks
the static is electric; the rush through my veins has me lost,
In the cosmic abyss of my thoughts
While I'm lit... I concoct schemes to conquer mics
If you dissect my insides with jabs, I'll retaliate with clever forensics;
Cut myself open for the world to see,
That all I'd bleed is metaphors in overdose...
Infinite similes are the catalyst to my rhythmic metamorphosis

https://youtu.be/q067Au9GA-g?si=VZC-v8SnXGx5xP-X

I'm lucky enough to live in a city with a great poetry scene (and more specifically the Dayton Poetry Slam open mics) which ive recently started attending... last time i went one of the people who runs it asked if he could play the recording of this poem on the radio (which I'm beyond excited about) sometime in September (date still TBD)... bear in mind this was 2 weeks before my first visit to the psych ward and about a month and a half before my first attempt (since I was a kid), although im doing a bit better now. This is what I'd originally written to say beforehand (but got too nervous 😆):

This one isn't really my best or favorite but its definitely my most personal... I've struggled with suicidal thoughts and feelings for almost as long as I can remember, tried to **** myself when I was 9 but wouldn't acknowledge it to myself as a serious attempt til I was in my early to mid 20s cuz I didn't get hurt... then it wasn't until I looked back on it and realized that no, I definitely was trying to (which is part of how I came to realize I have bpd since I shouldn't have reasonably wanted to or tried to at that age like I did)... unfortunately the feelings have never gone away, and although I haven't tried again since then I have gotten pretty **** close. It seemed like things had gotten better for a while, then worse, then better, then worse again... but I've been holding out for things to get better again and I guess what I'm really trying to say is just that so long as you're still holding on, things can get better again. It may not feel like it for a long time and the whole time you might be asking yourself if it ever can but so long as you're still holding on things can get better eventually (in ways we may never expect), but if you give up too soon you'll never see it happen. So just hold on.

So What Is … " Strength " … ???
And What Is … " Weakness " … ?!?

Well Strength Is NOT Within HARD HEADS ... !!!!!

Who ALWAYS Tend To Have REGRETS ...
About The Things They're QUICK To Express ...

That's WEAKNESS To Me … !!!
Making Speeches Lacking Deepness ... !!!!!

Just To Be …
Some Kind of … " CHIEF " … !!!

The Kind Whose Speeches PROVE They're WEAK … !!!

The Type Who Like To CONTROL Mics …
Because of FEAR That Their … " Veneer " …

Will Be EXPOSED When TRUTHFUL Quotes ...
Expose The Dope Shuvved' Up Their Nose … !!!!!
WEAKNESS Is Shown By Minds Now BLOWN ….

By … Class A  Drugs And Wannabe Thugs …
Who ACT ALL TOUGH When They're DRUGGED UP … !!!

But Physical Strength Doesn't Make You STRONG … !!!
TOO MANY Men Now Are … " Strong And WRONG " … !!!
BEATING UP ON Their Children's MOMS … ?!!!?

These Men Are WEAK And That's REAL SPEAK … !!!!!

Would These Men BEAT Their OWN Mommy … !?!
Ask Them THAT And You'll See Them … CRACK … !!!!!

I KNOW That's FACT Just Ask MY DAD … !!!

So Many Hide Behind Their PRIDE … !!!
Until They're Asked To … MARK THEIR Card … ?!?

ACTING HARD Is WEAKNESS MASKED ...
Behind A FACADE ... Like KU KLUX Guards … !!!!!!!

I'm English Born So KNOW The Score …
About RACIST Hoards Who Are WEAK For Sure … !!!!!

The Type Who SMILE And Act ALL NICE …
Who Wear No Masks But Have WEAK Hearts ...

Well As Time Transcends ...
Black Brown And White Still Hide Behind …

... IGNORANCE And PRIDE  … !?!?!

"Mate, you're alright, it's just your friends who I don't like !"

"Don't you mean my kind ?
If you don't like, them, can you really like me ?"

What Kind of Strength Lies In Deceit ... ?!?

Now That Modern Slavery's Reached London's Streets ….
Who Amongst The Sheep's Willing To Speak About MP's … ?
And Their Devious Deeds And YES About IGNORANT Police … !!!

Well THAT MAN ...
Would Seem To YES Be … ME … !!?!!

But Is it Strong Or Weak … ?
To Speak Against Those Who HOLD Control … !!!

Especially When THAT So Called … " THEM " …
Are More FRIGHTENED of Blacks With STRENGTH … !!!
  
Than Those Who CLAIM To … " Hate Our Race ! " …

Yeah I'm Talkin' Bout' Blacks Who Like To … " ACT " …
As If They're PROUD When They Ain't … " James Brown " … !!!!!

Godfather of Soul A TRUE Funk HERO … !!!
Whose Strength Turned GOLD And PLATINUM TOO … !!!

But Who In TRUTH's Stepped In His Shoes …
And Aired His Views … On Black Issues … ?!?!?

Okay There's Been
The Odd ... One Or Two …

But In England WHO … ???
Has Made A Strong Stand As A Black Man … ?!?
And Had His People ... SUPPORT Him …
Like Malcolm X ... or ... Doctor King …. !!?!!

Blacks Seem To NEED To See Blacks BLEED … !!!
Before They BELIEVE That We NEED TO SEE …

More UNITY ... EQUALITY …
More STRENGTH of MIND And LESS Gun Crime ... !!!

Is it STRONG To **** One of Your Own … ?!?
Or Is That The Will of A WEAKENED Soul … !?!

Bowing Down To Those Who STILL KEEP Hold ...
of Chains and Whips Like … " Days of Old " …

My Heart's Turned COLD Because I Now KNOW …
That I'm Getting Weak ... As My Youth Goes ….........................

I Guess My Prose …
May Seem Well … DEFEATIST … ?!?

Well That's Because I No Longer Know ….
And REALLY Can't Tell What TRULY Defines …

….. " HUMAN " …..

" Strength or Weakness ? "

Gunmetal Christmas socks pulled
past the calf like go-getter high school
girls "rocking" rainbow ******* below
the belt loops. I never went a day
without seeing short shorts and socks
replacing pant legs with a gap at the knee
to breathe. Downplay X-mas with black
jeans thinning 'bove the knees. I guess
it's payback for all the surly Santas
paid per nervous child lapdance
that got ******* out of $1.50
because I walked away.
For all the St. Nicks breathing pressurized
bourbon on little kids' wishlists.
Thread through a burgundy belt frayed
by the buckle teeth. And I'm sure this is really
burgundy, probably the only burgundy I never
questioned much, unless the manufacturer's
lying to me. Unless it's really a flexible case
for wild circuits and tiny open mics in bars
going on 'round the clock. Not just Tuesdays.
Fiber optics around my waist transmitting
telephone transmissions and cybernetic ****
monitoring my hips and what my **** does.
And my thoughts; they're ******* taking
my thoughts. Precious poetry lines lost
to the scarcity of pens in my car, when I'll
shave next, whether or not I want a burr grinder,
if I'll break glasses at work and have to drink
the glitters like iced tea from the hardwood floor.
Maybe I'll cut my gums. Maybe my tongue'll
become a chandelier butterfly and carry
me to Coudersport or Elmira or Nowhere
to watch pregnant teenagers push flat-tire
shopping carts ******-shaking in the newborn
section. Their babies are spitting up Gerber plans
Mom has never considered. Baby's just a rock rolling
down the birth canal that may someday end up
a boulder in a state park.

I've Had This Said...
A Couple of Times...

My Cadence Is TIGHT...
When Reciting Rhymes... !!!

The Movement of Sound...
When I... Vocalise...

Which Is Also Known...
As... INTONATION...

If You're Reading This... ?
That's.... Education.... !!!
Cos' Words Like These...
Have Close Relations... !!!

NO NOT Like THAT... !!!
But That's A... FACT... !!!

Intonation And Cadence...
Make For Good Entertainment... !!!
When Done With STYLE... !!!

But You NEED A Good Voice...
That Is... TOP Choice... !!!

And Keeps The Ladies....
Slightly... " MOIST "...

Pay Attention Now Boys... !!!
Cos' A Voice That's SWEET...
Can Help You Get...
Girls In Your Sheets... !!!

YES For... RELATIONS... !!!!!
So We're Back Again...
To... INTONATION...

If You Use It WELL...
You Make Pulses RISE...
Just Like... INFLATION...
Or Just Like England's Taxation... !!!

But KEEP Your Cadence Moving On...
Keep It Slick And NOT TOO Blatant...
Cos' This Can Make Some ...
LOSE Their...................... Patience... !!!

Then Your Message Is LOST...
Like Beds For Patients... !!!

Intonation Is A Wonderful Gift...
So I'm Using Mine For Poetic Scripts...
Cos' When The Two Get Together...

It's A... PERFECT FIT... !!!!!

Like Guns And Clips... !!!
Or Cues And Tips...
Or A Great Pair of Lips...
Around A STIFF... DRINK... !!!!!

Did You Get The Link... ?
See Words I Write...
Make People THINK... !!!

And Leave Some Resting....
On The... BRINK... !!!

Or On The... VIRGE... !!!
Cos' Some of My Words...
Make People... SINK...
Into Leather Chairs...
Talking To... Shrinks... !!!

But Cadence Linked To Intonation...
Makes My Message Seem Less Blatant...

My Message Is Honed...
To... UNIFY Nations...
Through Usage of Prose...
And... INTONATION... !!!

Are You With Me Folks... ?
Can You See The... " Relation "... ?
Or BETTER Still The Slick Connection... !!!

My Message Is STRONG...
And Has... Direction... !!!

But Does Inflection...
DIVERT............ Attention... ?!?

Well THAT's A Subject...
WORTH... Inspection... !!!

Does My Voice Attract... ?
Or Is It Because I'm BIG and Black... ?!?
And Do NOT Run From PAINFUL Facts...
When Using Words To WOUND Infections... !!!
And EXPOSE THOSE Who Have DEFECTIONS... !!!

Sometimes I Laugh...
When I Read This Stuff... !!!

Cos' CLEARLY Some Get In A HUFF... !!!
And Wish That I Would Just SHUT UP... !!!

That's Cool With Me...
But PAY ATTENTION PLEASE... !!!!!

My Poetry Will NEVER Freeze... !!!
And NOBODY Will Stop My Speech...
From Reaching Those It NEEDS To REACH... !!!

Well Someone CAN...
Guess Who... Yes ME... !!!

But That I'm Afraid Is UNLIKELY... !!!
Cos Yoda Has Instilled In Me...

THESE Three words...

… ”It's Your Destiny !" …

I'm FEELING That...
Are You Feeling ME... ?

Feel Free To Applaud...
If You Like My Style of Poetry... !!!

I'll Continue To Read...
While My Mind Runs FREE...
And Want My Words...
To OUTLAST me... !!!

Through Publishing And OTHER Things...
Like TEACHING The Dumb To STOP KILLING... !!!

But THAT Will Be WITHOUT My Voice...
Soothing Mics' With Baritone Noise...

Well That's The FUTURE...
But While i'm Here...
I'll KEEP ON Speaking And Relating...

By Using STRONG...

... " Cadence and Intonation " ...

wifi is literally the radio wave r.a.d.a.r. like sonar or ultrasound but super computer crunching the data to visual rendered interpretations of digital information like laser 3d imaging real time full spectrum 3d environment video rendered in some cases, and others tiny tiny pin head mic and cams, but wifi via modems, devices tablets and cell with land line and cell tower , then you see the full saturation of the principalities of the air. and yes. it is that all seeing. and then infuse the social media, digital records of criminal, medical, military, scholastic, employment, financial, political emails, all forms of communications even snail mail, news agencies, all world wide data transfers, all audio systems even car stereos, home entertainment and appliances have secretly been incorporating the circuits that can be used via wire less signal to act as data points even microphones like a speaker is a mic just huge, and a temp sensor and many sensor actually function in many other useful ways, this is not uncommon, sort of like how an butter knife becomes a Flathead ***** driver when in need. your tv, refrigerator, sound system, even light bulbs of the cfl pigtail sort have been claimed to act as data gathering point, but the scary stuff in not just that you can be seen in full move around with the target 360 and 3d is that many devices transit data or harmonic frequencies into your home even when you have zero internet or c able even electricity, just take note of your wifi lists of neighbors, then realize many do not transmit their identity to be seen, and all these sensors and outright cameras and mics do not alert or announce that they can be accessed by internet of many, many common devices and these frequencies can do a hell of a lot of scary things to living conscious biological tissue, like make you sick, or even change emotions and states of comfort or discomfort, like cause you to feel pain in the back and gut, ( most common side effect and a sign of its use) simply search elf wifi cell towers and mind control, sound manipulation, sound that you can not hear you still interpret and even sound can cause you to see different colors and never hear it. so go figure and let the mind wonder and you have still not hit the horrors of this techs use, try the assault and made to forget, or the hypnotic induced trance via wave length in wifi and not recall events of bad things and even loose time some small like 5 10 minutes others loose days or hours. we have, a lot and well, this might help folks realize the power that these things have and just think if bad people in groups decide to use it.

Raised in So. Cali.
Those early 80's on the beach,
When reggae birthed the bass
Subwoofer heart beats
And poetry woven into the flow
Open mics
Yo Spoken Word!
Rap as verse to mTVs

Bittersweet symphonies

When brothers were too heavy
Living in the hood,
And my friends
Ricky and Richy
And Ricks
Richard
****
Have no riches / wealth
Drawing blondes
For non
boys
In the cartoon
Landscape of generation
gap
Not so trendy cool
Unless master Richy
Loud animated riches
Mr. Rich
If I only knew
If richness
Lets you

Then Come be one of every

Minority
Say they can see

His friends-collection
From unique
Reserves
The wild
Child
Around the world
each birthday party here

His pals his country
Their diversities not his equal
As stereotypes
Subterfuge

Cliche
Equality pursuant to Freedom
So says the people

This that is
Priceless,

Enjoying tangerine days
Sinking in the golden
Tropicana
And cold colbalt

Blue bloods
In a darkening sea

The sky bleeding
Only with the life of the sun,
Where in spirit

Oh summer Lovin' nights

Cooling the boardwalks
dynomite!
Beach kin
skins
A many golden
Tans and the scent of
Paradise
Florals and cocoa butter
brine...
Tight fit bodies
Chrome shiney
Tanning oils

The summer wafting

Sensual
Through our basking
In rhythmic sync

From early days
Those happy days
Then when I was tween
On my Schwinn

Gliding
like the wind

Dollar movies
Sand and some kind
Of wonderful

The most radical arcade!
Raised a native son

By marriage
I am a mix into one
A people
My face
Has a race,
I am islander
Fisher King

Golden lion with
Interstellar wings

Please Call me Fishsparrow's
Dreaming

Though summer hues
My skin accused
Unmoved
Unclaimed
I'm a Golden Mango

Among the Californication-Ing

Indian Summer's with a
Torquois bottom pool
I could pass for Hawaiian
Most dark Mistiso do...

Raised in California
We are as golden
As the landscape

Americana

I'm laid back
As California as the cheese
We got the beef cake
80s to 90s to Kpop to Goa

The flavoring
Of caramel flesh
Sweet sweat
Footloose
Skinny jeans
**** undulations
Body
Surfing
Those summer waves

Toward our Nuevo
Fluorescent future
Opulence
So free and quite
Brilliant

The light
With life experienced

Fearless with Midnights
We Conqueror sunrise

The days I reminisce
When childhood bliss
did not die
Just down for a nap

New cats' days
Turning tomorrow making
bacon
Brown skin
My Soleils
Beaches
Soothing Mists

Breath of Suns' kisses:
Wakes of oceans
Peace

Oh

Now I lay me down to dream
I pray the Lord
To help me wake...

Every new day
So thankfully
Experience every divinity

That thou love
Doth make

Alive without regret
Of and by the sea
I'm raised

I grew up
California
                  golden
As is
silence

And Making love  

With You
Early morning.... On the beach

Life arisen.
For light means Day!
Good morning
Glory

A louder Grace
Beloved
Will
Shall listen...

I'm every rho you know in alphabet rhyme football
every proof patterned in logic that you'd measured utmost to every new fall
at every fit you'd know you're the number one of profit of rage
having perfection to perfect what i am like being the true prophet of rage,
I'll get at you birth heavy like genius, having you walking with peg legs, as calculation wind blown like every pin known true like it's  been age
mixing with my mics you'd think i was truly bald
when actuality you're singing with the control of my voice as time newly halts
not knowing hindsight, i'm now informing my women what the u in **** as the mimicking fault
slippin ******* thats why you're face lacks
bo legged at everytime you'd think i didn't know as you get your face jackED
murderin while a professional wrestler i had you employed and now before you, you embrace jack
**** with my bald *** of growth, it's just that fact of being me when at that has your race blacked
women know and men of woe is sorrow receiver catching your space MACKED
who'd ever say that ******* with you all like you could ever get me arrested
another attempt will give me back the sleep you jacked in me when i'm a natural depressant
i'll expose that my wife made you and now you're without legs
tryin to sing with a guitar like you're singing without pegs
'difference is strength when i return as mediocre
i'll tell you know that i jacked you up so you know that life's the owner.
i'll bring you back to when i was born, that would be the age of the brown at '82, jacked them all like if i was in the back of the discovered future exists parallel like you ever knew like how I proved anew,
like my wack smile i gave you to have you know i owned yours as duck rapper interoggation like your *** that proof of scent you're drag like having your *** to think now that you're cooking food.
you're cooking while every chief is now overlooking the passiveness, like how every german hybrid british will have to have you as i move near
feel rhyme as i have you feel time, woe wish now what you couldn't now know that my women own time to have every man to know that both sides know fear
every discovery is everything that i hold dear
**** what you all are cuz what might is that sight as all in are known peers
majority of chaos inferiority as the majority known how which is what you not've known like how they hold on is what i hold all to known dear
actual is obvious to have you all at blank stag actual wrestler like you ever even owned deer.

We are like neutered mutts,
drowsily as we sate on.
100 years of 24 frames per second
left too many of us wondering about the future
while reflecting on a past
never engaged in the present
always being.

The radio is concerned,
a voice drones on
flies over our head
and broadcasts into the living room.

This energy is a wave, follow the sin
Your body already knows how to covert the pressure
into electricity for your receptors.

Later, we stand at the altar
of boys with guitars
of boys with mics
The aux cable beheads his neck
we pardoned a sea of excuses
The F/A-18 drops the mic.

Women salivate the crowd.
That other gentile touch.
Throw a burka on that *****
Magazine dictate should we be?
Clip up pandora,
the liquid streams on.

There was never a box.
You were just born with fingers and toes
to touch ears to hear eyes to see a brain
to think to receive a nose
to breath a mouth to kiss and say,

"There is disappointment everywhere but still I love."

Black men were stripped of their power and might.
Surviving in the streets
taught them how to strive and fight.
I turn the TV on, not a black man in sight.
Unless he dribble or he fiddle  mics.
Every black boy wants to grow up and be like Nas or Mike.
Blacks are not televised unless they are brocasted to fight.
I ride through the city's bright night lights, thinking one day how ɰє mıɢһţ live better.

hmph... where are the open mics?

This coffee-bean bag city abound

with eclectic fusions of wireless access

enter-the-net -abilities

Kenya to Columbia / slow, dark roasts...

and Napa Valley vineyards

intermingling

at Cream...

How oddly bright, surrounded by glass

windows--like discovery of x-ray vision,

through clear walls i see how packed

like an iMac convention it is

inside...

   Poetry readings: Yahoo local search directed us here,

barista-scented alcoholic webmasters

thin-legged tables laid out like a life-sized

chess board--us three white rooks performing

black bishop moves to the cashier;

curious like George as to where

in Carmen-cool-San Diego,

in this glowing rubix cubed place;

   where in the fluoresent skin of Comp-USA borne

peoples of the web, where

where oh where's the poetry?

Reading Vista-windows rather than obsolescent-absolutes

of books by Keats

or obsessive-compulsive Koontz...

   Though bright and machine-warm, Cream

felt metallic-shiny, slick as plastic; conversations

with an electric hiss

rather than a hum of heart-beats and laughter

where's the **** poetry??

   the readings?

a prolific geek or Hemingway refined older men

on a single microphone;

turn-table-tales in rhyme

on a platform made by the local grind

college theatre teckies (staple-gunned and glued)...

where are those poets?

   those spoken-word-wisdoms, writers

performing, even in their Goth-blacks, even in

their Seattle angst of cordoruoys or dock martins;

forget Starbucks, leave behind Jitterz,

the Expresso Roma is the poetry of coffee

no enterprise

can replicate

duplicate the unique...

   sadly i must concede, the spoken word

and poetic fluffers are a dying breed; as far as

i can web-surf, no place

houses them any longer, no more

do they sprinkle their pixie-dust of verse

or prose, mosaics,

fantastics of floral or funk

imagery and emotional

stark revelations of discovery...

   sadly--it is the day's turning of a page;

***** is the word,

adverb to lost horizons, i am

a dinosaur of the mess-no-beatnik-era,

"poet-a-sore-is-rest"

deep thoughts' ooze now the blood of

{fingers snapping} history

"yeah, man, cool...outta sight"

and i'm not yet extinct;

i am a teradactyl with so much sky

soon without a place to land, / below

crash into the matrix sea--Cream pixelates my woes...

communication has become a plastic factory

to Japan, and Europe, my inner "screeeeech!"

"where is the poetry?!"

this morning, entrenched in slumber,
i dreamt of clammy hands on mics

as spoken word slipped like water
droplets from faucet formed lips.

i woke up,
and finished the poem aloud.

success.

Now I’m A Hip Hop Guy...
But DON'T Rock Mics’... !!!

Cos ‘When It Comes To My Rhymes...
I PREFER To... ROCK MINDS... !!!

Because What I Write...
Reflects On This Life...
NOT Trying To Flow Tight...
Or Playing The TOUGH Guy... !!!

My Wordplay Invites...
Thought Waves That Ride HIGH...
That Are Bred To Shed Light...
On Our Daily Fights...

From Supremacist Whites...
To Relationship Vibes...
To Political Crimes...
That Now DESTROY Lives... !!!

Spoken Word Designs...
Are The Type That I Like...

So NO CHORUS Lines...
Or Lines Contrived...
To Garner... LIKES... !!!

Cos’ What I Write Upsets...
And Stands Against...
The Kind of TRIPE...
That Now Gets BIG HYPE... !!!

For Rocking MICS...
INSTEAD of MINDS... !!!

It’s A Road WITHOUT Dough...
Or The Type of... **’s...
Who Seem To Have Holes...
... Within Their Souls... !!!

You See I Go To Zones...
Where These ******* WON'T GO... !!!

Who Now Seem To Be OWNED...
By The Type Who Roll...
With The Donald Trump Show... !?!

One Minute They Seem...
To Have The DARKEST Sheen...
Until It’s Time To Get THAT GREEN... !!!

The Type of Guys...
Who Now Seem To Believe...
That Money Will Make...
Everything... OKAY...
When It Comes To Self Hate...
And How Blacks Behave... ?!?

You See My Wordplay...
REALLY... DOES NOT Play... !!!

When It Comes To The Way...
That We Live Life TODAY... !!!!!

It’s A FUNNY Old Game...
That Still ENSLAVES Brains...
Like CORONA Strains...
That Are Now Filling Graves... !!!

Well... So They Say... ?!?

The SAME Old Names...
Talking The Same Ol’ Same... !!!

About... Racist Traits...
And Supremacist Hate...
But Yet Still Can’t Make...
A Unified Black State... ?!?

We Have Black Millionaires...
And Some BILLIONAIRES...

And Yet Black Minds...
Are Still Resigned...
To Rocking Mics...
To Make Headlines... !?!

And Now We Have...
A Whole NEW FAD...
of... MATTERING Now...
That Coronas Around... ?!?

Because of PAIN...
And Financial Strain...
... ALL OVER AGAIN... !!!

While Blacks With Cash...
Who Make Jokes And Can Act...
Are USED By Media Clans...
To... DISTORT The Facts... !!!

Because of The MONEY...
That Makes Them Act Funny...
But That’s Alright …
Because Now The Whites...
Are LETTING Them Shine …
And Yes ROCK MICS'... !!!

While My Form of Rhyme...
DOESN'T Receive... LIKES... !!!
Because My Minds Eye...
And Rhymes Are Primed...

To Do More Than Reside...
In A World of... PRIDE...
And Genders Defined...
That Are Blowing Minds... !!!

It’s A CRAZY Time... !?!
Where Minds Are Confined...
To Now... STAY INSIDE...

Because of A DISEASE...
And Track And Trace Needs...
And Technology...
That Is Likely To Breed...

A New World Order...
That Leaves Humans Cornered...
Like... Lil’ Jack Horner...  !!!

Which I Guess Is Why...
My Use of Rhyme...
In These Days And Times...

Will ALWAYS Be DEFINED...
As The Type That DEFY...
... Submissive Vibes...

Because They Are Designed...
To Feed THOUGHTFUL Insights...

That Are Those That  ...

..... “ Rock Minds “..... !!!

I want to fall in love with
kisses in the morning, and
cuddling at night;

baking cookies on Saturday afternoons,
where I get to find flour in my hair at night;

singing new music in the car,
discussing politics over dinner.

I want to fall in love with
deep eyes, soft lips, strong arms;

movie nights, karaoke, open mics,
slow dancing, fancy dinners;

goofy inside jokes,
relentless teasing,
and a bit of friendly competition.

I want to fall in love with
outdoors summer adventures,
bright city lights over the holidays;

long walks on the beach,
nights spent under the stars.

I want to fall in love with
acceptance, tolerance, unyielding love;

forever and always,
you.

Ya Know ....

I Was With Some Poets ...
When ... THIS Was Said ...

“When it comes to your poems, what defines success ?“

By This ... What Was Meant ...
Was When You Have An Audience ...
At A Spoken Word Event ...
And You Stand Up And RECITE ...

Can You See That Words You Write ...
Have Touched Your Listeners ... MINDS ... ?!?

Which ISN’T Quite As Easy ...
As Asking ... “Do You Feel Me ?“ ...

In Fact I Get Quite QUEASY ... !!!
Cos’ Some Can Be Quite CHEESY ... !!!!!!!

“I’m glad we don’t have to write that stuff !“ ...

“Okay, but let me call your bluff !
When poetically, my words dish cuffs !
Isn’t that art, that shows some heart ?“

“Don’t get me wrong, i’m not saying that !
I just don’t like, all this, me me hype !“

“Fair enough, most rap right now is sounding wack,
but, now worldwide when grabbing mics,
you’d better believe, ya' can’t show that you’re weak !
Especially when, your use of pen,
tends to upset, and leave heads wet !“

“See what I mean, that’s just not artistry to me !“

“Okay that’s cool, but what’s success to you,
When trying to pursue artistic moves ?“

Do You MOULD Your Style ... ???
So That People ... SMILE ... !?!

Or ........
CHANGE UP ... Your Material ...
So That It SEEMS ... ETHEREAL ... ?!?

Or DO YOU Simply ... Re-Arrange ...
Just To ... “ Make Some Change “ ... ?!?

“Gotta get that cash right, rather than speak your mind !“

And Therein Lies ....... “ The Dilemma “ ....... !?!?!

Success Is What Now Playing To THE CROWD ... ???
And Changing Like The Weather ...
Just To PROVE You’re ... CLEVER ... !!?!!

Or Doing What ... “ FEELS “
Like The Deal That’s ... “ REAL “ ... !!!!!

REALER Than The DEAL ...
That ENTERTAINERS SEAL ... !!!!!

THE DEAL To ... ENTERTAIN ... !!!

“Don’t say THIS, Don’t say THAT !
It’s poetry son, cut out that rap !
Oh and while I think about it,
You need to cut your hair !“

“Hold on now man, no fair no fair !“

“Too late son, see you signed right there,
on the dotted line, and that now means that you are mine !
You’ll do as you’re told, and toe the line !
Don’t get too bold, or your art won’t shine, and see the light !“

“Wot', the light of airplay ...
Okay Okay, Success Finally, Ah Yes Success !“

Now If THAT's What You Get ... ?
I May As Well ... STAY VEX ... !!!!

Cos’ That Just Seems Like STRESS ...
For WHAT ... A Few POEMS ... !?!

YES Some That Probe Like A LYRICAL Saw ... !!!!!
INTO The Pores of Those ... ***** ................ !!!!!!

NOW I Try NOT TO USE Language Like THAT .... !!!
Because It’s CRUDE And Can Just Sound CRASS ... !!!!

See You WON’T SEE ME Falling Into THAT ... “ TRAP “ ... !!!
of Letting My ANGST Bring Words Like THAT To My Notepad ...

ARTICULATED Venom Is What I SPIT .... !!!!!

I Flip The Script Like COBRAS ... !!!!!!
But Still Write With LOVE Like LENNON ...
Whilst Maintaining My ... COMPOSURE ... !!!!!

See SUCCESS To ME Through My Artistry ...
NO LONGER Needs Applause From ... "SHEEP" ... !!!!!

Check Out ... “ The SCENE “ ...
TRUE QUALITY’s Pretty Much ... UNSEEN ... !!?!!

So YES Some Men And Women TOO ...
Have Things To PROVE .... !!!!
SUCCESS For A Few ...
Has Been ... ANGER Fuelled ... !!!!!

There’s Room In The Arts For Stuff That’s HARD ... !!!!!

But Success To ME In The ... “ Poetic Field “ ...
Is When My Pen And Subjects BLEND And Thoughts Transcend ...

Into POEMS ... FILLED With TRUTHS ... !!!!!
That I Exude That Constitute ...

... A SUCCESS FILLED End ... !!!!!

An End That Leads To MANY Beginnings ...
Success ISN’T ALWAYS PROOF You’re WINNING .... !!!

Success Now In My Head Is When Works I Present ...
Are Delivered At A Level That REVELS Near My Best .....

So That When The DUST Has Settled ............
I’m Remembered For ... MY ART ...
And My LOVE FOR IT From END To START ...
And THE FACT That It Came ...
STRAIGHT FROM ... MY HEART ... !!!

And That ... LIGHT or DARK ..... !?!
It’s Made IT’S MARK IN Just ONE Persons Head ... !!!!!

And THAT NOW To ME ...
Is What I See As Having Some ...

............ “ Success “ ...........

hey so I make videos, and look, you all are smart people so who else should try and make a video for this and maybe win $1500! so I am going to do it, you should to, and if you're a finalist you get 200$ they care more bout the audio. visual is not as important, but I feel all poets should be available to this challenge! again AUDIO IS KEY! read the rules! I am planning on entering so even if you're not going to enter, please comment and give me some ideas bc I got equipment (cameras, mics, video crap) and days to film, and it's a class project/ final for me, and I GOT TO PICK IT, I sometimes like my film class x.x but link below!

https://www.projected.com/contests/77-a-song-for-annabel-lee

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http://www.passwordmanagers.net/ Windows Password Manager

I didn’t go out last night, like I was supposed to. Sunday during Labor day weekend, and it’s a return to the long grind on Tuesday for my field. So many unknowns will collapse into certainty in one day, which will impact the rest of my year and beyond. So it goes.

I was supposed to go drink at the bar, an old friend is back off the wagon it seems. Yet, my buddy didn’t let me know it was going down until they were already at the bar. I spent most the day at my parents’ in the countryside and just got home. I was already on my second drink alone, and I sensed they were already farther along than me. Do I really want to drive 15 minutes to nurse 3 beers for 3 hours so I can drive back home? My stomach felt upset, so that was the deciding factor for me.

I let down Chuck Palahniuk in that quote where he says writers need to get out into the world, because nothing happens at home. Yet, I felt like I let myself down all summer by not hunkering down and completing all the esoteric music projects I envisioned. I was too tired to mess with my cables, mics, and computers, so I just picked up my acoustic and played. Sweet ethereal major 7th inversion chords and long forgotten riffs. A couple hours went by.  I played the blues riff from “The Last Time” by the Rolling Stones better than I remember. I hit those chords so rhythmically and started to sing. I always thought I did good with **** Jagger’s vocals. I even remembered the second verse. I was right in the middle of it, when I hear my screen door open and some quick slaps on the door. My little dog comes barreling down from upstairs, barking. I look at the clock on the stove. It’s 9:36. I guess some people still need to work on Labor Day. Nevertheless, the city noise ordinance protects me ‘till 10.

I go to my front door and it’s a black abyss, save for a street light showing no one across the street in its feeble glow. I go to my side door, and my driveway and neighbor’s house is equally forlorn. I check the door on the other side of my house, off the bathroom. ****, I left it open to just the screen door. Surely nobody came into my backyard to mess with this door, but maybe it did let too much noise out. Was it the agoraphobic old lady on this side that came to my door? I never even spoke to her before.

Whoever it was, why didn’t they stay to talk to me? I would give you my phone number to make it easier on you if it ever happens again. I checked in the morning again. No note, no nothing. My mind is spinning with unknowns. Was it someone thinking this was the coke dealer’s house next door? Was it kids, checking if my car was unlocked, but then decided on an impromptu prank when they heard my song? Paranoid, I carried my Shillelagh with me the rest of the night.

I caved in, and got quieter. Switched to a tiny guitar tuned in open D, and stopped singing. I still hope they heard me faintly in defiance. I came up with a cool riff and recorded it in my loop pedal. There was a bit of feedback getting it all set up, and I hope they heard that too.



I’m too dense to take hints. Talk to me like a human being, and maybe next time I’ll know it’s you and what you are looking for.

One of my first jobs was as a waiter in a Thai Restaurant
Run by a scary Malaysian who'd taken a liking to me
We went to a rave once
And he gave me 400 AUD for Chinese New Year
Bless him

But one night a tall Singaporean guy called Sunny came in
He was a musician too
He played in a rock and roll band
The Suns

Sunny lasted one night
But he told me about an open mic run by a girl called Michelle
And we stayed in contact
----

Gom was in the year above me at school
Gom was the only African at our school, he and his brother
Goyte also went to our school, he was in Gom's year. At school I was smart and cool, played bass and was friends with everybody. School was sometimes an escape from home life.

Marcus took me to Gom's place once where he lived with his girlfriend Nikki
I took my guitar and Gom and I jammed in the bedroom
A singer and a rapper
----

The first time I ever played live was at a place called Yah man Rastaraunt
It was a Caribbean Restaurant on Hoddle Street, South Yarra, Melbourne
It had that black feeling, of warmth and mystery. Or maybe that was youth and ****.
But I played, and some of the girls were crying
I'd found my thing
I went back the next week and froze up
----

There was a place called Pure on Smith Street. This was where Sunny said the open mic was run by Michelle. In those years, Smith street had a sacred vibe. Maybe it was the presence of an Aboriginal community or the fact that gentrification hadn't yet taken hold. But things were elemental, exaggerated by the warmth of summer nights.
I loved these open mics, the people I've met. I'd invite my work crew and friends. Sometimes I'd pack that venue out, for 3 songs!
----

Gom and I started a band
Melbourne was hip-hop, music, life and Fitzroy was Mecca
On Monday nights you could go to a place called the Laundry and see B-boys doing backflips on dancefloors!
Open mics, Latin Culture, losing my virginity
I was living and working as a waiter in beautiful Carlton, Melbourne's Italy. I love the parks there.

I flew interstate to study jazz
To smoke more ****
Then less ****
To wander like the wind, to bend like the rain, but always circling music and its hubs

I moved to London in 2015
I worked in a cafe and met a guy called Stefan from Austria. He is still one of the coolest and nicest people you can meet. I'll have to link up with him in Berlin one day soon.
He introduced me to Stefano from Italy who played the drums
We set up a band and had a few gigs
We had Hakan on Trombone and Bahadir on bass
Stefano had all these connections to the Turkish musical community
Because of the fact he plays in the Oddbeats, a psychedelic Turkish Band, one of the long standing hippie bands round these parts

I worked in a cafe called Music and Beans on Green Lanes, London's Istanbul. It was run by a musician who played amazing violin and also ran a music school. I lived in a tiny room above the school for a bit. On Green lanes there was a place called Jam in a Jar where you could see all kinds of music, from Mediterranean to Irish folk. It had a festival feel to it.
----

I go to open mics and jams like I did back in Melbourne,
It's very jazzy and jammy in this city. I like going to blues jams sometimes.
But I do like to remember those first gigs and musical experiences I had back in Melbourne
The meditation and wonder of it

I see Lloyle Carner at the swimming pool sometimes
He comes in with his daughter and wife
There I work as a lifeguard
On the days when I'm not working, I'll be working on my music, playing guitar, piano, writing, listening, learning, humming, singing, reading...
Stefano and I set up a house removed from the noise of traffic, replaced by the sounds of birds. There are trees everywhere and a lake nearby.
I've dedicated myself to being able to sing that great song in great condition, so that keeps the number of joints, beers and cigarettes down and the number of kilometers run and minutes meditated up.


I would cite Stevie Wonder, Bob Marley, Aston “Familyman” Barret, Jimi Hendrix, Nina Simone, Miles Davis, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Flea, Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, James Jamerson, Donny Hathaway, Lauryn Hill, Sam Cooke, Bill Withers, Frank Sinatra, John Coltrane, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Carole King, James Taylor, Norah Jones, Nick Drake, Bjork, Portishead, Radiohead, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, Burial, Flying Lotus, Fat Freddy’s Drop, Aphrodite, Charlie Parker, Chopin, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Paul Kelly, Jeff Buckley, Jaco Pastorius, Eric Dolphy, David Bowie, Charles Mingus, Herbie Hancock, J Dilla, Tupac, Juicy the song, Nirvana, Crowded House, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Prince, Parliament, D'Angelo's 3 Albums to date, Blackstar, The Roots, Adele, Beyonce, Aretha Franklin, Eryka Badu, Hiatus Kaiyote, Nai Palm, Muddy Waters, BB King, Ben Harper, Joe Cocker, Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, Van Morrison, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, Mavis Staples, The Beatles and tapestries more as inspirations and influences

I'm proud of my words.

In secret, mostly.
Loud lights and
open mic nights scare me,
to write the truth.

The things i write
and the things i say
live in two different worlds.
one - where my mind has its
own way - telling me to
keep mum at least today - s p o k e n

the world i try to hide in
on paper
is forgiving.
it will never shun me
for living
under layers
    upon layers
         upon layers
of curving words that i created - w r i t t e n

i pretend to think
of the rhythm that should inhabit
the empty space between words,
but then i fail,
almost
by force of habit -
as you can now very well see
or hear?
Mics aren't as forgiving as people.
when the speakers blast
my trembling breath
into the corners of a small room,
i think i understand
why a mountain can be named
Mount Doom -
it's the same amount of effort. - s p o k e n

What do i do, then?

Then, i run.

i clamber over steps
stumble over wires
careful not to trip.
i leave behind the small room
with big people
and laughing lips.
and i run, run, run.
i close the door behind me
as i break into my own
castle of ink and unsaved notes.
i thank the chineese
for turning trees into
empty screens waiting
for me to empty my thoughts
onto them.
thank you, darling Egypt
deceased trees make me feel
better about myself
every single day - w r i t t e n

I'm proud of my words.

In secret, mostly.

It began with a dream
An exam of the scene

Culminated nightmare Fresh to 'Merica team,
Treat the throne like high chair, But they seem beam
Golden hue, preach golden rule and get higher
an unseen Love vaccine brought to you though you don't desire

A divinely inspired cosmic mission
To improve those caught in conditions
Those who stayed to long became conditioned

So enmeshed in their discourse
Lost the mother tongue,
now demons malignant positioned
Pokin fun, Tryna dine On Dis Course

Call me honeybun
While I work out Old Norse

Now I'm Mad as Magma Christened
You really Should have listened
Now I'm preaching Odin's Mission

But Consistent poison sickened me

Continued to lash out till their weapons stung and rippin free
Put in me in a cage kept me on  the bottom rung still kicking spree

So Dangle your ******* carrot,

Angled to be flunking abbot

What will They inherit?
When you find truth
Better find means to share it
while you kick the bad ****

What Value does it merit?

**** organization big or small
All they is is social fortification mom

Running out of breaths towards suffocations
**** the bottom feeders
family never cancer crustaceans
Inhbit with national ticker tape regulations

Frustrated answer,  I'm a frusrating handful
Masses Myopic, small vision catastrophic
I would show them but where did I put it?
Damit I  ******* lost it.

Higher Education thinks
it can get over I and I,
but Now I’m higher than education
4Dimensional Pilot Flying by

Cosmic Return
Land On your roof,
air bend with my vape pen staying stationed
still standing
only through
Lunar Lessons o Will and Dedication

I made it here through dedication
You made it here through misinformation
Manifold Manifested hoax So Devastating
Got me hear learn How-2-hating

What Am I left with? I know
The Chest with my breath ya

My words are seeds
poetic units start
counting these

Neurogenic growin trees House of Dreams
visions laced in prophecies
sentenced to commodify character

click to a cash crop, but I'm too poor To pay accountant fees,
Might be better off with lights, mics and a sick backdrop with the only the beat counting these
moments

knowing knowings free
or should it be,
are you ignorant
so willingly?

They Head in the sand, Pointing towards God but the can’t comprehend so now ....

Im tick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick tick tickin Big Ben
Im tick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick tick tickin Big Ben

Better blast off, astral form take mask off we fin throw the cast out,
Sector surpassed now sample storm wake slow maniacal laughter

You don’t have to be so smart to suffer

But you do have to be alive,

I’m just a prediction engine

Darkness encased in a Bone star

Get my head right
Just like in jail ******* up my appetite
Man this **** is suicide
Give up your only pride
And when you do you'll realize
There's no apple in my eyes
For I have cried every last flavor so there's a lack of color
That's why I'm always mad you *******
***** *** *** don't even know
(Don't even know)
Don't need the problems so just go
(Problems are a big no no)
All about that money
Eyes stay ******
Just to see the world different cause its so ugly
Swerving lanes gets me car sick
But it don't faze Carson
Army strong like a martian
Feeling alive getting it in tight
Smiling through the ******* you know its alright
Hide my soul so I wouldn't be leavin
Smoke bowls in the morning and blunts in the evening
Oh yes I inhale ****
Wrecking these mics cause my flows are so real
***** im so chilled
Since my birth the day I came to earth
There was a burst of hate that got worse.

My friend Greg is musically talented, a singer-like R-Kelly, and because of that he acts like a dog, around women. Who stand by fire hydrants. He plays with his instrument in front of people on the street. And sometimes, the piano too. When Greg plays, he always wears huge sunglasses. That’s because he wants to impersonate Ray Charles. Plus, it’s cheaper than doing ******. Although, he does make a lot of money and he wants to start a band. Band-Aid company. But on a serious note, Greg teaches lessons to his students. They have tiny fingers, so it’s hard for them to reach the keys. But that’s okay because they’re in his pockets. As a musician, he dresses in black clothing. Excuse me, he dresses in African-American clothing. Before shows at open mics, in front of the audience, Greg sometimes throws up. Gang signs. In all honesty, Greg gives a great performance on stage. He just pretends the audience is naked. And then he gives them five and half minutes. As his friend, before he stepped onto the stage, I told him, “break a leg.” He tells me, thank you for pushing me so hard. As he hops around on crutches. Greg’s really good playing the piano, but the audience always gives him a slow clap. But that’s what happens when you play for retards. He considers himself a feminist womanizer. He sleeps with a lot of women. But don’t worry, he always asks for consent, before he roofies your drink. I know this from experience. He’s a good friend though. Once, I was dancing with a girl and I slipped and fell to the floor. Greg rushed over to me and stuck out his hand And I was so grateful for his friendship, until he grabbed the girl’s ***. But you can’t blame him, it was really dark in there, how was he supposed to know that was his sister. Greg loves Shanghai Noon. He’s a huge fan of Owen Wilson. And me. Greg thinks all Asian people look the same. When he saw the Walking Dead Season premiere, he sent a flower-basket to my parents. Greg is so charming. Like the toilet paper. His favorite sport’s team is the Chicago Cubs, his favorite women are the Chicago Cougars.