Born in the RS of A
On a virtual July day
Lastest of 5
Sent to the human pound age 3
Secured  a shelf with a window
Glazed outwardly, felt like eternal
Began school in a painted corner
Sealed in with stars
I gradually grew
No sync., no link
To sibling warriors
Alone in 'me own home'
Through dance .. Mimicked purpose
Through fairytales...
conquered romance
Through romance .. Scored pain
Through words ... Felt rain
Hit middle years
Tapped into random courage
Left the partner scrummage
Process delayed
When a car crash, thee swayed
An old spirit I met
Who with rehab ,my soul kept
The scene rolled
My divorce license was polled
Pages turned
Characters learned
Scripts were scrolled
And onwards burnt ...

( my humble beginnings at RAP)
What do you think
To be continued .....

I been challenged to a rap
but it just ain't gonna hap
that's a form that I don't tap
makin' me feel like I'm a sap

This I tell you so you's knowin'
that I don't think I'll be goin'
to that place of an *** mowin'
while my life season now is snowin'

That's right I'm getting' kinda old
to be writin' **** so bold
so even if my rhymin's gold
yeah I think this hand I'll fold

You can take that to da bank
frank

Areas of knowledge answer: How do we know?
Looking for the origins of  our knowledge flow.
From mathematics to the ethics,
History to the arts,
These are the ways we tell types of knowledge apart.

First of these eight categories is math.
From axioms to logic it takes a very exact path.
Deals with conjecture and theorems; creating laws about the world.
Sometimes this complicated topic makes me want to hurl.

Next comes ethics with many complicated questions,
Using morals and values to give the proper suggestion.
Depends on people's views that differ by culture,
Questions from "Theft to save your family?" to "Killing a vulture?"

Areas of knowledge answer: How do we know?
Looking for the origins of  our knowledge flow.
From mathematics to the ethics,
History to the arts,
These are the ways we tell types of knowledge apart.

Up comes history dealing only with the past;
It is only concerned with evidence and the facts.
Studies government propaganda to the plight of the peasant.
Deals with any kind of knowledge from creation to the present.

Fourth on the list are the human sciences,
From many loaded questions to our stream of consciousness.
Observations to conclusions, free will to determinism,
Deals with our knowledge of the world from the atom to reductionist

Areas of knowledge answer: How do we know?
Looking for the origins of  our knowledge flow.
From mathematics to the ethics,
History to the arts,
These are the ways we tell types of knowledge apart.

Religious knowledge systems deal with people's beliefs;
Knowledge of God and the heavens to the world beneath.
From polytheism in Athens to life after death,
Knowledge coming from religion concerns us to our last breath.

The natural sciences, knowledge of the natural world,
Explaining how things work like biceps d'ring a curl.
Hypothesis, theories and all sorts of paradigms,
Knowledge so revolutionary that in the past it was a crime.

Areas of knowledge answer: How do we know?
Looking for the origins of  our knowledge flow.
From mathematics to the ethics,
History to the arts,
These are the ways we tell types of knowledge apart.

Indigenous knowledge systems, the customs of the tribe,
Using folklore and storytelling to spread ancestor's pride.
Knowledge or tradition and customs of the ancient nomads,
Anything about the indigenous from the good to the bad.

Last on the list, the final area of knowledge,
Is the arts, all the way from elementary to college.
Dealing with aesthetics, forgery, kitsch and catharsis;
Without this types of knowledge we'd be stuck in the darkness.

Areas of knowledge answer: How do we know?
Looking for the origins of  our knowledge flow.
From mathematics to the ethics,
History to the arts,
These are the ways we tell types of knowledge apart.

one - i don't understand why saying "it's the 21st century" is somehow seen as a compensation for 20 centuries of our inhumanity, or a case of: only improvements reside in us - seems just as false to say - men can overcome angels, as stated by the first Christians... yeah, we can do miracles with technology and ultra-secular communication dynamics - discarding the existence of such beings resulted in hen parties with plastic wings and halos... what a great method to discard such being, and subsequently appropriate their features, if ever needed, but altogether unnecessary... two - that disrespecting heterosexuality aligned with the power of science has made it altogether a pointless endeavour in re-enacting the monogamous nature of swans: if we can breed the many perversions, ahem, deviations, we surely require en equal share of respect, before science undermines any deviations into an economic format of breeding pure heterosexual contingencies... three: who the hell said i was throwing anyone off a roof? i was just curious about the slack pressurising the alias big brother / grey matter dictator into teaching us language, then to later make us into a Koranic cyclops or having to sway one side, but not the other, teaching us vocabulary in school, but robbing us of a fluidity of language beyond school, in society... any rational man would say: just teach me the knuckle, the stone and the stick to express my manners... because, to be frank, i'm not into faking being civilised, just teach me to be a barbarian from the start, don't dangle the magic carrot in front of my eyes when it's a fake... teach me the barbarism you want to suppress later on in life: i'm not into being Dolly 2.3419, and an attache to a sheepdog for herding purposes to take it up the **** and shut up: because a member of Parliament did it to me aged 14; for example.

subjectivity is doubled attacked, it's not the merely rationalist
approach of an objective side of things,
i could understand tiresome efforts
Chinese politics while walking
the tourist plot on the great wall -
in a society that's seismically acknowledging
social or whatever coherence,
i find it a bit of limbo of paraphrasing
trans - or trans-physics, or the active
way to usurp metaphysics, by deviating
from thought as an activity, and more
how words are sense datum co-ordinates
that are like dictators: because it just, feels,
funny, and, offensive. ***** vocabulary,
that's what i call it... after a while you concentrate
on what ****** you off, first the educational
autocracy teaches you a vocabulary,
then come the St. Thomas' terrorists with:
you need to revise your vocabulary...
like **** that'll happen, you don't own
language, i don't own language, you're
little fascist agenda to censor such awoke
the boy that was supposed to wake Barbarossa
from his slumber with the cry: crows! crows!
a cloud of crows! funny how the eagle is a
failed emblem for empires, and the crow isn't...
mind you, the English succeeded with
an empire half-and-half: a lion and a unicorn...
i'd guess as much with a monkey and
a centaur, or at least a Cerberus - something
mythical - well, sure, the Poles are attacked
in Britain... but ever hear about the Scot
being attacked in an English village?
a Scot was attacked just the other day,
because kilts were deemed offensive...
so trans-gender is good, meta-gender is:
had a wee t'ink 'bout it...
   robots start with the pronoun use: one...
royalty start with the pronoun use: we...
                 and in between we have paranoid
they and we... and insecure you and i -
or as e. e. cummings would have it:
    *i say no world
                 can hold a you
   shall see the not
             because
  and why but
                          (who        -
true, but as much of not is entanglement
              with knots - or ought to tries -
  to not or to knot and be -
                              Shakespeare also said:
  funny how i was born neo-liberal,
millennial tattooed - and fake-left...
   i hear the right is a tsunami of focus these days,
all the generation Z are buying into
obstructing gay-marriage, and are adamant
   on not abusing pronouns - hence the current
revival in grammar school education in England -
they don't drink, i.e.: taking psychopathic gambles,
they're prone to social-media overdoses
rather than succumbing to excess ecstasy and palpitation:
i had 190 "friends"... let's just call them vantage points...
   sheered that social media sheep: only 13 left...
but at least objectivity outright says:
       subjectivity is subhuman, science taught us
that subjectivity is the fire between two flint stones,
all in all necessary - but objectivity said:
             two flints! two flints! no fire!
what attacks subjectivity is not objectivity,
it's satire... to humanise everything: good or bad,
with a standard of humour... well... telling a sad
joke to later tell the same sad joke by satirising it...
punch in a face; because there are only so number of
things that are funny in life... the English language
doesn't seem to understand that even the odd chance
of black humour, will not lift the spirits of those,
who, quiet frankly, don't want to be humoured...
the only humour left is not to provision the public
with barbaric satire, sometimes empathy will do,
because it's emphatic humour,
   it's Godot's roundabout humour: the shared experience.
laughing for the sake of laughing is
             a cry from apathy's lost interest in
being pardonably dasein - laughing at all the truthful
autobiographic desecrate is apathy's last
chance to impress: but how foul it all sounds by then...
   the western version of buddhism suddenly feels like
  a taste of pears in november: not sour, not bitter...
just maggoty foul - yucky goo
                  of a plum-shaded rouse of the skin
tinged hue after contact with knuckle and knee.
  but they attacked a ******* Scot in an English village,
because of a kilt...
                                   he knows the strand of ganging up
in hyena numbers and then the celebratory drink
of compensating conscience - they'll sooner accept
     a trans-gender dunno'h than a hot-blooded
heap of tartan - ever ask the homosexuals what
they think of St. Thomas' gospel?
              i think: too much, too early, too innocently.
and if they tell you: speak differently!
they will, i'm ****** sure they will want to
control your grammar without any specialisation -
you'll wonder: summer in Syria?
                     because as racism goes,
they attack the difference, and the difference is only
skin deep, like they did with the Afros of Kentucky,
the Kentucky Afros will spring right back,
    because the abuse was only skin deep,
therefore their soul was enlarged, and they'll
play the blues, and the jazz, and rap, and break-dance...
but if the abuse goes to the depth of soul...
in that it's soul-deep...
                                and because it's white v. white...
it will ferment, and nothing positive will come from it...
no jazz, no blues... nothing of cultural importance...
   it will be haggled in the political market
to the point where both sides will find it utterly
unbearable: and then start to sheer their skins...
        you won't get anything from this soul-deep
attack... if the holocaust is what it felt like,
            then this is a minor post-holocaust episode,
a reminder...
                          and by god, i thank god
for the fact that the Picts are involved -
                                                            whe­re to now?
O Imperium Gladstone paraphrase?
                            it will be hard to beat the unicorn -
all empires donning the eagle duly fail -
centaur and a frog? maybe next time.

you see this little girl
walking down the street
you'd never know
its death she's trying to beet
because those kids at school will tell her she's not worth it
like she's  second class
like she's not a person
I find i kind of funny
when these kids walk on they all want a friend and she could have been one
this little girl she'll g home and cry
call-in' out to god
'why cant I just die! everyone hates me, I'm just a waste of space, I am not loved and this time I've had enough
everyone turn's  as she fights depression
the only way she can get someone to listen
is when se go's to confession
Like she had something to be ashamed of
when its the kids who make her want to take off
now she's sat up in her room looking out at the moon, sad that she has to go so soon  but, she knows she cant take it anymore
"The world the sick one" she writes in her final words
all she ever wanted was to have fun
now she's braking down like a little kid
she cut at her wrist's she's had enough this
her body hits the ground she had enough of It
now she is gone d you really think that its over
because she's the dead one?
I find it kind of funny
that you think that its over
its a soldier that she needed
and I  failed her, but I will fight on
even when she's gone
for the kids who don't have one
my soared is my song as this winds to an end  I will never back down even when theirs no sight of an end I mad a promise to fight  and I will fight till my end
I just want you to know
their is someone who cares
and if you need
I will forever be their
till the vary end
you don't have to be scared
you dont have to be scared
just take a deep breath, close your eyes
I cant tell you it'll get better
but for now I'll be your reason why
and if I ask can you do me just one thing?
just don't give up, after losing her I've had enough
I know I seem tuff
but I cant take it if you go
if I could I would put us in hand cuffs
to let you know that if you jump were both going down
down,.....down

Life hasn't been easy, sometimes it gets really tough,
I grew up in Plymouth, a place that's really rough,
My parents both drug addicts, didn't show me love,
And now I always wonder, if I'll ever be enough.

All the kids at school used to sit and make fun of me,
The girl that always had clothes which were *****,
Then I glowed up, starting growing *****,
Now the same kids wanna slide in my DMs like, "what's new?"

I worked hard just to get where I am,
So please forgive me if I flex on the gram,
Hustle in silence, everyday I grind,
Always made sure that my bills paid on time.

Moved out of home when I was just 17,
Started realising that I could live a dream,
Went from living on the streets,
To paying so all my friends could eat.

I had to grow up fast, so I could see the world,
If I hadn't, sure I'd still be a little girl,
No worries, no stress, no tears in the bed,
Nothing to complain about, no anxieties in my head.

Talking about anxiety, depression and stress,
Let me tell you, I still know how to impress,
Bury the anger, the pain and aggression,
Only thing to shout about is progression.

Enemies of progress, will never see you succeed,
So is that really the type of energy you need,
Started meditating so I could just be free,
Now all these fake ******* tryin' to be me.

Get some space from this place, too many ways to say the king is vain,
But I make it plain, bleeding grace from my veins to displace the rain
Of fire brought by the squire's higher order who order the pain,
******* what a shame, this whole sham is a game, how lame can you get?
Before your insane brain lets go the chain of the meek, you grow weak
With the weeks like the way a dam leaks, think honestly when you speak,
And the sleek throne will honor your reigns' peak, don't freak just streak the roads
With humble abodes for your crumbling kin, stumbling within their
Fears as you raise cheers to a dynasty all your own, but let it
Be known Kings die nasty like Caesar and lastly we can either
Rule our own minds or drool away time by letting life fall in line...

You are the rock stuck inside of  my sock.

You are drying off naturally after the longest shower in history, because you forgot the towel.

Like the string that is hanging off of my sweater.  I keep tugging it and

pretty soon it is short enough for July weather.

The person using the car horn instead of ringing a door bell.

The low battery symbol on my cell.

Pungent perfume from a co-worker, the grossest smell.

The **** that asks for the red piece from your package of sweets.

The friend who cancels five minutes before every time you meet.

The rap artist that thanks God when he wins an award, even though his

songs are just about killing.

Medical technicians milling about when your arm really is broken.

The chapstick left in the pocket when the clothes are in a dryer.

Dress pants for work that are so tight, you feel you must be riding a wire.

The friend's children that you think are rude,

Unexpected company when you and your lover were getting in the mood.

But I guess it is just easier to say, I just don't have a good attitude.

Briano alliano performs on Jupiter

Hi dudes and dudettes
Welcome to my concert up here on Jupiter and it is time to have some fun and here is my first song for you called robbers and bandits

You see as I walk down the city streets
I see these robbers and bandits
Trying to take my money
Saying please please honey
Can I have your money
You see we are poor and
We have no place to call home at night
I said there is no need to rob me
I will give you $2 to $5 and I know that might not be enough
But I am just as hard done by as you in a way
The robbers and bandits said
To me we need your blood
And we need your money
I know you might not like that
But it is our only way
So just give us $3000 ok
If you don’t you will die
Personally I prefer to be positive
About how silly they are being
Trying to rob a Good Samaritan
Like me, you here about it on the news and you don’t think of it happening in real life
But I think it happened and I have to just sit back and say
Robbers and bandits had me again

The next song is push me to the limit
You see when I was young
I was really cool
I used to tease my dad
Who I thought was being conservative too
You see he came up to me and said
C’mon I will fight you I’ll fight you yeah I will
But he was trying to make me stand up for myself
And I thought mate I needed to put pride in myself
But I know dad didn’t mean to
As such but he pushed me to the limit oh shucks
I was just being a normal kid
Teasing my father and being rude
Dad hated what I was doing to him
He gave me medication to calm
Me down
It worked for a while but then
I completely lost it
When the drugs I was taking
Started to push me to the limit
I hated it I really did
But fighting the people that were trying to help me
Well, this wasn’t cool
So I decided to obsess about taking the meds, even if I got
Strange dillusions which I didn’t want I sat there watching
Family programs on tv
Because of the fact I have
No family of my own
It worked out ok till one day
The dollusions came and I did something bad and straight to the psych ward I went
You see the doctors were bad
And i thought they
Pushed me to the limit in an unusual way then my dad said to me just stay with your friends
And let them help you
But it was hard and I felt pretty ****, so I sang fly burgers loud and strong

The next song is I want to go to the movies
Oh I want to go to the movies
To see a movie that is cool
Like raising Arizona and beaches and ghostbusters
I felt pretty cool
Then I saw polar express and then I saw Arthur’s Christmas
And superman returns as well as goal yes that makes me feel so divine and if I don’t feel like going there I will watch movies on tv like Harry Potter da Kath and Kim code and pirates of
The carribean too
Yes they are all good movies
And yes I will enjoy them a lot
Drink a beer or a methane smoothie yeah oh yeah
These movies are great

What a song this next song is living next door to a party
You see we are trying to watch
Our shows on tv
When a great big loud speaker
Played music so loud
And the swearing, mate wasn’t quite as good we need to fix
The noise because it’s deafening and after that
The television played around
You see the computer chips
Were playing around
It is all because we all
Were living next door to a party
Listening to swearing and loud music and people swinging around and hanging up and hanging down and partying good yes we hang around outside pubs and yes we are cool but me I thought these people are in no club, and they have to be careful not to break anything, but they don’t care as they party loud and you find it hard to live next door to a party

That was a good song yes it’s groovy our next song is called mmmm donuts
Oh yeah I love my donuts
I feel like Homer Simpson
As I bring down my donuts
Yeah I love them they are nice
Mmmmm donuts mmmmmm donuts I love them I love them
Yes when I eat a donut
It melts in my mouth
I feel like a little sour ****
As I eat one down and then the other
I give the donut to my mother
What if she does the donut rap
And partied down
Up up up up and down down down
You see if you look like Homer Simpson you must say
Mmmmm donuts every single day
Mmmmm donuts every single day c’mon party the Homer Simpson way

Thank you Jupiter crowd and that was mmmmmm donuts the great song and now here is my waltzing Matilda
Once a jolly young dude
Partied from club to club
Dancing with all the girls in there
And after that we drank some taquila shots you’ll come a partying with Matilda oh yeah
I love a party really really partying I might not look it
But I am a social guy
I go to events to party down with the party dudes
Oh yeah
Then we got down to the great
Football club we watched the game and listened to the band
The music they played was cool and very very hip and the girls asked me to dance
I danced an unusual way everybody looked at me
Thinking I was a tad crazy
But I didn’t care because I am a party dude you’ll come a partying in the football club with me

Thank you dudes and dudettes and now here is a great song called this is *******
Ahh this is *******
Really really *******
The crap you are trying to tell me is driving me up the wall
I hate that crap I really do
So why do you want to play ******* to me
Ahh this is *******
Oh yeah this is *******
Watching ****** reality television which doesn’t mean a thing
Ahh this is *******
Really really *******
You see they play gridiron
And they play ice hockey
And yeah it is party time
I like partying and I like teasing
The conservos as they are doing their jobs
You see ahh they speak ******* total total *******
Ahh this is *******
It is total *******
Watching the crap they speak on sky news on win
You see it is right wing crap ya see
As the oldies sit there with their cup of tea
Yeah that is *******
Total utter *******
Yes ******* comes around
In their mouths every day
Yes they do
Ahh they speak *******
Complete and utter *******
And that is the truth
Or is it ahhhh *******
Thanks guys and gals and I want to say this enjoy Jupiter and I will see you when I come again.

Certain people hate the Wii U, they call it a piece of crap.
But I like the game console and I think it got a *** rap.
It's no XBOX One or PS4 but it's not an abomination.
I believe it was good and that's not an exaggeration.
Yes, a few of its games do stink, especially Paper Mario: Color Splash.
When I played that game, I'd get so mad that I wanted to throw it in the trash.
Nintendo released the Switch after they axed the Wii U.
People hated the console and so it was discontinued.
I hated to see the Wii U fail, it has become another Dreamcast.
Certain people hated the Wii U and now it's a thing of the past.

sleep has become a boring chore,
another thing I would rather not do.
I'd rather have the moonlight rap me in his dainty arms,
then feel the cold lack of presence.
but that too is long a distance,
far, out of sight in plain view.
we may claim to be a strong,
but the arms of another melt soul into stillness,
the stillness of a lake perfect for skipping stones.
my heart craves a partner for the dance of the bed,
***, no.
for love, a much slower dance.
for the soft touch of our noses,
the shallow breath on our flesh,
our eyes,
will devour us whole,
and that's quite alright.
for when your skin is so soft and you slip through my arms and melt into my chest,
I will be so happy.
I will finally sleep,
knowing I will see you in the morning.

Kickin' all the way the Live Coolio
deep in ya Culo/
it's that Boy Yosef comin' with major Flavas/
with so Many Styles more than a Hair Doo Voodoo/
got ya eyes on ya know Who?/
so many ****** wanna Smoke me
Cuz im the New Joint/
puttin' sparks to ya Head ****** Red/
if u thinkin' about Frontin'' Me/
ill make u Crossover like EPMD/
Rap Fanatic since i was Swimmin' in the ******* the Mack Attack/
hittin' all your perspectives
im takin' out all the Primitives/
in the Rap Game Shoot ya Stick
try again my- Flows erected as a ****/
in between ***** *****
so take Chance it ya Want/
Watch the gun taunt
in ya Face  a sad Disgrace/
Slappin' a new taste
in ya Mouth i Dropped it
my Style can't be Competed
you Obsoleted
i'm Makin Profits the Funk Baby!!!!


Many Emcees sweet as a KitKats
so cut the Chit Chat/
cuz im bout to Splatter their careers into pieces
Gotthem Envisionin' Doubles
like Noah i Told ya
the Tru Soldier Rollin' Dogia/
marchin' to the Beat with my Vocal
a Tru Loco/
when i'm sippin E & J **** an Airplay pinin' Indo/
playin' suckas close like who's holdin' the most/
weight? Pushin' rhymes like weights
Loots stay Connected like freight Train Crates/i Dominate from all states
that's why they Call Me All-State/
but ya Ain't in Good Hands
-tryna Step to the Big Man
keep u heated galore like Afghanistan gettin' in that *** like Sand/
so take Stand and a Bow cuz im the Prowl/
for that Number One Slot
ya rhymes loose as Jar Jelly
**** what the critics tell me
"Mr Big Stuff" girls call me "Heavy D"
From then shaft that lays between me
the Funk Baby!!!

.remember this youtube channel: harakiri diat...

i think this genre of music has a name: brutalism...
last night i watched 50 book recommendations
by the cosmicsceptic...
beside his oxford specific titles relating
to his philosophy and theology degree...
came the fictional books...
i presumed that i didn't read anything going
into this video...

i can be forgiven for not reading a christopher
hitchens when i've read some knausgård...
perhaps i presume to have not read anything...
because... i do quiet enjoy the act of reading...
so much so that... only scraps remain for me that
are: useful...

i can't imagine finding any use from a book
if it's not already in it...
apparently i'm not so under-read as i led myself
to believe...
but this is not about literature...
i was looking for a genre to encompass...
say... vomito *****...
the klinik...
the soft moon...
but i couldn't come to anything of worth...
not until i foraged for the more obscure...
the raw pulp...
primitive knot - ******* of brutalism...
again... the channel harakiri diat
has the music covered...
zeit und geist... i am the fire...
let's keep it clean...
i would go as far as to include
bohren & der club of gore: midnight radio
into this whole mix...

as much as i'd love to push for die krupps...
no can do... their stuff is polished goods...
vomito ***** is polished goods...
but there's still something raw about them...
once upon a time there was this "thing"
about doom metal... electric wizard... etc.,
but i can say... this new brutalism is...
by far... better than a gavin mcinnes diet
of punk... i never liked punk...
i never liked punk as i never liked rap...
hip hop yes and all that jazzmatazz fussion...
some solid grit...

after all... Romford, Essex...
probably the last bastion of the music shop...
a his-master's-voice with a vinyl section...
my idea of a tennis-court,
a cafe, a swimming-pool, a park,
a church even... because you can never really
own too many records...

and between me and you:
what's the difference between me and my neighbor?
he plays his music, mostly rap...
on the speakers... and sings along to the songs...
he finishes the day with some r'n'b and stops
singing... i take over...

headphones in, 6ft2 posture hunched in a chair
scribbling with chicken-pecking precision
some long lost "hierogylphic"...
and of course: in between some, literature...
but it was only about the music...
youtubers ruined youtube as much as
the "legacy media"... or the next will smith...
"vlogger"...

once upon a time youtube was a haven for people
like me: who only used it to find new music...
somehow the glitches started and the music video
recommendations died: youtube thesaurus algorithm
became corrupt or something...

would i ever sing-along to a song?
not if it's as raw as a stake-tartar and the dish
needs to be served with merely thinking to compliment it...
i'll repeat what i've already said:
gentlemen! the jukebox is ******!
- and i was the type to listen and then buy
a physical copy... even though i didn't have to...
i could go back and listen to the same stuff again...
out of principle...

no car = no car insurance no road tax...
no mobile phone = no... bill...
in terms of primitive knot, though?
would you rather go blind or deaf?
that's a tough one...

listening to primitive knot or watching
a latex lucy b.d.s.m. short *****-flick...
i know: it's the obvious synonym overlap...
but at the same time it isn't...
gimp suits or all those other unicorns of the bedroom...
but no... the most forbidden act i ever managed
to fathom in a brothel was a kiss...
one time i pulled out a ***** from a drawer
when she went with the money to the madame
of the parlour and coming back asked me:

do you want to use it?
*** to me is like rye bread...
it's not a ******* croissant...
toasting alone will do the trick...
language is already complicated by necessity...
of crosswords and the boredom
that most mono-lingual people feed not having
learned a crossword of bilingualism...
why would i inhibit this fact of voyeurism?
apparently there's something immoral watching
someone get pleasured...
perhaps i should find some rare footage of
a peter anthony allen hanging...
or Leroy Hall, Jr. at the Riverbend (Nashville, Tennessee)?
perhaps i should start jerking off on
a whim, from time to time...
over execution footage?

perhaps it's that sort of conundrum...
you see someone eating ice-cream and enjoying it...
you therefore? buy yourself a cone?
god almighty... but the added responsibility
of also owning the fridge and freezer
when that spontaneous whim passes...
after all... there's always that diet of...
the girls jerking off into the camera...
which is probably the least guilt-riddled form
of ******* on the planet...

hey! if she's doing it... and you sat down
on the throne of thrones to do the no. 1 and the no. 2...
let's call it no. 3 and taking a baptism later (no. 4)...
esp. if you haven't been circumcised...
at this point: i feel sorry for the circumcised men...
that do not live within the rigours of a hasidic orthodoxy:
the circumcised man: the subservient woman...
the circumcised man: the woman in a niqab...
i guess that's how it works, no?
imagine the problems...
if the man were circumcised... but the woman...
was not supposed to pay any sort
of "penalty"...

then again: one would expect to find the best
***** under the crucifix...
stigmata pin-head and all those dittos...
and heads... but i am a connoisseur... 1970s...
1980s... but it must be Italian...
no... not German... and certainly not English...
chances are: yes, French... but more or less
Italian... and it's always on a whim...
connoisseur... well there are videos where
you can find a pregnant woman parading her bump...
and squeezing her *******...
and that's about it...

i want to imagine what those 9 months
of pregnancy must feel like...
for better or for worse... the oral demands...
perhaps i haven't written about this sort of stuff
for a long enough period...

now an interlude where i smoke a cigarette
is bound to be... exquisite...

it sure as hell is the safest way to arrive
at some sort of *** that's purely plesurable:
a gradation of *** without consequences...
but is this a celebration?
a woman ******* on camera with
her toys is a celebration...
me my ******* and the phantom hand...
there's no theatre in it...
the utility of taking a ****, taking a ****...
doing "it"... then having a shower...
and then "repressing" it...
not having "repressed" it to begin with...

i did a month once...
i came to the conclusion... that i'm more impulse
prone, i was planning my next brothel
visit... after a month i was still planning it...
then i relieved myself and...
would you believe it? the impetus dissolved!
i don't know what these right-wing
europa-identitarians are coming up with...
so much attention on:
i enjoy reading as much as i enjoy taking
a ****... notably the constipated kind
but esp. more of the diarrhoea nature...
hello mr. **** hello mrs. geiser!

perhaps that's why i wouldn't ever be a fan
of ******... i enjoy taking a **** too much...
or perhaps i'm just too old fashioned...
but this began as something orientating oneself
around a music genre...
how did it come down to pornogrpahy?

jean genet: the thief's journal...
i was really hoping for something marquis de sade
-esque... there was still too much:

solo girl does her bit...
so well in fact... that... buying a *** doll
must only remain a h'american thing...
*** is already shamed when marriage comes
along in anglo-saxon societies...
notably the inflateable sheep or doll
on those normie stag parties...
*** and children and the joke is:
you can only have good ***...
if you're ******* for procreative reasons...
bypassing the ****** for the sake
of the children...

otherwise... well no ******* doesn't help...
if... there's no wife in a niqab in public...
or some kosher wifey either...

i still have mine and i will keep that...
as... almost... a security policy...
a prenup...

pauk-mumije (1982 bosnian post punk)...
perhaps brutalism is just post-punk?

i remember it quiet clearly...
i still can't fall asleep without listening to music...
as i couldn't back then...

otchim - james dean...
the bass and no guitar riffs until the chorus
comes... and... ha ha... it's in fwench!
just like i could **** her without listening
to really... atmospheric music...
by 2007 standards that was equal to:
the dandy warhols...
but that was 2007...

these days... hardly candles and
black sun dreamer - post-traumatic stress disorder...
back then it was candles
and type o negative...
the candles and... catching a mouse...
no trap... a labyrinth of obstacles
and she sitting on the bed giggling while
i played being a maine ****...
and i did catch the mouse...
held it by the tail... let it lose on the stairwell...
and then watch its traumatised body try to
find a hole... scuttle and then fall...
to a depth of a greater serenity of
a... vermin's suicide: with no monkey sing-along
of... this mouse has done the cheese...

and it was sad when i was naive and
i accidently killed my hamster in a similar
fashion... but some ***** Abel...
but at least the mouse allowed me to
circumstance a Pontius Pilate relief...
and she asked me: what did you do with the mouse?

oh... it committed suicide.

chicago research compilation... tape CRO15...
perhaps listening to the cure
or depeche mode was once a "thing"...
no... burtalism is not post-punk...
pisse - kohlrubenwinter...
red zebra - i can't live in a livingroom...

my one personal joke...
in england i started calling the livingroom...
the civilroom...
pokój cywilny - if it must stress the St. Cyril...
so it must: комната гражданский..
brutalism is not post-punk...

stiff little fingers... are punk's creamy pie...
oto - bats...
bodychoke - cruelty
       "            - red dog
       "            - the red sea
legendary divorce - age with us...

somehow more of my ****** valnetine...
and less sonic youth...

i do remember pretending to date...
at high school...
the first question was always a nervous
build-up to the question:
'what music are you into?'

weird party - acne puncture...

well would you believe it...
some of us are still after something that
finds no sort of aleviation
in the alternative that's an aydin paladin
video...

POPEiUM - papacidal coronation...
Münn - II. in defeat...
a john peel: a no john peel...
the sort of piano that makes
a debussy or a satie blush...
AMORT - die hexes...

the current standard of... the stoogers...
or stooges... and... air no concern...
the limbo artifact of ***...
formerly known as the... limbo pickling...
of the undead...
and all those that come with an eczema and
the scabs of leprosy...
and vampires: those syphilitic zombies...

susumu yokota, and all those stupid,
solipsictically assured cats, grinning...
menace of the grin!
full cheese impromptu with a display
of teeth!
a night promenade into the forest
listening to: demdike stare's tryptych...

i haven't tried... but from 1pm through to 5pm...
i could phone classic.fm and ask
for... a song to be played in my name...
perhaps i'll phone in...
if i catch the right "once upon a time"...
and find it... as i found...
christopher young's: something to think
about...

**** and music... many interludes...
perhaps some little borat-britain references...
and then: none...
per 1K there's a cult...
per 10K there's a counter-culture...
come the 918 apostles... of jonestown...
there's no leftover for no...
alternative...

the restless mind starts its exercise
in petty squabbling....
why weren't i the respected,
vatican proof for a plumber!
why wasn't i to become,
the undertaker!

i too feel: the claustrophobia
of the ensue of the paragraph...
what is primitive knot contra U2...
mainstream? sod it: knot it a blood
and a sundail!
blood dries... the mercurial mythology
dries a solidity of
something becoming more an echo...
and less a sodden-print of the foot...
which the tide will,
nonetheless relate itself as...
worthy of being erased...

the violin concerto...
the piano nocturnes...
and the symphonies...
and the operas...
later the ballet...
beside... a chopin would write a nocturne...
a debussy would write one also...
but...
debussy writes a nocturne...
satie writes a nocture...
but a schumann?! a schubert?!
they write a concerto!
none of their work could have been written
in solide with a solipsistic monologue
escapade...

perhaps i can only appreciate chopin via
his nocturnes...
otherwise i am not convinced...
the greats wrote.... symphonies...
operas... never accompany pieces
to make their instrument an oak...
a tree... and not something resdual
to later make a mahoganny piano / table
of...

pianists! you only hear of their prowess!
Liszt! Chopin! Debussy! Satie...
exclaim as if to: suprise the "audience"
with either knowledge or...
adoration?
can a violinist make the same sort
of statements?
a pianist will play... with an accompaniment...
he will never become the maestro
predisposition
of the polyphony...

a chopin only heard the piano...
a debussy only heard a piano: solo...
a beethoven or a mozart...
what violin solo? what of a violin concerto?!
is that a trick question?
old father bach...
no instrument: well...
shubert loved allowing a piano ****
a bunch of harem violins in a harem crescendo
of a concerto...

but a nocturne? the polyphony of...
the "polyphony" of...
two pianos playing side-by-side...

- the joint"laura's"1967 kk proto prog freak phych -
no, that's not it...
- and no... it's not omega - gyöngyhajú lány...
- well **** on me...
locomotiv moscow is not a band...
but an f.c.... beg your pardon...

as i do hope that i am wrong about
a minor "technicality"...
somehow classical, essential...
and nothing worth or being able to: hum...
or sing-along-to...
always serious and finding outlets
of a necessity in being: thought of...
perhaps there's this grand:

technicality of not finding oneself sighing
or crying for that matter...
vaughan williams is more required...
for the expanse of a cowboy movie
horizon...
or that technical term...
the: deconstruction of the dutch angle
in the perspective shot...

but we don't talk about *** as much
as we don't engage in it...
and we certainly don't talk about music...
the absolute brutal needs to be found...
a butterfly a lotus a kiss in a brothel...
all else is... the slaughterhouse....

this has been a...
no Friday night in Soho can match-up...
i've spent better nights in
Amsterdam...
and no... the red light district was
never going to be a cannabis cafe for me...
or some Vermont-esque quest for a better
pint of ale...
*** was on sale...
there was not real point of making
any money from it in the medium of fiction...
it was always going to be
ugly, frictive... below par of expectation...
but it was always going to
be fathomable... fathomable in a sense
of it being respected...
as a hierarchical undermining...

oh what since was, truly was concrete...
but the verbiage came along
and fiddled with the fog and the end-result
deems itself abstract...
there's the concrete of drought...
and the abstract of locust.
there's the concrete of a mountain...
and the abstract of a pyramid;
there's the concrete of death...
and the abstract of a mosileum;
after all... a grave is a coping mechanism
of someone who...
never began the inquiry... of mortality...
joking as a child might...
pretending to handshake his own shadow.

as i have found the antithesis of narcissus...
the man who fell in love with his shadow.

To and fro as the saying goes
As the afros chase rainbows in search of gold
And the money's ****** dry, 'till the rich only supply
Ways to the make the poor poorer & keep the crackheads high
Then we overdose on sighs that all come at once
The teachers so underpaid that we're soon led by the dunce
And the market's like the breakers of the sea, it just crashes
The 99 sinking in ships while the one percent dashes
We find the dream of the US tainted green
Or to put it correctly, it has been tainted greed
With the day to day in ways that leads to the end
With a knife in your back while they pat it like your friend
So reliance on defiance is the key so defy
All the brainwash and the violence, raise you hands to the sky
And live

Intro: You know, I don’t care what you’re saying about me.
For I’m not an insecure ***** like you but I do got to thank thee.
For if it weren’t for thy vile venom spitting I wouldn’t have a reason to enact my lyrical terrorism!
So, you only have yourself to blame for this ****, so don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Verse 1
Uh, yeah let’s talk about it!
Can’t contemplate, the vicious state that contrary to popular belief I’m not a basket case!
Can’t misuse the time I got so here I go to vanquish these fraudulent thots!
Started an unfocused freight train that charged towards the lucid dream because I couldn’t assimilate!
In that time, I was so focused on changing everyone’s snot ridden hypocrisy about reality being Camelot.
I know I’ve also ****** up a lot but that’s something I had to face!
It’s not any of your business so stop ripping off my skin then rubbing in the salt!
I still have a goal in mind to destroy discrimination that incriminates my people,
by putting em on the hot seat.
So now that every one is up in arms I got my chance to aim at the sweet spot!
Everyone is hungry to be the fittest but not everyone has time to think how to be the smartest.
To strike will the fire’s hot or wait for the embers to spark and settle is the true test for an artist.
Who cares about the lines when it was never rightfully drawn in the first place?
Who cares about what spot or space is for you when it’s all been delegated to the privilege of a certain race?
I can only undergo so much disgrace So, sorry but I’m not willing to have my people’s history erased!
Free speech is going to be a ***** for some and a tool for others, I guess it all depends on that person’s poker face.
Inequality is frequent not just in Canada or The United States but every country, province, and common place.

Verse 2
You want the real, raw, unfiltered Classy J well here you go!
Uh, Tell Trudeau to kiss my *** and stop ******* Trump’s ****!
While you’re at it can you tell your father that he’s a ******* stupid *****!
Also, totally forgot but can you tell Kim Jon un when he’s shafting you that he’s a ******* Buffoon!
But’s that’s enough about ******* politics let’s talk about ******* rap artist’s who think they’re hot but really, they so tacky and obsolete like the Zune.
To mister bi-racial we get it you’re into being superficial but’s honestly with you being so focused on being a ****** your delivery showcases the truth that you’re really a cringy ******.
Just face the fact dude that people will only see ya as a juggaloed Dolph Ziggler.
Uh, Now on to the next!
Dear mister Young moolah imma be front, you look like diseased uvula with the lyrical skill comparative to that of an elementary grade schooler.
Now to address the biggest flacky ***** in the game the not so slim shady.  
Here’s the matter Mr. Mather’s you look like a hobo who ***** guys off around the corner,
maybe that’s why you always diss homos.
Because youse a **** trapped in your mommas’ closet,
and if wasn’t for Dre’s hand up so far up your *** you wouldn’t be as popular of a puppet.
Oh ****, Shady you so focused on Doctor Dre and acclaim to fame that you forgot about Hallie.
****, and speaking of Hallie, I feel for you girl because just like you I also didn’t have a dad there for me.
I’m a man of war so every rapper got to get their **** together and better be prepared to me seriously.
For Imma slit their throats and turn em inside out rigorously, and I make sure those tardy cats will rule the day they ever had curiosity.

Verse 3
Just remember my people were here before you, and will be here after you!
And I’ll be here to destroy any of you who dare to pursue native issues!
Or if I’m just bored and feeling like killing you!
However, if I forget about dealing with you, I’m just to busy to properly give a **** about you!
It’s not just revenge, I see it as using justice by retorting with my wordplay to cleanse ya like shampoo!
But I’ve spent enough time dissing freeloaders, for it gives their ego’s too must **** exposure!
I won’t coaster to these composers, for a chauffeur can’t gain an advantage over a soldier!
I wont lower myself to these grouchy Oscar’s, who hunt for Grammy’s;
or as I refer to these events as pedantic half ***’d statements for excepting grandiose toasters.
Why bother, for it’s so annoyingly stupid that I would rather waste my time watching a movie featuring Adam *******.
So, **** this glass ceiling that defines and dictates what makes up a talented rapper.
I may not be a ******* goat but at least I’m confident enough to go out in my birthday suit and retain my composure for being dapper.
That’s the synopsis of my classy brain, and though it may be insane I’m willing to ride this hurricane!
To make sure you know my name, but yet not let myself get engulfed in the flames.

Destroy
January 26, 2012  

I been swaggin’ while the haters keep raggin’.
But they goin’ nowhere, pants saggin’.
I knock ‘em down one by one, black baggin’.
I ain’t got time to join ‘em, I just run ‘em over with my wagon.

But look, now by the time that I’m through,
Its like there’s been a demolishing crew
If you think you can cross me.
Yeah if you try to come hurt me.
I’ll take every single dollar, and every last cent.
I’ll **** up your ****, I don’t show mercy, no repent.

I will rise to the top,
Hell no, I won’t stop.
Haters just wanna see me flop.
‘cuz every big mess needs a mop.

I’ll take my seat on the throne.
Have a  sip, good patron.
Spend a moment, clean up my spill.
****, now I’ve got some time to ****.

Yes,

I got bars,
it's not about fancy cars or Lil Wayne rapping about Mars.
So far I am marred and scarred by false charm,
burned and charred that we are stuck in this dung tar.

It's about understanding we are stuck in the under standings so understand this,
can bring raze as I raise and rise to clear out these rinse and repeat Rhymes.

I don't care about the money or women.
Will your Rap make a difference.
Only a few got the conscious to talk about love.
The rest is a pile of **** I put to the side and shove.

the ladies oh the ladies louder now

celebrate christmas with a almighty roul

you see christmas is the time of the year where we party right

like drinking alcohol and get ******, yeah that is quite great

you see kids see Santa and ask them what would they like

and the ladies buy the men a cordless drill

as well as the men giving a ladies a big diamond ring

yeah we will party with the song

we wish you a jetty christams we wish you a merry christmas

and a happy new year

christmas is the time of year to Party party party

and you get some eggnog and say come on ya ****** smarty

oh dudes we will lift up our glassed and sing

to the christ child the nirvanaly king

you see christmas is the happiest time

for a happy dude like me, to enjoy life too

silent night holy night all is calm all is bright

round yon ****** mother and child

once in royal davids city the party is on for young and old

as santa goes a travelling through the computer

giving presents to everyone there

and then on the first day of christmas my truelove gave to me

a dollar so i buy a homeless man his tea

if that isn’t enough, how about just leave it in his hat

so he could add it up  and buy many more dinners from all the money he raised

away in a manger no crib for a bed

the little lord buddha laid down his sweet head

he would wake up and say, i control the 3 kings of orient are

i bare gifts as i travel afar

i am dreaming of a white christmas, well stop cause in Australia it’s too **** hot

for it’s the summer weather, the bbqs are lit together

as we are a walking around singing a song living in a summer wonderland

on the beach we can build a sandcastle and bury poor old patrick in the sand

and then he will jump and SHUT UP, why don’t you give your family a ****** woman a ****** hand

then we jump in the saddle nice and quick all in there with good saint nick

Feliz Navidad i want to wish a merry Christmas

i wish you a merry christmas form the bottom of my heart, i lost when my friends treat me like a criminal

six white boomers six white boomers racing good old Patrick through the blazing sun

then Patrick sent to santa what about the toys

aren’t you giving these to all the boys and girls

or are you saying that boys are better than girls like a cool kid that you are

a pair of hoppalong boots and pistol that shoots,is a gift for Patrick and Wayne

dolls that will talk and go for a walk a grift from Joanne and Paula

now dudes as i am prepared to party on dude till the break of dawn

Knees, keep supporting me
You know I believe in you
Stop with all the frailties
And get me where I'm rolling to
Unscrew
All the blues
You sing and keep running in time
Well fed, sleep when you're dead
Or at least aT the end of this rhyme

Pause time, wipe off the grime
Focus on the words I have to say
Ran five hundred score, just a few more
And we can be in a happy place
Don't stop
Don't drop
Reach mountaintop and valley low
Haters degrade the progress made
Saying that we run too fast, too slow

Oh yes, do your best
Until you glimpse that finish line
Past the dream to reality
And see it was you all this time
These knees
Strongly
Wanted to finish just as bad as you
God be blessed, revel in success
We all run, but how you finish is up to you

Just as I was getting into my car, my breath was ripped from my lungs. On the back window ****** handprints littered the tinted glass, the viscous red slowly sliding down. An unstoppable snowball began building in the pit of my stomach. Looking around in the late, night darkness, I caught eyes with a man who stood a few yards away, in the middle of the road. His eyes were focused on where I sat behind the wheel, the door still open, allowing the chilled breeze to softly touch my skin.

“Rap. Tap. Tap, Little Bird,” his voice sounded like it had traveled via vocal chords through heavy sandpaper. He tilted his head causing messy, black hair to fall over glacier, pinpoint, eyes. A crazed smile spreading across his features. Everything about him screamed ******.

My heart began to beat faster and faster, like a bird trying to break free from a cage, adrenaline levels rising, as he slowly took a step toward my car. The black trench coat he wore flowing behind him, the crimson covered machete he held rested on his shoulder. Sweat blanketed my skin as I looked for my keys.

“You’re going to sing your song of pain for me while I rip you apart, Bird,” he taunted.

Where are they?!   I thought in panic, I paled as it hit me, I forgot to grab them on my way out, ‘RUN!’ my mind screamed.

I sprang out of the car and ran the opposite way. But, froze in shock. Leaning against the rear bumper was the mangled body of  a girl. Her eyes had been clawed out causing rivers of red to fall down her pale cheeks from the sockets. Her bottom jaw ripped off, now laying on the asphalt, allowing her ****** tongue to hang like a decoration at a party, only this party was no birthday party, but a ****** party, and I was an unwilling guest. A large **** stretched across her stomach, various organs now laid strewn around her, her intestine spilled from the wound like what you would see in a cheap zombie movie, but this was no prop and I wasn’t in a zombie movie. Her limbs bent in directions they shouldn’t bend, causing the the white jagged end of the broken bones to rise from the torn skin like mountains as thick scarlet rivers ran freely from the wounds. Blood seeped from her lifeless form, pooling around her.

A crazed laugh ripped through the air, “Don’t worry, Birdy Bird, you’ll be just like her soon!” he yelled psychotically, running at me full speed.

I sprinted down the road, my heart pounding in my ears. For what felt like days, but could have only been an hour, he chased me, twist after turn, through the dark, empty town. Fire burned in my lungs, my body sent waves of pain each pounding step I took, my mind screamed to stop and catch my breath. Using my last bit of energy, I took off into the upcoming woods that lined the city, taking shelter behind a large trunk of one of the hundreds of trees. Placing my hand over my mouth to silence my breathing, I listened for any sign of the insane man. For about twenty minutes, I listened, hearing nothing. My body relaxed, as I allowed myself to believe I had lost him.

But, as I stepped out from my hiding place, I ran into something, stumbling back with a gasp as the glint of a blade caught my eyes. Slowly looking up, my body shook with fear, my eyes widened in shock as the murderous man towered over me. He wore a smirk of victory, his eyes full of insanity. He let out a demented laugh, grabbing me before I could run.

“Surprise, Birdy!!”

Rap, rap, rap on the basement door.
I want to be what most abhor.
The lust destroys me.  Give me more.
Snakes won't bite like they did before.
Tap, tap, tap on the window pane.
Let go of what keeps me sane.
This life destroys me.  It is my bane.
Hold the wheel.  I can't keep my lane.
Reap, reap reap what you sowed before
For rapping on the basement door.
You are what you most abhor.
The snakes destroyed you with their lore.

I am a Province, a State, a Municipality, and a Region.
I am a Soldier, a Pilot, a Minister, and a Legion;
I am a black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A French man, American, Canadian, and Roman.

I am a rap artist, a singer, a slam poet and guitarist;
I dabble in the dark arts accompanied by a Marxist.

I'm a barista, a gas man, a secretary, and Tsarina,
A King and a Queen and a janitorial cleaner.

I am a "lover," a "hater," a "here now" and "there later,"
I am Luke Skywalker, yet at the same time, Lord Vader.
I am a driver, a walker, a rider, a stalker,
A conservative liberal and a well-learned straight-talker.

I am a salesman and clerk,
A criminal and a serf,
The proud owner of a weapon that, while it kills, saves the Earth.

I am a drinker and smoker,
A consumer and broker,
A bomb-maker, con-artist, Priest, and interloper.

I am a Citizen.

Religious and secular,
Macrocosmic, molecular,
Suit wearing, uncaring, emphatic, irregular,
A "packie," a ****, a Scrabble fan playing Yahtzee;

A Jihadist, sadistic, addicted to Herodotus,
History is repeated by the philosopher that thought of us.
The eroticist literature towards which we've all lusted;
It looks like the bullets machine-gun is busted.

Indifferent, ecstatic, illicett, erratic,
An infant, a senior, a young man with bad-lip,
A black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A Jew and a Christian, a Muslim musician,
A monarch, elitist, pro-abortion defeatist,
An anarchist, Black Panther, and a rich plutocratic;
I am a citizen,
And as one,

I'm elastic.

Goodbye Charlie, Hello Vietnam.

Nineteen. I was ten and nine. Two A.M. Landed in some muggy, putrid place. Between honor and complete disgrace. Smelled like that for sure.  Issued tools of our trade. Heard the true sound of “rockets red glare”. Had us hunkering in bunkers all night. ******* in our helmets. Holding our ears. ****, the first night. Welcome to Vee-et-nam.

Morning. Sunshine and quiet. Except the rap from old timers. “Newbies“. New jungle fatigues. Newbies. New M-16. Clean boots. All day the old timers, telling each other how these newbies had their cherry popped. First night in country and the biggest *** mortar attack they had ever seen. Heard. Heard, I said. Yeah. What newbie? Now you have heard the real rockets’ red glare. That’s what you heard, Newbie.

I get it. Newbies are ****. We are **** and they aren’t going to waste a breath telling us anything. Watch. Watch and learn. I hope. Lines. Lines to get our teeth rinsed with fluoride. Lines. To chow. To get more shots. To in country orientation. Lines. Memorize lines. Lines to get ammo. Lines to get orders.

No line at the outhouse. Gray three seater. Heat roasting our ****. Old timer kicked the planks before he sat down beside me in the stench. I asked the question but only with my eyes. Kick the planks before you sit down so rats won’t bite your ***** off. Kick the planks to scare off the rats. Rats. The size of possum. Not an exaggeration. Possum rats. Rat possums. Who the hell knew? Just kick the planks. Save your *****.

More lines. Then darkness. Then more booms. Not incoming. Our own. 1-5-5s. Learn the difference newbie so you don’t crap your drawers for nothing. That’s the boys in that artillery firebase keeping Charlie awake for the night. Returning the favor. Charlie. Sounds like a name you would call someone who was a buddy doesn’t it? Charlie. Victor Charlie. V C. ***** Charlie. **** Charlie. Charlie this and Charlie that. Oh, Charlie would eat that rat.

My first duty. Guarding Charlie. Prisoner with leg blown off at the knee in our clean smelling dispensary. Hands strapped to bed rails. MP and I assigned night shift. Keep each other awake . Looked at Charlie. Charlie looked at me. Smirk. Then spit. Landed on my boot. My newbie boot. Not a newbie boot anymore. Charlie squirms. Spits again and misses. MP gets up and threatens to bash Charlie in Charlie’s little head. Medic comes and gives squirming, smirking, spitting Charlie shot of good drugs. Charlie doesn’t spit on medic. Charlie gets drowsy. I get drowsy. MP falls asleep. I stand up. Newbie afraid to fall asleep on guard duty. I wake the MP before shift change. Charlie is up. Smirk, smirk. Thus spoke Charlie. The only conversation I ever had with Charlie.

Medic says Charlie getting on a bird to someplace. Can’t remember where. Anyplace.   Charlie leaving and me staying. Ain’t that a hoot--all it cost him was a boot. Envy is a word I learned that day. Cost him part of a leg medic says when I tell him I wish I was Charlie just then. Had heard tales about people shooting off their toes to get out of the ‘nam. “**** tales” I would call them, since I heard so many in those gray crappers. Rats. Possum rats and your *****. ***** or a limb? Did I really want to be him? I don’t really remember. I didn’t want to be there--somewhere between honor and complete disgrace. Bye Charlie. Hello Vietnam.

a medieval blacksmith, insO̲—
—much as lyrical material of mine gets cast sim. to cold
weapons; I'd say, as anything mind-distracting, like dope
["destructing"]
lyric-writing acts in the role
of temp rise, 'cause it unshadows the mind
like da[ɛ]mn skies, dissipating clouds of lack of delight
which is whY̲ I clepe
it as "mind eclipse" (lack of the light)
hence all the grimness seen in mY̲ bar sheets (chernukha)
like someone having a flight, a bored, tragedy wight
["aboard"]
lashings of spite I add in my lines
a geek practicing harassment in rhymes
as a pastime; an antihero, like Frank Castle I side
with on going against baddies with vice (lesser evil)
'cause you can't battle a knight
or a savage canine, or seize a bastion by
means of any kind of chatting (good luck managing that, gandhists)
get real; chances of collapsing
a toughened up corrupt regime by tranquil, brawl-free rallies
are as high as a bA̲nged up substance addict
can be (highly unlikely); though I keep the anti-autocratic
subject matter frontline, for ones who half-a##edly indite
their lyrics, it's casket likewise; a wA̲ck sod with pine
boxes & nails for 'em; & thA̲t's something I'm
more than glad to provide
you with; tra[ɛ]nslation: you ain't sA̲fe, chumps
[a casket isn't a safe, hence "it's casket" means "it isn't/ain't safe"]
like an offer to have a sled ride
"dude, let's slay some"
["sleigh"]
said the voice of the Islamist radical-like rapper in my
bean (Shady); "let's bring a da[ɛ]ng mayhem"
["bin Shady": Osama bin Laden + Slim Shady, who's a lyrical terrorist]
it added with passion, then I'm
like: "sounds like a blast of a time" (kaboom)
but no[ɑ]t to you, be—cause I'm on my violent bullsh#t (again)
like a jihadi loony; with these lines I'm suited
up with, you'll be blasted like plants bY̲ a shrE̲wd wind
or like a head of state ordained to invade
a neighboring state
in this **** field, I feel
like Max Payne with a gauge
[shotgun]
in a prey-tE̲E̲ming weald
hunting as sport; slay just to main—
—tain some relish & killing skills
you're like misbehavior-free slaves
in this field; translation: you're tame (lyrically)
["tranSLAYtion"]
therefore, you're unwished-for
like anyone & anything with a high lack of approval
[by "high lack of approval" I mean "dissent"]
on politics of the regime of some dastardly ruler (dastardly ruler)
drunk by the power he keeps a tight grA̲sp on & moola (power & moola)
just like Vlad the mean puta (Vlad the mean puta)
code name's lavato[—]ry shooter (lavatory shooter)
you jacklegs remind
me of simple cases or the Batman that time
when he wound up with his bA̲ck damaged by
Bane, 'cause I get you cracked with no strife
just like trash, you would wi[aɪ]nd
up in the dumps if you set your crap next to mine
and let ones being into rap scrutinize
your level of lyrical threat's to splatter a high—
—ball glass or stuff like
that, punks; me? like an armor-clA̲d man, a night—
["knight"]
—mare; Dante strapped with a scythe
[Dante from the "Devil May Cry" video game series]
the way I whack, it's so tight
that I have my device playing some phA̲t beats as I
masterly slice you hacks into stripes
like the Senyera; rap di̲letta[ɑ]nti
and political oppressors are picked as targets
and I may be read as a vigila[ɑ]nte
'cause I go after you like
V; like 2 sawbones having a fight with their scalpel-like knives
[I go after the aforementiond figures in my lyrics]
["after U [which is followed by V]"; V from "V for Vendetta"]
a pa[ɛ]radox while A̲t it 'cause I go autocratic, despite
["pair of docs"]
the views thA̲t I stick by; other words, I kick A̲## as if I
were dealing a jA̲cka## foot strikes
[I'm against unjustified maltreatment of animals, that sentence is just for wordplay]
a rebel thinker with a wrA̲pped up in rhymes
sick, hazardous mind bringing lyrical disasters & crimes
oh, there's one I'm imagining right
now; a rap-writing dabbler, besides an autocratic *****, wi[aɪ]nds
up inside a hearse
with me being A̲t the wheel like
a town that's rife in terms
of poison-pushing; a psychopA̲th when I drive
["atterville"; "****** path"]
speed up to 150 miles per
hour on a track in Alpine
heights, pound a go[ɑ]ddamn curb
barrier breaching it & sending the wagon in flight
open out the driver door
and jump out with a 'chute backpA̲ck on my spine (bye-f#cking-bye!)
watching the car go down, just like a war
criminal busted, & whereafter burst, like
brain arteries of a nazissistic scoundrel; like reports
saying an autocratic piece of trash nullifies
the limit of his presiding terms
I'm bA̲d news when I'm
on my lyric-writing horse
[the "high horse" expression]
like cavalry; I'd like a dastardly, vice-ridden autocrat to reply
["riding horse"]
with lyrics to any of the crA̲p I've devised
in opposition to authoritarianism
should I send some to the office with galore of rE̲A̲r-licking minions
of that "it's all the nasty West" guy
or that's suicide?

I get mad when i think about my last relationship.
I GET MAD WHEN I CANT FIND MY KEYS
I get mad when people drive slow, like they have nowhere to go.
I get mad when i realize racism is still a problem.
I get mad when i have to MAKE UP for the person that was before ME
I get mad when people LIE TO MY FACE.
I get mad when i think of all the betrayal.
I get mad when i think about the dumb decisions i made in my youth
I get mad when people are shocked that i dont have any kids like EVERYBODY IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE KIDS so young!
I get mad when people are surprised at the ****** rate in my city, but they support it through the music.
I actually GET MAD AT THE NEW AGE RAP MUSIC
I get mad when people stare without saying hello!
I get mad when people dont mind their business.
I get mad i mean sooo madd when black people(my people) go against cops for killing our people but they themselves **** OUR PEOPLE.
I get madd when i find out people are deliberately spreading std's
I get mad when i see a child has no HOME TRAINING!
I GET MADD WHEN THE PRICE OF GAS GOES UP!!!!!
I GET MAD WHEN NO ONE LEADS THE YOUTH BY SETTING EXAMPLES.
LASTTTT, BUT NOT LEAST
I GET MADDDDDD WHEN I SEE EVERYBODY FORSAKING GOD(THE HIGHER POWER)
SO NOW THAT I'VE LET IT ALL OUT I GUESS I CANT BE MAD ANY LONGER!

I write sometimes li̲ke I'm out for
blood (I kind of have been & am)
like vampires; tha[ɑ]t's for
all the injustice & violence absorbed
[video games, films, (& later) rap & politics-related stuff]
from this unjust & f#cked world
you may think I'm a kettle boiling, 'cause
writing rhymed texts & going hos—
—tile in 'em is a way to blow steam off
besI̲des that, I'm bored
like a plank that I̲ would, o[ʌ]f course
["board"]
not mind watching a ****** dumb war—
—mongering, power-drunk ****
walk off into the waters galore of hungry cro[ɑ]cs or
sharks, though I̲ would o[ɑ]pt for something much worse
if punishing power-corrupted schmucks were
up to mO̲I̲ with my warped
mind; like a drama queen, or a jihadi fiend
at a public spot with **̲[ɑ]stile in—
—tentions & a bomb, or a gun on him
I'd make such a scene
["sin"]
one tor—mentors would love to observe
one worth grabbing some ****** po[ɑ]pcorn
[like the one portrayed in "punishment of an autocrat"]
****** alert; the cynical fiend
inside wants to join this lyrical binge
give 'em *******, dude
————————————————————————————————
listen U̲p, you da[ɛ]mn fool
this message is also for the trap rap playschool
that you pU̲nk pertain to
consider yourself LIA 'cA̲U̲se you're plain doomed
[lost in action]
like an aircrA̲ft which is about
to crA̲sh into the ground (plane, doomed)
call thI̲s sh#t maltreatment
but don't get the joke twisted
saying that, like a wicked professor prone
to acquitting indecent, bold, I'ma teach you a lesson, ***
I don't mean you'll be a victim of *** assau[ɔ]lt
or something
["molltreatment"]
a lesson 'cause in this lyric-writing game, you
are as qualified as lame stewds
[stu(ew)dents]
you better find some da[ɛ]mn tools
'cause the screws of mine are cray loose
just like Deadpool's; memorize this name to
call me by: Slay Illsome
[Deadpool's real name is Wade Wilson]
you're like pup: so ****** tame you
should be called Lame Chillsome
["po[ɑ]p", in the sense of "pop music"]
so inept that holding somebO̲[ɑ]dy's dra[ɛ]nk, you'd
prob'ly wind up with the dra[ɛ]nk spilled, chump
I'm an instiller of awe & distaste
a thrill killer, nuts, A̲lthough well-trained
and I really like to slay noobs
I'll be enjoying some thrilling, high-octane tunes
while you'll be stricken by the grave blues
'cause I'll have you feeling such a pain you
are gon' wish it were Max 'stead of me & start to pray to
["Payne"; Max Payne, who mostly just guns down his targets]
me to put you down like I̲'m the type slinging
off at others; I'll I̲ce you by swinging
my ****** blade through
your neck like a batter, whereA̲fter I[ɑ]'ll pick
up your nut & make use
of it as a **** bA̲sketball, *****
I'll chop you in parts, then bo[ɑ]x 'em, like a way to
verbally tag an attrA̲ctive gal with
a set of plumply shaped *****
["buxom"]
I'll have the box wrapped a la gifts
and then get the remainders of you sE̲nt ta
a replantation-focused center
(so much for something with the littlest of spite...)
————————————————————————————————
like a substance a[ɑ]ddict
tryna quit but quickly sliding ba[ɑ]ckwards
one verse & I'm back to mY̲ bad ha[ɑ]bits
[the prelude]
of writing; like someone you wa[ɑ]nt, this art form
is something I sure have go[ɑ]t a lust for
which explains why
I'm sO̲ de—voted to my stuff when it's getting laid, like
a carnal co[ɑ]mmerce; lyrical self-indulgence, much more
than self-indulgent "I̲'ve got" type twerps
making unco[ɑ]mplicated trap
as if there were something like a cavy that
those diletta[ɑ]nti aim to catch
like someO̲ne depraved, I have (what?)
a ba[ɑ]wdy-like urge in my mI̲nd when I verse
like a tI̲ght-fit guise worn by a gal with nice curves
exercising, intention... of nailing rhyming
["in tension"]
as if rhymes were lush girls
the type to whom technical seduction comes first
lyrics-wise, which is why some of my works
may be regarded as hot stuff
like a heated iron flyi[—]ng to[—]ward
the face of a tyrant-like ****
with the bo[ɑ]ttom side forth; do this kind of stuff for
fun & to maintain these mI̲nd skills I scored
["slay just to maintain some relish & killing skills"]
which explains why I dub it "bar sport"
[sport/fun of making bars (rhymed lines)]
you trap rap hacks ou[ɑ]ght to ha[ɑ]ve your
bars shA̲rp just like swords of samurais, for
["sharp" in the sense of "stylish"/"attractive"]
as I̲'ve said afore, I'm O̲U̲t for blood, twerps
————————————————————————————————
struck this "bar sport" writing up short
["bar sport (prelude)" followed by this one]
on hope, wound up with a flood of thou[ɑ]ghts versed (wow)
guess this writer's inner fire's no[ɑ]t burned... out
like someone dO̲ne too much work

beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
     and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
     and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames          like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
     fringed in anger
          runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
  
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
     blasting from blacked out tints
          weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
     or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds

beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
   where bar tenders play therapists
        and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes

beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels

That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
   yourself
        your friends
             your country
she challenges you to
**STOP DRUNK DRIVING

Standing in the sand, smelling salty waters,
Of the Caribbean seas, through the cold vibrant breeze.
Watching all the tall, happy, swaying coco nut trees,
And when you sniffle a little of the bake and shark it makes you want to sneeze.

Then take a walk in our rivers and cook up a curry *** or stew,
With fish coo coo and a little calla-loo.
and you take a bite and you taste buds and glands spring water of the delicious flavors that makes you say mhmmm.    

Afterwards you can visit the reefs and see the dancing colors of the under water reefs,
Of the Caribbean seas, where I'm from and would always love to be.

But tho forget, it's Carnival time so come in your costumes and with your coolers because you're coming out to fete,
And tho forget, when you step out on "D" road of jouvert morning until night listen to the Soca music,
And let it rap you up and run through your ears with melodies that will make you want to bep.

Oh yes the Caribbean dream, where every man's a king and every woman's a queen.

It's getting hard in the RSA
even those who don't get paid have to pay
the insane tolls
the cops on petrol
just to get on there way
you under stand what I say
the difrance between we and they we have hi-def blue ray they have it hard desray it means destiny I don't have a plan to get a fan or a groupie I know you probably thinking this ****** mind is doodie but its my duty to make things know especially the things that aren't shown on tv like corruption or so called special selection and the detention of those who don't deserve it because you deserve it

I'm on buzz cause of this love I'm getting from my team it feels like a dream I'll rise to the top like cream but with skin like milk chocolate my imagination flows like water out of a facet, tap I've got talent in the rap and my connection to my soul  is uncapped
I'm just warming up like a kettle I'm like a precise metal in fact I'm talent in its purest form I should be on cable or at least the periodic table but registered as unstable because I'm on a hair trigger jack rabbit with my bad habits like talking about things I don't know then asking   About things I don't know you know making the unknown known remember my curiosity  been burning like an ember

I truly fear for our women ashamed of the cards they have been given or delt and the blows that have been felt on their surface and in their core these stories I hear just leave my heart sore I need to flyaway on the broken wings of my generation with the help of some recreation  to stop the exploitation of those who don't know better not because they could have Learnt better but been taught better you can call It third world problems I call it mankind problems because it affects us all and we're all one after all ilitaration is a mews helps send across my point of view so light bulbs flash ding an idea that's was a great example of onomatapia  it's a process of elimination in a  copulative form these thoughts and ties are more messy  then the perfect storm but I plan to help heal our nation not by confrontation but cooperation

I hope these notions stay in your mind like the blank slate sticks with the blind and the peace with the deaf order In the hands of the ref or better yet Organised chaos,
Because that's realistic But we didnt request it, It's like a pay off  see there I changed the rhyme scheme From aabb.Too abba It's redundant to say But it helps me see,
my potential so I know my credentials and knowing you is essential to keep your heart full your flaws on tour don't think it  trifle but gargantuan like Rabelais' book but most wouldn't know his literature or calling any man sir  but they know facebook I hope these notions stay in your mind like the blank slate sticks with the blind and the peace with the deaf by now I'd  think you'd like to be deaf tired of my voice but I have no choice but to make a statement about what my emotional state is I hope these notions stay in your mind like the blank slate sticks with the blind and the peace with the deaf the name of this poem is emotional theft