Friendships are easy to lose when you play competitive videogames, rage quits and pride on the line, and yeah that's when things get insane. Smash bros, tekken, street fighter, king of fighters and mortal kombat, the greatest fighting games to ever come out of game designers hats. Its magic man, its addictive like gambling, who is the best gamer and who is a noob that everyone be trampling. Gg bro, even though we don't mean it though, your not as good as us, compared to us you are nothing but a ***. Powning and owning all you suckers, PC or console gaming, either way you are bound to find some trolling little *******. Gamer life, and one aspect of the nerd life, but there is more to our expansive life. There are the: know it all’s who can reference anything and corrects everything everyone says, and if you can't keep up, you can have a nice day. Star trek and star wars, collecting action figures that are definitely not dolls, roll them dice boy to see if our clan survives going down the falls. Dungeons and dragons, role-playing in a fantastic fantasyland, joining clubs like board games, videogames, writing, reading or band. Make fun of us now, but in the future we could be your bosses, so think about the next time you say that were wasting time trying to beat a dark souls boss. Cosplaying and reading comic books, this is the nerd life man, relaxing in our snuggies and croc's. Don't judge us without getting to know us, who knows you might want to get on the nerd bus. On a mission like Frodo or harry, going faster than the speed force just call us Barry. Feeling lucky punk, riding over you like a monster truck. Nintendo, Sony, Microsoft, steam, Sega, and PC, may just be me but I love it all, I'm not picky I appreciate things as they are like Marvel and DC.  Go go gadget, hate getting stuck traffic, I'm not the killer, I'm as innocent as Rodger rabbit. Please Ed, edd, and eddy, don't need to cause a scene because that would be pretty petty. What's the sitch wade, better beat those bad guys that choose to miss behave even if it effects my school grade. Kids that watch Cartoon Network nowadays will never how awesome it used to be, shows like samurai jack, power puff girls, Johnny bravo or Dexter’s laboratory. Duck hunting, ****** tunes and chill binge on anime and the only slam-dunk we do is Denny's pancakes sorry Shaquille O’Neal. Pocket protecting fiends; not to good at puberty, man we spending it all watching reality kings. New beginnings, love seeing what’s new at e3 each year, except for waiting for that game to arrive, counting the days till it finally appears. This the Nerd life, I may have never got the attention of girls when I was young but who knows I may just find myself a nerd wife. I can't wait to show my kids all that I know, the circle of life man, now I have a new perspective on watching this kid of mine grow. Future hopes, future class blasting off into possibilities, nerd life man better build up my durability.

Where I’m From
I am from wires,
from electricity and TV screens.
I am from the dust covering the console.
(Piled high, thick,
It made me sneeze)
I am from the Sega Genesis
the Nintendo
Who has long been forgotten
amongst the shiny new games.

I am from controllers and memory cards,
From Mario and Sonic.
I’m from the ******* gamers,
And the once-in-a-whiles,
From You win! And Game over!
I’m from Thou saveth the princess
With Donkey and Diddy
And 10 cheats I know by heart.

I’m from GameStop and Best Buy,
brand new plastic and overheating console.
From the controller thrown across the room
To the memories,
bonding brother and sister.

In my closet is a box,
filled with old games,
scratched up discs
that will never again work
I am from these games
created before I was born,
born from the tree of electronics.

Born heavy as adorned many: objectivity lifts ready existance carried more steady with the fist than a switchblade as to fist crave: yall just manisfest id shame when you spit back like all my family here to spit crack bone in been gripped back when at grown taught to **** Macks;
I'm the R to the Mack Marck M heavy to my fam born carried since Nas dropped the bomb that Eminem levied in so to spit back, like ghost spittin the **** shittin at all emcees here to spit back:
only time you'd get a note outta me relative is when i'm posing for death: like tupac menacing his pelvis still for the ****** levy in neglection in pics wack;
i spit bone quick when it comes to being notorious in a jacuzzi playing sega and super nintendo **** be in disrespect to ever understand that i don't spit thick back.

i flow sick that before i flow spit that between to post ****:
I pose **** to even to boast fits forgotten what the Ohmegaus finds the rest as undereducated life in being in the sun.
Ghost spittin future written past to see all the conjugatives relative like ****** games on the run:
games on the fun like extension big sides as big sizes like chasing dreams again straight to the the sun is what we've become.

unfinished...

this ain't motherfucken games, and you know id through wish-epic

The violet sky stood bashful against the dimming horizon. Stark trees sprang from the ground, flourishing in dots midst the blushing stars.

Street lights flicker on, reminding me of how mom didn't have to yell for me to come home, the lights whispered it to me, carried in the caressing breeze.

I'm reminded in the spring, of the day me and my friend ran into the pelting rain and jumped through puddles, soaking our bodies in high pitched laughter and impending colds.

I'm always reminded in the summer months, how everyone including myself, preferred water from the hose over water from the tap. Or how we'd run rampant through the field behind my house, screaming against the heat.

The broken sidewalk reminds me of the time when we all thought we were cool for trying to smoke cigarettes we stole from our parents.

I fell in love with patches of clovers more than that of a boy's selfish smile. I was more in love with the act of collecting lady bugs as pets rather than holding a hand pushed into mud.

I preferred shallow swimming pools over the small voice of a boy asking me if i had other friends like them. Or how the beam of the sun was better than the beam of a slender, pale face with blue eyes.

Blind and innocent children, we fell in love with things we could touch or splash in. We fell in love with the beautiful colors and characters in our favorite Saturday morning cartoons. When we weren't playing cops and robbers, we were lost in a world of SEGA and Super Nintendo 64. We were infatuated with a world that never altered, but our vision cleared of.

We were saturated in a time where our only big worry was making sure we got our recess time. And when the smog cleared we realized our biggest worry was making our parents proud.
And it seems that it should be the other way. We should be proud of the kid our parents raised.
But ultimately, the monsters under our beds became the demons in our heads.
And the kid your parents raised
slowly became the kid you wish your parents never had.

There won't be a day in my life where i wish i could fall in love with the sound of an ice cream truck, or the animals at the end of my bed again.

the skull and spine of seventy seven men, extracted.
retribution far past putrefaction.
a pile of bones in the center of town, at the corner of washington
& rochambeau.
gather around.

           do you believe in the boogeyman?

a glitch in the darkness.
an echo of rage, high chroma bacteriophage.
every faithless father,
every sister spared,
every ritual sung just right, a brief blackout,
reconfigured pixels of outer night.

                     [bobby’s sega genesis awakens on its own]

thirty three years to the day, he
died on that suncrest boulevard, returned today just to say “hey.”

graveyard family tree and the moon.
first as a manifestation of electromagnetic phenomena
            in a videogame’s cpu. 1993.
second as a fully-fledged entity materialized via videocassette,
            hungry for pizza and pure vengeance. 2001.
third from beneath bedrock, the quarry belly baste,
            a body buried thrice, undead toxic tumescence,    
            a walking corpse heaving black plasma. 2020.

the sequel.
the son.
the spectral chosen one, he
rips out a throat or two, quite fashionably so,
a man about town throttled and disemboweled,
as friends and neighbors stumble and sprint to escape with their own godforsaken skin.
let the bone collection begin.
emerged in afterschool hallways to **** old classmates turned teachers.
emerged in afterhours offices to devour old buddies turned bankers.
emerged in the quiet dark homes of neighborhood flesh and folk.
blood soaked socks.

why? you ask, must all these people die?
vengeance?    no.
that was a lie.
he killed those people for a laugh
& that’s that.

La donzelletta vien dalla campagna,
In sul calar del sole,
Col suo fascio dell'erba; e reca in mano
Un mazzolin di rose e di viole,
Onde, siccome suole,
Ornare ella si appresta
Dimani, al dì di festa, il petto e il crine.
Siede con le vicine
Su la scala a filar la vecchierella,
Incontro là dove si perde il giorno;
E novellando vien del suo buon tempo,
Quando ai dì della festa ella si ornava,
Ed ancor sana e snella
Solea danzar la sera intra di quei
Ch'ebbe compagni dell'età più bella.
Già tutta l'aria imbruna,
Torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre
Giù dà colli e dà tetti,
Al biancheggiar della recente luna.
Or la squilla dà segno
Della festa che viene;
Ed a quel suon diresti
Che il cor si riconforta.
I fanciulli gridando
Su la piazzuola in frotta,
E qua e là saltando,
Fanno un lieto romore:
E intanto riede alla sua parca mensa,
Fischiando, il zappatore,
E seco pensa al dì del suo riposo.
Poi quando intorno è spenta ogni altra face,
E tutto l'altro tace,
Odi il martel picchiare, odi la sega
Del legnaiuol, che veglia
Nella chiusa bottega alla lucerna,
E s'affretta, e s'adopra
Di fornir l'opra anzi il chiarir dell'alba.
Questo di sette è il più gradito giorno,
Pien di speme e di gioia:
Diman tristezza e noia
Recheran l'ore, ed al travaglio usato
Ciascuno in suo pensier farà ritorno.
Garzoncello scherzoso,
Cotesta età fiorita
È come un giorno d'allegrezza pieno,
Giorno chiaro, sereno,
Che precorre alla festa di tua vita.
Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,
Stagion lieta è cotesta.
Altro dirti non vò; ma la tua festa
Ch'anco tardi a venir non ti sia grave.

Summer. bike ride. I’m a child. I live just outside of Churchill Downs in Kentucky. young in skinned knees, pumping a 10 speed in a humid southern town, dodging cracks in the side walk. it’s an old superstition and I still hold it. grass growing in tiny bunches, in cracks. sun peeling the skin. candy rotting the teeth. the city is so *****. the houses dilapidated like fallen, shambling drunks. paint crumbling. and my brother ate paint chips. someone called him *******. rusted cars, playing house. sedan clubhouse, an oven in July. garbage day, rummaging for toys. I once found Quik strawberry milk in the trash I consumed it, and later felt like ****. hot trash treats. cumulus cloud companions, balloons without strings, the heat over eighty degrees, friends none to speak. after school fight. kids claiming coitus in the elementary. country music blaring from a fake wood radio. I found the radio on the curb and was proud of my conquest. all the lyrics incoherent but somehow they resonated. riding bikes all day. no parents. busy, their marriages failing, lives changing. riding through the slums. the houses of broken homes watching me tiredly. boarded eyes. down steep hills. up plywood ramps. kids jeering from porches, throwing rocks, glass, anything. scribbled graffiti. the rain makes everything more loathsome, wet clinging grime.  the dirt sticks to everything. fingertip messages scrawled on cars. s.o.s. twenty foot Marlboro man towering above the block, faded, peeling, half his face gone. like a totem making sentry of the oiled trash, the houses and apartments nodding to demolition. meanwhile, the thoroughbreds are fenced off and protected like coveted family jewels. I stood at the fence and thought, that’s all Kentucky is to the world. just some **** horses. Now and Laters and candy lips stick, my front porch.  the house leans. a drunk on the curb mouth a gape and snoring. is that your dad? no he’s in the tavern across the street. he lives there and its always loud. angry sounding buses threaten to squash the spastic child cyclers as they clutch their Sega genesis desires. cleaning gritty fingernails, I learned that my math teacher was dead. her car she wrapped around an old elm or maple on Southern Parkway the night before. my dad signed me out of school and took me to see the spot where she died. on the asphalt a ripe red stain. did I make this up or was that real? death. learning about death. with cockroaches. the bug-man sprayed and killed your parakeet, Christina. it was stuck to the newspaper that lined the bottom of its cage. I recorded it chirping on a cassette tape. I remember running terrified from rusted sedans. dented and hosting drug addled predators in cut-off jeans, wet legs stuck to torn imitation leather seats. ***** glued them and fueled them. I fled with my flea bitten mongrel friend. fly eaten, **** making. my dog made a minefield of our backyard. in this backyard where every Derby I parked tourist cars, the ladies in fine heals, disgusted and wobbling around the turds, the mud. I stood squat, shabby and I pocketed their money. Kentuckians, that’s all we are; horses, chicken and the cluck, Thompson.

I never wanna tell u
What I really wanna say
I'm just here too help u no need to runaway
My words are my best friends
That I won't ever chase
Wont beg for attention dont need u too stay

If you dont want
Break up that bond
Got it all wrong now u wake up all gone ..
Nothing is permanent
Just take my word for it
You'll be returning quick thinkin you learned new tricks
Not here to disappoint u but I have no choice
Notice destruction you cannot avoid
Lost in the noise flanted my voice
Traded my toys for songs I enjoyed
No one will help u until ur heart stops
Wat ever u know prove ur heart is on top
Ignoring the news while my art hopes for props showed u the thruth and u started too pause
Look at the view like a portrait that's rare
Looking at u becuz ur unware
Too late for mistakes no need too compare
Living day by day fully prepared
I'm not here too force
I just wanna help
Get lost in the course I keep hurting myself
Mission abort give it too someone else
Lying in court Dont know how I felt
This is what happens when your way too passive

Notice the damage no need 2 panic
Took off the bandage locked in the attic
Just like an addict look how I had it
On Automatic till it fell off a cliff
Last cigarette
Before hell gets dim
Hilighted the meaning
Gave u full emphasis
Lucidly dreaming
Dont need too remenis
Super nintendo sega genesis
When I was younger I couldn't picture this
Random world in tabu why keep
Locking eyes
One bite 2 her lip just too start up the ride ...

I had this notion of wanting
to be more like oldself–
not more like myself, because myself
has become too sad and too hurt;
I remember oldself being so much more.
But where does one look for one's oldself?
It's not like I just hanged it out to dry
or hung it up on the wall next to a poster.
No, oldself has been scattered and beaten,
tossed along the path of nostalgia.
Bits of oldself linger among
sketchpads and sneakers, SEGA
and Lego sets and Star Wars.
It's back there with s'mores and scouts
and bonfires and books and
the belief that the big, blue world
was a place where dreams came true.
Oldself thinks that optimism
is the only option, myself makes a
note to self: that matter mostly
isn't true, as a matter of fact.
I can't always see oldself, it's buried
beneath six feet of dirt, gossip and rumors;
there's tons of stress and anxiety weighing
on its chest, dressed in a halcyon suit.
Oldself never used to worry
like myself does so often nowadays
but he also couldn't sing like myself can.
He had a wilder imagination than
myself could ever conceptualize,
yet I've exceeded so many of the dreams
that oldself had for my future self.
I often think to myself: what would
Oldself think if Oldself met myself?
And although I may not have turned out
exactly how Oldself envisioned myself,

I've grown and learned from Oldself
and now I'm proud of myself– a place
that my old self never thought I would be.

Doom and gloom
You would assume.
Jaded to a fault.
Hate my parents
Hate my life
Blah blah blah
But on a sarcastic note,
There are things I feel
I should inform,
This society of faceless prose,
I'm actually quite unoriginal
And awkward as far as I go.
I fall a lot
I laugh even more
I'm obsessed with a lot of musical scores.
I can draw and play stringed wood
I'd love to dance...
If I only could.
I love the elderly
And the habits they keep.
I love little kids
And the way that they creep.
I'm prone to an unexpected collapse
Of thoughts and rationality.
The color red
Tickles my fancy.
Mac and cheese is a classic dish of mine.
Cheesecake makes my sweet tooth rot.
And I think three toed sloths are out right FINE!
No, they really are! Check them out.
They're my spirit animal without a doubt.
I like to look up cats on YouTube.
And I'm obsessed with SEGA genesis too.
I enjoy a good calorie burn
If it means getting off the couch for the tv channel to turn.
I'm not fat but I'm not thin
I'm too lazy to notice if that smell is coming from me or the trash can.
I don't like mirrors or olives that much.
Brussel sprouts are also included in that bunch.
I converse with myself until I get caught
By people thinking I'm talking to them
When I'm not.
Disney movies, **** yes please!
Favorites are hunchback of Notre dame and Hercules.
Sandman comics and Calvin and Hobbes
Are written in my nightly dreams.
Don't like coffee and I don't like tea
But red bull makes my eyes twitching.
Vanilla is my favorite smell.
I don't like chocolate all that well.
I talk too much about nothing at all
And when it comes to love,
I love to fall.
5'2"...yes I'm shorter than you
I'm well aware of it when reaching for things too.
I dye my hair and cut it myself.
It took a lot of bald months
To have it this fancy and lucious.
I get a lot of looks while driving the scene
When a baby doll like me is blaring slipknot, Metallica, pantera, or coheed.
I'm nearly 25 but look 17
And I still have a soft spot for shel Silverstein.
Neil gaiman is my main man to read
And his wife, Amanda Palmer, has created my favorite music scene.
I used to wear a lot of black
Until I graduated high school and said
"The hell with that."
Colors aren't as bad as all of that.
I like my knives and my stuffed animals just the same
Strangers things I'm crazy
Crazy people think I'm sane.
I'm a hippy as far a fashion dreams
Bell bottom pants and worn out band tees.
I have more guy friends than girls
And I think it's getting me in just as much trouble.
I thought I was gay once
But japan made me sure
When approaching a drunken *******
I couldn't even touch the guy or the girl.
So I declined, my eyebrow confused and creased
Turned that ******* into a twosome
And left them in peace.
I design tattoos and have a few of my own
Based on comic books as my arms would show.
I'm a bit of a nerd but there are worse things to be
Now you know I'm kind of perky
Do you still like me?

aiyo i stay with more muscle
than schwarzenegger
alpha and omega still play sega
high as ****
roll chocolate thai dutch
push a lexus manual clutch
what?
the **** is all the hate about ?
is it because i got clout
and i watch the birds fly
in the sky high as muthafucka
enticin' cluckas
to my **** cuz it hits
harder than mauseberg wear baggy jabos and iceberg
yea im half human half cyborg
and if you hater you can embrace the morge
curious as george
hear a knock on my cells door?
who could it be could it be?
my conscious layin' prophecy
to me true emcee
last of the Mohegans don corelone of this rap ****
and i aint gone stop gettin' lit
switch roll.another one
stay blazed stronger than sun beam rays
and shake my head but the high still stays
as i get. ..high! !!!


h im seeing illusion
got my brain in confusion
almost had a contusion abusin'
my brains cells is lit oh ****
i envision of me in a casket
though a *******
i stay true to the game lite my flame who got game?
my shot vicious as Ray Allen
this aint no love ballad
toss my girls salad no ranch dressin' while yall stressin'
i sin but still catch blessin'
my smith n wesson
stays by my pillow
paranoid as ****
every after ya bucks cant clutch
on the realness my skills
puff puff pass then i hit the gas
on the highway speed out
round my homies cuz we about
to get our chips in **** in
end all foul ****** that was never down from the beginning
win some lose some far from dumb
and if ya wanna test yo manhood
we'll make ya body numb

I remember the “reset” button
on my Sega Genesis
and my N64 as a child.
With a quick **** of my hand,
all my mistakes, and problems
could be solved.
I’d get a fresh start,
a new chance to win what I lost.
Almost every single day
I wish for a “reset” button on life.
Instead, I’ll have to settle
for an incomplete game
with achievements unlocked,
with no extra content,
and the lowest of low scores.

I’m not sure if Mercury was in retrograde or if Sega was in genesis, but you slipped an unwelcome touch into my orbit & I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.

The Proclaimers hummed in the background as the aunties shrugged…

“Some people are born with tragedy in their blood.”

The nooseman approaches & with surrender on my lips, I say: “Sew me into the creases of your hemlocked hood.”

Tiny holes cut for beady gapes.
Do. Not. Look. Away.

The moon is wailing in chorus with mothers & brothers in hidden crypts over mountains of headless children born into snake pits.

800-588-2300…EMPIRE…today is the day we set you on fire. More cobra with desire until you suffocate on centuries of soul weight.

The ground opens up & the universe obliterates.

A spare bedroom tea set gathers dust in shadow of craven lust for more & more & more. The **** of a boy & the **** of the world. Holy rage steeped to liberation. Comrades healing together with blades unfurled.

No longer will we cower & beg for a piece of what’s already ours. The serpent’s spine rotting on concrete.

All hail the death of tyranny.

Deadly with method man.
My sentence a weapon man.
Destined with ninja presence.
Sega Genesus
Metal brand.
Like Sega and sonic.
Rocking pride. Like its upped
Its level and. Got colors
From wells.
That swell. With acceptance
For every man. And that ***** social intelligence.
Not just for privileged folks.
But the existence. Of different folks.
I crave hope in a sacred note
Sighed from my little mouth
As I let it close.
My mind is a rhyme. The antidote.
The back and forth.
Like the senators tennis coach.
I may relish the rest I wrote.
And develope a social scheme.
But mostly I'm developed.
Like chess matches. Between
Beethoven. And poetry
With explosion. On kettle black.
But the ***
Says its nose is clean.
Reproach. Is a roach.
That might survive. Post apocalypse.
So before we explode
Could I take my mask off
And craft some
Actual poetry

hum this is it then it is one off those days when i feel like i m the happiest man alive that is what a family,,,,,, ps emulators ,,,, Nintendo,, sega,,,, andd linux ,,,,, andd a room off your own can do to you