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How great is it, a day after corrective eye surgery and I walk out to a beautiful garden and see a elegant monarch butterfly! So rare bur there it is and no milkweed here baby. Good job serendipity..


Listenin to Joe Budden…

Trying to starve the stomach desires
the big poppa skinbag gutting at me
staring at the bump and bitter slythe and biting tongue
my fault my cause and I never deny my faults
never stop pushing to push past girth and doubt
fatty conscious and I know I ain’t this blotto
ain’t this humonculous adipose excess lout
Better than the hate and anger
better than the self-abasement and verbal toxic cancer
indulging and wiling out like Cannon preppie show shoutout
skinny bitches rollin and pursing lips at cutie girls they leave and skip
my record rotating like round girth repeats
and I’m sloppy seconds once anon

These bizarre words of mine

“Aggro Monkian narco freaks”
“Readers to leaders”
“Man maketh fools and fools his making”

Some shit I see while quickly going through an old post barely recognizing it or the time I was in. I like it but then it looks like some Dadaesque Miller ranty protrusion, still pondering going full on force with the poetry and satire diatribalism. Used to think I should hold back and balance it with the traditional linguo of poetics; the authors I liked, D.H Lawrence with a smidge of Keats and Yeats, slam poets with the vigor and vinegar explosion. Structure can be good, I got past the freedom forever no lines on me attitude and scoffing at regiment and organized boundaries. Art with purpose and direction holds power. Creative works just held together by the flighty fanciful dreamy mind can crumble and fade into nonsense, oddball and bodkins I think. Thinking can kill and save me, you, we oui? Overthinking sometimes leads to no harsh words spilled, less jibes and hard barbs flung at bystanders and family members. Sullen quiet prevents forty tongue lashes. Is good. Is good.

Impersonation of Joe Budden


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I pity my own eyes cut they seen too much

In scenes of broken families and broken lips cursing father’s 

up and left

Cursing sons

heading down never right

They were lost, so cold, so ultra violence seething under fires stoked

say you can’t choose family but choose to leave

Runaway or get driven

So far the story’s the same
meet new famme new clans

Old demons stoney but resurfaced

not them but you the critical problem

Flaws in relationships keep repeating

silencers off, bang shots bring headaches and drama

Revolvers out, pistols in dawn light closing in on afterlife 

After me there was ending

Broken voices tell an unfinished sentence

Mama forgave me when I didn’t deserve it

Rabbit ran to the church but the faith is faded

God’s son rejected so he turns nasty and faithless 
I turned my back on everything as soon as I could stand up

childish revolt sickens me into teenage antagonist

Did I hack it or abandon like another deadbeat 

chasing my ghost over disappearing relevance

lose the fire lose the fight

Going cold again as my own war begins to repeat

am I dead again or seeing life pass slow enough to understand It

If I did wrong is it better not to fix it

Lose then accept

lost souls find balance

Slip Lip Tipsy Spit


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I awake aware to neighbours bowing and praying in late night reveries
Suffocating lust dreams while I stroke and jerk off to Jews and Muslims’ prayer intervals
Spritz and sputum dirty unholy listener
Hear the wailing from between walls and angered from past atheistic bent
Now just softing and fortressing belligerent
Don’t be that guy
Hate just lingering sediment

Thoughts of infidelling and angry lit paneling
Kiosks and podiums that brass and echo annoyed sentiment
Enough of religion but never never done with it
Hunger Games will come before we rid of Him
All of us inner sin
Loverly punk rock and lusty living
Lascivious lust bunnies betraying lover hunnies
Gotta get deep dish apple pie honey

Asexual ragga muffin waxing shit bitch bully
friends wanna fuck and me so waverly
Agnostic, aloof and penis nonchalance
Girl trouble kills me regular
I stay separate for minor years
Minor fears, tears, empty months of quiet reflection then who cares
Me no
Me no care, always stare, jeer, right ribbon bob jerky jerk head ticky tack
Fuck this syndrome and lemme live so normal fashion
They say no normal but I see a diff stat
Stat quo control their heads and eyes and no hurt necks
I spy paranoid eye with black images at back
hurty pain and schism brain
Don’t tell me to mindful meditate
I do it for years and still so full of anger
Vinegar pissing and hate-punch chesty
Enough of the middle class asses guruing us outsider kids
Shit on my dick so I can fuck assholes quick

What am I saying


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Like Dre it’s time to get back to work
But I decide the work so I’m lazing
Set timetables but then procrastinating
Chock full of energy
Outline my agenda day
Spirit goes dead
Chalk out my lethargy
Shadow is tricking, eye-line askew
Crooked + mental and focus deficiency
Addict personality yap yapping incessantly
Blargs such holes in my mind and croons such fallacy
Eat, drink and health descend
Stomach distend, lungs blackened
Rip my confidence, snort humility
Yell in echoes that stir somber melodies
Merry the blood that screams the tempting

Marks stretch marked for death but live long enough
Contrite sentence
Periods of dissonance
Brain loud and leaking
Liar cousin inside blathering endless
Drip drops excess sewage towards actions
Not of my body a puppet so slaving
Maestro bumbles and accords a loose symphony
Trombones blare bright lights confuse sensory
Dependent concerto plays me off nightly
Obscene with drunklings, small djinns playful tell me bad things
Whispers cursive tales to swoop bend white lies in White Nights
The Double and shadow hack into sense and morals
Twinge of drug craving pins my spine quickly
More ales do quicken the addict pining
Smiles and snickers from The Gambler within me

Five minutes of strength training, ten minutes of ink practicing in aggregate
Try to make another horrorshow tattoo but bereft no creative
Paint the details on paper scene
I’m cut off, lazing, unsure of scattered skills
It’s Art that embiggens me, livens my sensory
So at a loss when I’m scrimping for beauty
An allegro lost and hiding from my line tapestry
Endless books and pads with scrawlings unfit
Refit redo but never redo
Never take up again and renew the old mistakes
Dump mistakes and scratch out visible failings
Hard critic self

Self-involved erratic heretic judge freak speaketh low and howl tantrum breakbeats escape delinquent habit corroding edges and frames rind left while piece of art/self eaten away fattened pig with distended guts vomits out rage in silent thoughts eat me devour me tie-dye my hippy skank ass as I vegan repent gorge on lambs that yew and baal bleats that so ring in my ears and echo into eternity full of that temper and judgement that rivals the parents query me rattle me badger and bang stomp me head first and smiley broken soldier boy mimic broken teeth what am I saying in the end it’s just reprieve and beaten poetry


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Is trying to create an understanding or way of thinking or perceiving in another person always a form or kind of power/control? If intention is to expand that persons field of view as opposed to conforming to your personal views, is that part of controlling personality?


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Do you know social justice warrior? The bs rigmariole, intellectuals know better, mental health problemo. Every goddamn pseudo revolutionary has an opinion bout allbrainwash. Their words and griping so important. The speechifying of shithead wannabes is deafening my ears.  Give em a medal! They’re soo right. They’re epitome of leftist healing. Fuck dem poser, bumba, I know more about ‘your ‘ struggle liars.