liked Grime bfore know the name


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Thissa UK bass with the lundun twist
twixt the rhyme and rubble of breakbeat streets
chains broke off feet not on the necks
runnin man and femmes runnin thru projects
runnin clean the projects
runnin diabolique Man U script
flip a deck flip a crypt
postpartum pardons
more housings
less prison complex
less stock feed for coppa bullets
rubber ends meetin beatin chests

I may go a capella with no DJ indentured
silent keys I forgone the music scriptcha
too much symbols when the math of science in ma
head fulla causes and technicals of the universe
I against I so battle inverse
words turns grimy and messages perverse per verse
spit to get the taste out
outta mind and mouth

insured for censure so I speak wild invective
reflexive manna
defensive jah man
spirit feeling strong
might die fore I starta
sell souls so we barta
lock em in a cubicle
seein sunlight is harda
break walls for the victims
no prison for none of us



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Your words are like mother’s milk 
Much of this historical analysis is focusing on past marketing and capitalistic co-opting. Markets flourish and budge their way in no matter the substance of the times. A leech finding a vessel does not change the initial function.

Every person can always bring it back to themselves. The conception of individuals are farce for selfish endeavours and millenniul excuses.

Using a gun is like fucking a women with someone else’s dick.

Player man, talkie man

Dear White People (netflix)


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Pull of the trigger
All it will take to extinguish a life
Bring pain and heartache to so many is
Pull of the trigger

An impersonal tool of destruction set off by one finger
The getaway of your emotional state confuses your reason

Judgement skewed from fear
Actions brought forth from inside animosity
Labelled jurisprudence
Labelled heat of the moment
Fear to violence to death

Dark matter
Death matters
Space age humans
Fear of a black planet

Dear me, us, them.

Machiavelli Straitjacket


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Sittin listening to Tupac explain his life
Reups and remixes and is he back right?
Can’t help picturing myself with the similar shoulder burdens
No guns and drugs but the memories of pain and loss
Mind blinks back to younger foolhardy
Jerkass soliloquy

Lament with the dark poets and authors struggled with the dark half
Bled out the dark spirits to fill up the manifest
Black blood rushed forth onto pages and paragraphs
Thinking maybe it’ll have its time or maybe timeless
All of us waxing till the candle gives out
Feel a need to bleed this story out
Let it flow manic and dangerous and scrawl the living world in pages
Footnotes in the mind yell out for swiftness
Get it out like virus eating us cancerous
Cells in the blood multiply
Is it demonspawn or Angeldust?
Or we mortals or sanctus spiritus?
Latinate to germinate
Stews inside us amid the boiling pot
Pretty words to mingle with ugliness
Ugliness turned remembrance turned appreciative
If nothing else we’ve lived a life and learned a touch of tenderness

Some turn away from dirt and strife
The people on principle have hard knock lives
But my neck can’t take the constant twists and averted gaze
I tried for a few years and didn’t like what I’d seen
The mirror spoke nothing and eyes saw emptiness
Not even a shell just lingering abandonment
Useless carapace
Wanted to feel more nothing and received the death wish
The soul such dwindling and warmth evading
Spirit within just dissipated for lack of use

No little charity would solve the runaway
Ran from self then left a false self
Created some Rashoman situation where I’d lied to me and mine
More stories to hide the thing within
Acted cold but too sensitive reality
Add more heaviness when ignoring the calls from in
So much more force to keep rigid order
Strap down a heart and prepare for a burst forth
Prison escape, exploding cells
Arterial walls break down as it swells
Grinchaloo who smacked himself to a wake up
This acting game I’m just not up to snuff
Prefer the snort and laugh to the hollow man’s bulletpoint

guys and dolls


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The girl went from Pampers to wanting to be pampered
Vacations, play + frolic, value of a dollar second to shallow fodder
Model life, model toy boy
Hollywood dreams and made up laurels
Good soul sweetened with the modern spoil
New gen playstations making with the console
Hugsalot dashboard full of emojis
Always hold me told you hold me stay away from me
Passion to candle fire, both ends to ash
Make up then break up then repeat or find new cycle
The males, the femmes, place-cards to fill a cold bed feeling bigger than ever
Easy to judge harsh but the feelings go round us all
Trudging through the cold, the whole race is frostbitten

Better not to. Used to say NWI, not worth it. Angry, bitter kid busting out at too many intervals. Cumshot, blast cock, year of the shuttlecock birdy shot. Male, male, testosterone fail. Musclebound troglodyte but digging the strength trip. Stretch, burn, grip stick quick.

bored bored
white background bored
pale face cardboard
dry like toast and i’m eating still

Shadow and Lust  (Buffy vol. 2 reading)


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Afloat aflight

On wings of men’s screams

Filled with burden but light, spines crawling out her back

Insect dartwings curl round pale blue skin

Curve in back sinfully singing

She curses those on the out 

Razor claws playfully slip into chest, take pieces of flesh

Sweets for the sweet and snikt snikt onto death

Blood of the heart, lamb or lion

Does not matter

Nor  whether

Nor wither

Heartfelt pleas 

Begging symphonies 

All aflutter under winged  ladies

Impersonation of Eminem


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So again we say we don’t want a war
Thug passions spilling out onto bloody floors
Bust a gat like nuts we workaholic porn stars
I’m so ornery horny just get off me and bore me
Hype men so prideful proud for camera’s eyeful
Rock a glock for a dick and shock jock for media shots
I’d rather be proud of my words than my trigger finger
Trigger the marshals, the demonseed Mathers

Prison sentences longer than UN speeches
So much hot air I’ll implode from the pressure
Take a lot of em out with a pen and paper
I give a middle finger to the law that feeds the winners
Rich as fuck but they gouge even deeper
Become so ballsy they gettin’ Trump Dick
That’s when growth gets downsized past the comb-over
Just cowards running from the hard light

Say I’m sick of the game and fame but itchin’ for sequels
Spill my guts on this paper to lead to bleeding singles
Paper cuts on my enemies
They attack I retaliate with these cursed verses
Don’ matter what you say
My words become cursive
I was trying subversive
No I have to spit it out for slow persons

No more stones or vilifying
That old testament shit dead and gone
I’m trying to walk in peace no hellspawn on my lawn
Sucking saps taking away from my whores of culture
I’d rather deal with weeds and joint ventures
Fuck a bitch suck a bong
Leave the gun-toting to the sick arm of the Law
The one that infects us and asks all of us to draw

Frown Sound (need more happy poems..)


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Went too fast too far
Chasing windmills and waterfalls and pickup sticks
We pick em up just to drop em again
Learn lessons and cultivate understanding

Forget the laurels and words we told ourselves
So much careerism we stuck in the thick
Sticks in the mud that let us escape
We threw them out so we could get the pick
The cake, the hoffa, the big boss soprano
Be ultra slick and sink deep in
Deep pockets, open pockets, pocket full o win

Gamblers all of us
None such anonymous
We pick a draft and let it ride erroneous
Edits and omits passed over right quick
Scratch cards sniff the loot win win
Big money
Fortune so funny
Laugh it off as the laughter comes without

External pariahs selling self-doubt
Secondhand cousins selling flash hope and sunny thoughts
Some mean good but biz so lucrative
Maximum vitamins and magic water
Cure-alls and tinctures for Life’s folly and fodder

Weak of the week and colliding wimps in space
Stretch and fold we worms in the hole
Strings of the saplings playing each other’s verse
Concerto of shared throes
Ribald Vivaldi coursing in back of brain
Play out this win/lose so we can spin again
Right round like a record baby
Frown sound

Critic me me critique


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Why is it that when you work on something it feels right, feels like it’s coming from you. After the show the thing looks distant, different, unlike what you felt while working on it. Is that the thing becoming something else something separate from you? Every line every word on page every carving seems like another, another piece that I let go maybe. Feel pretentious when speaking of it but it’s true, it feels unlike me. I look at it and of course judge the shit out of it. The work that blinds has come to light and I see the sight for what it is, to me anyway. The thing that wanted to come out of me and glop on paper and spread and swirl around is for eyes to see and see mine eyes. Don’t know if some of it means anything right now; expression of what? What is IT saying? We all float down here…..

Honesty of the Rappers


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listening to poets and philosophers that gave up the hollow words
podiums for pedants so we cram our lives in syllables
slick rhyme quick and so much swinging dick
stop with winning and hardcore repetitions
you tire me mentally
wanna get deep with personal rap rebels spitting true lies lyrical
stories wrap me in divinyl spells
tossed up with spirits and influences
speaking in mind about my slow king evolution
little prince confused by the world
living in it giving in it
start to be open and sincere no suspenseful
leaking away from mystery and acknowledging the spiritual
but still superficial
love pretty ones and curves at intervals
broken down graysexual then mutha motor ritual
all in my head to head ram it through
empty passion what’s it called
tryst existentialist
wanna fit in liar became the ventriloquist
hid deep down and took so long to surface
still look at surface
analyze all being
stick with the pursed lips
big eyes glow face
too much adorable
Lenny hugs for soft skin
too aloof too strong
alone again sometimes liking it
escape to the lab with tea and silence
self-respect from projects and push for new build me
designing myself
deigning myself
up high and down low self-concept
such ego and debasement
mountains and subterranean holespace
crawlspace dark place
fear the outer, wrap myself in spider’s silk
bed of webs and deceive the self
finding love for self and throwing it away
fishing spot again, dismay
dis may be another lie to me