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1. |
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i am made to break falls
a bootstrap clasp to stand tall
and with foresight
a concrete dreamer in this glass house,
concrete dreamer repaved the whole route
‘cause you see it’s
thicker skin than
what this precedence elects,
gazing in the mirror glancing at
that beating from my chest
i saw a grown man for the first time,
not that little boy effaced in congested rhymes,
it’s when the cognitive dissonance
condenses to a JPEG,
the flattened layers of a history
to an end point
on aged head
divorced from growth’s trauma,
the building blocks of something stronger
and larger,
so I:
no need to lament
(no need)
on how my skull did
bent and sway because
hey,
i am made to break falls
don’t need no clasp
I stand tall
and with hindsight
a concrete dreamer in this glass house,
concrete dreamer repaved the whole route
cause I am made,
I am made,
I am made,
I am made
to break falls,
I am made to break falls
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2. |
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intro to admiration,
9/10ths on the debit,
unleaded verse per gallon,
the word as credit, settled, said it
for journey post “read it”,
I-10 motions stuck to shift comprehension
(check)
self-indented, concrete, and curbside,
seemed to stop at the signs
signifying speed limit of the mind,
ticketed.
rolling without pause, line drive
wishing that
driver’s side note focus would just
elicit rep,
but fuck,
no forward movements,
losing confidence enthused with
loose scripts blown by airs
that regulate ownership, newness,
registration, license,
stoppage quotas,
monthly cycles,
car door exit clipping bike lane Haysoos
annotating red line bibles.
left vehicle in idle,
stomach prod rifle,
produced by uniform seeking libel
issuing a civil claim title
on a wordless roadside writer
(naw, naw, naw, naw, naw
hold up)
(just some)
wool pool over, eyes flash dash
scramble reason
uninhibited travel
so contradicts the held-up freeman.
who says
“seeing is believing,
“writing is intellectual peeing,”
officer notes attempt at public urination
as citation, treason
(about $73)
adjust black collar,
strolls back to squad car gripping baton
for protest/holler,
but he sees something else,
protagonist writer parked on the block,
inspiration searching in self.
‘cause all these compelling bars
held hostage in memory bank hold ups,
hold up
these compelling bars
held hostage in memory bank hold ups,
hold up
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3. |
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I said this used to be a home, yeah (x3)
at the Southwall Corner Club,
standard levitation shrubs
after mortar pestle ground
with a Luminous Russula
got a quest beyond the Odai
of LA on a date with
Sugar-Lips Habasi sipping mild
cafe au-laits and
now the yields from
the fields of Kummu
they ain’t coming in,
investigating along the
West Gash Region,
but shit I’m jittering off them
Zapatista beans and the homegirl
ain’t give enough info for
my journal seams
I said this used to be a home, yeah (x2)
I said this used to be a home
spilling words, drowning tomes
drafted by the scuba divers,
glued spines with oxic notes,
the choral bleaching efforts of
one or two bereft technicians,
wordsmiths without tradition,
coffee stains
and cynicism
(word)
I said this used to be a home, yeah
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4. |
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authentic nonsense
thesaurus on a park bench
doing an about face
to round out my pretense
uhh, put my gene sequence
on leaflets, homophones,
ad-libs, ad-hominem,
no credence
days like these, I’m
an ink cartridge,
days like these, I
fail to get started
transmission locked in lowest gear,
granted manumission through fear,
uhh… what am I doing here?
writing in circles,
2πr times the word count,
if that amount is needed
to surmount the summation
of this blockage
(well)
f(x) equals the tuition
I spent for college,
whereas x is perceived mental wattage
(what?)
goddamn, that’s some trippy shit
and so dries the ink pen tip
goddamn, that’s some trippy shit,
fountain leaking reflections with
suppled linguistics.
[nahhphet]:
Taking off my glasses..
it’s too many refractions
to bear, no teddy, but cozy if you let me
pander to the tender grasses.
Lend the ashes to earth
and tend to half of all our worth,
but still denying where the god is;
look how progress led us all the way to atavism..
Aw fuck now, what was I supposed to have written?
Slipping like the butter on the corn bread;
dripping to the plate,
just how we're born dead and live to be erased -
nah thats too dark really.
Park silly / Building serious:
Intersects hubristic with the query-ous,
Drape the negligee of my deliriousness..
nah I’m just tearing down binaries
and wine sharing with the lush
malarky on my lips,
when sparking up the spliff
you twist up the next and we can talk big corporation,
cynical nation,
history of racism,
something about patience..
Laugh aloud
but laugh in person to your phone
now don’t just type it to me if you don’t
express it, that sounds cancerous.
To the sea from an abandoned ship
like it’s the brain
the ego
the fame
the evils
the sane
the regal
the….
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5. |
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speak up, yes
speak up
speak up, yes
speak up, speak up
waking up to tea,
take the caffeine,
why can’t I sit down?
(no, no, no, no, no, no, no)
waking up to tea
take the caffeine,
why can’t I sit down?
(no, no, no, no, no, no, no)
double booked, bagged and
10 minutes steeped, I said
“this mind is mine to keep”
though regaled from the
point of sale to your
effigy, no social receipts.
I can’t seem to bend my knees
or to fold 90-degrees:
a layman lying on a public dais
spurt open valves in Ignatius speech,
another morning pot of tea
that blend you gave to me,
steamed I drunk it all
like a monarch
blank verse leered with
whitened teeth sovereignty—
a full theatrical release,
promotions,
well canonized now
the unraveling performance of
some unclear love poetry
waking up to tea,
take the caffeine,
so can’t I sit down
double booked, bagged and
10 minutes steeped, I said
“this mind is mine to keep”
though regaled from the
point of sale
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the visual album:
youtu.be/5NIH_rnA2ug
Of peculiar wont to vocalize for months preceding this recording, these 5 songs gave me the allowance to shed the burden of producing, and to test the main, though oft stabled, instrument. The project finds two songs, in sung themes of acceptant (and sometimes reluctant) growth, bookending 3 rapped exercises, which fill the middle in Langstónian eccentricity. Recorded, mixed, and mastered in the bedroom of the Black Market Poetry Bureau of Internal Affairs, this suite serves as a litmus of self-sufficiency in reflection and internal investigative reports.
