Wednesday, September 30, 2009
send me money
and my mom
and my pops
and rose bowl
and more boxer briefs
and hand tattoos
and cole valley cafe
and baked tofu
and someone to cook for
and peace out like trout
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
catharsis set in banshee demons cross plains of provisions harvested for organ donations and the sirens be screaming at the waves for chastising their chastity and maybe the junkies aren’t all that it’s cracked up to be and I fled the valley, finally. running up rolling paper maché mountains past the machine of the maker and hell was a steeper climb than angel dust and somewhere someone’s laughing at my chest breathing heavily, sign around my neck marked, I’m a runner, but faster at walking, and I’m trying to tighten the knots in my stomach that account for every broken piece that’s been spit at me. and I found my one way ticket to hell without unforgivable sins or even dying, just ended up with beats of turn table scratching at the floor boards to send me furthermore, I found it: hell without river styx sparking flames to ignite my body dangling downwards by my ankles – tie me, I’m ready for the suffocation of stability, never thought my own secretion would betray me. met the devil on an accordion binge at tight rope walking, came charging up to me balanced on cardboard feet, dressed like a beast, kissed cheeks like whores at the onyx gates, smelled filthy, she said with jagged tooth smiling dangerously, if I go to hell, you go to hell with me.
Monday, September 21, 2009
he had hoped to feel a certain strong emotion but this is all they had to say:
"I was the son of a man, and so we came together and we shook hands."
"We shook hands."
He often wondered what a million people would look like scattered randomly
across a moonless sky, and how unlikely it would be that they would all just say the
"You may call me brother now."
"Yes, brother, I know."
He is forty two,
normally wears his curly hair long.
He has a ruddy complexion, broad shoulders and is barrel-chested,
is unusually strong.
He frequently wears a full beard and sometimes glasses.
He is a college graduate, a talented artist, and sculptor.
Now, Maps is a soft-spoken loner, who resents society and all organizations.
Maps fancies himself a ladies' man.
He is an avid chess player, smokes cigarettes, and a pipe.
He is a beer drinker and loves to eat.
Maps is a man of widespread interests, who might very well be living abroad.
He felt lost but he felt pretty intensely good,
and he woke up screaming having dreamed of a color he had never seen before:
"I went to bed and to sleep, it was so unexpected, it really was frightening, and I saw
the same thing embedded in my pillow."
He had no trouble recognizing patterns in the most delicate arrays of tangled lines,
but he had a strange fixation on partaking in nefarious things:
"Stealing, lying, cheating, gambling, fornicate..."
He saw red, but he thought five.
He was pleased to find his road trip was enhanced by number-color synesthesia:
"My trusty Rosinante bounds along the road very well, leaving the friendly aroma of donuts and
chicken tenders hanging in the desert air."
He willed away the miles while quixotically attempting to reclaim his inner child,
he was embrangled and enmeshed in something far too loud to comprehend:
"I want all of the American people to understand that it is
understandable that the American
people cannot possibly understand."
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
For every living day I give myself a hand
Now I'm scroungy as can be
I got all you normals looking at me
I'll scratch a hole in my life
So everyone can see
My mind is a mind that I have come to know
And my eyes can't conceive a world that can not grow
And Fridays are always fresh days
Screamin' at the sun, don't really
Know what he has done
He don't believe in God and a world as one
So he rambles through the weeds
Saying he will sleep beneath the trees
And on the day I die, Thank God my Soul will be released
I've seen all your eyes
And I've seen all your faces
Can you tell me honestly that you wanna be free?
Then look in my eyes
I've been lots of places
Can you tell me honestly that you'd want to be me
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
And the rest to sweep the mess under the carpet (under the carpet)
I drag a yellow taxi meter behind every measure
And charge cats for labeling me shepherd
"That'll be Six Fifty plus tip darlin,
I take cash, credit, check, money-order, gold and cigarette cartons"
Huh, got caught up in the universe tryin to zoom in on stardom
Forgot the passion plus the hatred, both were based in Carbon
Next time you wanna be a hero try saving somethin other than hip-hop
And maybe hip-hop'll save you from the pit-stop
Kill em all, yield
(naw man It wasn't me it was Holden Caulfield brother
I just read and pulled the trigger)
Oh God, well leave me to tiptoe past the pearly gates
capture the halo, jet back to base, step past the chase
the bad taste of jet-lag and weight slackers
There aint nothin broken, where you at?
The pistons pump perfect, where you at?
The bass tone is Merlin, where you at?
This service is a urgent workin surgeons
Purging formulas lookin for an improper cause is whack
What are you saving, honestly? (honestly, honestly)
What are you saving, honestly? (honestly, no honestly)
What are you saving, honestly? (damn)
Promise me you gon shut the fuck up and recognize
What you holdin aint really broken?
I don't flick neeedles like my sick friend (friend)
I don't march like Beetle Bailey through a quick trend (trend)
I don't frequent church's steeples on my weekend (end)
And I don't comment if you formulate a weak Zen.
All I ever really wanted was a getaway
I'ma take a chance by letting a brook slide for what I got in my hands
I can not agree to follow a leader while on the borderline
A war without a reason for the Brady hates gore
Bring out your dead we can put em in a pile
And burn em with the novels for the kids then to admire
KIll the ones that speak from a different life
Brewin other killer noise makin the sentiment...
Okay, welcome to the Kamikaze bottle rocket cockpit
Live by the icy cold hand of bad intention youth blender
Oh yeah I'll let God warm the bench for now but
I'll ascend to spin y'all dizzy
(and for the record I'm bringin my t.v. with me)
Yo, let the commoners speak publicly
Then disperse eye jammies for cats that swear by third pupil
But can't see past the loophole
Motherfucker, my word is born like Siamese triplets
With doctor, lawyer, rocket scientist promise
(let em grow leisurely)
Hey Mom, I'ma fix without my probe along this path
Once my shpeel's perfected I'ma save you a seat in the front row
Of Aesop Rock's twelve steps to shut the fuck up seminar
And when all these bickering crowds turn solid you gon be proud
I tack hacks to the (backboard)
Honesty's a (latchcord)
Fury's far from (obsolete)
Serenity's a (crack war)*
Raw caricature of mayhem standard branded by the labor
With a thousand reasons to end this for every one of you saviors
Saw the brightest burst ironically wide from the vacant stage
Gave it a pound for burning where bunk ratio's engaged
Keep me posted as to when you grasp something mature to
sit and sulk about mister, and I'll consider pickin up your record
The Authors, they aint got nothin to save
The Overground, man they aint got nothin to save
Def Jux, they aint got nothin to save
The Addams Family, they aint got nothin to save
Weightless, they aint got nothin to save
Stronghold man, they aint got nothin to save
Rhymesayers baby, they aint got nothin to save
Aesop Rock, I aint got nothin to save
it's like that
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
one time you found a rosary in the garden,
remember when it was cracked down the middle,
split like skulls of aqua rock,
i chucked it across the walk way
and you were humming, jerry come back to me
and maybe the decomposing of your brain
sparked brush fires and fist fights
and you buried it under rose bushes
and marked each gravestone with
rest in pieces
of puzzling clarity,
you’d rather spit up those 12 steps,
because they couldn’t force feed you sobriety
and you kept dreaming
and I kept hoping you’d see ghosts surface
from the moon’s shadows
and it hurt me to tell you that i never knew the answers
but i didn’t deserve the anger
and i couldn’t watch my mother die
and i don’t even wonder why
she didn’t want me to know
that the blood flowing out her nose
was the same blood flowing out my wrists
and it mixed red like the poster paint
you can still find at the drug store.
and the drug store
has become a lot more
than mint ice cream cones
or developing pictures
from that one time
or grabbing a bottle of coke
to mix with
your whiskey dick
and i’m so helpless
picking up your prescriptions
to store in your medicine cabinet
so i’m hosting a pity party
for the refugees of the families
and someone sold their sole prints
to the devil’s apprentice
and he’s making stone shoes for the reckless
and both my mother and my best friend have brown eyes
and they leave trails of lavender
behind ballet feet
and i’m kneeling over the caskets of what once was
and my mother,
wanted to be a nun,
a composition of god in a black habit
and my best friend,
just wanted to be a junkie
and that’s a composition of everything
in the world mixed with our bad habits
and i’m fronting you verses to work with
hoping you’ll pay back the debt
of prescriptions and robberies
watching my fingers shrivel and become skeleton
keys to unlock the psychology of that shit city.
and you say i don’t know a lot about addicts
but i know enough about my mother and my best friend
to stand up and hide all the razor blades in our house
and i know enough about addicts to try and not be one
and i’ll stroke your ego ‘til the angels come
and they’re coming
yeah they’re coming
you can hear their wings
and it sounds like resurrection.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
My sweater is on backwards and inside out
And you say how appropriate
I don't want to dissect everything today
I don't mean to pick you apart you see
But I can't help it
There I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off
Slap me with a splintered ruler
And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn't there already
If only I could hunt the hunter
And all I really want is some patience
a way to calm the angry voice
And all I really want is deliverance
Do I wear you out
You must wonder why I'm relentless and all strung out
I'm consumed by the chill of solitary
I'm like Estella
I like to reel it in and then spit it out
I'm frustrated by your apathy
And I am frightened by the corrupted ways of this land
If only I could meet the maker
And I am fascinated by the spiritual man
I am humbled by his humble nature
What I wouldn't give to find a soulmate
Someone else to catch this drift
And what I wouldn't give to meet a kindred
Enough about me, let's talk about you for a minute
Enough about you, let's talk about life for a while
The conflicts, the craziness and the sound of pretenses
Falling all around.... all around
Why are you so petrified of silence
Here can you handle this?
Did you think about your bills,
Or when you think you're going to die
Or did you long for the next distraction
And all I need now is the intellectual intercourse
A soul to dig the hole much deeper
And I have no concept of time other than it is flying
If only I could kill the killer
All I really want is some peace man
A place to find a common ground
And all I really want is a wavelength
All I really want is some comfort
A way to get my hands untied
And all I really want is some justice.....