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Hey!
Let's hijack and ambulance and slam into a SWAT van
lemon haze blaze while we're hoppin' to a pop jam
God damn, these OC OP's don't crush
I love to get my veins wet and make the blood rush
a microphone lush and my dream state plush
cuz what the devil cannot touch is not much
we are never saints, and we are never sinners
what is true in the summer will KILL you in the winter
and vice versa, do my verse nicer
do my last firster, and my first twicer
than you, you, you and you and you
while I rap into a Candlestick like I don't have a Clue
the future is a mystery, we never know what's coming
the past is long gone, there's no need for running
we can chill....cuz we're proud of our scars
we like it when it's easy, but it's real when it's hard.


cheers.
 
Shutup and Shop

EDIT; I'd appreciate any commentary on this, I've been switching between a first and third person perspective in my writing recently, looking to maybe write a book/piece vacillating between the two. Cheers

-----------------------

What the fuck do you want? Get the fuck away from me, you bitch! He ordered in a snarl. She looked at him clearly in shock, but not wanting the attention, kept on walking.

The image flashed through his mind - a familiar fantasy of power and authority. It was never realised, but was reliably comforting all the same. He just wanted to be left alone. "I have eyes that are gentle at rest, but can fill with the venomous poison of a snake when provoked," he would tell himself. When people came too close for comfort, suspicion was immediate. That seemed justifiable - everyone around him was fucked.

He had another fantasy - slapping the face of every young twenty-something business man with a greased up ponytail on their head and a feeble stubble on their chin. The crack of open hand on soft facial flesh would be followed by a swift "douche-bag!" before moving onto the next hapless wanker with to much swagger.

Every now and then a beautiful woman would walk past. He'd look at them with soft eyes, and psychically project to them; "How did you get so perfect and gorgeous?" But they never replied in kind. The thought remained a thought, reapearring then sinking everynow and again like a submarine in the sea of his mind.
 
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> > > > > > > > > > > > > | round and round | > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > | the good guys / the bad guys | > > > > > > > > > >


two dozen hideous supermodel skeletons draped over modern microwave art
………….........................................................(appendages sold separately)
irradiated surgical waste-landers threatening the social-assassination holocaust
…………..…..…….........................(redirecting you to the complaints department)
undercover military installations, disguised as art, worshipped by loyalist slaves
.........................................(our products are of the highest possible quality)
gangs of homicidals homosexuals & gelatine-jowled jokers, roaming aisle four
….…………..(returns will be accepted only within 12 minutes of initial purchase)
victims of the New Church faking righteousness through a thick fog of despair
….……………………………………..(assuming the items haven’t been tampered with)
politicians & scientists commit mass suicide in order to protest illogical ideas
……….……………………………………..........(compensation redeemable with receipt)
labour automatons chase their tails like drunk teenagers on merry-go-rounds
………………………………………………...………………………..(limit one coupon per person)

meanwhile,
poems devolve into meaningless anagrams
………………………………………….with words for letters
…………..……………………………......................& letters
……………………………………………………………......for words

ten green stamps exchanged for one gold star, worth eight dollars ninety nine
…….………………...(check out aisle 13, where the dystopian dream becomes flesh)
stubs arranged chronologically, then placed in their respective starting positions
…..….…………………………………………......(try our convenient store-wide conveyor belts)
shuffling counter-clockwise – always counter-clockwise – until losing consciousness
…….….………………………………………...…..……………………………..(yes, we invalidate parking)
half a dozen ticket-stubs with a star on each & you progress forward to the arena
….…………………………………………………....………………….(deceased customers will be sold)
clouds of credit cards – razor sharp – littering guillotines, books and laser printers
..……………………………………………………….(compulsory in-store insurance on all items)
a firing squad with sawn-off staple guns, penetrating paper over 300 pages deep
…………………………(in case of an emergency, the self-destruct sequence will begin)
customers battling customers, perched atop their creaky three-wheeled chariots
……………(we know the world had a choice when it came to choosing a monopoly)
fighting to the death like starving animals, in order to save 8 cents per avocado
.........................................................(we couldn’t have done it without you)
complimentary funeral services with every purchase over seven hundred dollars
…..….………………….…………..……………..………………………………..(all coupons are invalid)
 
your journey begins.
the world is my oyster!
keep still, you’re practically dead.
i can see it, on the horizon: adulthood.
senility will kick in soon. if you’re lucky, that is.
i’m getting married and having kids. my hair is falling out.
life is short. you’ll know how old you are, when your grandchildren are born.
the mid-life crisis passes me by, probably on account of the quarter and third-life.
your kids are getting married and having kids.
senility will kick in soon. if i’m lucky, that is.
it can see you on the horizon: your oyster.
i’m practically dead. the world is still.
keep your adulthood…

this is the where i set the bar, apparently, the absence of a mental breakdown
 
i'm the high priest
moving mountains
women moving fountains
past made future
now the now
voodoo pins, face scarred
people in faeces
flies and open cuts
nuns administer knowledge
the cult leader
crystalising minds
the forth dimension
made visible, and felt
society is moving
in one direction
destruction, of the self
by the self
cunningly fucked
too stupid to break the cycle
hypnotised by tv
the personal computer
made for personalised
destruction
own your own death
social institutions
directed at children
and economic capability
they know you
before you know you.

die fucker, die.
 
Regarding: the Extermination Colonies

unassuming us – the V.I.P. vermin – this endangered species – this parasitic plague.

your imperfect impersonations, of: intellectuals; idealists; and, the idiosyncratic.
they’re not exactly flattering. you, flying ass-backwards, farting the smoken word.
aspiring to be illiterate. the spectral bigots you admire are, morally, undead.
regardless of gramattically incorrect clouds. unaffected by the contrary.

my rationale, irrationalized. our inherent responsibilies, reduced to a gypsy curse.
they don’t negotiate terror – the remainder – nor do they negotiate fear.
expect nothing from the unjust, especially when demanding justice.
silent and still, statuesque, like manequins playing checkers.

absurdly arbitrary, obtuse obituaries. alternating ant and termite with alto/soprano.
nobody expected to banish electricians, prior to rigging recreational circuits.
we hesitate to hesitate, illuminating empty desk drawers for a storm kit.
crouching, motionless against the wind. below the starry sky.

bathing in arrogance, us balding monkeys. long since removed from the food chain.
we indulge, beyond our heart’s content. consuming everything indiscriminantly.
food and wine, liberated, spilling everywhere. escapees, staining everything.
nature, sheltered from nature. bare skin, sinking into thick carpet fibers.

unassuming us – the V.I.P. vermin – this endangered species – this parasitic plague.
 
I remember the first time I nearly hooked up with a girl I was into. We were sitting on my friends porch, taking swigs from a flask of Johnny-Walker red. I spilled some on her by getting to excited with my hands while explaining something. She called me a clumsy idiot. I blushed and never spoke to her again.
 
Nights inviting coverall called again

Jesting a promise of forgiveness

For Her Souls child

To not of passed into the Days light

In mourn of their separation.
 
In love with misery.
Infatuated really
I dream of my crumbling demise,
The beauty of freefall
Romantic collapse.

I am lucky, so I need to burn it down.
I am lucky, so I want to burn it down.
I am happy, so I eat the red pills until we all vomit blood.
 
unpaid bills, stacked on the welcome mat
back-to-back lies, laid flat to cover tracks
the hunchback don't give a damn
 
Navigate loopholes in the Fabric of Morality:
spiral; free-fall; dry-descent. effortlessly, cut
Keys like melted butter. trespass your Future.
 
When you die, I'll build you a cocoon out of hay. You'll be left to rot in the sun, until you crumble into dust and blow away with the remains of your dry-grass coffin. Nothing is expected of you, other than this. It is unrealistic to rely on miracles.

When you die a second time, I'll build you a cocoon out of sticks and mud. You'll be buried in the heart of the Earth. There will have to be a spiritual transformation, before you fly. I will baste your spectral shell with ectoplasm until the day you might transcend from your recycled soul.

When you die a third time, I will build you a cocoon out of cement and bricks. You'll be provided with everything you might need in the afterlife. The cocoon will be kept at room temperature, in a secured crypt eighteen feet under holy ground. Transcendence is not only expected, it's practically guaranteed.

If you happen to die a fourth time, the Big Bad Wolf will eat your brains.
 
Constant change, the system is order in chaos.
Went down that other-world only to come back seeing logic.
It's a fixed machine, but it needs human participation.
You see it foreign as a kid, but through coercion join in.
It has become natural habit.
You can't see the end game, we can.
Flip positive for negative, logic with emotion.
The cage becomes apparent.
Most fight harder, some give up and fly to foreign lands, some shoot themselves.
What is the gap from obtaining absolute control?
Education.
The young must be educated earlier.
I hope you can teach your kids fast enough.
They need a position,
and there are only so many spots.
 
sometimes i think about you, ya know
how long you can live off looking like a pirate and i think it's pretty long
but i saw you
and your life away from the girls except for shitty me
and my poverty
and you were disgusting
i want to believe in what i see online
at the same time
our tranny hooker freind
knew you better than i did
she said what is his latest myth
how he's gonna try to quit
and i know how from her mouth
the truth was like an ugly spout
and that's why we were friends
we didn't deal with bullshit ends
we either did nothing or everything
we are alll or nothing
my tranny friend and junkie friend
i'll never forget you
in my heart of hearts

game of what can be hustled for today we'll make enough to be well to continue to live in hell
but i'm off the game i just miss you like i miss a story
kind of beautiful in your fucked up glory
like i wish i could have filmed it all
for some kind of disgusting hall to voyeur what they couldn't know
and think i was we were a fucking show
 
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Feed me spliffs and whiskys, pills and poppers
Long nights, blue skies and wine.
Easy-living come and go -
Stay for a while.
Stay and talk with me.
 
In the distance, it shimmers
like gold left for fools, and
shamed persons follow the signs
leading to the exits.

Tragedy, and it's inherent cousin
morbidity, escaping all but those
who stay behind.

Fade little star, fade.
Away.
 
I'd even picked out the perfect outfit
A pretty yellow dress with pink flowers on it
Like somehow a dress would make you love me more
I'd slip it on to hide all our flaws
But you never got to see my dress
And I never got to look my best
And so it still hangs in my cupboard today
And it's pretty yellow colour, is fading away.
 
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