South Detroit: A city in the grips of a Empire reaching It's fleeced so deep by a void so deceiving it's unceasing Squeezed down into submission by the greedy seizing What's left is the hallow echo of yesterday's wallow Silently dissolved into such dainty, empty, shadows Entire neighborhoods shut down as the fallout follows The gritty streets depict what the formulas predicted Sullen dreams, a sedated city calculated in cobwebs The reality is born unto us all with our mercantile smiles Only in our pride we raise this monster in mud and mire And looking on are our Masters drinking lighting in bottles Pleased at the progress, thanking charts on the models They are surly drunk off their own fornication no doubt A redolence of scotch lingers as they take occasion now Sitting pretty above ghettos in high rise vocation homes They know how to manipulate the ends that need shape... While the people plead in cages tolerating this great rape But, Below Masters shallow dawn, sits danger so dirty A Detroit born woman goes up to visit Master early A young whore she is, she climbs up the stairs at thirty Her womb is very barren and she's surly hungry. Very. Searching for a vein first... she injects then knocks... Summoned for another gut pounding day on the job They go into her while she's spitting broken glass Across the box spring shot down holding her ass She fingers a razor blade out of her tissue She slices deep and seems dazed but continues The Master falls as she bleeds the joker Another day, another dollar...tomorrow star over South Detroit, a city in the grips of a people dying An Empire trying to be the pride of thug life rising Fleeced so deep by a memory of yesterday's wallow Today a rich man's sorrow is now a poor girls bravado
Sharpen the edge of my dancing blade So even friends see its slashing shape Then fashion dragon feathers on its hilt So even enemies feel its thrashing guilt Then paint my face blue as midnight sky Establishing a silhouette of me, the Samurai Then quicken my steps with a veteran march As to rivet my walking with an electric spark Rest on my shoulders a charge of Asian lore Speaking Korean-German words of ancient worlds Follow its speech into the expanse of galaxy Keeping under the hood of a twilight canopy Reflect off my sword the constellation Orion Then watch him and I joust in his star asylum My friends see the Hunter and I prancing Him lowering a crown of thorns on my head laughing Even my enemies see the coronation glow this night And wonder who coordinated this cooperation rite
Up the ante, up shift the Lamborghini shut up and give me what I need, I'm speedy from dawn till dusk it's just all luck completely from one once, to two ounces of weed really love over easy, normally peeled in the evening I was believing, see me believing my thinking envision a seafaring greeting bottled and beaten In ink even, says it brings freedom past some teaching it's silent, no noise screaming from any ceilings (I ask what's meaning without reasoning by elitists) this brings me to knees, singing along with weeping rinsing me inside, instincts were wrong lifelong. I'm sinking re-syncing cycles pause: The song Sonata on....I'm wrinkling. This opera god Did not belong A clean spirit. I pray thee YAH
Do you ever do any open mic nights or readings? The way you use rhyme and alliteration makes me read your pieces aloud. Like "South Detroit," and "Opera Inside," of your most recents.
old written, moving it to this thread // My mind shattered into pieces and I fell on both knees crying atop fallen shards of daggers, trenched omniscient and implying knowledge of myself. Of my hurting, my lying, its cheating pendants that's all I seemed to do and I was exposed, under red fluorescents a pungent reminder of the medicinal properties of karma its chemicals and articulation, stitching my hearts fall Lacerations etched a maze of blisters on my sunlit body and I couldn't feel them. I was euphoric from the punishment probably and I chased the high again and again, shooting up its ornate arrow its feathers flared out of my existence, its tip a sharp soothing voice of good company and shoestring comforts, coolly poised it contracted a smile from me, amusing my lipid shackles an inner Jackal laughing insipidly, choking on erratic crackles it resonated throughout my circuitry of unabated servitude just now tasting the fruit of my labor, fully ripe it knew I reached one arm up and held on for another first day When the world felt correct and so thirsty someway Or any other conviction of universal truth So orderly and prescribed and very vital to my own deception I saw the distant churning and turning of clumsy vultures circling and swerving consistent random patterns in the sky I knew then I was their fertile soil, once I die I felt un-proportionally top heavy and thought a map of redemption could find me and be caught or be found if I swayed against them long enough for more time to play my last card, a two of jaded hearts desperations only hope, blindly bluffing a fools baited dart I envisioned their hooks clamping down on my leathery flesh, blood damp and brown shampooed and conditioned into soft raw material As imperial as the true color of eternal sun shine I clenched my teeth, waiting for the interval pain to subside waiting for the last call... And so I faced my Judgment over and over chasing my own sins around and around again but never quite getting anywhere beyond the Saviors soothing hand, grabbing at straws because the Devil was sort of behind him, pulling but ahead now, controlling in a relative way and while I fell into lucid dreams and lost all to irrational fantasy he never spoke again with much words to say content that I will suffer a life times worth
What is Repetition? It's the itch inside which only mimics rhythm. Like any written wisdom profaning some theorem of fiction. It's the frontiersmen on a gentlewoman. Would her pregnancy be Christian or are his children victims? Redundancy or Machiavellian? To each his own in this, in this his decision. This instant audition has just arisen, a natural pulse in a paroxysm of opinion. Don't know? Drink then. This superstition serum is a syrup of your own religion? Don't matter much, because the circuits of your worship are called courage...Wired in repetition of Spirit by the unobserved Observant.
So I've Been too down in the gunk for me to just... Just what ? Just too much oomph for me to...guess what ? Truth I see it in the young; and once is too much The look of sons all over, all under the sun Resinous from the iron-ons, all of the sum Fire bombs. In the slum. First of the month. Fixed on the thirst of the third, dirt on our tongue Scorn from a kiss as a storm is before a calm Birth of the jam praised the Lord of the gun Tongue of the lamb slays the life of the scum In the breath of his lung is a voice of a love The days come when the noise of his light Will plunder all the void out of the heights When the joys in our joint unite. And untie Smiting the knights of the night, taken alive... So I've Been up on the down, down on the ups What ? Too much truth for me to just Bust up that easily, I trust this to the Judge Live down the gun, peacefully up on His touch This is me stuck to the plunge, up on the trust Not on a crutch but again, needing that touch All of the dust go back to him, back to The Just *** Spoilers rush out toward all these dry bones Going nowhere, insomuch as the wind blows While others remind them: only Spirit divides asunder Wherefore the former burn by sulfur ? And the latter know only blood atones ?
Spit out the rule book. Like a fool should. Drop out of school kids. Just more substitutes for the students. True if...Hey, if proof was a paste, then put it on my toothbrush! Humans. Stupid. Swish-swash drool from our youth up. Lust. Gloss with Como tally vu lips. Flicker eye lids. The loosest forms of prudence. Sewage. Ruined. Polluted. Sir, what can we say of these institutions? In you. Innuendo of Nintendo. Let's group hug. Joey Google with Mary Macintosh. Both in the back. Off the rocks with Jonny Applesauce, at his pad. Oh my God, there's talk already and thoughts of the unplanned father land. Applause, and thank you 2014 Grads.
logic. out of body tonic. ticking like a bomb. stop it toxic. coming out biologic electronics hooked on phonics. some summer once something from robotics. some summer murder. words and sense. sticks and stones. and bones. and some summer murder.
Turn out, tune in. The outer man hears his inner kid. He's infrared, he's made of mirrors and broken shit. It's in his head? No. He transmits louder than he's ever been, being dim. Lighting whips. Flashes images. Now it's healing pivotal limbs. By photosynthesis with insulates; in capsules of protective (parenthesis). Mother regenesis. Walking degenerate. He's so innocent. Father, Isn't it ? Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done. In this establishment ! A sinking ship gets another week (it thinks) to be the championship. Turn out, tune in. Be seated amid intellect, when thunder is imminent. Where rain resembles the howl of hallow disconnect. No smoking, no introspect. Turn out, tune in. Grab a balloon and smoke a cigarette.
Everybody is a teacher. Epiphanies make leaders. Shoots and Ladders and climbing it with demeanor. Everybody is so sure. Measuring facts with folklore. Blind booked worm, the cannibal is now carnivore. Experts with an excerpt, institution opinion whores. Nothing is next door. Nothing roars that is not open to import or to explore. Man's oratory. Handmade in laboratories, manmade authority over what was otherwise our normalcy. Openly ignores his own mortality. A broken bone bleeds, this is the hilarity. He's a pair. A thief when he's not the bourgeoisie, chief when he's indeed the nobody. Stare at me.
coloring an oppugnant earth, like song birds singing in thunderstorms exuberating the mind, renewing world appertaining to the anointing of God radiating no ego. Shine off then on became understanding appearing niggardly been seen naked sensing unseen precepts all around us considered all the unconsidering inhibiting hype limiting pilfering welcome to planet ocean
Oblique monolith at Giza Maginot line of the French Wall of the great Orient Aqueduct of Roman Nile All beguiled disposition of necessity Indispensable, now phylogeny nodes Branches que the builders The trunk: financier of development The roots dissipate evil nutrient The resistant hunger strike Opportunists feed a new world Little leaves blown off mother Pollination strategy: shock and awe DNA matches old colossal carve Know how of ancient working Treaty of betrayal, ready rehearsal Seeking in the name of blood line Yesterday’s construct refined Today the house is built Flat, sharp angle line Rib cage unable to sigh Stiff outside, hot inside
In one life I was a farmer born lowly into blistered lands worn into existence with a mixture of soil and salted sweaty hands It was then, against all odds, that I gave to Kingdoms and country feeding fat children of old wealth, in need of wheat thins and barley The Nobles too, fed from my garden; from my hand like sour pigs I raised them, watched them harden- from kids to powdered Wigs I saw them rise out of The Dark Ages, their power consolidation a blanket of death housing a serpent frown around all our nations squeezing my life as a puppet, of course pulling at sliver strings until I died before Monarchs, but not before learning a few things In another life I was born an Indian to a Seminole Chiefdom I lived in unison and sung songs in one regional anthem I had unintelligible wisdom and blossomed first like a native flower deep rooted in ancestral soil under humid rainy showers I grew peacefully under one million smitten Sun sets learning again, yet another dialect a kin to written alphabets in my last breath of fruition the Spanish fleets surprised us we offered tobacco and corn, they gave us viruses I died. In another life I was a field hand in a sea of King Cotton lost in some political translation, picking until soon forgotten The smell of Yankee gun smoke flared obnoxiously to a Rebel Yell and war broke out again, for freedom but not really in this Federal hell Three hundred years later I achieved second class citizenship get out of jail free card used to wipe up the same Ole shit again, shit I died. In another life I was Amelia Earhart flying a Sigma air plane navigating blue oceans, clouds asphyxiated highly in my name I crashed and disappeared on purpose for my own amusement history ignores and creates fiction for those who never knew it In another I was engineering Democracy as a factory laborer lambs for lions in war profiteering, riveting helmets on toy soldiers my name was Rosie and I was told to hate ambitious Hitler I had stars and stripes to dream and awoken lonely to whisper softly to myself that my life will only be that of some unknown I will never age, never die, never know how fulfillment is thrown I died ninety nine thousand times and lived one million years I painted caves with blood of rivals and smiled I sustained flint lock shots of musket tipped with vile I had been a Titanic passenger, drowned but survived I crashed stock markets and thrived, swallowed thorns and lied I had been a prize fighter in the golden age of sport boxing I walked batters and pitched no hitters, old age never knocking I wrote lies for news papers and sold Ivory Coast sweet tooths I fucked Marlyn Monroe and told Jackie Onassis half truths The thing is, I live until I die only to be reborn with Adams eye I learned to believe half of what I see and nothing of what I hear superficially always witnessing the pains of history Crying, Lying, Cheating, Hurting that's all we seem to do, so good
I stood atop rows of pale stone stale markers of our own living bravery sprawling out in a harbor, foggy as Ole slavery vivid in still memory, on this hill serving as a cemetery a sea of white chess pieces combed by somber cries blacklisted forever under these November owned lavender skies My mind was now a radar station ready to receive, some how in relation to the sum of all parts now in sedation, true the stories of those buried around me their vibrations, code and oddities situations of the dead; molten dichotomies I sat scowled, feeling on mushy green grass the blood of coffers, fools gold seeing finally at last: I saw ten thousand jokers pursing dark smiles, amusing The Great Spirit dancing on golden strings of desire, striking depths of murderous merit I saw five hundred bats scream through double rainbows muffled against the sun, on euphoric flights of gold in kilos I saw The Great Plains gutted entirely by bloodthirsty vacation sport trails of decay and long lines of Apachee hurriedly sanctioned as escorts Above, twenty soaring eagles dropping eggs randomly in support bracing a last full measure laced in a circumference of sorts signaling red in valentine preference, to walk fine lines in accepted mainstream reference this one divine time I heard one million battle cries at once, the collective of mankind each different but the same, all reflective and confined to eternal rest and affluent stings of angel tipped-kisses their pasty bliss digital in glitches strangled by eloquence lipped in eclipses I kissed my fingers and offered love to the master God I was dismissed I figured, a windsurfer on a faster squad all was not settled or clean, or as free. or as simple as it seems I realized I saw many things, and I remember seeing meaningful meanings... I closed my eyes Some time after that, I painted all my windows black I was now the ship and my mind the bottle my face long and my stare empty, soulless two pupils larger than dinner plates staring point blank at absolutely nothing forcing every ounce of energy to move my Queen of hearts behind a stage curtain called Jupiter wrapped in a moist membrane of my ancestral past I was gone now I will suffer through the awkwardness mostly because I do not exist
Digging up your roots you say. Going back. At last. So you dig. Dig for justification. Dig for validation, understanding. Digging to fill new wholes With old dirt. Digging for truth. As fast as the shovel pivots As fast as you can bear the exposure Of how things really happened Not how you interpret them now But rather, of a downward momentum Not just of the shovel, but of life's pull Though both are striking the same plate With an insatiable appetite to satisfy the urge To know the absolute dexterity of truth. You dig. You and shovel. Except the shovel is sure of itself It will spark as it clanks against time Conversely, you will collide and fold in Coil up as a double helix of what once was Wrapping around the past with a sure complexity And in the process a partnership is solidified A cooperation forging a link to the past Of steel networking its desire to function correctly You of your questioning, explanations and motivations As an organic body exercising it's right to inquire. You discover quickly that what you dug up Is easily arranged against what you thought and what is,... was, is really not once was But only an image of what you wanted it to be You pick up the past and uncoil this information You soon realize new uses of old trauma bases Realize rungs of dead end roads, of bad choices More insightful now than ever you point this up Into the sky and climb on the burden of your new way forward. With a face like the sun.
Things... If you are a Mainstream atheist you are the product of an economic super structure. If you're Western poor you are fearfully hated. If you're Capitalist rich you are lustfully loved. If you are Greco religious you're hypocritically vain. If you're Christian pure you're credibly few. Nonreligious poor have more in common and are better equipped to receive the bible than a great number of Western Christians. If you are a Capitalist you are a vampire. Man is capable up to known limits. A stubborn fact to mainstream academics. If you're part of the working mass you're the true powers-that-be. If you're racist you hate yourself. If you're Capitalist rich you have shed innocent blood. If you have been State educated you have been trained to be an exploitable commodity. In the Roman mind bears the mark of the beast. If you're a worker your wages are set by the socially necessary minimum to keep you alive and to produce the next exploitable generation. Without the means of production held in common, the majority are alienated from their natural destiny and become slaves to the few who suck the blood of the sufferers. In the United States and in other oppressed nations freedom by definition means you are only free to be exploitable. This is what Thomas Jefferson had in mind. The Protestant split from Roman Christianity factors in with the rise of Capitalism and away from landed Feudalism. This is the chief reason why Western Christianity rejects the social law of the creator by doctrines of Capital, and thus a hypocrisy. The Untied States appears to be a righteous lamb but is a lying serpent. A product is only worth the socially necessary labor time that produced it. Under the Capitalist matrix, many workers are mere extensions of the 'machine', reduced to animal status and do not have leisure to meet their creative, social and intellectual needs. It's difficult being Christian and American. It's a contradiction being a capitalist and a Christian. Russia and China were never Communist. Today, man as a whole is certainly not more advanced than the ancients. The rise in wages will guarantee the proportional rise in commodities. Capitalism by it's own laws and inner contradictions will one day destroy itself. The void will be filled by justice and equity. This change will be brought about by the creator's just spirit working in the minds of revolutionary men and women. Contrary to capitalistic Western dogma, a mans hope is not with death. Rather it is in his own unity against the oppressor with the knowledge and awareness of the true Devine creator. The oppressing class will cease. This has been in motion for the past 2000 years. The memory of it will be purely destroyed. What is to be done?
things II... the merchant class revolution against the monarchy was disguised as religious reformation...the Protestant then came out from under the monarchy a new reformed animal, capitalistic, and the new oppressing class the mantra of revolution in the U.S. today is a contemporary movement to reshuffle the merchant class order by its defenders of the status quo the word of the Creator first serves to expose, to the bone, what you are made of. After there is no choosing a side; it is now seen clearly: you have been tracking either on one side or the other. repentance is at the heel in popular society, justice now becomes a matter of legislating realities where a man dressed as a woman is, in the pure sense of Greco-Roman truth, a wholesome new creation in a society that has replaced personal relationships, brotherhood, community with imposed relations with capital, the family unit is torn to pieces and has no function in mutated form. The woman has no use as a woman, the man has no use as a man. their utility and creativity flourish in a free society, but render perverted in a society built solely on exploitation and corruption good cannot not come from evil, that is to say the Western world cannot at the same time be inherently evil and be just encouraged ignorance in the information age and under the near zenith of capitalist culture, births a formidable foe waiting to devour on the already steep mountain climb to understanding. Enlightenment today is now in context of culture, i.g. the discovery of a new Star Trek language if the majority follow a philosophical ideal or other, it is probably false. for example, modern so-called Christianity or its sister, pop-culture Atheism in most cases, students come out of universities just as ignorant as they went it...the only gain is indebtedness, an increase in the labor pool, more competition among the poor, and lower wages an irony: The earth and its raw materials are the real and only wealth. But the poor have been fooled to believe that the capitalist and his commodities are real wealth; and are trained to compete against each other for the opportunity to buy back from the capitalist the necessities of life--which have been stolen whole. Moreover, the poor have been tricked to believe that the land is virtually useless. It's good only for pleasure and walks through the fenced in forest. The capitalist is none the more merrier. There is a specter haunting the developed world Western powers are in a holy alliance to exercise it: The spirit of truth
A needless intervention Beyond Old Roy Harpers farm, out past the sovern grass of kings Rests a fertile plateau surrounded by mountains, West of all things And below the valley peaks sat a cabin, garden and one lost wallet Hardness lingered there, of bloodshed, I felt no hope...never saw it I freaked the fuck out. I go below its mountain prairie and drop to its colorful depths... dig Here I can take on anything, overflowing in the proper prospective Down, but above the kingdom, above but below the clowning fools In the Shadow Valley, walking the plank over the drowning pools Found a Cannabis plant, heirloom. Of it, I'll grow the herbs you'll eat Planted against a consensus, full bloom under our World Elites It's too cheap, too versatile to control by The Few, so no money profit So many uses, too much gossip, preaches Mary Jane the Pot prophet A transplant survivor to the over exposure of law A legacy of its high alive but hidden by a greedy flaw I smoke a bud and the darkness swirls to nirvana A pink unicorn named Charlie came, to hit this marijuana Back above, a gust of wind sounded, twirling the alarm Old information was dug up while Nations took up arms Crops were once abundant, buds hit hard, insane Communities were green, selfefficent and creative brains A man grew here on this old family plot So much dank, he smoked out what he got In a day of defeat weed was finalized to the boss pits Nothing but a memory photographed in his lost wallet
