1. |
I Got Dreams Man
02:46
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I woke in a mist amidst mountains of nameless CD-R's and philosophical writings, the previous evening still in the corners of my eyes. Gazing upon all I own (or share) with a hint of confusion, I rustle myself to my feet, aiming my body toward appropriate clothing to go off in public. The caffeine addiction beckons me and I must answer its call.
Last night was one loaded with thoughts, the type of which only a single man with a loneliness complex that has read too many books would have. My brain pulls the randomized selection card and jostles about releasing revelation on God, relations, and contemplation on how unhealthy it is to eat four packages of ramen noodles in one sitting. While still drowning I ventured off into my neighborhood, passing the numbers of spawns of McCain voters on my way to my chosen watering hole.
The bar was littered with crazies, sports fanatics, and varied neighborhood dwellers that were pretending they were happy to see me. Folks had gathered in honor of the return (for one week only) of their favorite bartender, a nice young fellow with the tendency of offering up a free drink now and then. I grabbed my refreshment and immediately launch into my unnecessary ice breaker conversation/asshole comedy performance that has become a common thing for me in public as of late. This evenings topic danced somewhere in the arena of things i've always wanted to do.
I was discussing how earlier I had watched the fucked up-ery that is the Takashi Miike films Audition and Ichii the Killer and thought it would be great to go up to unsuspecting Japanese men and women and holler "Whats wrong with you?!!?!" and have one of my friends push me off saying shit like "It ain't worth it. . . it ain't worth it." on some Ralph Macchio shit. What could I say. . . I got dreams man. . . dreams that flow in the same vein as wanting to walk up to a stranger and slap a large pizza out of there hands screaming "I did this too you!!"
Another topic of discussion was about the proper way to hold a glass of Stella Artois, cupping the glass in some over-dramatic pimped out way. Fingers pointed outward, hand turned, and you have to remember to bend your knees as you lift so as not to hurt your back as you sip. I thought of that particular conversation piece as a community service, we'll never know how many innocent drunkards may have been hurt had I not brought it up.
After which I left, making my exit as absolutely abrupt as I could, so as to disturb the flow of the evening and shake up the locals. I walked alone letting that sadness set in, that sadness that comes with enjoyment of beverages and being drunk on thought. Too many hours of work have been put in recently with only the empty bottles to show for it and a thousand coffee cups representative of the following mornings.
So. . . here I am. . . fresh coffee in hand. . . onward into the abyss. . .
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2. |
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Verse 1:
I took two pills of ambition and several cups of coffee
to travel blind and speak in rhyme to find another lost me
shook 'cause others claim to live that type of life is costly
that'll never boss me, so negative i'm awfully
sad you couldn't catch me, I'm at the cliff, i'll jump i'm ready
heaven to betsy let me plunge into the ocean's jetty
swimming deeper to the undertow, the pull is heavy
which cuts me like machetes stroking in my mind's confette
Now im in the deep, see what spills beneath
a thousand pages of abstracts and filtered speech
to let it flow, the pull below is cold to kill the heat
but you must know ill bring it back when (w)rapped through quilted teeth
so now i'll never sleep, until I feel the plummet
I wobble, eyes getting blinky and feel it in my stomach
write away my lucidity until I feel it coming
and pass out to wake, satisified with what I wanted.
Chorus:
I'm standing on a mountain looking out from the peak
free-writing for my life, at the cliff, whats underneath
is that 'heavy eyelids, headnods and slurred speech'
I don't want to go to sleep.
Verse 2:
Once upon a time, there was a boy who dreamed of never sleeping,
by never sleeping, dreaming while awake to touch the reaches
furthest from the center region of the minds conceiving
a never ending evening where delirium is peaking
I think its 'bout to rain, I could smell it coming
the clouds are forming thick I think I want to walk among them
Hanging with my pixies while my sanity is slumming,
To live forever of the moment just before the pumpkin
returned to lose the carriage, burning through the marriage
of mind and caffinated beverages to loose the barrings
the Sandman has placed, so now i'll meet him while awake
with illusions lucid, fueling flames to lucids wake
as I pursue that fate, I dance inside my head,
and let spill from my lips the lines of twists and bends
the thief, a shifting lens, a street with seamless ends
forever freak that speaks i'll never count a sheep again
Chorus
Verse 3:
When I close my eyes, I die, can I find
means to fight this mind, and am I
and am I freak to beat inside,
struggle with my dreams, fucking with my peace
sleep? me never. Defeat it and leave it.
Piece of me severed then keep it. Don't need it.
Pleased to be clever, uneven, i'm the leaving
the earth, still touching dirt
first things last, write fast before I
crash, fast forward or I pass, pour a
little liquor out if you doubt i'll
figure or paint a picture tonight i'll
be the night owl, seemed to write down dreams,
in life i'll bleed or pipe down, leave it
so you could read it later through the speakers
or breathe it, see the vapors and I
keep em in a safe with breaks
i've labeled abstracts, the track bursts
so blast that first, ask questions after
that rapper collapsed his ass hurt
third person, speaking i'm freaking tired and wired this evening
the fire is coming, aspire to reach the higher and love it
running, beats bumping, speech drunken, weak
piques coming, reach numbing see
but can't see, sight is blurry
need to beat it, writing in a flurry
scurry through lines, rhymes, poems, i'm flowing
i'm open, how long could I keep it going? knowing
I'm blinking and sinking into the hole and i'm thinking
i'm frigging gone in the zone
holding my head, I know it. I'm dead.
I'm gonna pretend i'm focused and then
keep killing sheep through beats
and creep through the heap a beast
the bang boogie said up jump the boogie
cookie crumbs, fuck the beat up
freak what I rhyme and be,
cut the sleep from my eyes and breathe
from syllables lyrics will bare, mirrors to tear at your miracles stare,
at nothing sitting and sipping a coffee, eyes shutting
yawned and lost me. . .
. . . regret but I accept defeat,
another song complete,
all beat,
I fall asleep.
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3. |
Forever With The Moon
03:33
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Sometimes I stare directly at the sun and so I find that
either I hate rules or i'm in love with being blinded
"the way she shines kills time", I tell my Timex
and so I face the rays and never let them hit my eyelids
Calling her the light has never left my lips
although I cap my phrases with "love" in hopes she takes the hint
I do the same with others as I faded fake offense
I wish she'd slip and make the kiss,
which makes me wince and breaks the fence since
I'm keeping quiet, me inside is seeming violent
heart beating mind the thief inside defeats the trident
a reach to peace declines when I reach and peace denies if
this heat won't cease then I will have to remove my coat
I turn from the sun, the moon illuminates my hopes
I see the sun as a lie, the moon trips, breaks my moat
our meeting was dope, I grabbed her hands and spoke
you made me see I never knew love 'til now then I broke
. . . and she gather up the crumbs of clarity in my wake
. . . rotated and let them escape to paint the space
. . . and we danced the dance that wrote the eulogy of my life
. . . then I was born again in her arms, became my own light
and we married in the blackness of our quarters
honeymooned in the seas, reflected in the waters
consummated our love, came together at the corners
where time bends upon us and we smiled at our daughters
and when one of them smiled back I twitched and said
I love you to the moon and knew forever as a gift
closed my eyes in hopes to hold forever in that glimpse
a tear rolled from my cheek when forever left my lips
open my shutters to find her tearing as well
with a smile across her face and yes she's wearing it well
the tears joined together in a puddle where they fell
a metaphor of our union, our infinity shelled
and the letters'll never fit, we came together at the lips
did our waltz in the sky, and left the weather in the drift
expanded to touch eternity, forever in our grips
then collapsed on ourselves and sealed our heaven with a kiss
. . . then I woke to an alarm in the middle of the night
. . . saw it was 3 am and turned to face a light
. . . that was peeking through my window, I smiled in my room
. . . and that was the night I dreamt forever with the moon
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4. |
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The pen that I grip, stutters as if,
it struggles with its breath, the ink its hugging is clenched
lowering its altitude, it comes from its lips and just
spills on the page as it touches its tip,
the function is this: to let it rain on this shit
from the pain of living, stain the page with rage which'll give
nourishment to flourish, flower currents within
and flood with color spiral bound cages its in
when the ink runs warm, it sketches its heaven
just to give the heart a comfort setting to rest in
the message at present, enjoy all the presents
life could give you when the sun is beating reflection
in the tide of your life, the pens reminder of strife
is strong winds across the fault line when blinded by light
the sun shines in, the tides take its life
the pen rides its pen man ship and sails off in the night
the pen comes in with the oncoming breeze
ship travels north, enjoys the colors it leaves
the birds fly away, the sun slowly recedes
the ink runs with cooler thoughts and gets a chill when it bleeds
the colors its seen, crumble with ease
its flourishing is fleeting and its summer's a dream
despite the clouds forming overhead, man it seems
the inks pouring, pens floundering to burst at the seams
burning its logs, so you could see when it breathes
the fires inside, the weathers chilling the scene
the waters have slowed, the flow continues beneath
bringing a new sheet of white the pen could touch with its feet
to start a new path, but then came a wheeze
its climbing in its altitude and struggles to breathe
I loosen my grip, it slows what comes from its lips
a gasp, a lisp, my pen stutters as if. . . . . . . . . . . .
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5. |
Past Ghost Hopes
00:50
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Through the hallowed haze of days swallowed I follow
rays of sunlight laid on borrowed holidays; another's hollandaise
rather than wallow in sorrow's maze, I gaze at Kahlo's Dali's
brain's museo de feo 'cevedo's mild escape
Lake's reflect opaque late decept-ion
taste innate scraped from the plate defacing heaven
Leavened lumps of languished saved in spanglish, jumped
into the venom, lead in and swimming in Drunk As Drunk
Past ghost hopes emoted wrote written broke
fists gripping slipping submitting to given post before you
Greater elegy left, lemmings yelling, telling me
sketch me cleft chest piece on looseleaf left bereft
accept her Seth to me, except for his acceptance speech
in attempts by me to be all heart on some synechdoche
I see whats left of keys floating in moats surrounding hopes
discarded departing ropes swinging singing "No longer part of"
Songs of no existence. . . to the tune of heartbeats
banging drums as dreams awake in the distance
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6. |
Afraid Of Heaven
02:32
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Verse 1:
A cursed man is he who really knows what he wants
with 20/20 on his goal and fully knowing the cost
and a wallet lacking vacancy and aimed at the loft
but he keeps stepping back, feeling comfort in loss
like the man who met a woman when his loving was naught
in his spanish class in college and was hitting it off
when they were first paired up, her demeanor was soft
with a edgy sense of humor, she stayed in his thoughts
They started out as friends but then their feelings were wrought
when they were chilling at a club, a single kiss set them off
Then they started dating heavy, seen they're each what they've sought
even their families were happy, let them into their vaults
but when he felt forevers when they argued and fought
he started sleeping with some others to give reason to loss
she felt it slipping and with jealousy came breaking it off
now the lost sits alone and lives with memory's taunts. . . afraid of heaven
what kind of man's afraid of heaven?
Verse 2:
I'll never forget. . . this one night when I was seven
laying in my bed, mind stuck, thinking of heaven
thoughts of time passing, getting older, left me with questions
that don't really have answers, I was getting upset and
thinking if there is a god would he really accept us
with our faults, contradictions washed in catholic confessions
imaginings are cloaked in contention
as the thought of forever arrives with tension and i'm drifting to endings
or never-endings ever happy in the clouds contested
to myself I start to cry cause I don't want to accept it
the beauty of a paradise lessened
when a tear rides that image of eternity with fear at its essence
my brother heard me sobbing laying in the bed next to
mine, and said he didn't have answer fitting with my questions
but sometimes a good dream relieves all of your stresses
so sing the lullabies of radio until you get rested
what kind of man's afraid of heaven
Outro:
what kind of man's afraid of heaven
and runs in fear from clouds and angels
that sees the sunshine at his doorstep
but turns as if he isn't able
what kind of man is scared of promised
and fear immortal dreams ascent
some people wish to live forever
some people only wish the end
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7. |
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I woke in a mist amidst mountains of Neruda poetry, Buckley praises, and snapshots from past lives, the previous evening still in the corners of my eyes. Gazing upon all I own (or share) with a hint of confusion, I rustle myself to my feet, aiming my body toward appropriate clothing to go off in public. The caffeine addiction beckons me and I must answer its call.
Yesterday gripped the spectrum of emotion by the groin, almost as if the whole of human experience was spread out and touched on at at least one point during the day. The life of an independent musician/anti-car dealer is one drunk on thought and inner battle and it was as if I were binge drinking with a bazooka. There is no song lyrics to write about financing that could bring light to this existence, especially in these economic times; jobs hanging in the balance due to rich racists fear of a black president. As gas prices drop, so do the hopes that folks will come to their senses and leap from their twenty passenger tanks into something more welcoming. The air carries the stench of oncoming doom and to compound that there is always that constant reminder that this occupation is taking time away from my chosen profession.
Piled on top of my frustrations and feelings that I may be squandering my dreams is the daymare that played out in which one of my closest is hustling rubber gloves through the war torn streets of Iraq. The image transmorphs into one of him clutching a bottle a tylenol dodging bullets in a print advertisement titled "All For Nothing". I arise to find myself teary-eyed wake walking through the dealership clutching an extra-large cup of coffee that tasted like sorrow.
Sinking into depression at rising speeds, I grabbed hold of what resembled a bit of hope; an amalgam of words spelling out romantic sentiment. The thought of not being alone in your loneliness could bring a much needed vacation to a cold heart and melt away that tundric armor. Mine, in particular, traded in its shell for one of vulnerablity and honesty. I'm no doctor, but I am now sure that there is a nerve that connects directly from a warmed heart to a smile. I remember looking off into the distance, just past the highway, over the hills and trees in the fattened chance of catching a glimpse of beauty when all I had to do was look at my phone. The next tide rose with an array of images of my match draped in sexuality, as X-rated as only paradise could be.
As 6:23 spelled freedom I rode that wave to my home; immediately stripping myself and replacing my cloak of misery with the dignity that comes from my post-work dress in a black suit jacket, tuesday night shenanigans with my coffee-slingers is just ahead of me and it is time for me to catch up. These evenings are typically filled with my spots of comedic performance and forced conversations, and in this particular instance. . . karaoke. I watch someone get slapped as I arrive due to my arrival and laugh heartily. I entered the venue to a pair of six-year-olds singing "Frosty the Snowman". No amount of abstract writing could make such things up. I couldn't decide between "oh how cute" and "what the fuck?" as a guy called to a group of his pals for a round of Jagermeister shots. The battle still rages on. A Stella glass recalls a previous memoir and provokes a giggle or two. A conversation of hilarious past failures is painted with a horrific performance of "Under The Sea" by a group of drunkards as the soundtrack. Each of these moments rocking emoticon-ed accessories like a pair of silver hoop earrings and I smile just a bit wider.
I venture off in the slap inducer with visions of my match replacing sugar plums in my head. I want to stand at the spot where fantasy and reality converge just to watch the explosion. At this time, I feel like the very sight of her in tangible form would decide my future. Each word that leaves her lips or fingertips makes my shadows cower in their shadows and we talked the rest of the night away. I concluded my day with childlike giggles, grown man aspirations, and an irreplacable smile.
So. . . here I am now, clutching my current sanity, dancing through today's own appalachians, living the abyss again. I pull out of my jacket one of my favorite books of poetry and decided that this document must be birthed.
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8. |
Feathers
04:55
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Every time I move foul I feel your feathers falling
Every time I act foul I see feathers
A little girl stands on the corner
In the passing light of the day's afterlife
While twin soul's rest in their two door sedan covered with locusts
Waiting at a traffic light
The emotion of the family, I'm sure today
That you're heart, beacon of my respect, to her I say
You might see just skin, hair, cotton, and polyester
But when I look at your endeavors, I see feathers
Its hard to find the right formation of letters
To let you know that I appreciate your love and your efforts
Never sever, even when I act like a stupid f'er
You're the reason why I'm not going to curse in this song
My father's love junkie will never be viewed as ugly
Strong woman you must see, your disappointment's touch is rugby
Funny how respecting someone's wishes to change for the better
could help you not become a total flunkie
Every time I travel in a soiled direction
You appear as my mirror, my conscience, my question
Small section of my soul is owed as tithe and blessing
for the next time I see you in my reflection, Yes and. . .
Every time I move foul I feel your feathers falling
Every time I act foul I see feathers
A little girl stands on the corner
In the passing light of the day's afterlife
While twin soul's rest in their two door sedan covered with locusts
Waiting at a traffic light
One night I saw the toughest cat cry a deep sink
Of painful release, think I've been pricked, I bleed ink
and seen drinks erased before eyes, forever doubted your clever
and never thought I'd ever see your feathers sprouting
Had vision that you would've been dead or in prison
Simple conversations circumcision to darker dimensions
Must let you know this song will never be about religion
You're the reason why this bar of this track don't rhyme
Yo my partner in verses will never be thought as worthless
smashed preconception in your searching for a purpose
I'm certain that respecting someones wishes to change for the better
could help you become a better person
I see my influence in you bounce back in my direction
Introspection, experience growth through recollection
Hold my book of John open and continue my questions
For the next time I see you in my reflection. Yes and. . .
Every time I move foul I feel your feathers falling
Every time I act foul I see feathers
A little girl stands on the corner
In the passing light of the day's afterlife
While twin soul's rest in their two door sedan covered with locusts
Waiting at a traffic light
I've felt things, they're sting compels me to spell things
Out for you, melt rings to quell king's conceit
Words turn to water the well brings
Every time I move foul, another bell rings
Peace to winged, earth to the fire
Eradicate the wicked ways birthed from desire
I'm standing at the cliff's edge, second's until I see Him
When just then a being, brings the Sun to my pm
All pray for the featherless, all praise to He whom sent the feathered ones, Psalm 91
Genesis 16:7, 22:11, forget it
Must repeat it ain't about that 'fore I send this
Letter I sing and accept that you've said things
That forever changed, hopefully you'll spread wings
Again along my path, to aid in my corrections
For the next time I see you in my reflection. Yes and. . .
Every time I move foul I feel your feathers falling.
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The 50x50's Connecticut
This is the home for the works of Sketch tha cataclysm & Deto 22 and their collaborators.
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