Archduke Ferdinand's multidimensional manifesto
 

70 mannequins donning eyes wide shut masks,
Chant syntax abbreviations for gun blast’s blood baths.
While a clever den of muskrats hangs 10 Yosemite Sam mud flaps,
Then Coke and speed bleed over poorly dubbed “club” tracks.
These are the epiphanies of chemical synesthesia
Occurring during the war of 9 to 5 versus nightly leisure
Where the boredom of politics, the politics of whoredom
Weaves holes into the head like Mr. Durden post mortem
So commit philosophical suicide and accept Jesus Christ
maybe your luck will change if you roll with fresh dice?
Perspectives, congested commutes, as the stress pollutes
Whats left to lose? When the best are laid to rest amidst the nincompoops?
The cycle loops, lather rinse repeat, Monday’s alarm clock reminds
That the system takes the most energy from the one of a kinds
The office becomes a prison cell, yell, and rebel, let your ego swell
State company dogma, good robotic sheep, you have our evil to sell
The wine is serendipitous but upon taste, its antioxidants stale
So you raise your children to follow in your footsteps of fail
This is either different garbage, or it’s the same pail
Formed in classrooms, backrooms polished the favored with treaties
So is it really any wonder the Pandas won’t procreate at a rate that saves their species?
As sure as art is a plaster of Jesus covered in feces?

This is how the special jump into the box and fed ex it towards Conformity Boulevard
What else will do when too few choose the final words of Soren Kierkegaard?
So what if I am bald, as long as my beard goes hard? Slanging Espers in a crystal shard
And in case you missed it, this particular visit is the royal flush of my mystic card
I don’t write for you to understand, rather for your future to know, and present to laugh at
While we prove the point that it is unfair for the scientist to go M. Bison on his lab rat
Yoga flame, sonic boom, hadouken, they fight in the street over which bucket to puke in
They all limbic, they all know-it-alls, they all blind, they all co-sign on me losing
Call it paranoia, still waters run deep, and a river runs thru it while I fly fish in Montana
don’t believe in a God, but when U give gifts, wanna go and blame it all on Santa?
Smooth subtle robotics, doom and gloom optics, mood shrooms mixed with Tropicana
Command the grammar, withstand the man sir, there is quicksand and cancer, Miranda
Rights to plead the fifth too, coke and weed and a fifth too, wonder why no ones paid u?
Silly rabbit, those hands are the same ones that made u, shape u, elevate u, then break u
As soon as you try and break thru, they hate u, character rape u, and deflate u, never stops
Or even slows until you bite the bullet or jump off into their box
But as for me, ima be free…ima pick all of their locks
And be it revelation, terminators, zombies, or hyperinflation
Ima be that kat that helps your elevation thru motivation.

All Love.

I feel the second half murdered the first verse
but I did love thr build up of the first half
I really liked the coked up club tracks line that was sweet
the way you snuck in nincapoops was funny
I feel like you are sacrificing your fluid train of thought
for a more fluent flow which doesnt matter because the read was dope
the flow was on point. nice work V

Lol I'm taking a nincompoop like right now.

Your voice is a bit stilted, but you put content first. I can't say I enjoyed a lot of it because I don't accept Jesus into my heart, but I did enjoy the first five lines of the second stanza (even knowing what you meant by Kierkegaard's final words, which really were more his final work). I thought this was the smoothest writing you offered:

But it was all good and interesting. You're a good and interesting writer when you decide to invest yourself even a little.

i like it
sick flow

thanks buddy.

the lyrical miracle dawg! props for the look-see

thanks for the feed J. I can always count on you to look past my online persona and feed me thoughts.