Trading Place (w/ Vulgar)
Vulgar
Donnie Darko pajammy-jams. Amy looking sexy.
She had initially replied to my bird calls. But wouldn't text me.
So when doleful ambition led me to a wooden pantry.
I grasped for the honeybuns within, erstwhile hollowed out,
like the beige interior of Brooklyn Bentley's. Sulfuric taste.
Am I a repeated bad luckster? Suffering fate, as the night sky's drifting past.
is this God's way of inflicting wrath...
Do nice guys with nice (aspirations) for degrees really finish last?
I wanted to share an awkward glance. Feel our presences linking.
Trying to make an impression and thinking she'll be interested
in what I have to offer as a man if she even possesses an inkling.
A truly adorable caramel Jada Pinkett type, with half-painted nails.
A warm laugh, kiss on the cheek, dialogue seems to be pacing well.
He'd rather go out and freefall than start dealing with the pain he feels.
Aboard Darjeeling bullet trains, concealed. In a lower compartment.
He's reading Langston Hughes, his blue nose in the parchment.
Modeless, Sephardic, a Roland McFarlane. Dressed in the robes of a harlot.
Breathing in the same air of disappointment that's left on hotel balconies.
His heart holds...well, agony. Haggardly. & with impeached directive.
But a surgically sharp intensity tends to surface when you least expect it.
Lease neglected on intellectual property. Say goodnight to the Highland lad.
who's buying Axe to tie a sash around a sighing siren's ass.
Who knew we wouldn't make a vibrant match?!
There's no choice. Guess I'll have to drink this wine, then crash.
Pancake
Telmar drew a charcoal mirage along the margins in the back of Qur'ans
picturing sarcophagus catamarans when the family's packs of cattle were gone
because the Iowa Caucus's plan had forgotten the Caucasus of Azerbaijain
Playing freeze tag in mausoleums, his father would sip from the old Ale
in a worn dishdasha, viewing his land now stripped of it's gold shale
you could almost feel the breeze off of Henry Kissinger's coattails
His sister Aydashka would make her hijabs, thumb locked spooling
and at night enjoyed gum drops until her tongue stopped drooling
while she played the olynka and gusli with a SubPop tuning
Working the sod was awkward and grueling, as their father sweats
a real Saspirilla caterpillar, he cultivated in quarter sets
The Kurdish Elk, he watched the dubbed Lost of Damon Lindelof
and brought the dushdara everynight (Telmar enjoyed a thicker broth)
While thousands of miles from the cattle and pasture
George W. had schematics and logistics for satellite trackers
he fancied himself an entrepreneur, a real International Fracker
and had no time for Aydashka's maladroit laughter
It's Always Sunny in Hajigubal, and obtaining oil is just a matter of law
Telmar's fields made the perfect spot for Haliburton's 'Plaza Mahal'
GRIZZLY BEARS.
GRIZZLY BEARS.
I'll take my gin straight, thanks. I'm reading Bram Stoker
and eating clam chowder, gluten free and pan smoldered.
This laptop is Apple. Steve Jobs is an idol, but a passing one.
His death was passé, and I'm not a part of the cattle run.
Is that Kettle One? How cute. Again, I'm drinking gin straight.
Watch me spin plates, I'm the residue of renaissance menstruate.
Look at these vintage wears. Skinny jeans and pithy glares.
Have you heard of Grizzly Bear? I doubt you've heard of Grizzly Bear.
You're more of the Thin Lizzy fare, one of the populist's enlisted.
You probably couldn't fathom the postulates I've written
or the probable admittance of colleges I'd visit.
(I'll probably turn them down, colleges are prison,
I'm actually working on a collection of collages and prisms
about Ghandi's inquisitions. I'm calling it 'The Visions')
I'm sure you've notice my tawdry imposition. And these designer frames,
they're very rectangular, Swedish, and I PROMISE you cannot find the same.
Also, it's not vegetarian, it's vegan. I'm that for the most contrarian of reasons,
plus I happen to be an expert on the most exemplary of seasons.
Balsamic is nice, my breakfast usually consists of black coffee and rice,
and I like a cape gooseberry for lunch with a cup of water with ice.
If you want my advice, I have plenty to offer.
Almost the exact opposite amount that I can spend through my coffers.
Capitalism is death. A simpleton's quest, a cloth I am not cut from.
In fact, I've started a socialist group through a portion of my trust fund.
It's higher learning I search after, what I have my hands after.
I've read half of Catch 22 and the first chapters of five books by Franz Kafka.
Veneer birch lacquer is my favorite color. Most people don't know that,
but I'm proud to stand for something and withstand the blowback.
Most people lack that, personality is something I've honed.
Irony is my strong suit, and the only one that I own.
Oneitis (w/ Genocide)
Genocide
That happy place, feeling, or whatever you credit it as
Was dedicated to her, and now I only wish death for her ass
Delicate past, fragile, porcelain glass castle where stones would fly
I ain't have a sobre mind, cause she would throw hers while I was smokin' mine
Couldn't cope with lies, that ironically was my fault when fate grew
Cause how you expect to be a failure and her to remain faithful!?!?
Not a day flew by that wasn't a waste, drug flooded mistakes..
That I just wanna go back in time and try to fucking erase
Cause what if takes the rest of my life to get over the thoughts
If I perfected one thing it was the magnum opus of loss
The love was hopeless, a fraud, or maybe real for a minute
Cause I been chasing pussy ever since the fucking feeling was finished
Old gimmicks were the death of my soul, it died so restlessly though
cause when ur used to women, its hard to fuckin sleep in'a bedroom alone
My hard head is a stone that should be bleeding my rhymes blood
So when I look in the mirror, see the reasons my life sucked
Even with eyes shut, cause I know the the whole verse by heart
Chyeah waitin for the world to end, while I tore my own universe apart
Until the surface arched, it left me standing there over the peak
But true soldiers don't leap, gradually we grow into G's
Cake
This can be my ghost. Acting as the refinery for the wine I'd drink.
I'll be the host for the impetus from life's switch into minor key.
I can keep it as a porcelain-haunt, a vacuum in the back of my mind,
and withdraw portions I want back from the passage of time.
Instead of a cross that I'd bear, I'll remember these thoughts I've repaired;
sifting hands through your most auburn of hair in a nightly nostalgia affair.
I can be both lost and aware. I can forget a saga's epilogue and skip "jaded".
Just give me enough time to settle my nerves...if my memory serves, and it's faded,
you had these perfect lines between the curves of your hips, naked,
and those breathes were bated and those rooms were dark
and every moment escalated and it was impossible for us to move apart
and. And we can learn that eventually everything moves apart.
We can learn that 'down the road' ends in the wrong turn at the fork in it,
and how to speak in past tones of our times in terms of "fortunate".
I can learn, and hone, to cheat and enjoy the pain of my heart as it plummets,
and how to react to another man's child leaving stretch marks on your stomach.
These are the lessons we're fraught in. All these years later that I've left and forgotten,
it's so much easier to lessen the tension by ignoring what's so senselessly rotten.
I'll just replay a nightly nostalgia affair. Awed, drunk, and often impaired,
I can be both lost and aware.
Visiting Friends (w/ Matriarch/Angkor)
Every track I listen to. All this time, sifting through
torrents, mp3's, files, traces, vinyl, mission fueled
binge. To paint a smile on my face. Switched to new trends.
Miles Davis, Bitches Brew. Guitar string picked 'til it bends.
I Can See For Miles. With my new prescription lens,
thumbing through catalogs. The gray tinted film,
I've frayed and splintered the ends.
Plastic Ono Bands, Californications, nostalgia. I visit friends
on bloodshot hung-over days lost. Dazed, lost.
Led Zeppelin, teenage angst and the delayed cost.
Teenage Dream. Lush, the dream pop.
Phoenix, hipster scene. Crystal Castles, homage.
I Wish You Were Here. Drum kits blast, the barrage.
Baroness whiplash the garage. The Flaming Lips
skipped tracks as collage. College. Another fugue state,
Riff Raff and Minaj. The populists' due weight.
Eddie V picked fast, with guitars, and became God.
I'm hot for teachers. A cappellas and busted speakers.
Riffs from hell. Like the Sleigh Bells album, the front was sneakers,
and their chops are stellar. To be dramatic,
music's been tied close to the struggles.
And every music fan knows 'Repeat', always overrides 'Shuffle'.
I've had...four? iPods. And countless iTunes generations.
The boom bap me new track steez,
to the indie rock aesthetic and Classic veneration.
I wear out wavelengths.
Single song obsession, every interpretation my brain takes.
I eat every snippet I've found. The hisses, the pounds
off drum kicks or bass notes. The hunting of every
trick in it's sound.
Until I can't listen again,
Unless it's to relive. I said, I'm just visiting friends.
I want to visit again.
After another hundred rhymes.
After writing this little gem while gripping this pen.
After listening to Deerhunter's 'Spring Hall Convert' at least a dozen times,
I'll want to visit again.
;
digital fixtures - mixed of vintage volume ensnared
captivating! Janis played with prim euphoric impaired
we shared a truth at seventeen: Love belong to the fair
beauty queens. music scene. proms and bonding affair
pondering where - this juxtaposition will take us
fully aware - that luck's a fucking glitch in the matrix
Simple and basic. Design of a conspicuous crazed bitch
rhythm’s abrasive - inventing villains in veiled pitch ..
of high notes, connoting violent twisted descent
momma asked me “where are you?”
.
.
told her “I’m visiting friends..”.
To the bitterest entropy - it’s the sweetest revenge
hello darkness, my old buddy, pleased to meet you again.
It’s 60’s peace and pretense. deep in weeds and free sex.
at sixteen, we walked the valley just to pique an interest.
dissecting dim dichotomy between figments and friends
Friday night’s charades of youth - sometimes it’s fun to pretend
Function? Defense; Entertaining plight of a soloist
who’s lack in social grace-fully fight just to fit into trends
spirits of greatness - playlists are bricks in the wall
Pink and purple rain drops - my drizzled dictions of Fall
constricting richest - appalled! detecting deep disturbance
rotten. soiled. problems boil down beneath the surface
Heeding words of Ms Ian : “music is captured perspective”
not just 'aesthetic' per se, but more as gathered objective.
Such as laughters and sentiments
trapped in a pessimistic chapter that never ends
i’m visiting friends
enter da stage take a Bowie - ‘Oh i’ll see you again!’
Maybe a hotel on a dark desert highway?
Or Hell House of the fall of Usher - Going My way?
Led poison Zeppelin left without a Quarter for fair
A choice. The stare. listen, we'll talk when I'm there
I'm at the club for 50 cents...
Sometimes it's fun to pretend.
Momma asked "Where are you?"
Told her "I'm visiting friends".