03-16-2013, 12:45 AM | #1 |
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Pancakebrah vs. Split Eight SPLIT EIGHT WINS
However fucking many lines you want.
Due Sunday. Vote on the verse you like more. TOPIC:
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If I ventured in the slipstream Between the viaducts of your dreams Where immobil steel rims crack And the ditch in the back road stop Could you find me? |
03-16-2013, 12:47 AM | #2 |
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c
h e c k
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03-16-2013, 12:49 AM | #3 |
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checkers
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If I ventured in the slipstream Between the viaducts of your dreams Where immobil steel rims crack And the ditch in the back road stop Could you find me? |
03-17-2013, 03:08 PM | #4 |
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I tighten my jaw. Watching Nick at Nite and it's raw. Doodle, just writing some bars.
Pull out couches. Popcorn. Countless ounces of Orange Soda, Kel smiling in awe. Every program grazed by Midas's paws. I mourn over the fact I've grown older. Nostalgia, tasteless on my tongue. Youth is wasted on the young. Fraying apart, life splinters. Life's winter. The age old graying of hearts. Yes, I am Afraid of the Dark. But it's all different now. Stilted, foul. Wilted growl. It's All That, and more. Wasted afternoons, lazy. My favorite moments to call back when bored lately. "He just sat and thought of the past all his nights." Well, yeah. You would too if you watched Rockos Modern Life. And these later viewings boggle the mind. Subtly subversive, feels coated in goblets of Slime. Ren and Stimpy, anyone? Even a young Cake knew something was wrong. And now I can log onto 4chan and watch them fucking a dog (srs) These lazy afternoons are personal problem now. Motion? Prone. Apathetically wrote some poems down. And that one Stoop Kid episode hits a little to close to home, now. And Helga's a cunt.
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If I ventured in the slipstream Between the viaducts of your dreams Where immobil steel rims crack And the ditch in the back road stop Could you find me? |
03-18-2013, 02:34 AM | #5 |
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Time stopped when we were kids..
Nicktoon marathon all Sunday defines life, now and then. One way trips to weekends reside in Channel 25's orange hues, For those first eight grades, it was every day at 4, afternoon. Trip from the bus, stationed perfectly adjacent with Nick's afterschool block. Found adventure at dusk's dawn, escape single-file walks cause life's about getting lost, Fifteen minute increments to resolve every plot, Jimmy Neutron invents another episode end, brainblast, something strange in the repetitive way the magic never collapsed. Last half-day was the thought that never ended, Run on sentence caught on the thread of kidhood's essence- Stretching end to end, cup-to-cup whispers stringing July nights in summer, Crushed five-hundred miles an hour on Kings, by the eyes of my brother- Laughed at Real Monsters from the edge of my bed. No fear, just what was ahead. So much awesome in a year or ten, do everything as soon as I can, yet... Adults pace aisles, wearing holes in their socks with ten droll little thoughts. Screw news, catch a whole slew of Zim, the kid with a buck tooth and chalk- Every day fresh... a "fuck you" to school- when that'd get you demerits, Get asked "do you want to be a success" by your parents. Nod yes. Grew-up I guess. Knowledge is power. Get addicted or get in debt. Pay every moving picture bill with a thousands words of text. Time grows to be the limiting factor, a fountain of age, Childhood went to syndication. Erased without a complaint, Fell headfirst into attention deficits, blame the cartoony pencil lead sketches That bled every measure of emptiness in the margins of the present. Eight, by eleven. It was better as a bedtime, it's hard to explain... It all just seems like a dream, lucid until the alarm clock's refrain.. Sleepwalk the path to nostalgia. Ten scenes, one morning at a time. To be young again. Fuck drugs, love and wine. Endless is a moment, a world alive with colors, animated edges seeped over the lines. Rewind. The dive gets deeper.
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03-22-2013, 10:40 AM | #6 |
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Eight, by eleven. It was better as a bedtime, it's hard to explain...
It all just seems like a dream, lucid until the alarm clock's refrain.. Sleepwalk the path to nostalgia. Ten scenes, one morning at a time. To be young again. Fuck drugs, love and wine. Endless is a moment, a world alive with colors, animated edges seeped over the lines. Beasted it @Split Look this difficult for me because I feel split when way to deep on his for the topic in question while cake kept it more fresh. However, on writing abilities and showcasing raw talent to make even the most frivellous content grandiloquent i would have to hit split with this. But cake liked yours it was fresh and certainly reminded me of myself in most parts. V/Split |
03-23-2013, 07:44 PM | #7 |
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http://artofbattling.com/forum/showt...OPEN-FOR-VOTES
http://artofbattling.com/forum/showt...-Jay-%280-0%29
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04-02-2013, 08:49 PM | #8 |
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THIS WAS DOPE
Cake, dope flow, nice imagery, just felt u didn't do enough to beat split's best work that I've read, both had the nostalgic approach, split's verse flowed well and had some nice individual gems, the ending stanza was pretty dope I got split winning this with a more thorough verse
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04-02-2013, 09:17 PM | #9 |
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Cake I remeber reading an OM collabo from you on NC. Raw as fuck.....However this piece had all the elements but it just didn't connect IMO. Your far above this caliber.Seems keystyled from the head which if it is..you are even doper than I ever realized.
Split......LOL@the Kid with the chalk...I remember him lol. Used to dig that cartoon.This was a raw drop from you. You actually made me go back to that time where all that use to matter was cereal, TV,and Video games, and the occasional pizza. Most wont admit it but those are core memories of when people feel the simpler things in life bring the most happiness. When you didnt have to worry about Bills,Bruads,Booze, or fightin for ya boys. Nice piece. Very peaceful. V-Split |
04-03-2013, 06:46 PM | #10 |
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Subtly subversive, feels coated in goblets of Slime.
Ren and Stimpy, anyone? Even a young Cake knew something was wrong. And now I can log onto 4chan and watch them fucking a dog (srs) These lazy afternoons are personal problem now. VS Run on sentence caught on the thread of kidhood's essence- Stretching end to end, cup-to-cup whispers stringing July nights in summer, Crushed five-hundred miles an hour on Kings, by the eyes of my brother- Laughed at Real Monsters from the edge of my bed. No fear, just what was ahead. So much awesome in a year or ten, Childhood went to syndication. Erased without a complaint, Fell headfirst into attention deficits, blame the cartoony pencil lead sketches That bled every measure of emptiness in the margins of the present. Eight, by eleven. split bodied pancake
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04-09-2013, 10:37 AM | #11 |
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UPPPP cmon ill vote/ feed. already have reciprocated
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