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Old 07-03-2013, 01:36 AM   #1
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Default Pent uP

Pent uP dominated the topical scene like no other on Netcees. He is the only one who has been able to remain undefeated throughout an entire season of the topical league. He went 12-0 in season 1 of the NWL. Once becoming champion of the topical league, he successfully defended the title 5 times, keeping the title as the season closed out. His only losses came from no shows, a biter, a female who some believe was rode due to her vagina and Calefaction in a regular battle, where Pent uP proved that he can also regular battle, since that battle ended up being really close, he actually got some votes in it. If he gets any more losses from now on they are most likely going to be debatable. There's not many that can compete with Pent uP when he's at the top of his game. His multi's and lyrical abilities are top notch and will continue to gain him notoriety amongst writers who cross his path. Pent uP has mastered the art of imagery and story telling, he truly is a writer in a league of his own.

Tournaments/Leagues Champed

NTL Topical League
Wise Ways (NS)
Qwarterz (2x)
Nick James
Black D

******* Writers League
Hush (NS)
Tyler Durden
ill nik-A
FreshADiddle (NS)

Most Impressive Wins
Black D
Ill nik-A
Old 07-03-2013, 01:37 AM   #2
Posts: n/a


The Ultimate Element(s)


I feel like I'm a tight hug away from a heart attack -
I'm starved of laughs, short of breath, and hard to grasp.
Torpid stresses form depression and harbor drat;
I'm more impressive when hordes of friends aren't intact.
I feel like I'm a tight hug away before I carpet crash.
I've barfed and yakked, sworn to rest, and guard my glass.
I'm well aware when these feelings start to hatch
but definitions of these words are imprompt to match.

Like "friend"...
Friends are acquaintances made to sit quaint with bliss
and take your shit. folks using you to pace their kicks.
When faced with risks to save you without insensitive pleas
can you guess what the percentage would be?
Friends tend to release emotions in weak topics;
tentatively their essence is deemed simply symbiotic.
They're grimly cautious with thinning wallets
but flip the concept and they're spilling snobbish measures with ease.
Friends render relief better than cheap Excedrin heaps
due to connections to scenes of previous meddling grief,
not because their centers are sheathed with benevolent glee.
What do you expect if your own esoteric is weak...

and "Love"?
Love is the emotive magnum opus. Invoking rash emotions
between folks and crass consortion and nodes of drab devotion.
Its falsified all in time floating past its potence
while you gradually start loathing that assortment.
Love is total tranquil torment - A "what should be"
but never will bespell the real thing we sought fully.
- A lost pully and traveling descendant of a plateau of affection
that gathers with incentive of mastering your death wish.
Love is chattering to endless matters with intense wit
in passionately pensive, candidly connected, balancing of friendships
and valiance of effort until star crossed shadows intersected.
Its maliciously centered around our fragile inner tension.

Our "sexual tension"...
Sex is arguable madness partial to our standards,
tarnished by the masses and regurgitated in marketable fashion.
It's fervent mayhem served up naked harnessed on a mattress;
its worked and tainted the earth for ages harbored as a practice.
Sex is a martyr of our antics - a sense of primal diligence
to reproduce ourselves knowing survival's limited.
Then turned to ageless, urge related, recycled filler trends
- birthed and painted as a love-like coincidence.
Sex is intimate viciousness, vigorous wilder-flesh
synchronized, with kisses, ridiculous shifting
and flinches of interests to a sensitive clitoris.
So fascinating and infatuating we depict it in vividness.

But we're....

just one tight hug away from a heart attack -
I'm starved of laughs, short of breath, and hard to grasp.
Torpid stresses form depression and harbor drat;
I'm more impressive when hordes of friends aren't intact.
I'm well aware when these feelings start to hatch
but definitions of these words are imprompt to match.
My charm collapses and neither of us reveal a sound;
the undefinable reminds me your only breathing now.

Truth Sanctuary
vs. Black D.

September 7th, 2010

The scent of iron, blood and relentless obsession
surrounds an array of the deadliest penance.
A megalithic computer that's bent on correction
converting errors to lessons and letters to weapons...
- Spelling out the punch as more than something delivered.
Colder than most, homing the old grunge in your filter.
In a terraformed mecca bore for bums in the winter,
on a playground of paved nouns, while running with scissors;
A trite phase of child's play, conundrums and litter...
- Trash talk with masks off to mumble and whisper.
Barely a hum - no air in their lungs - with the jitters.
Firing off admiring thoughts putting guns to their kissers,
leaving a corpse road in morse-code that's pungently bitter.
- Astoundingly grounding these slums as a fixture.
The punches, they whither, to a place they often explode.
- A cemetery where they bury teleprompters in hoax,
old gentlemen, faux-skeletons and goblins they've coaxed.
Insipidly whistling while they flop or they float.
- Cosmetics and costumes with cobwebs caught on their coats
wrapped in translucent past times looking like gossamer ghosts.
An open monument of broken promises atop of the knoll
as a headstone of lead, bone and plausible gold.
We're grave robbers, faith botchers, prodigal oafs -
pondering possibilities of why the pompous speak prose
and politicize when pontificating the problems of old.
To save ourselves; flames from breath maintain pollards as posts.
We never blossom or grow. We're impaired without assistance.
Anxiety is why this place isn't barren of existence.
We're not active, we're stagnant - comparative to interests..
Miles to our goals with eyes to the soul too derelict to witness
our heretic's conviction when we talk of a route -
while our faith keeps scraping and bottoming out
on some undertow with nothing to show but a gaudy account
of complacency for the waste in seas that slops in the mouth.
Over faults, under clouds, through rivers of truth serum...
A swimmers baptism where we up and switch'em for new persons.
Turning body of waters, through cataclysms, to doom urchins
- negating the fading schism of true vermin.

I want to leave...

to a place of platonically open relationships;
Somewhere without a horizon of borderland matrixes.
- To be surrounded by orchards of shamelessness;
Making trips to the well relocating bales of bliss
while feeling the wind..... blowing a bay-side kiss.
I want to see the sun set behind an ocean of laborists
as I'm done making a home where I'm vacationing.
A life of automatic atonement for the later things -
with rolling hills from brush strokes of truth on the blankest prairie.
This place is a frame for how I picture my sanctuary....

vs. English

September 15th, 2010

Orchard Of Shamelessness

An exploration into previous concepts.

From the orchard forward - where the hail broke -
on a butterfly effect fueled parasail boat.
-It feels as good going out as coming back in
and I wouldn't change a thing in this sunny chasm.
Never run from aft wind - its a sound of sweet ocean speech,
here in this place, where the clouds are Greek poetry.
The mountain peaks know no reach - the sky is the limit -
A false boundary-road to meet for ficus and picnics,
or writing some lyrics and sharing our tactless views.
- The border of order where the air is our gratitude.
Variant aptitudes waving flags from the beach of our thoughts
without imbalanced enthusiasm - they're seeing us off.
Eager ids, egos, and lost phantasms of lore
are swash buckled and washed up in back-drafts to the shore.
A passionate roar, embodied in the crash of a wave,
as the surf washes off the sands of our shame.
A cantor of rain orchestrates our exit as glum
and when his magnum opus ends it impresses the sun.
That reverend will RUN past drinkers and their Popov
to inform those that are living in a Rock Box;
- envisioning their lost thoughts, stumbling through quickness,
- through tropical obstacles in the jungle of forgiveness.
A constable of limits is somehow relented tenfold;
curiously letting travelers pass through never ending meadows.
- Their search for an occulted gorge as the main entrance
to find understanding in the orchard of shamelessness.
Where you can start a fire and stand or work nude
while making a meal from plants of virtue...
but grandeur serves food and slaves to the starving often;
and for once its not a slave of the common problem.
Even Darwin lost it coming to know this life's view...
because you don't grow into it, it grows inside you.

vs. soulstice.
September 25th, 2010

Satan Vs Santa
The battle between good and evil is common...
These days people are so cheap that they get beat over Ramen...
Then they tell judges, "It's not my fault. It's the economy's problem..."
They're released to repeat crimes so the cycle keeps on revolving.
In these predicaments being villainish is easy to conjure
and our pursuit of happiness might leave some sleeping in lumber.
Buried six-feet deep or even left on the street where they wandered.
Good guys finishing last is now the main thesis we ponder -
This battle continues in actual venues of mortal angels and demons.
Horns are replaced with forks through their face and all the halos are inked in.
But Christmas fun is a factor.. That's why we wait for that season
even though Satan doesn't take vacations and no hatred decreases.
As people dig into their pockets to spread joy to their crews
But there's something destroying their dues while unemployment is fueled.

The demon's released, picking their victims on the evening streets.
This time Santa was ready with dwarfs to bring in the heat -
the first attacks turned them back and had beasts eating their teeth;
as ornaments, thrown, were forced to explode with glass leaking through cheeks.
Bleeding retreats the armies of hell with carnage dispelled
but it was December 10th so Christmas gifts weren't even marked down for sales.
Time was approaching, the final omen of this holiday war
was designed with slogans for fight promotions that promised great gore.
At the top of our globe with ice rockets of snow, Saint Nick was prepared
and at twelve fifteen hell was seen and death had filled in the air.
Usually killing was rare, but now tempers were viciously flared
so this vindictive affair wouldn't stop until a winner's declared.

Ugly wolves rode through the snow banks drooling flames.
Elves holding tools threw ninja snowflakes til those fools were tamed.
Jews arranged to set up seats and sell tickets for cash -
a pay per view vision so the wealthy weren't missing this religious bloodbath.
Carrot Top was the announcer for the visitor's side....
until Donner and Blizten responded to kill him with antlers drilled in his spine.
They got tangled in his chest until his ribs realigned,
tearing through the careless stooge made some kid's wish-list that night.
Azreal was angered as his favorite comedian fell
and rained in the torch flaming pitchforks from the demons of hell.
- Rudolph jumped in front of Santa and caught the sting in his tail,
which made him wildly back kick while he galloped through the beasts he impaled.
His red nose shined with head blows right through their central defense
from cranial slugs reshaping their mugs in deeply indented imprints.
A surprise attack was lying back for Rudy's red signal he gives -
Then little helpers ran from the cellars led by Mr. Saint Nick.
They ran full of pride, chopping off heads with toy shanks landing precise.
In champion strides singing carols as insanity's guide..
The devilish drop with crystal figurines jammed in their eyes
looking like a Lord of the Rings parody made by Family Guy.
A land made of ice wasn't the playground for the fires of evil -
they should of interviewed Metalica fans and hired some people.
Tiny guys kept riding by slicing off pints of their meat slow -
A pastrami design crafted with outdated hard plastic knives by Kaliko.
Dying the ice in squiggly red lines of bodies engraved in embarrassment
- it appeared like a mural of tribal symbols for Native Americans.
The Devil had disappeared within the shadows of darkness,
like a coward, in the first minutes after the battle had started.
Knowing the outcome with or without him would make his wrath look retarded
cuz Santa's soldiers used no real weapons; they got their ass whupped with garbage.
Christians rejoice from gaining power without missiles deployed.
Remaining the most celebrated religion of choice
with Satan's limited noise documented throughout our history's joy
by being devoured by some reindeer and a bunch of midgets with toys.

vs. Qwarterz

October 21st, 2010
School Daze

The steel fences hide the images that are torn from my past
as I daze into the reflections my mind has stored in the back.
In the distant I see some children smoking behind the portables.
My mind records it slow and loops the visions into a world of smoke.
I travel inside it and I'm reminded of my years as a child.
I sit on the bench by the gym where my first kiss had gone wild.
I see Patricia's face briefly, then it disappears in a cloud -
Giving me those lips, forcing me into her spearmint mouth.
This was more than a school, it was our house and that bench was our couch -
Where we'd get drunk, high, and round second-base making out

All of a sudden, I hear something, it's bells ringing for class.
I pick up my bag even though I graduated six years before that.
Walk down the hall to my homeroom - and she's in a fawn skirt...
Bending over to pick up an eraser, MY teacher....Ms. Hosmer.
I always wondered if she knew that she starred in wet dreams
of horny male teens, scared to stand with little dicks poking through jeans.
I'm holding my thing, getting tense as I hope no one sees -
So I look around and the guys are looking down sharing thoughts that I think.
She's calling on me to the chalk board to solve this equation -
I race out the room with the excuse of I have to pee, but I'm faking.
Fantasies of her naked body wearing nothing but glasses
- Teaching me more than the algebra that she shoved to the masses.
It suddenly passes and scenes go forward to the source of it's heart -
Recess in the cafeteria where groups are collaged as forces of art.
The domino table in the back where Freddy's slammin for twenty
- Bones flew up in the air, but in slow motion like plastic confetti.
Jazmine and Wendy passing fliers for some party they planned
for the cool kids; I usually went with weed for supply and demand.
Then I see my haven of justice - a circle of people -
The freestylers busting it open - and me emerging is lethal.
I listen to flows from this freshman that has the audience juiced..
Talking bout bussin gats, sellin dope and being a fraud for his crew.
I pause and review what he's said in front of the hall of these fools
and start breaking down his contradictions with lyricism in all that I do.
They start applauding me through as I get heated and close my eyes for focus.
Next thing I noticed is construction workers when my mind reopens.
The reality of what's approaching is heard in bulldozers and cranes.
I feel like a large part of me is being exposed to it's grave.
Old students are turned into pile drivers; older folks are the shade
of grey dust explosions as pillars of my life are remolded to fade.
The smoke engulfed through my face has me blinded again.
Walking through the debris, I cough and see a light from within -
It's dynamite of proportions to the fires that send
my highest moments of high school into a CRASH... then silence commenced -
Eyes full of mist, a few tears fall that I supply in suspense
of the life that I reminisced -
and missed spending those growing times with my friends.
Small fires extend from the admin building to the far side of the gym
and they collapse as the dust settles and gets divided by wind.
The sky transcends to shine light over the last place that they wasted.....
The football field and my thoughts escape with visions of my graduation.
Proudly walking the stage, my whole family applauding that day
with everyone laughing hella loud as Tony Brown falls on his face.
Josh does a back flip wearing no pants under his robe
then moons the vice principal and I yell
"Look at that knucklehead go!"
Missing my folks, I throw my hat to the reminiscence that's it sprung
...Leaving the scene with a juicy grin sippin on my Caprisun.

vs. ill nik-A

March 6th, 2011
The Other Side Of The Door

A language barrier blocks the breath in their throats.
Each tear drop nears thoughts of how their heads'll explode.
Whimpers and whines tremble in the gentlest of tones.
Stress stretches segments of skin, tendons and bones.
The sniffles swiftly sickening them through the nose,
picking up the respective others' scent from their clothes.
Each on a side of the door, with their back to it -
Wishing they would do something other than sit and act stupid.

Filled with daft movement mimicking the flailing faith that remains.
He'll paint the town red while his life's fading to gray.
A clenched fist rests with a dangerous aim...
but the strenuous pain even has his anger restrained.
He's weak and feels the need to flee invading his brain
being counteracted by how close THAT lady has stayed.
All his senses and expressions are there, reporting for war -
but his nervous system is to nervous to open the door...

A solace is born from the turn of events.
The fire of passion turned to a weeping that burns at her chest.
Mistakes mimic necklines that emerge through the stress
She realizes shes gotten far because her words were a stretch.
Everything stops and breaks down when the hurt is immense;
She says she'll work it out but worries instead.
All her pain and wailing waiting for him to open the door
in the fetal position of that cold corridor...

A sat-down stand-off, in a game of loveless roulette.
From a relationship that both had struggled to get
and held content with contempt for the others due health
while both remained too quietly upset to help.
One searching for sympathy, the other for empathy;
but that trade off for them costs their amenities.
Now they're divided by a door - but propped up by feelings.
Staring in opposite directions, for opposite reasons...

vs. MaGic
May 9th, 2011
Patiently Awaiting
full moons

I'm sitting at the table; its midnight of the first.
There's a glass thats half full I delightfully yearn.
No sugar coated juice box type of shit works
for replenishing the energy that I have dispersed.
My mind is immersed in the fluid of life
and no amount of drowned sorrows can ruin tonight.
Human insight is fused with abusive and trite
movement of psyche likely proved to be dry.
The moons getting bright, and its making me tense -
Random reactions based on the shape it presents
as it controls water and I'm eighty percent.
- Now, waiting for the right moment I hastily sweat....

Fate is select in outcome but not time;
So, think, there's no thing like numbered plot lines.
Naked bathing baby wading faith and maybe
- euphoria filled aquanaut mind.
Our cumbersome guise hidden by light
and gravity rapidly filling high tide.
Serotonin explodes when I swim and my life's
purpose is submerged in liquid like ice.
Tripping I might not notice my face as it morphs
from happy to sad because of gravitational force.
As low tide holds high in ratio wars
and rampant patterned aggravation was coursed -
pain and hatred were born. A one hundred eighty degrees
full flinging mood swing in the way that we breathe.
Coarse sandlots are all the traces we see
until the boisterous joy in us created the sea.

I'm sitting at the table and dying of thirst.
There's a glass thats half full I delightfully yearn.
No sugar coated juice box type of shit works
for replenishing the energy that I have dispersed.
Our minds are immersed in fluids and starch.
Patiently awaiting an intuitive spark
but back and forth goes the muse in our heart
because we're controlled by gravity, the moon and the stars.

vs. Calefaction

August 20th, 2010

I see you cryin in every match that doesnt meet your conditions
Guess its more than your flow and skills stuck in the fetal position
Bringing your lawyers for legal decisions on all the lines your recycling
'Cause you're in danger of being sued by the gay writers alliance
Tryin to fight it, so I know he's a baller and really earning his paper
he's worn out from work....all his dickriders are just returning the favor
Cal loves that sweet chin music, He's a fake fat jux
Faggot i'll rearrange your crew name to make CAL SHhh
Go ask for some votes, so this loss won't make ur ego crash and explode
To save ur career after this tho...ull need to get shot and have a reality show
I'd say take lamas keys n mod but thats destined to go south
the only valid Neighbor accusations were from the 12 year old girl that lives next to your house
A street team's putting your work in, accomplishments are things you hope to do
i mean i would join a crew too, if the rules were they'd only vote for YOU
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