mic check 1,2 1,2

mellow out, crushing menthol to the sound of beatport
i hate to say i couldnt quit, but at least they arent newports
zoning on electric feel, clouds i cough, in smoke my words reveal
it’s no longer time to pretend, bitching about bitches and potential lady friends
home full of tops and shitty marlboro blends
emptied bottles and crumpled up lottos. 1-5-1,  4 straight 1 box, fuck i lost
always caught up, but no homo im surrounded by cock, blocks
getting 7 digits all the time but im never lucky
college full of prudes, i dont mean to be crude but teeny boppers were a better screw
speaking of 7, 79.99
that’s robbery i pay for my single phone line
to talk to who? friends, what’s that
check it im a lone wolf, separated like b and the pack
twenty something but im chasing phoenixes, being productive that’s that
large hoodies and beat kicks on both shoe racks
wish i could obey, rock the supreme and the snapbacks… hah fuck that.

Best childhood ever.

Put yourself in the shoes of a renowned artist that can only find faults in his work. Consider the feelings of a connoisseur that finds no dissimilarity between the finest wine and water. Now imagine being incapable of properly expressing your feelings in your native tongue; the language you spent all of your life learning. My perturbation can be described as such. There’s a hollowness in my words that resounds a lonely, unanswered echo within my head because none of my thoughts are capable of being accurately conveyed using words. Unfortunately, this happens because there is no longer sincerity in my words. And without the trait of sincerity, there will never be meaning in any of my attempts to write.

Each one of my college-assigned papers is nothing more than an amorphous swamp of sentences mushed together to mimic a well organized and purposeful essay. There was never love or ingenuity in any of my obligatory works, only sophistry. This senseless style of expression has encroached into my every day writing. I’ve failed to bring forth emotion in my words as they have all been rehearsed; devoid of candor. I don’t believe there is any merit to being a man of rhetoric, but I can’t seem to escape this almost-inextricable mental enclave that is apathy. My genuine feelings are embedded within a wall of superfluous text and the main obstruction that prohibits me from expressing exactly how I feel is a lack of passion.

Passion… passion… passion. When will I find you?

On Mar 16th, 2010 8:56am this blog was born with the intent of recording my thoughts. So far approximately 19 months of trash has been documented. Albeit some (very sparse) posts demonstrate my usual writing caliber, the majority are either distasteful messes of childish rants, poorly expressed opinions, or posts filled with inexplicable bitterness. The inability to accurately transcribe my thoughts onto this blog reflects my then-childish mentality. However, the point of a blog is for the author to shape it however he sees fit. This will continue to be a blog appeasing no one, not even myself. It exists for the sole purpose of documenting meaningful thoughts and monologues, instead of its present state as a collective of spite and weak sarcasm. My blog has been inactive for approximately 10 months due to the maturation of my mentality, increased emotional stability and an overall much more relaxed attitude. Hopefully I can still find content worthy of posting.

This project still continues.

8.4.2009 - record keeping.

we young people in a young world
so much to learn and i aint concerned
one bit, about living life right now as misfit
cause if we grow up now, im gonna miss it
this life, you get only once chance to live it

like having no hands on a clock, my mind’s on lock
impossible to think, thoughts cant flow with no link
like glasses with no lens, no matter how much i blink
my vision gets no clearer as i stare in the mirror
a mirror with no reflection
i guess this is the pinnacle of perfection
when you look at yourself, and find no fault
when you dance with the devil in a toxic waltz
and when the being of sin is unable to corrupt you from within
joyride with lucifer and you concur
with his every thought
yes, im blessed by the creator himself
and like a man with no soul, i long to find myself

my bifocals scope things on another vision
illusioning a different scene with each higher prescription
i aint blind, but rational thoughts you wont find
signed, every imagery inclined to restitute sobriety to my mind
with a watermark blurry as a puddle of mudd
how everyone is changing, there’s no one left thats real.

8.7.2009 - record keeping.

i am the creator, the motivational mind, the maker
channeling thoughts through my mouth, the speaker
or the hands, the writer
pumping through my veins, my flow, the ether
looking out of my hazel eyes, my sights, the teacher
reminder, dont forget to record my rhymes on paper
my blood, the ink, inscribed in it are my feelings, what i think
prescribed, medication, the pill filled with dedication
and inspiration, to feed the mind bits of imagination
chips and pieces to piece together the pieces of a puzzle
to write a piece to smooth out the creases
of the emotional scars, that make up who we are
iron out with my tongue, the wrinkles and spit out the bad taste of life
my heart, behind a cage of 24 bars
one for every obstruction
that comes between me and the nirvana of my own construction.

10.5.2010 - record keeping.

sweet memories, saved and recorded her
breakup in my mind, static and disorder
dare to dream, spell it out vertical before i go any further

l-o-v-e pronounced only once, broke her heart and faced consequence
apology not accepted, credit score zero
unmovable cause she still holding her grudge, whats the dealio?
really yo, they say you cant change a woman’s mind
e-n-d, we hit it, the end of our time
never say never, but no one believes in forever
witness to a 3 word statement and i faulted, resentment resulted
only had my love to testify but then my heart stopped
or maybe i just said the right words at the wrong time, never mind.

in the elevator up and coming
stall the doors for the people, running
take a moment to hear what they’re saying while
inebriated to understand repercussions
level headed in a world where everything is spinning
laughing at everything while, every floor the bell starts ringing
let that sound linger in your head and think about it before you head to bed
orbit around each planet for a little to hear what’s needed to be said
venus is the poison, she keeps the antidote for those whom murder she wrote
enticing isnt she? watch out for the lioness, be the wildebeest
heartless, mars is the captive and man is the feast
enter the lair and beware when she speaks
remember, it’s all a dream but she’s all i ever see in my sleep…