Of Moths and Men

This can be rapped to “Dance with the Devil” by Immortal Technique.

—

—

Precious preconceptions illuminate preposterous despotisms

that desperately protect pretentious politicians who

Portray Dorian greyscale renditions in their portraits’ wall positions,

Twixt the sand and the foam, and the book of Hagakure

The 48 laws of power, bring to life one of Algernon’s dead flowers,

Rage, raging against the dying of the light of the fire,

College leaves the lacking of luster to lounge back into arms of a faulty sire while

Shadows dance high on the walls of that long lost cave with the blind that refuse to reach higher,

underground, earthbound sound reverb and rebound from the walls into and around

the uncool, calm and collected curses

that come crying from the echoing sound of silence in our verses,

Men are like moths, fluttering furiously to the flame,

backs borne against the current, we beat on in the same boat and the same game,

we’ll all burn out and fade away, be it a day or a year away, without a name,

less what I want is what I silently fear; to reach the end of the light and find a dark sphere,

but long before the Light comes anywhere near, Death with a grin is all ready and He’s here,

a devilish and dervish angel that came from somewhere, nowhere; st. elsewhere,

whispering; “please, please do not fear me”, and I don’t, but no one here seems to hear me,

For it is on Earth as it is in Heaven, whereas under a black sky we break the bread in our red hands

coughing up green and looking to the sand; Sphinx, riddle me this: where is that promised land?

With an hour-glass in my hand, and with my heart in command,

I’m soul-searching for diamonds in the sea-foam of tropical island strands,

here’s a philosophical lesson with two sides of the same coin in one hand,

a laissez-faire game of go and backgammon, bowtie time like a ribbon, see

chaos evolves in order, like dat old to the new world without the wicked wars and borders,

no pawns, nobles or cockroaches, just sound, emotion, and formerly lost-cause hopefuls.

I’m here like the tour deforce of five rings, listen as that fat flying pig lady sings,

I’m soaring through the first nine floors of Hell like I’m writing on Force wings,

I’m following my soul towards the Light, where my dreams they call me the Mothman,

Tao is like the Force, man, hand me over the Sandman,

I’m still smokin dope, but I’m lost and-

Help me, Erato and Euterpe, you’re my only hope; real talk, man.

Bits and Bins

A line is a breadthless length.

Imaginary, intangible, implacable

still it holds power over our very souls.

A riddle, it deceives us all into tomfoolery-;

I AM VOLDEMORT

And so are you; yin flows into yang.

The reaction is both opposite and equal.

-

Tell the quiet American to look closer and realize

that Pleasantville may be full of color, but we painted it.

In the beginning the world was gray.

Black and white, distinction, color.

This was our gift. Our gift to the world.

-

Every line blurs, slides in and out of focus.

The great divide parts the Red Sea,

but the grass is always greener.

And after all, what’s in a line?

H1N1

Like the black Death, I am alive.

I am everywhere, inside the air

and outside the heart.

Stem cells in hand, I place my self in your shoes.

Through your looking glasses, I can see what you feel,

But I do not feel it, and sometimes I am simply not there.

In a distant land, a mirror-imaged Muslim man on a Christian cross hangs in the balance-

his body oily and blood-drenched from the sweat of a war,

as I wipe the sweat from my brow in my studio.

We are nothing alike.

I think to myself as the crescent moon sinks below the stars to pray;

What did the Goths do “when in Rome”?

Unfettered souls don’t merely clash; they collide.

But as order rises from the blunt ashes of chaos,

so too does hope spring forth eternally from our collective unconscious.

Though history often repeats itself, as when the wheel of time turns,

the broken axle bears endlessly leftward

and so our covered caravan retraces its imprints in a spiral.

My power left my reason dumbfounded,

scrambling charts for the truth.

Day-An-Nighte

I am a manic hurricane hurtling in place towards the horizon.

But don’t I look at you like I see a new day?

My mind is a swirl of colors thrown into a washing machine.

Et cetera, et cetera, shanti, shanti, newsflash:

Judging from our look inside the eye, this perfect storm is now a tropical depression.

Only once my high is gone, I feel like crying, like buying,

but if my money’s run out, then, now and later, I feel like-

runlovediemaybeliveifwecanwastylerrightiamnotadroneandideserveathronebutnolalalai’mhappy
nowandlaterrepeatrinseandwhereamiandisthisthewayimsupposedtobeifeelcagedinmymindallhail
thecartermessiahlovelivelifeproceedprogressfuckthapoliceandthawhitemanfucksciencemedicine
educationamericameyoueverythingbullshitscreeeaaaammmmm&mstreamofwhateverthefuckicant
thinkmymindisalwaysonfireimhotbutimcold

I just change with seasons.

I am greater than or equal to the caliber of the Soul of Sylar and Peter,

but all work and no play makes even this a dull pen.

I just noticed a painting in my house that I have never seen before, but I’ve seen it everyday that I’ve lived here; I have no home. I am my own home and those few close to me are but extensions.

Does that mean they’re extensions of my soul?

I have so many lines, so many ideas, so many thoughts, so much. Connections everywhere, like truth, an element. Everywhere. Everywhere. Nowhere; what’s the difference (when you zoom out enough). Everything is alive and connected and illuminated all at once and it’s blinding. How do you live under such a light? Everyone needs the night. Dark doesn’t exist merely to be defeated by the light. To think otherwise is unwise. Am I really the only one that sees (sees the genius of tha Carter)? I feel like I’m taking craaaaazy pills! Hahah-

Intuitive aptitude. I understand. I SEE YOU. You cannot hide. I cannot hide. But under these sheets, I am a mess. We’re trading blows, but for what?

WHY

Slow down, Gandhi, you’re killing me. I vomit gray, flashback and to and fro. The masses bid for my heart, but is it worthwhile to lose your heart to save your soul? Vice versa! Like John Locke, I’m Lost in a maze, therefore I am a-maze-ing.

And when my face doesn’t quite match my head, remember what Cee-Lo sang so soulfully. But who’s gonna save mine?

Ah, nevermind! I should accept that I am truly alone, make it my strength or whatever bullshit you all spout in your high school mind and your holiest quasi-education. You, with your hipster posse (would lap this up if you thought I were Derrida) and your self-righteous horse. I’m not tall enough to stand up to God. Don’t you see? The answers are all around us, though admittedly they’re nowhere. But they’re RIGHT THERE. One of us is blind, and one has left the cave. The world locks me in a cage. I have no mouth and I must scre-. Who am I kidding? They don’t need to take my mouth. What good does screaming at a wailing wall do? Also, the wall is made of bullshit.

You can’t possibly-; you all wouldn’t understand anyways.

And that’s the worst part.

The Kingdoms of Light, Dark, and Elsewhere

The Kingdom of Dark

There was once a blind man that lived in the dark.

For years on end, he lived in darkness and silence, passive and thoughtful,

Creating sounds for the objects his limbs could touch.

He touched a surface and called it “table”.

He felt the blood of life and called it “water”.

In time, and quickly, he became aware of feeling; a living thing.

An idea. Infinite, it brought form to the formless.

He called it “sight.”

The Kingdom of Light

There was once a mute woman that died in the light.

For a moment, all was white, full, vibrant; alive.

She created ideas for all the objects she could see but not feel.

She saw water and called it “art”.

She heard music and called it “love”.

When she died, she woke up and said, “Speak.”

The Kingdom of Elsewhere

There were once a man and a woman that lived and died in a garden.

There was once a god who was a circle.

The circle existed and ceased, was and was not.

As alpha and omega, beginning and end.

The clouds roll through space and shower the sky with stars.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Our Father

Our Father, who art nowhere if not in Heaven,

What hath you forsaken us to?

Why hath you forsaken us so?

Hath you truly left us to ourselves and own (de)Vices,

To survive, alone and lost, the whims of the Universe?

But ever hallowed be thy name;

As long as cushioned pews of a church bring comfort to the souls of His Christians,

Blindly, but still, they work to bring thy kingdom come;

For what Noble Lie shall thy will be done?

And in my heart, I fear it is in Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread. though the wine is surely poison,

And whilst half your flock is rabid, you lull the rest into your House,

Affording them an hour of conscience free of guilt,

Allowing them to forget their troubles of others.

And forgive us our trespasses, O cruel Lord,

Whose only begotten Shepard is left to die among the wolves.

For even we forgive them that trespass against us.

But prayers don’t feed children, confessions don’t erase blood,

And Church-pews hold no salvation for the suffering and sick;

And yet you lead us not into temptation; for that is our mortal curse,

and your immortal gift of uncertainty, admit a sliver of lining,

But yet your silver-tongue whispers love; deliver us from evil-,

God has no time for His children who aren’t around to be saved by the toll.

So tell me, my judge, why does Church feel as a court, and Mass like a trial?

[For thine is the kingdom,

the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever.]

Amen.

Hail Mary

Yeah, you’re pretty cute, but damn, do you talk too much.

You’ve got to spend some time, love; inhale, exhale, listen to the world, and such,

I think you’ll find you can be so much more;

well, actually, it turns out I’m not all that sure.

but there is no time like the present to regain lost footing

and at least we live in a beautiful world

now and at the hour of our death.

Visions for the Communiity

The stars bleed out, having tried their best to woo us with the passion of the Cosmos,

but now a ringed nebula crowns and lays to rest what the mind of Man calls Logos.

Ice cold debris tumble-weeds, lifeless, through the heart of darkness,

the minutes became seconds and too soon it was midnight,

And when time ceased to tick and tock,

and upon us, Death came to knock.

The truth was, we lost our minds to faith false and immaterial.

 

But the present question is, is it then our fate to simply start and end with the corporeal?

But even tyrants would surely screw to save their own race…

so how about we just reallocate the funds for this year’s nuclear arms race?

And together we could reach, reach and become so much more!

So let’s rage, rage against the dying of the light before-

The quiet American with the radioactive rifle crouches,

                and with a single shot, kills the beast where it so casually slouches.

The Seed 1.4

 

Let’s kickstart the apocalypse and sky rocket the death toll

lock yourself in a mis-named vault and name your children Rock and Roll,

I guess we really had to fall to lose it all, that’s all she wrote,

don’t, no don’t sink the boat, too late, she sank,

clubbed to death by the ice cold truth, though sometimes I see Death’s robe as more chartruse

perhaps its just a ruse and God is a prankster,

though I admit the weed just keeps getting danker,

I smoke too much, but I’m used to vacations

from my previously constant sobriety, go to a place where I can forget the ills of society,

it’s almost a better perception of reality, I wonder if one day we’ll get high in a virtual reality,

unless this is the Matrix, in which case I’m Neo, no wait,

I’ll fight Neo, he’s not the One, nothing is reduced to fate,

we all have hands in his together, but there can be only some,

so in this analogy, wars are fought with a thumb, and in this war, you might as well be dumb,

since you negiotiate with your army-I mean, thumb, shit that was dumb, moving on,

hopefully the other player doesn’t get carried away, and proliferate those handy nukes over your way,

forget diplomacy now, past is the time for parlée, it’s high time we who would be pirates had our day

and we won’t compromise for anyone, so let lay Henry Clay,

if war is coming, this prince would see it done now rather than later,

so be careful when you misuse and mis-accuse of misogyny, woman; I don’t hate her,

Back off, relax, and take a second look, pull your ass out of the book,

it can’t help you here, reason this one out, might take a couple routes

through your mind until you can free your mind,

There is no way to be free if you adhere first and foremost to hypocrisy,

it’s kind of a pet peeve for me, and yes, I’m well aware of the irony.

We may all be hypocritical to some extent, but at least I’m honest,

So now that’d I’ve uncovered the process to put you on the way to being whole,

lock yourself in your mis-named cell and listen to some rock and roll.

Watch the Chicago snow whirlwind and swirl round and round

spiraling chaotically as they near the ground,

they mirror your flawed ideology, as from the above you can clearly see,

so bite the irony that grips your tongue and listen to me, listen to me.

And kindly don’t self righteously spew anger towards me,

don’t hate the player, hate the game, there’s no shame

in defeat, I’m just a messenger, and here’s your subpoena.

You can forgive, but I can never forget, and revenge and regret weigh heavily on your soul

so you lock yourself in a mis-named tomb and die to a track of lively rock and roll.

Early on One Frosty Mourning

4:20 came and went, leaves me to think of all this time spent

drink steak, eat wine, wait, there that’s not how it went,

and what exactly did we decide justice meant?

I can’t even remember, damn it, what’s that mean for me?

And what exactly does it mean to act professionally,

all the professionals die anyway, just like you and me,

so maybe we should forgo the standard of success,

and compose our own, cause before long we too will be laid to rest,

and if glory brings immortality, then Lil Wayne is a god to be,

and sometimes that’s all I want to be, but at the same time, I think; that’s not me.

But what-and who- really is me? That’s easy, I’m me.

Or is it? Maybe it’d be more productive to live a little bit

before I decide what lies ahead, since doing wrong is something I so much dread.

But just cause the government says it’s bad doesn’t make it so,

I hate to keep repeating myself like “so,”

but I swear it’s only cause I have no idea where on Earth to go,

or what in the world to do, so here; I’m asking you.

A Roundhouse Kick to the Vocal Chords

This isn’t a Fight Night, but here’s round 3,

So gimme the limelight, I’m giving away this rhyme for free,

yeah that means no fee, totally, I swear it, come on, it’s me,

snap back like the quarterback, dude, that’s a nickel, reach the endzone and take a knee,

I mean I don’t wanna be all fickle, but I’m trying to lengthen the distance between me

and the guy back there in the hood with the sickle.

Something oddly comforting, I hate conforming,

but this is so confortable, no wonder its so available, but what is lying underneath the table?

I rise out of ashes like I’m a Hero, write me into a Fable, hold on,

let’s get back to square zero, there isn’t anything to fear

but what about fear itself? But that’s neither there nor here.

I wove and still weave, flurry of hits hit like volleys of spears,

I’m like the Zulu, and I’ll straight up kill you.

Squint, duck, sidestep a blow and, hey, here’s your maker, your

face ripples just like the surface of the Dead Sea

-though that’s something I may not ever see-

that’s what happens when you stand up against me.

Sorry, that rhyme was just too easy, I’m emulating Weezy

too much, I know, but its such a damn good flow,

that I can’t stop it, all I can do is start back,

try again, find my voice, and sing, I want different forms of bling,

I want to flaunt my philosophy, so I write lines about everything and/or nothing.

Lets try nothing, I’m just gonna freestyle something;

 

Dance on the asteroid belt, duck low

wobble to and fro, hold on or off you’ll go,

fight an alien across the universe, and its time to travel the multiverses,

not of the Bible, that’s purely academic, and just it makes me sick,

nowhere in the world is there more common ground under hypocrits,

so kick off from the Bible Belt, go and find yourself,

if we are God’s undwanted children, so be it, Tyler,

I think it’s Jack’s mind that makes him such a good liar.

Fight Club taught me independence and the emasculation of man, I’m searching for the Fountain, waste my youth as I sift through the mountain of junk, it isn’t here, who woulda thunk? No matter,

I remember the movie better than my own grandma; so I quote; death is the road to awe,

it keeps me afloat. Gotta face your fears, shed the tears, and master them,

float on, the world’s at large, so skip school and marvel from root to limb,

space reminds me of elementary school, is that a nucleus or a star?

What does it matter, can’t even go to a bar without a plastic card.

 

Too formal, I want a stream of consciousness, I’ve been playing the Bard

all right, let’s give it a go, but sober, it’ll be kind hard:

 

discombulated, deflated, and elated,

stand naked in the rain, smited and smitten,

don’t let them know you faked it, you made it,

here, here, my dear, I’m here, no fear.

Shush! And the sound of silence,

at least there’s no end to tyrants,

erupting Yellowstone,

down that wine and weed like J-Stone.

Can’t sleep, stopped by a bone,

the figurative sense, if that makes sense,

nonsense, this is the no spin zone,

there is an excess of ozone layers between the

naysayers and the Shimer Bros,

hear this;

niggerspicchinkkykedikefagfuckthesearealljustwords,

you just haven’t hit the source, work on casuality,

though nature doesn’t give a shit about equality,

socially construct that social contract for me to break,

I didn’t ask to be enslaved, but neither do I strive to hate

so hand over that freedom I could just take.

 

Not quite post-structuralist, plus baby steps aren’t the key,

slow and steady won’t win the race for me.

I’m thinking maybe I should get rich quick or die trying,

but if I didn’t admit other currents fight to sway me, I’d be lying.

+50 Wordcrafting

+50 Wordcrafting

 

Cellar door barrel roll,

turncoat tornado as a commercial utensil,

flip flop, watch the death toll,

rise and fall, winter and the spring

into summer somersaults and soaring

cut from kites to counts and other nobles

resist the king, kill the king,

conquer the world and reign,

of terror, wicked witch of the West,

flotation device deploy,

die desperate, desolate, de-evolve

exponentially rises, flying fires,

but gimme that old time religion,

tie a human message to the leg of a metal pigeon,

sputnik, take off through space, whereas we arrive

in another time and place, in perfectly tip-top shape,

we spin off into a cloud of lethargic good intentions and

suffer serious casualties and retreat, defeat,

never, hold the line, boys, rally around the flag

skip to the mother at the funeral, watch her soul sag

tick tock, feel the earth roll,

end over end through the void,

denounce the evils of Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

take off on a magical motorcycle, hit warp five,

flourish your way to Neptune and halfway back,

find an ice dragon that breathes black holes

and flee, I will follow thee,

into the darkest reaches of space,

first contact, dead space, no contact

so sign that contract and make something of your life before its nothing.

We want your soul, and we can pay better

than humility, where is the innate good in humanity?

And I’ll show you a good God, damn,

you’re quite the modest mouse, sir,

defend the blue, white and redwall abbey

no traffic through here, so run that red light,

drive when you’re high and take flight,

weave a tapestry of blur in between eighteen wheelers

and glide right on downtown, get wasted,

smoke some dro with that hobo you found

welcome to Asheville, 828, we’re pretty straight folks,

half of us at least, anyways, we got drum circles every week,

fuck biltmore and that social “elite,”

get the hell out of Enka, this is our lake.

Sing song, watch em the play ping pong of warring nations,

we must unite the nations, flotation devices failed again,

it must be the quantum generator, engage the hyperdrive,

drop the soldiers there, we strive to provide

for our overlords, we fight the hordes,

summon the Count of Hammer Hill,

hope he rips out your throat for a quick kill,

and cower, cowardly commandants are nothing against me

but that’s but a Fable 2, fuck the parables,

this is the real world, that was the old world,

what if I took back a wormhole and found the Lord

smoking marijuana and writing high his holy Word?

Love me or hate me, feel free to underestimate me,

once upon a time, I said “Oh Lord, I only want one thing from thee;

make my enemies ridiculous, and that wish he granted me,

so listen to this flow from me and try, try with all your mind to free

yourself and carpe diem, if you have any friends, pass my Word and free ‘em.

Frozen flotillas rain on the world and ignite a supernova heat field

of religious fervor, the world falls into an endless cycle of bad habits,

watch a perverse and utterly rabid beast revealed,

but perhaps that is nature, and only the weak should recoil,

from the beast slouching ever towards Bethlehem

but I guess that’s the million dollar dead end

where exactly did morality begin,

in the delivery room or the Word of God?

Well that question is surely odd,

yeah I read Leviathan, I am after all,

a Machiavellian prince, name drop only a small

selection of Wikipedia information, and I’ll ask if you read it,

and you’ll trip trying to dodge the question,

don’t question me, I question everything,

yeah sure, we’ll call it a fling,

but we both know we only want one thing,

well I want the world, what now?

I would gladly take it, but no how

no way to succeed, technology foils me,

antithesis and an antagonist against me.

Fuck Oedipus, it’s not fate for me, I’m free.

Wil can fly through his name,

just call him Danger, power is his game

he’ll make his fortune and find fame,

but me first, hahaha, no way I’ll give in, my way is the high way,

and your way is no way, course this is all in play, we’re the Wang and any way

in which we partake is the Way, dark Taoists and perspectivist

so many -isms and so little prison space

sometimes even I think we’re in the disinformation age,

since even before I came of age, I didn’t want to live as a slave for a wage

you can’t stop me, even if, well, you couldn’t ever see in

my mind’s eye wherein the majestic mental projection of Eden

grows dim and I brace for impact, prepare an empire to strike back,

as I search for the words I lack to convey they way your defense will

fall once our strike force strikes the source,

the year 3030, at least the ancient past was pretty,

time travel and live ever and forever happily,

but perfect is no human way to be, for whence from does art come to be

but through the tragic and the epic, forfeit to this lyrical fit

of frustration, got lost on his way to serve his nation,

the story of man and rifle, the sounds of war stifled,

official government business, don’t trifle

in matters that don’t concern you, well this concerns me, fuck you

all I want is the truth, all we want to do is sue,

slave-morality, the strong are slaves to morality,

but there’s no breaking free from your history,

there is no second Troy for mice and men

so we lie on the beach and wait for the end.

 

To Live and Die in Dixie

To Live and Die in Dixie

 

I wish I was in Dixie,

but words don’t roll like the Appalachians.

Soft hills surround serene valleys,

but the forest is old and teems with memory.

The trees sway with wisdom to the music on the wind,

while trails wind around, down and up again, through, and all over.

 

Appalachia is a land where crickets provide the lullaby,

a land where Fall surpasses even Summer in beauty,

and a land where, from the peaks, the mountains seem to float on,

forever, across the land and beyond the horizon.

I may not live and die in Dixie,

but that’s where my heart takes its stand.

Requiem for a Dream

Requiem for a Dream

 

The gray sinks deeper into the city, heavy and lethargic,

we walk down these mean streets and laugh,

for there is nothing left to fear;

we have seen it all.

 

The gray sinks deeper into my soul, heavy and depressing,

I walk down these cold streets and wait,

for there is nothing for me here,

I have seen it all.