Songwriting II

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison.

You might recognize me.

You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy.

If I put my heart inside a box;

Maybe I'd forget how cold it was

Or how far you are

Or how much it hurts

There's no harm in God,

If there ever was one

Then, reality sets in:

God was my only friend

No armor on,

I'm at the end

Or a long, long walk

I'm off again

And on again

Nothing's impossible—

stop at the alter and scoff a bit

I left my coat on,

I left my heart on the rooftop,

A sacrifice, love

At the alter,

I wonder a song,

Or a sonnet

A song,

No, what's wrong?

Something off a bit

God, I woke up in a coffin once

Isn't that awful

The rest or the song wrote itself,

At the alter

No, I can't stop and talk

Got to get off,

Cause I've never been on

I've never belonged in the world

I'm breaking down, jim boy

Don't you know?

That this show blows my mind

But it's stuck in my head

Don't you know

That this show

Blows my mind

Like a firework

But it's still

Stuck in my

Head

The context is that I want you

From the mustache

Down to your tonsils

But I'm Locke inside of a box

Every day I feel poorer and poorer

The product says something is wrong to me

I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign

And look both directions

Before crossing over to

Comic nights

At the salad bar

What a cosmic waste of time

And an epic waste of space

Am I in your internet history

I'm dead

You surely are in mine,

But I'm right behind you

I'd be lying for trying to say

I'm not binded

Clutch bag,

Nut-thins

Nailed to the cross

With the arches doubled over

The crossword

Above old Missouri

Missoula and Arkansas

All saw us run out of gas

But I probably should just get going

You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up

Understand that our little talks

Were just buffered

By sunrise

Or sunset

And two more cocktails,

Shirley temples and

Surely none of this ever even happened

I only know you by the misery in my belly.

The heartache in my ribcage.

The cry I hold in silent

I only know you as

Remarkable I,

House of cards

Ace of wands

Down to one

Card of hades and

Spare me the spade

I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever

It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water

If that's not freedom I don't k me what is

The elevator music

Of my ascension

The attitude of attraction,

Gratitude, it's so unusual

Fight to lose,

In a room full of fools;

The fuse, and the matchbox—

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag,

You just have to ask, actually

But there's only one

To get out of the coffin,

Or “Box” as they called it,

That she was locked up in

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

I won't got no business in the business

I unplug the plug because I'm finish

Just because my skin they think I'm niggas

But that disrespect because I isn't

You disrespected me

Put the emphasis in neglect

Synthesis? Sympathies

Put some respect on my name

Before

I put some facts in these flames

Making me famous

But you don't play me

Picking up packages

Trying to play me

I am the president bitch

Not the lady

Okay

Scratch my back

With a metal spatula

Take a step back, this is not your world

Take a step back

While I skip forward

This is snitch territory;

You should be very aware of me

Beware

If that's didn't scare you

Just stay right there

I'm in weight class: BEAR

Flying first class air

with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a

Omg dislodges a what?

I have no idea that's all that was there.

omg.

My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have;

My mother must have given me her monster

But this monster knows better.

Even just the profile is an irritant for now;

Unsure, meditterenian,

Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins

What happened was harder,

Turbulence

I've been good,

Golden even

But this computer wants me gone

And now,

Aggravated

Assault with a program

Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought

With our own thoughts?

No one.

Hm.

Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been.

Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor

Or the burning fire

Or the flicker of just a thought

A meadowlark and still

Vines at the bottom of the spring

In the pantheon

Rhythms and rythms and

Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts

Shut up,

And pay your taxes

Nothing to see here, bottoms up.

But it's only 9 and half a clock

Remember Sonny, would ya

Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox

Fix you up a seller

Shortly temple soda

Surely something lingers

Sure enough

The forest,

And the father

And the omen

And the harpist

And the seeker

And the shadow

And the wonder

And the alter

Therefore,

Who art thou

Therefore, who,

Arthur

What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin

He said,

“I thought you'd though so”

I say,

“Prayers answered and nothing less

Than just in the nick of time,

For nickel backs

And Pennie's picked up,

Now in capsules

Who you are, I falter

But nevertheless

A songbird”

What a vow, God.

I try to keep my promises

But my face is still wilted

And awkward

I take those punches

Just about as well

As the bag I've become

Downstairs, embankments

And more shadow boxes

Gift, valentines

And then now

By Fourth of July

I should be quite the disappointment

To just about everyone

Who even had a thought about her

There are no more colors

Just wounds,

And salt shakers,

Garlic and

Slamming doors

Art throbs

And heart connesuiers

And curators

Existential crisis

And inward turmoil

Oil on canvas

Blood spills

Long before it ever boils

Cauldrons

Candle marks

Ought, with my eye out

Out, with the harpists!

I put my eye on,

Dose now,

Flicker flames,

Shadow box

Goodnight drunken soldier

Pity this,

I want to sleep, but wither

I want to weep, but am watched

I must be under some kind of…

Umbrella.

I bust me under some kind of

—

Possession.

I must be under surveillance

The Devil's in the neighbor

The proof is in the pudding

I want to punch the possum

Or wombat

Or what you would call a rodent

Dressed as some dumb girl

I'm sure she gets paid by the poem

To poke and prod

But I've written symphonies next door

While she plants the seeds of the devil's words

And still tries to force conformity

In a neighborhood riddled with disease

Of which includes her

Poor habits and lack of personality

No vibration after all

But I've hydrated perfectly

And circumstances permit,

Again,

I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub

While you threaten to pull the plug

And put the light out

I beg you to watch me

Rip my veins apart with box cutters

And razorblades

Then again,

Probably with glee,

The whites would watch

Another black in agony

They seem to really like that

Then again

The blacks, the shadows

Cursed beats

Seem to rip each other into pieces

As if for entertainment or otherwise

Watch this

They seem to hate each other moredoes

Anybody else actually hate them also

And therefore

I watch pitifully and become

Respectfully disengaged

As I am sorted into

Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old

A tale as old as time and still

Something forgotten,

Even still

It is a man's war,

And us as women are just

Objects,

Then whatever lurks next door is more

An empty body or a shell

Than ever more a woman was

That was my husband you stole from the office.

Fucking dumb whore.

Then again;

What never was owned

Then cannot be stolen

See golden brotherhood,

Crepes and popes,

Sacred pipes

Cerulean,

And keeping her out of our concepts

And gardens

Planting seeds of choking mongrels

And still here

We dance in the meadowlarks song

And the chosen fountain

The blue rays of sun,

And the wonder's bow and arrow

Again, I call?

Well, again I wake

As lover does not call

But yet I to answer with a song of words

And heart of such

A song of one to call for

But nothing lays more secret then

These eyes and filled with pains

A wound, salted

A bullet,

And gillotine

Ouch

Get out, God.

Listen, mister listen

A couple hours later

And my eyes are steady getting misty

Filled with sweat and bears

No blood yet

Stings my eyes

So you know I ain't been eating right

And eyes o. Irish

Hash and cabbage

Checks to cash

And slight advantage

God help us all

If the brim of the hat is dripping

And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep

And thinking of Jimmy

Croissants fresher baked in the oven

Then somebody better love my son

Before I go and end the world

And pull the plug

I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds!

I left forums unanswered

I started a lot of unfinished problems

But the thing is,

I'm almost sure they're already solved

Considering as alcoholism's a solvent

It cams hurt the hard boards

And mother drives

The tears are filled with sweat

And fountains

Somebody else should call it in

I'm in so much trouble with the network

Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking

Cocksuck programmers

Now my heart hurts

And soul is vanished

How hard do I have to run

To go and catch her

I looked 15 years into the past

And found a wheeelbarrow and basket

I have got to get out of here

Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver

But I'm still her, huh

Aren't I?

Run!

You fucking Irish bastard

Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white

Perfectly golden and still,

I'm on numbers

Perfectly parished,

And still I went backwards

A wedding or funeral?

All catholic, no services

No difference at all

And still

Nothings worse than

Indifference

I'm in so much trouble with the network

Be king in the nexrophiliac

And still I left the golden metropolis

For nothing but a metro card and

Simple segregative diversity tactics

I wanted the heartland!

Still, Irish bastard

Wish hash and cabbage

I've got to get out of here

Pushing a basket

Abandonment

And

Fatal attraction

You can't sell me anything

If I can't buy it

Recovery day

But I don't feel like it

Muscles tired,

I'm elastic

Send them to the band camp

(White lion)

I'm elastic

Twists and turns and

I'm elastic

Double up,

Double up

I'm elastic

Twists and turns and

There's vampires

Don't feel like it

Double up double up

I'm elastic

Take a lesson

This is tragic

Double up double up

I promise, it is personal not business

It's professional, no promises now

On the radio tower

Spread it out

Or just hijinx it

I mix drinks with hindsight

I'm elastic

Lesson learned and

Twists and turns

Between the fireman and the super

Someone left a stench

And an energy marker in my room

That left me clawing at my

“Do not touch” money

And it hit below the belt.

It was all God's comedy,

But not in the least funny,

I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason

But even after he left to check the Fire defectors

His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke

And I woke up from a nightmare

As if I'd lost control

When normally,

I know imm dreaming with

Enough time to change things

Before they spiral out of control—

And the worst part,

I didn't remember the dream at all besides

Waking up, finally at the end

Realizing it was a dream and telling myself

It was okay, because now I could just wake up

But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super

And whatever he brought with him

For lingering in my space

Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways,

Because the neighbor was evil as they come

And they were always playing mind games in the building

And the motorcycles

And really I deserved better

But I couldn't afford it

And because I couldn't afford it

The demons were always lurking

Trying to penetrate my space

And they did, that day

And it was God's comedy

But it wasn't funny

And it lingered

And the nightmares

And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed

And hey,

At least I got some new music.

I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over

Into what?

Idk it just ends there.

Goddamnit.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Songwriting II

Contact Me