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Disfigured Night's Journal

Sunday, February 15, 2004


Enough to hold you to the brightest of lights,
to place you dangerously close to that sun,
enough to acknowledge the flaws you can't ignore
and recognize the cause of what's done is done,
more than enough to put my name behind my ideals,
and neglect my logic twice daily.
enough to keep me looking for my lucy in the sky with gems,
when I remember how you used to call me baby,
enough to look in my mirror with detest
for every tear you shed regardless
of why you wept,
enough to curse any man
who can't appreciate the depth of the ocean i swam
till i ran out of breath.


Wednesday, August 27, 2003

4:59PM - Pants on Fire

Sky diver, your pants are on fire and the rest of your clothes is blowing
And for some strange reason, your nose is growing
My skin is crawling, everybody's chin is falling,
jaws are dropping left and right
Lost cause you came like a thief in the night
With nice white teeth and a tight ass and long conversation
Fascinating feeling to spend months in your company
I never felt uncomfortable, even with my clothes off
Chillin so hard, my ass almost froze off
Everybody shows off and wants to look presentable
But the fact of the matter is that accidents are preventable
From the sound of the candy wrappers
Down to the handicappers
Everybody's got to exercise a little caution
But every so often expect things to get hectic or
Technically difficult and I begin to get skeptical
Especially when the canadian bacon gets sizzlin
Isn't it a sin when the ceiling is invisible
We need new inventions that reveal peoples true intentions
A portable pride protector, affordable lie detector
The wild lifestyle has the tendency to intimidate
But it isn't your invitation to imitate
In front of my face, you spoke my gospel like an apostle
But on the other side of town, you got coke in your nostril
Just for example, we all want to live a bit
Whatever, it's your body of water, why should I give a shit

Who are you anyway, and where did you come from
Dumdum, just when I thought I could trust someone
The mask comes off, and your face fades away
You radiate eighty-eight full shades of gray

Black and white rainbow, you know you ain't acting right
Game show hostess, stabbing every back in sight
The time has come thicker than blood
And make no mistake, I'm a stick in the mud
I'm a kick in your pants and I'm a lump in your throat
And I'm the hassle in your castle, I'm going to jump in your moat
Splash, hypocritical condition the hospital
Makes this mission impossible
Pretty much, I've got no patients left and as a physician or doctor
It puts me in an awkward position
No magician can trick me, or lick me with a cattle whip
So what makes you think you can sink my battleship
We ain't family, drama queen, the camera's rolling
Show me your swollen memories before the moment's stolen
Slow-motion Picasso, wearing the wool socks
And coming with the full clip, I'm sick of this bullshit

Who are you anyway, and where did you come from
Dumb-Dumb, just when I thought I could trust someone
The mask comes off, and your face fades away
You radiate eighty-eight full shades of gray



Tuesday, August 26, 2003

4:29PM - Suffocated Love

It's too good
It's too nice
She makes me feel it's too quick
Is it love?
No, not love
She turns my sexual tricks
She says she's mine, i know she lies
First, i scream, then i cry.
You take a second of me
You beckon, i'll bleed
She suffocates me
She suffocates me with suggestions
I asked 'do you feel the same?'
And later on, maybe
I'll tell you my real name
She's so good, she's so bad
You understand, I can't expand
now I could just kill a man
She's on her knees, i say please
I cross her city lines, she's got brown eyes

I think ahead of you,
i think instead of you
Will you spend your life with me
And stifle me?
I know why the caged bird sings,
i know why...

Forgive and you're forgiven
Kingdom come
Can you wait for yours,
i need to taste some
Life's really funny,
i laugh while she spends my money
She's my freak
I guess i'm weak
You ask what is this?
Mind your business
I pass my idle days
with my idle ways
'Til the twelfth of always
She walks my hallways
I keep her warm,
but we never kiss
She cuts my slender wrists
Let's waste some more time
I sign the dotted line
A different level

She says i'm weak and immature
But it's cool
I know what money's for.
Push comes to shove,
Her tongue's her favourite weapon on attack
I slap her back,
she mostly hates me.

Can i take off your clothes
Before we go out
And when you're helpless,
i'll scream and shout
We finish everyday
Well, anyway
Sixty-nine degrees
My head's between your knees.
You ask what is this?
Mind your business
It's too good
It's too nice
She makes me feel it's too quick
Is it love?
No not love
She turns my sexual tricks
She says she's mine,
i know she lies
First, i scream,
then i cry.
Take a second of me
You beckon, i'll bleed
Take a second of me




I played connect the dots with your beauty marks
And I ended up with picture perfect sheet music
I read your musical notes with a composer's eyes
And heard out song for the first time
My spine is still tingling,
mental images of your fine tune
is what I've been nodding my head to lately
Every now and then you can catch me humming
your nudity under my heavy breath
I heavily suggest you resurrect
your ancient neglected dust collector
If you distrust the distance in my seldom plucked heart strings
Sit stripped before your full length
Perform your reflection backwards
Maybe then you will understand the rhythm in my movement

Listen when the news is sent
Extend when the rules are bent
I'll be waiting to take your leave
Make me a victim of your two step
Make me an apprentice of your body parts
Teach me to dance to your beauty marks
I'm stepping on toes here and I don't care
It's hopeless, it's hopeless
It's hopelessness holding this openess to blow a kiss
So close your lips but don't get pissed
and throw a fist at this vocalist
I'm not emotionless, in fact I broke my wrist
when I wrote the list of all those I miss
This is my poker face, Mister Feel Nothing


4:11PM - Inherited Scars

I didn't tell anyone about what I seen or heard that day, mums the word still.
I'm scared to plant ideas into your head while your rebellious side is fertile.
Hurdles are getting knocked down...
I'm running a losing race.
Your legs aren't the only ones marked up.
How many dreams have you chased?
If I could have said this to your face
maybe you wouldn't have to write like I do,
Except I use paper instead of my body now;
it's something you might want to try too
From haikus to horror stories,
it's something in our blood that we share,
Something in our blood that appears
on the surface of our skin when we bring it there.
My facial expression said I didn't care.
Hate and aggression must've made an impression
on the little kid who stared,
Sitting on stairs
when I would bother to bring my skates...
My feeble attempt at being a strong, big brother...
doing father figure 8's.
Ripping my cape on the ground that it dragged on.
Tripping on fate and hearing the sounds of a sad song.
Listen, it's great sharing time now that dad's gone,
But what's with the choice of words?
Or the body parts that you decided to tag them on?
I'm a bagabond who moved to modern day Babylon and then back again
With minimal contact and you know I can't ask your mom what's happening.
You've got such beautiful gifts. What are you doing ruining the packaging?
How ironic...come to think...I probably put this ink on my back for him.
I want you to laugh and sing more,
But you dropped anchor in a place where dreams go to die
and you're keeping your ass indoors.
I'm asking for you to stick it out...and see things through.
You're asking for me to zip my mouth
and keep it just between me and you.

If I could have been there from the beginning...if I could be there right now...
if I could promise to be there when you need me, would it raise an eyebrow?
How would your body be different if I still dropped by for visits?
Is it my place to put a smile on your face?
Could I erase
your body language
telling you its all been said before?
Or change the words you wrote,
exchanging your scars for my metaphors?
I'd add them to my collection while smiling.
Next time you want to paint with razor blades
and need a canvas use my skin.

You're hiding your sins well, but I see the hell that your limbs speak.
Tongue in cheek. Lying awake in bed while other kids sleep.
The strength of evil begins to keep your grins weak.
No matter the length of the needle,
marking up one's body is so much more than skin deep.
Feel the pin prick. The grim reap
what they sew and you're trained to say that you're fine.
Your thresh hold for pain is greater than mine.
So I'm waiting in the lines
that you give me...patiently,
While you get cut in the lines that THEY make YOU wait in...
in ways that they can't see.
If there's a vacancy as far as room in your life goes,
say it to me. Don't do it with a knife under your clothes.
Because the anguish of hidden skin...is letting my ghosts be shown.
Plus the language its written in, hits especially close to home.
I'm most alone when I'm out of touch
with the people who feel this type of pain.
You might just aim for a day that its raining...
to strike a vein to take my name in.
Changing your uniform and altering your mind set.
Has your pointer finger decided if it was a fault of his or mine yet?...
I bet.
I know the dialect.
It's nowhere I haven't been before
With skin that's sore.
Battle scars that rise from our inner war
Are decorative medals of honor t
hat our father decided to pass through inheritance
And it is repetitive
when the kids head in the direction of evidence...
proving the pain and hurt is relative.

All this pain and hurt is relative.



3:57PM - The Emperor's New Clothing

I listen for secrets hidden in whispers...in the winter time
And catch them tickling my whiskers...colliding with wind chimes
The kind that send shivers...up and down tingling spines

Thinking time could stretch if...

we'd spin a design inside our web that would catch drifts
The type that blow out birthday candles before we make our death wish

I'm waiting for a message in my calling so I'm checking my voice mail,
and I'm answering machines with man-made dreams.
Man made bandaids to cover up the seams.
The cover-up seems to only work
if the wound never opens up or bleeds.

Beads of sweat form above the eyes of a heathen Emperor
Who won't get on his feet and step outside into the freezing temperature
He wants to adjust the global thermostat
But he's so remote...
and you can't control the world like that

Come to find these eggs ain't even golden.
I see depreciation
in the family jewels the Queen is holding.
That broken marraige was fixed.
It happened when her feet were frozen.
She still remains to be the only one
who's seen the Emperor's new clothing...


Monday, August 25, 2003

1:47PM - to my love

she request me to write
but I can not even right
when i think of this
i lock up like a cell
and I just dont have the might
to fight
i will not fight with you
i will fuck no one but, you
my sex will destroy you
and leave you in ruins of love
and pain, like old rugs
walked on by a million feet
my heart beats the beat of a million
just like me
like me, they think they know everything
but they dont have you
they walk through life
without a clue
that i would die without you
thats why i have to doubt you
like roses growing in the iceburg
like fire that causes deadly frostburn
my heart is like a target
and now it is your turn
but aim deep
because I am very stubborn
but dont shoot
because if i die
i wont have you


10:52AM - Gods Bathroom Floor

from a head full of pressure
as the senses that i clutch
made a date with divinity
but she wouldn't let me fuck
i got touched by a hazy shade of god,
help me change
caught a rush on the floor
from the life in my veins

it goes,
one for the cannabis
and two for your dianetics
three for your reasoning
and four for those that try to get it
five for your love
and six for the stress
and seven for the day
that i climbed into this mess

i'm catchin ulcers from the childproof lighters
and all of these fine-toothed fighters
that keep the wires in my head tighter
i'm tired out by the distances achieved walkin in my sleep
floors got shifted since the high got a tad too deep
ask Dad to keep cool ill call him back
as soon as i resume normal,
and get out of this bathroom
and call management
seek some reimbursement
for the nerve endings
that burn from the first kiss

so fuck needles, fuck smoke,
fuck lines that make the sinus choke
fuck chasers and trails,
fuck raves and rails
fuck hangovers, fuck hallucinations
regurgitations, mandatory sentences
and you wait tracing blind
by insight and dulled common sense
give me inhibition,
kill the superstition and the confidence
built a tolerance
now its more that i consume
and when it boards up my room
the world's all a gloom in unison unify the eulogy
autopsy pages read euthenasia i.e. irony
well here i be within a pool of my drool, sedated
windows dilated, comatose, life overdose
tell Jacob Miles keep it wild-style
i promise i'll smile
and check the floor,
god's got nice tile

from a head full of pressure
as the senses that i clutch
made a date with divinity
but she wouldn't let me fuck
i got touched by a hazy shade of god, help me change
caught a rush on the floor from the life in my veins




Sunday, August 24, 2003


And as heart beats bring percussion's
fallen trees bring repercussions
cities play upon our souls like broken drums
redrum the essence of creation from city slums
but city slums mute our drums and our drums become humdrums
cuz city slums have never been where our drums are from
just the place where our daughters and sons become
offbeat heartbeats
slaves to city streets
and hearts get broken and heartbeats stop
broken heartbeats become break beats
for niggas to rhyme on top,

i won't rhyme on top of no tracks
niggas on a chain gang used to do that
way back




i can recite the grass on the hill and memorize the moon
i know the cloud forms of love by heart
and have brought tears to the eye of the storm
and my memory banks walk amongst forests and amazon river banks
and i scream them into sunsets that echo in earthquakes
shadows have been my spotlight as i monologue the night
and dialogue with days
soliloquies of wind and breeze
applauded by sun rays


Saturday, August 23, 2003

11:21PM - Gypsy Girl

And she doesn't want to press charges, my yellow cousin - ghost of a gypsy. Drunk off the wine of pressed grapes, repressed screams of sun-shriveled raisins and their dreams interrupted by a manhood deferred. Will she ever sober? Or will they keep handing her glasses overflowing with the burden of knowing.

I never knew. Never knew it could harm me, the ghost of a little girl in the desolate mansion of my manhood. I'm a man now. And then.. I remember, that I have been charged one million volts of change.

Will the ghost of that little girl ever meet my little girl? She's one now she must have been three then, maybe four. She's eighteen now, I'm 25 now, I must have been twelve then. My mother said he was in his 30's and she's now pressing charges, although she's been indited, and I can't blame her. I can't calm her, I want to calm her. I want to call him names, but only mine seems to fit.

C'mon let's see if it fits. Two little boys with a magic marker marked her and it won't come out. "They put it in me!" "No he didn't, what are you talking about? It's not permanent. It'll come out when you wash it." Damn maybe it was permanent. I can't forget. And I hope she doesn't remember. Maybe magic marked her.

Lord I hope he don't pull no dead rabbits out of that hat, what you gonna do then? And what was Mary's story? The story of a little girl with a brother and a couch. She's got a brother, a couch, a sister locked in her bedroom, and a mother on vacation. Lord, don't let her fall asleep.

Her brother's got keys to her dreams. He keeps them on a chain that now cuffs his wrists together. Mummy doesn't believe he did it. But he's left footprints on the insides of his sister's eyelids, and they've learned to walk without him and haunt her daily prayers. And if you rub your fingers ever so softly on her inner thigh, she'll stop you. Having branded your fingertips with the footprints of her brother, the disbelief of her mother, and her sister who called her a slut for sleeping.

Lord, I've known sleeping women. Women who've slept for lives at a time, on sunny afternoons, and purple evenings. Women who sleep sound, and live silently. Some dreams never to be heard of again. I've known sleeping women and have learned to tip-toe into their aroma, and caress myself. They've taught myself how to sleep having swallowed the moon. Sleep 'till mid afternoon. And yearn for the silence of night to sleep sound once again.

Painters of the wind, who know to open the windows before closing their eyes. Finding glory in the palette of their dreams. She had no dreams that night. The windows had been closed. The worlds of her subconscious sufficated and bled rivers of unanticipated shivers and sounds that were not sleep. She was sound asleep, and he came silently.

It wasn't the sun in her eyes, nor the noise of children on route to school. She wrote to the rays of an ingrown sun, fungus that stung more than it burned. A saddened school on route to children who dared to sleep on a couch exposed to their schizophrenic brother, only to wake with a new personality. One that doesn't trust as much as it used to. And wears lifejackets into romantic relationships, can't stand the touch of fingertips, damn was that marker permanent? I hope she don't press charges.

I hope they don't press no more grapes into wine because she might get drunk again and fall asleep. Rise and shine my mother used to say, pulling back the clouds of covers that warmed our night. But the fleshy shadows of that moonless night stored the venom in it's fangs to extinguish the sun.

Rise and shine, but how can I when I have crusty cloud configurations pasted to my thighs? And snow covered mountains in my memories. They peek into my daily instruction, my moments. They hide in the corners of my smile, and in the shadows of my laughter. They've stuffed my pillows with overexposed reels of ABC afterschool specials. And the feathers of woodpeckers that bore hollows into the rings of time, that now ring my eyes, and have stumped the withered trunk of who I am.

I must remember, my hands have been tied behind the back of another day. If only I could have them long enough to dig up my feet which have been planted in the soiled seeds of a harvest that only hate could reap.

I keep trying to forget, but I must remember. And gather the scattered continents of a self, once whole. Before they plant flags and boundary my destiny. Push down the watered mountains that blemish this soiled soul before the valleys of my conscience get the best of me. I'll need a passport just to simply reach the rest of me. A vaccination for a lesser god's bleak history.



From the fifth floor I schedule my meeting with the moon
Stress, let it go so it don't completely consume
When the vegetables bite back, and the grass starts to sting
I yell up to heaven to get me the hell out of this dream
I fell out of my stream of self-consciousness
And I got welts on my mind to signify all my accomplishments
No matter whose math you use to count the dead
Progress will never rest, in the hand that has no head
Brought my brain a cane and asked it to be my pimp
You know, to make sure I don't get stuck up in my fuck ups
A little overanxious I was, to bust nuts
And find the answers making love
Out of a canvas full of touch-ups
I dip my brush into what I've wept for
And wonder out loud as I can, how long I've slept for
I should rob a pet store, let the dogs wild
I should close all the schools just to make the kids smile
Sieze the limit, let the sky be the moment
Put the key to the ignition, I'ma ride these donuts
And when it breaks, lock the door, walk away
Won't be nothin else to talk about, nothin else to say

I'm just waiting for the moment I can break away
The only reason that I stay, so I can save the day

Let's stand on the corner, throw rocks at people
So there's no surprises, written off as evil
I sleep next to women that I don't deserve
They like to hurt my pride, while I work their nerves
Once upon a time, it was worth it,
When the urges get fed,
And the purpose finds a path to the surface
Is respect considered a breakfast food?
I'm guilty of the type of attitude that wrecks your mood
The truth can be pain, and I hate to do it
Either face the music, or get away from me stupid
Super glue it down, now it better not move
See I'm not the best, but I'm in the top two
And I'm not that friendly, when this cup is empty
It's a side effect from trying to find the fucks that sent me
See I didn't just happen, I was made this way
By the same egomaniac that came this way

See I gave up lying, but I still tiptoe
I'm as stubborn as they come, and I'm known to hit low
If I had a chisel, I would carve out a hole
For me to hide in everytime the mighty wind blows
Since no one knows, where the hell we gonna go
I'm gonna stand right here, until the end of the show
I'm gonna clap my hands, so don't pass the chance,
To unsnap my pants, get on my lap and dance
No longer am I mad about the things I don't have
All I'm living for is love and laughs
The last starfighter's weapons were rendered useless
So we pulled the scissors and cut the cord to end this music..



a latin transcription of the word person is being of sound. as human beings we communicate with each other and the greater universe through sound vibration. it is, thus, the essence of our collective being. all sounds reverbrate with meaning. every sound vibration has an effect and every sound connected with every word we speak, in every syllable is connected to it's eternal meaning, it's eternal reverbration. the original inhabitants of egypt actually documented the esoteric meaning of each sound vibration. they believed that all consonant sounds communed with energies of a temporal reality, whereas vowel sounds connected us with energies of the eternal reality. in their written text they only wrote consonants for the eternal reality was too sacred to be transcribed. the ancient egyptian language like all other languages of antiquity was, needless to say, rooted in passion. yet, over time, many cultures have become disconnected from the passionate roots of their language and thus, perhap, disconnected from the root of our existence.

nada brahma: the world is sound

in the east, it is widely believed that the word/sound om is the seed of the universe and the seed of all creation that can be heard reverbrating within all life forms. practically all religions over time have focused on the power of sound vibration. whether through the chanting of om, buddhist and hindu chants, islamic prayers and calls to worship, or reciting hail mary and the lord's prayer, the common thread has been the investment in the belief that change will come about through voicing these sacred words, aloud. yet, like the ancient egyptians many of these belief systems have also held to the idea that there is a realm of eternal reality that cannot be put into words. in the words of the eastern mystic lao-tsu the tao that can be told is not the eternal tao. the name that can be named is not the eternal name. the unnamable is the eternally real. naming is the origin of all particular things.

thus, the future of language would involve us getting closer and closer to be being able to articulate the unspoken. consciousness, like technology, evolves over time. in the same way that there are advances made in technology that may take a decade or more before it reaches the public, there are also shifts in consciousness that readily become understandable by the masses over time. so that an idea that perhaps the twelfth dalai lama acheived through meditation however many years ago may just be reaching the level of common understanding by the average young american, today. ideas and concepts that perhaps our parents could not grasp until mid-life crisis may be now grasped by adolescent teens.and things that once could only be put into words by the most learned philosophers can now be expressed by the average emcee (and in my estimation most emcees that i hear are average).

i had the priviledge of co-writing a film called Slam, the story of a young kid who learns the power of word and uses it to transcend his given reality. in writing this film i decided to give the main character the last name Joshua, based on the biblical story of Joshua who fought the battle of Jericho by simply marching around the city's walls seven times playing his trumpet and the walls came tumbling down. i figured that if the film was played on seven hundred screens the walls of babylon would come tumbling down, mainly because of the spells laced into the poetry of the film. i have often thought of my poetry in terms of it being incantaions: spells (note: magic is done though casting spells which is the same way words are made) or prayers to be recited in darkest caves and highest mountain tops.in writing, i often feel as if i am deciphering age old equations and am often as baffled an audience member as any other listener or reader. i have also found numerous occasions where i have felt that i wrote or recited a situation into existence.

i write in red ink that turns blue when the book closes

language usage is a reflection of consciousness, thus, the future of language is co-related to the ever-evolving state of human awareness. as we become more aware of our existing reality it becomes clear that we live with the power of dictating our given situations and thus the power to determine our future. our present reality is pre-sent dictated by what we asked for previously. no, i am not saying that everything that happens to us is within our control, yet, through our perception we have the ability to determine much more of our reality than we realize (all puns intended). and what we say (which is clearly a reflection of what and how we think) is of the ut-most (utter-most) importance. what we say matters (becomes a solid: flesh). word life.

so then the question becomes, what role does hip hop play in the future of language? or rather, what role does the future of language play in hip hop? there does seem to have been a lyrical evolution in hip hop. vivid, descriptive narratives of ghetto life seem to have come at the cost of imaginative or psycho-spiritual exploration. in other words, niggas have come up with amazing ways to talk about the same ol shit. the problem is, when we recite the same ol shit into micrphones which increase sound vibration the same ol shit continues to manifest in our daily lives. but of course employing one's imagination is problematic when the aim is to keep it real. in a book called the illusions by richard bach, the main character finds that when jesus reportedly said that all one needs is faith the size of a mustard seed to move mountains he actually only said faith because at the time there wasn't a word for imagination. it is imagination applied to our daily lives and use of language that brings about interesting futures. hip hop, as is, is mainly concerned about depicting a rough street life void of hope or an upscale designer life void of thought and in doing so dicates it's own outcome. if biggie's album had not been entitled ready to die would he still be alive today? did his vocalized profession dictate his destination? the fact that we were so ready to hear about how he was ready to die increased the sound vibration of his recitation through playing it on a million radios and televisions at a time to the point where it effected our reality and his. word is bond.

these are the words that i manifest

we are the manifestaion of our thinking patterns. and we think in terms of terms. words. sooner or later we must realize that we are liable for what and how we think and say and thus must alter (altar) our use of language. sentence structures predate pyramids and are as complex. realize, even in asking me to describe the future of language, i am simply playing my part in determining it by helping those who read this to become more aware of the importance of what they say. and that (this) is how the future comes about. word.


Monday, August 18, 2003


i wear my scars like the rings on a pimp
i live life like the captain of a sinking ship
the one thing that i can guarantee
i'm like a stepping razor, i suggest you stay fair with me
been payin dues for a decade plus,
before that i was just another face on the bus
tappin my foot, to the beat on the radio
dreamin 'bout the mic and the money and the ladies
oh mom, i promise im gonna be large
someday im gonna stop tryin to borrow your car
gonna go far, with charisma and skill
until they put my face on a million dollar bill
atmosphere, its just a ten letter word
discretion is the name of my cement-feathered bird
and if you didnt hear, fuck whatevers heard
i think you got the sickness i suggest you get it cured
caught up in the mix, of a bottle full of fix
im gonna hobble down the street 'til i reach knob creek
its not that i dont like you, i just dont wanna speak
you fuckin freak
now keep your days out my week
the world keeps a balance, through mathematics
defined by whatever youve added and subtracted
im pushin on the hammer, to trigger the brain
embrace how i live it, god loves ugly

god loves ugly...


Friday, August 15, 2003


scientists gather in a secret place to debate
They photographed the Earth from space and saw my face
They tried to translate the innate asiatic shape
before the final earthquakes came but it was too late
Only one eighth of the human race escaped to space
They were chased by flying phenomenon to the lunar base
Floatillas and space centers, lasers probed the entrance
DNA code sensors reject old genetics
I presented my cosmic clearance to a patrol of medics
I was injected with sodium pentathol and questioned
I relayed the message the way I was trained to remember it
I showed them the keypad code and told them to enter it
I told them which alpha-numeric buttons were sensitive
He snatched it out of my hand and started depressing it
I told him detonation was definite if he kept at it
He never quit, he just lost his temper and flipped
I bowed my head
like "I guess this is it"
My ears popped,
the music stopped,
and I couldn't hear shit




She came back to visit, she says
'Cause in some ways, Minneapolis is more real than L.A.
But I won't go to the triple-rock on a tuesday
Too many people pop out of they pimples and play
And at night, we can watch these people in these bars
They're all insane, they all know my name
Who won the game? no one's in pain
But either way girl, i'm glad you came
And if the elements and irrelevance I strain
Hair's wet, who cares if it's sweat or rain
As long as it doesn't leave a permanent stain
It's all in vain if there's nothing left to gain
And somethin's in the way she looks at her prey
There's no way she'll allow you to live
Swallow the fight, inhale the night
There's not much else left for you to give
Who's leaving (who's leaving) ? there she goes
Who's leaving (who's leaving) ?
Who's breathing (who's breathing)
as opposed to who's bleeding (who's bleeding)
Carress the rooftop and stare at the space
For the flesh that you gave just to get a taste
It goes... nothing comes close
Scream of the smile and choke boy choke
Passion come death, and death bring power
At the top of the hour we sing for the monster
And here she goes, with that look in her eyes
The souls of those that got took by surprise
Crooked little smile that clings to her lips
On a night like this I sing for the bitch

Just a lonely summer
Slowly dying
I was smiling hard
But I was lying

So what's the time? it's almost time for her to go to work
The sun is shining but I'm the shadow of my smirk
I keep my breathin under my breath
Tucked within the untrimmed bushes next to her front steps
And when she leaves to make treck towards the bus stop
My love erupts (POPS) a thousand tiny blood clots
Damn I wish that she was mine but time and time over the discretion
On my right shoulder whispers to my ear
Advising me to admire from way over here, play the rear
And struggle for the view to clear
It's been 2 years and quite a few beers
Too many loose tears and a few souveniers
And if she only knew, how long I've waited for her
How her smiles enough to make my winter warmer
If she knew the way she walks could take away my storm
She'd probably call the cops and get a restraining order
As much as I hate myself, I hate you more
But I still smile when you come through that door
And as much as I hate my life, I hate yours too
Just can't seem to teach myself to ignore you
This is for the ladies, not every lady
Just the ones that drive me crazy, the ones that scream SAVE ME
I wanna thank y'all for everything you gave me
Now lean in and taste me (kiss)

Right up to your face and kiss you!



Thursday, August 7, 2003


They claim that i'm violent
Just because I refuse to be silent
These hypocrites are havin' fits
Cuz i'm not buying it, defying it
Envious, because I will rebel against
Any oppresor, and this is known as self defense
I show no mercy, they claim that i'm tha Lunatic
But when tha shit gets thick, i'm the one you run and get
Don't look so confused, tha truth is so plain ta see
Cause i'm tha nigga tha you sell-outs are ashamed to be

-you know who-



I'm so sick of these glasses
fallin off my fuckin face
I'm starting to think
The world looks better
In a blury haze


2:32PM - Timothy Leary's 8-Circuit Model of Consciousness

Timothy Leary came up with this theory -- or I guess model or map would be better terms -- for human consciousness. I get the impression he started working on it early in his LSD involvement, though I haven't yet been able to find where he first started talking about the ideas (I suspect there may be a reference in 'High Priest', but I haven't waded all the way through yet.)

His book on the subject was called 'Exo-Psychology', and has been republished with additional material in recent years under the title 'Info-Psychology' (New Falcon Publishing). This is a good book, and it's especially valuable because it's original source material on the whole idea, but it really is out there -- it's hard to make sense of it unless you already know what he's talking about.

There are, however, two excellent books that introduce, explain, and develop these ideas. Before describing their strong & weak points, let me give a thumbnail sketch of the big picture:

The 8-circuit model describes eight levels of function of human consciousness. Different books call these by different names -- 'circuits' (like different circuits in a computer), 'gears' (like shifting gears on a bicycle), 'grades' (like in elementary school)- you could call them 'burritos' if you want -- I like 'circuits'.

Anyhow, there are eight circuits. The lower four deal with normal psychology, while the upper four deal with 'psychic', 'mystical', 'enlightened', or perhaps even 'tripped-out' consciousness. The strong point of this system is that it integrates the two so well. Most theories deal with one or the other, but not both -- mundane psychology with no consideration of transcendant experience, or mystical foo-fa-ra with octaves and rays and spiritual this or that but no grounding in nitty-gritty down-to-earth surviving in the human jungle.

The first four 'normal' circuits are influenced very much by modern psychology, especially Adlerian developmental stuff. Part of the idea is that as you grow up from infancy, the various circuits are activated and begin to function, and you take an 'imprint' from the conditions at the time.

The most obvious example is when the sexual/social circuit kicks on in adolesence, the imprint is taken when you have your first sexual experience. Sometimes, if this happens in the back seat of a car, with the panic of wondering whether Mom or Dad will appear, later in life the same person will discover that nothing turns them on quite as much as doing it in the back seat of a car, and especially if they feel a bit panicked.

Here's a rundown of the first four circuits:Read more...Collapse )



Intersections in real time
The unbroken circle in dimensions of the mind
The tie that binds
The eternal time that defines
The vanity of my insanity in due time
Will shine
Like the night seeds under the moon
The haunted corners of familiar rooms
Yet i'm consumed
With vanishing into thin air
The realization that this shit is my cross to bare
So where
Did I think I could run away to see
The people that decided to leave without asking me
But we
Decide to wait for happier tomorrows
And find someone so they can be
distractions from our sorrows
For my distractions the books of paper
that i've scrawled in
I'm eloquent as summer breeze
and leaves that have just fallen
I crawl in a corner hoping all of this will end
With the knowledge that
love is just another word for revenge

I who have nothing but the comfort of my sins

I who have nothing but the comfort of my friends

As I decay, demons pray above me like a vulture
Ability to endure contradiciton
is a high sign of culture
Verbal sculptures, self defacing
It is not God or lunacy that I am facing
But the erasing of the purity
and passion of my words
The herds of cattle babble on
with talk of the absurd
But I preferred
To walk away from all the feuds
To find my life is more confusing
than a rubic's cube
So i'm subdued
In all my words of verbal prods
To live alone one must be an animal or a God
But it's official
All of my pain is clear as crystal
The natural side of life
has now been seeming artificial
But I can hit you
And rest assured that thats my last word
I could give a fuck about
your secrets and your passwords
I can pass words with the ability to hurt you
Patience is a virtue and knowledge is a commercial

I who have nothing but the pain that I refer to

I who have nothing but the pain that I refered to

Lost among the miracles, I stand alone
And have grown into a being
that's sitting on top of throne
I've known
For many years that I would turn to rust
I find a reason for another breath
Before my return to dust
I become one
with science and mathematics
and the rising of the sun
I'm numb
To all of those who blinded cannot see
The chastiser of the enemy
Perception requires duality
Inspect your soul, the color of coal
inside the body
I have hardly, come across ye who's holy
Send them to the cheribum to control thee
Burning of the sun and frigidness of the cold
The battle field is new but the war is now old
You can never see the merest shadow of a halo
Above the head of an evil jinn
who's deadly like tornado
The world has become an aquarium
Full of gaping fish with murderous smiles
I on the other hand stand on the outside
looking in
Writing down murderous files

I who have nothing but the lack of variation

And I who have nothing but chains and suffocation



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