Friday, September 2, 2016

2024 (poem)

Moremoremoremoremoremoremore

Ugh.



This is the future, in twenty years.



STopstopstopstopstopnostop

the present,



Now.



TheVOICESUNherd —————————

———————————>        Anguish

Simulation Ill iLL Barb’s hyper YoLOity

Reality packets. Power. Crime is still

Rhymes are Ill. People are still Men And Women (is This GOod or bAD?)??? ?

//EOF. 


For the uninitiate, END OF FILE.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

the man in the glasses

you see but don’t observe, / you hear but do not listen, /
let me try to draw / your attention. /
you see but don’t observe, / you hear but do not listen, /

so without permission /
i combine the rhyme, with the rhythm.

the earth fires my brain with the flow /
of the wind and cold, /
brushing through the knowledge tree. /
look beyond the phat stacks /
and the cold, dead, translucent sea. /

i’m that unifying force / in the vacuum of space.
all throughout the universe, / i’ve been studying the hip-hop verse, /

and i always give respect -- because it was the cats who catch wreck  /
on wax, / who taught us how to come correct. /
plus, of course, the books. /
y’see, because y’all ain’t fish, /
my rhymes ain’t got hooks. /

so give respect. / i know y’all can detect /
the brain cells more numerous, and savage /
than bill gates and his cabbage, /
plus i’m armed with a weapon / that i never fear to brandish. /
the man in the glasses ain’t ever been plastic.

Monday, November 3, 2014

l337 tw33t

http://www.electronicbookreview.com/thread/electropoetics/literal

It may be contaminated, jargonized, disrupted language, but it is not a new language, not (yet) evidence for the invasion of an empire of machinic colonizers whose demands of trade and interaction require the creation of a pidgin by economically and linguistically disempowered human users.

(n7mn7d j9nzd lng4g ! nu lng4g ! evdnc 4 nvsn mpire mchinic colnzrs w dmnds 4 tr8d&intr4ctn rqir cr8n 4 p!j1n 4 ecnmcly lngstcly dsmpwrd hmn





from http://zeroreference.blogspot.com/2011/10/ideas-for-code-poems.html

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

aux ghost

An aux ghost
In the boards.

An aux ghost
Lost the fx.

An aux ghost
Channel-drifting.

Saturday, July 19, 2014

The beauty of human engineering

The beauty of clever use

Unreliable material

Poorly modelled soundscape, low

Fidelity, colorstream

Progenitors, inheritors

Of a process

Human engineering in domains

Digital, aural, physical

Lowrider club, bit guild, hiphop

The humanist adrift

Not quite a mathematician

a bit of a fragment


...i be dropping rhymes that shut down the party
like the square in cairo that encircled the army...

Friday, May 17, 2013

it's about my persona/ain't nothin' like a man/who can do what he wanna

a magician's lie,
a musician's persona.
ain't no now,
or how could now
not, no nada,
change is upon ya,
like a charismatic persona.

over a hundred years
not nothin new, nada,
a dozen every day,
change is mundane.
ain't no now
or how could now ever change?
ain't no now
or now never changes,
show me something ordinary
and i'll zero on the strange shit.

when was now,
not now when,
was not now when.
put a weapon in my hand,
and i'd do it all again.

a cold nine that folds fine,
carbon fiber, cost a nigga's eye.
put a mic in my hand,
and i'll amplify.
gimme a pen,
and i'll be a future spy.
radar ears, satellite eye,
wifi network cry.

i rock it, i'm the top shit.
regular - like water from a faucet.

no-slip-grip,
can't really detect it -
i won't get suspected.
the reason for it's evident/my weaponry is relevant
assassinate the president
my plan is simple and not elegant:
rush like wild elephants,
every man trained and planed,
straight planks for my house; zero slouch.

a lyric from my mouth
aimed to murder reagan
asleep and drooling
on the couch.
the terminator time-travels,
the admirals orders chinese carryout.

put an organ in my hand:
eye, penis, microphone or kill-a-man
and i'll j-dilla.
in the big truck, with the chinchilla,
a boxer's quick-swingin' fist,
every verse i spit's a chin-chillah.

robot souls, go, and swim.
my eyes on the prize, i rise up;
up from the depths like a g-o-dzilla,
flamin' breath like the pope,
you think it's just a joke
till those japanese niggas hit ya
with the tokyo grope,
wu-tang brought back hope

and i'm just tracing snowy footsteps
down the slope
so i don't break the ice and croak.

the mic's a nice device,
be sure to use it twice,
open up your thighs, daughter
i lick your pussy with my eye.

ate it, love it or hate it,
both ways i can make,
cold beat it up, or straight pussy-worship,
nothin' but good dick.
lay enough
to scratch a seven-year itch;
even a paraplegic does a back-flip.

full stop.
spit a wack lyric?
i'd rather sodomize my pops,
than let a soul listen.

shit, like a baby, i'll smear that shit.
like a faggot,
i'll queer that shit.
like houdini,
i'll disappear that shit;
popular sounds are radio-active
don't go near that shit,
let me rearrange your brain
so you won't hear that shit -
we clear on that slick?

in my center is a fact you can't erase:
thought is the weapon
essential in any space.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzeZhCt5PVA