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

ambergrist squeeze a la melville rap (draft)

hopeless, i roll with some dope shit spoke swift

the way water flows post-diluvial

and folks look, sitting on the banks

while uprooted oaks drift,

and  teens feel a touch of  the ageless

hocus-pocus, while they smoke dirt spliffs.

that is to say, i’m trailing

the oldest flow scriptural, burning up my body

to transcend the individual.

salt-runs on my cheeks as if

the sailor’s ritual

lifted me off-decks into the whale’s bowels,

ain’t jonah, i’m no job, i just howl

whirling in my wind, breath stagnant

and foul, like my slave ancestors

under egyptian whips, i slather shit,

pyramid-builder, i eat bitter,

fill my belly up with my parent’s money

every night before dinner

and remove my own liver,

cold-hearted like kissinger,

check upon my eyes where pity doesn't glimmer;

hope i contain

my ways like the lion

in winter, hungry,

chewin’ on my money,

whole life a dung heap --

ain’t no way the reaper’d outrun me:

i gun my soul like a harley--

i’d hardly falter if i had to

put my grip upon the shottie

and use the moss-berg; all those shells


layin’ out your body.

you’re lookin’ at a half-dead man,

ain’t it obvi? ous ?

squeeze my ambergrist the naughti-est,

meaning there’s flecks, and nuggets

of gold in my piss

and shit,

gut a cunt with my thalamus, calamunous,

my game locked down like

a photo in an amulet,

vocabulary ravenous,

peasants make they sacrifice

to volcano-god rhymes,

i receive virgin minds:

kindling to light
the pipe:

an orange fire bubbling;

calmly burning up you troubling

emcees who deceive yourselves

that you don’t know nothing.

all i know holmes, is socrates, birds and bees,

overwhelmed by suffering,

it’s another things:

fools-pick-fools-for underlings;

that’s why

you under him.

my hypothesized boasts a whole ‘nother thing,

y’all pesticide, i’m Rachel Carson writin’ Silent Spring,

my pen, the mic, my voice hoarse

tellin’ stories like Horace

to make your brain porous

as end-of-the-day Hector,

drag both your lobes with the horses,

i fool all your hordes,

they transform to rotting corpses

and i donate your children

to orphanages.

your mothers become whores, diehard fans demand more

the hard-core ones know how the lyric goes.

g i swear only ever with the clan would i hold heat

‘cause they swing swords shinobi

thus my destiny

clear as a glass sea, homie--

permanently solo ‘cause there ain’t no luke

or wookie, just rookies.

cookie monster, all i see is cookies.

my wordsmith hammers out

watery damascus

on the stage i handle it.

no one ever said

to me, “control dis”

so unlike horsemouth in rockers

i grow my own, roll my own and smoke it

and i hope you choke on it.

why do

CLICK THE IMAGE

Multi Medium

Speak.

What have you heard?

What have you heard now?

dialectic of the day

what can be put in the page

can be put in the years

and days of my decline

from grace, from the power

always shimmering before our eyes

like an oasis - a mirage

there is nothing to put in the page

except for what's suffered in the day

and years are an accumulation

of small defiances

against the quick day

if there is only decline

there is no decline

i am wrong

to fight my decline, my time

this delicious friction

is just another wave of desert heat

appearing in the page

rap wordz

curse wordz
terse wordz
hurt wordz
sharp wordz
cross wordz
harsh wordz
strong wordz
foul wordz
small wordz
strange wordz
dream wordz
damn wordz
key wordz