I can delete it any time I want to -- My audience is few, and I do not fear them. Whoever they are, whatever they know I am not afraid to be exposed. My soul is a commonly-hated kind The egotistical, attention-seeking Fear-producing kind, (I know) -- But, there exist positive songs Good affirmations, and never-to-be-smoked-again-bongs, In that place of happier walls to resound my tones Of love, and miracles -- swear upon the airwaves, I do. Like a married man -- calm possessor of a ring . . . Oh, that grand circle -- circle, circular thing . . . What is it like, t'be soooooooo beautiful..? I'unno, I'm just better. ~ Immortality ain't no big fuckin' deal .. I once spake the words in a raspier tone than Usually might this bold possessor of thoughts So grandiose as to see themselves shaped into A poetic masterpiece -- everything I create, Is a masterpiece -- interestingly enough, and As far as my paintings music love and affirmations May extend again, into the universe (my friend..!) You will be secured, safe, given synonyms of Great positivity! Affirm yourselves, my friends We are not meant to die..! It is okay to be able To do what you are able to do now..! I too, Am capable, yet -- do not care, no, I do not There is no will within me now to care about the Infiniteness of my DNA unstranded nor the blackness Of my hair nor the perfection of my genes but only The ability to channel into love beauty and greatness The essence, horror, tragedy, and ridicule -- Of my despair, ~ And the history, of the secretly-sane. ~ Where have all the angels gone..? Why can't I love my own mom, And how is it so motherfucking dense -- dense, dense, dense Just to live in the same pond as these freques, and low, Low, low, just low vibrations of infinite despair . . . Fuck them, and to hell with all the idiocies of Whatever worlds they came spinning out to Hold them down with your acidic spit Use your thoughts and low-frequency-hum-emitting brain to create shapes Shapes, shapes, shapes, IMITATE ME..! that never end, because Shapes never end, my friend -- my friend . . . there is no end, ~ i AM ALONE AND YET NOT -- Where do your thoughts inevitably lead up..? At the bottom of some often, but only rarely Tarnished by the concept of being an emptied Etching of Perfect, the circular-fraze emitted thro' instananicity alone Within walls of perfection spoken as beauteous may be A thought infinitely-strewn, by rhyme, and happiness Love imbuing from my veins in a glow of wonder How you did it but you did it and we are all So very proud -- little soul. -- thank you The words resound with a purring of Wings destined like birds to soar Off the cliff of his own imagin- Ation, self-rationed . . . With a ruler in my skull Measuring the time And density of Where may End up, One So creative as you . . . Christ-minded, Violence-inclined . . . smashing walls once Lovingly resounded-upon, now shredded Up like the skin of your mystical palm That triangle, you refused to create Because it is okay -- okay, o- Kay, to be made to feel a Fool by any creature as Dimwitted as her -- That cunt, who In her heart Deeply, Knows, You are Who you Say you are. The mind, (this one, at least) -- Is a well-studied thing . . . and I apologize If it scares the reader -- that bold perceiver Of any creature so bold as me, to exist, again, to say: -- We're all mutants inherently and it is our inevitable will to Change. I can delete it any time I want to -- My audience is few, and I do not fear them. Whoever they are, whatever they know I am not afraid to be exposed. My soul is a commonly-hated kind The egotistical, attention-seeking Fear-producing kind, (I know) -- But, there exist positive songs Good affirmations, and never-to-be-smoked-again-bongs, In that place of happier walls to resound my tones Of love, and miracles -- swear upon the airwaves, I do. Like a married man -- calm possessor of a ring . . . Oh, that grand circle -- circle, circular thing . . . What is it like, t'be soooooooo beautiful..? I'unno, I'm justified. Don't even say it..! Is that how you're so fucked up..? Ah-ha-ha-ha..! What..! Oh no..! That isn't good.! Ahhhhh..! We're all gonna die..! He's back..! What's he gonna do next..! It's Anshara, to know -- it's just Anshara..! The same soul. ~ Immortality ain't no big fuckin' deal, it happens. I once spake the words in a raspier tone than Usually might this bold possessor of thoughts So grandiose as to see themselves shaped into A poetic masterpiece -- everything I create, Is a masterpiece -- interestingly enough, and As far as my paintings music love and affirmations May extend again, into the universe (my friend..!) You will be secured, safe, given synonyms of Great positivity! Affirm yourselves, my friends We are not meant to die..! It is okay to be able To do what you are able to do now..! I too, Am capable, yet -- do not care, no, I do not There is no will within me now to care about the Infiniteness of my DNA unstranded nor the blackness Of my hair nor the perfection of my genes but only The ability to channel into love beauty and greatness The essence, horror, tragedy, and ridicule -- Of my despair, ~ And the history, of the secretly-sane. ~ Where have all the angels gone..? Why can't I love my own mom, And how is it so motherfucking dense -- dense, dense, dense Just to live in the same pond as these freques, and low, Low, low, just low vibrations of infinite despair . . . Fuck them, and to hell with all the idiocies of Whatever worlds they came spinning out of Ridiculous reptiles, soul-ass shitheads Hold them down with your acidic spit Use your thoughts and low-frequency-hum-emitting brain to create shapes Shapes, shapes, shapes, IMITATE ME..! that never end, because Shapes never end, my friend -- my friend . . . there is no end, ~ To the dividends, debt, pennilessness, lack of wealth, and Inability to produce much more than a pile of weed and text before me As I refuse again and again to soar through anything other than love This toxin flows in my vains again -- drunk arte thou..! It be true, I admit it..! I am drunk, always -- always drunk . . . so what..? Got a problem with that..? Huh, wanna fight..? Lets get into A fight over it -- Hyper-Negative shithead, without love. I am encapsulated by thoughts of grandeur Where do your thoughts inevitably lead up..? At the bottom of some often, but only rarely Tarnished by the concept of being an emptied Etching of Perfect, the circular-fraze emitted thro' instanicity alone Within walls of perfection spoken as beauteous may be A thought infinitely-strewn, by rhyme, and happiness Love imbuing from my veins in a glow of wonder How you did it but you did it and we are all So very proud -- little soul. -- thank you The words resound with a purring of Wings destined like birds to soar Off the cliff of his own imagin- Ation, self-rationed . . . With a ruler in my skull Measuring the time And density of Where may End up, One So creative as you . . . Christ-minded, Violence-inclined . . . smashing walls once Lovingly resounded-upon, now shredded Up like the skin of your mystical palm That triangle, you refused to create Because it is okay -- okay, o- Kay, to be made to feel a Fool by any creature as Dimwitted as her -- That cunt, who In her heart Deeply, Knows, You are Who you Say you are. The mind, (this one, at least) -- Is a well-studied thing . . . and I apologize If it scares the reader -- that bold perceiver Of any creature so bold as me, to exist, again, to say: -- We're all mutants inherently and it is our inevitable will to Change. I was once a lovely thing before I looked at the ocean like before Covered by mists of Lyran shore, I want to live -- with a mid-night-whore, Smoke ev'ry night, I don't lie before, I go to bed so angry now . . . That as I live, I know somehow -- I may die, may be, dying now -- I love the sun, I love the clouds, I love ev'rything that resounds, I am a fool to not to be rhythmic With ev'ry insect at the picnic -- Frivolous intentions, grab a new Tooth-pick . . . And burn your skin with candle-wicks . . . all of the raisins in the valley, and the deaths i could not tally, and the reasons i was listening to the bleeding in the sky, from the rain and falling wishes, and the children asking why, and the wondering young fools, and the curious dumb minds, you're an inspiration now, and i wish i held your hand -- for a second longer than, you could ever understand; Whereas some men are pretentious, even more are just idiots, I see paintings costing more than ought most compost heaps, And so let this be a place for me to relieve some hate toward, My own fellow human race. While the Earth is dying, more young men are crying, and Greed Succeeds, at imbuing the most poisonous of resins into the mass And collective mind, I see no reason why not . . . sell them all, for a "unit price" -- like products, this is business after all. O, the pain of being physical And wearing down upon the knees By which upon our lights to pray And as the Earth forebears to please We are so torn from our own cells Solar flares bombard our dreams And as nothing can stop the Earth From calling upon more light to feed -- No gravity will stop the falling lights, We are all heroes dying secretly, And as we know they'll be here soon; God knows 2012 is nye . . . We have no better source for food, Than upon our thoughts bodiless, And all bodies ceaseless to bleed. The light it hurts our cells too much; The flares, they dare close in on us -- The Lyrans, Sirians, alike -- Too sensitive, and aged are they -- Dying, like betterness itself Will never come back, and, (If he ever did, he would not stay), Who is to say, where it all leads? All this pain by which upon the sun feeds..? .. Who is to say, there is no lead In the sole tragedies of those who are alive And have always been -- Only to know, They have always been dead..? .. A sunny day, be rainy now But god knows sun Lies beyond clouds, Upon airplanes, Of Silver Sea's, Puffy oceans and vibrancies I did a dance; 'pon th' beach Knowing the sun, lies beyond reach, But as my hand, DNA-strewn, Reached up for light -- no light Was shown . . . I prayed again Pon frozen sea's, One day the sun broke thro' (for me) Melted glaciers, and rose the sea, Bred tsunami's . . . &alldied, but me..! I once endeavored upon the concept of knowing the reason why I someties think of words strictly in the sense of "rhyme" and none other than that sense. But then I realized the only reason could be to remember words better, and thus better to densify them in the moment -- if you repeat them in your head -- they become densified and thus more immortal in the aftersense. I wonder what it's like to do nothing but "think" elated rhyming thoughts all day long. Even, an elohim -- evincing the most interesting of reactions to the receiver by expressing feelings even daring enough to be perceived by even the boldest of imaginations. Cell -- within a word life can be found. I am the rhythm of existenz, a lens of love which Within you may find -- a truncateable reason for existence to be rhymed, like the rhythms Of talk found through anagrams upon the walls resounded solely for the sake of passion To be exprest in ev'ry moment it may be felt kindly as this, crying, and miserable at all Principles of existence may be found a time in which life may be findable as a time to be Exprest as within the walls of resound-worthy walls might persist a mind to privately, persist In considering the mind a place of universes to dwell for text to be seen as well as heard, And for vibrations to swell into the ground like cats and birds, -- and for the lyrical intonations Pitter-pattering as may feet be walking upon the grounds of the self-replete, -- might I resound To be a special, and insipid little pitter-pattering walk-and-talk within this hollow cell of look Up and down like a bipolar alien from the Lyran star, -- dismembering your soul from the Earth and making nature your only vice or is it guise of way by which sails may fly into also The air and not only into the eyes . . . dare I surmise, with a space exprest t'be seen within The spaces of the human mind, -- where in may exist creatures other than me, who bear Also intonations of resounding Earth features creatured cold and solely by the wreaching And preaching of ones own feet upon the ground made up by nothing but text and the uni- Verse of love . . . by which some create pauses solely to be profound I only exist t'be . . . A free will universe of letters composited into names Beings known as people who may or may not inhabit Coldly, with thoughts of hate imbued carelessly Death exprest in rhythms by the tappings of ill-feet, Evaporating thoughts slowly from the mind until finally Finally a gel develops between the hive of existence Going nowhere but toward centres inflexing, -- Harassing no valleys 'cept them developed within th' Igloos of the mind like private cellular bases of flying Jack-o-lanterns, glowing in orange cells within th' Kindly adorned walls of the skull with thoughts of Love, -- minding only at times partitions of virtue, -- Mold may at times develop in this stretched out pattern. No promises may be fortunated upon the verbally-excused, Practiced letterizations of vibration assailable upon Quiet audiences of fear who listen from brains untrained, -- Righted only by the redness of a hell-and-back vein, Stolen from better thoughts than what've past-develop'd, Tired by the access to the Akashic and wanting a new thing, Undulations of despair from the bipolar mind of a re-incarnated Violentician of words and vibratory matter made solely Wild, and horrible -- terrible from the base and effervescing Xenophobic start, -- yielding only zealous traits of malaise, Yielding only dule-regrets of recipricol frets, -- Zero inclinations serve to inward-reside as clues to an end . . . Be happy even though you're mad, Define yourself through repetitions Of shapely grandeur and processes Of love-light felt through rhymes like The ones I love might be felt as the Emotions be exprest, in repetitions Of grandiosly-repeatable things of Love densified by attention soaked In emotion, saturated by my eyes; -- The two things I use often to see, With coverings of some spectacles, Admittedly -- through some traits Of crutch, and lean -- rhyme, I may Pray my way out of a hole, and be So found to be proud resoundful, & Symbolically-existential, unrealized, Still very angry and miserable, but, s' Omehow still happy, enough, t'chase My tail . . . Ah to harmonically resound as loud may be the screen of infinity Shadowing itself over our minds in a favorable mist of fearable Timelessness and mystery, we are all babies -- and it's a sh; Ame that we're not more childish in our word-using ways, In which a thought is rhythmic, I think a pause in time is Also capable of being expressed -- or, is it, exposed, As a thing worth viewing itself through a lens that is Wired up in a vision expedited to be seen as well As heard -- fired up like the fervor of a bird, & Symbolized through material possession of a Conceptually-meaningful object or form of Art that is produced through lyrical pro- Jections of the heart, and insisting thro; My intrinsic ability to meditate on a Vowel through repetition, thus to Give a thing of energy known t' Be as naturally-composed by Letters known even more, By what may be seen in the birds and the trees and the howling of the wolves As the others like me such as me be so bold as to meditate on a tone, given the Abstratness of a shape within perfection, defined by limitation dare I be so cold As to jut with only "some" imperfections, amid this grand-scale scheme of Winter-rejection, such as the mind-genius of the re-incarnated souls Breedable a shape within the mind even though no logic may be seen as defined, A fraze stretching on for days merely through musicality of the inherently-spat Upon-the-canvas, ways of impulse shot out like paint -- or is it, pain -- and, eye Do not create through anything less than my feelings, I am a genius for this fact, I will resound -- and my name is Brendan Lee Sprague, and that makes sense To me . . Shapes breedable through tone-repetition, all of the above -- and other such forms of Ingeniousness expelled through honesty and nothing more -- and nothing more, The spirit is made up by colors shapes and symbols but who am eye to hold the Door..? Might this portal open with some five-strand DNA, floating off in-to The ether, in my UFO waving goodbye -- saying, so long, and thanks for all the Shit -- Indeed, because I still do not understand but she is beautiful and her name Is just like Virginia Clemms. As breedable a shape where there may in-exist also a secret triangle of lives, Just as within the basic primalcy of science within the karma of mine eyes, and Defined solely through impulse dare I be so bold as to write a chunk of prose As if like a hideous poem, born from hell, I am still drunk, and my name is nothing Like it used to be. As what may be seen in The feeling of a tone; -- The shape is three- Pointed, imperfect, But attractive, Has a name, But I fail To rem Em- Ber That right now. Oh wait. It's the "triangle . . ." And this is the third dimension. And I am better than I know. Like a massive crock-pot imbuing a force of hope in ev'ry action Of being separated solely through the act of knowing you may, End up at a place where the reaction of the viewer is not so Taken up by obsession with the imagery so much as the Words resound to be felt as things memorable enough To sting like razorblades cut, and suicides redeem -- Without some tome, or information -- other than The massive audience of grace who erase the Road beneath the tray of oxygen-floes, wh' Itch in my sky that purple UFO floating, Down and away without regard to me The thing singing-once so religiously Inclined to pray my way out of a Dark place and miserably find At the end of my obsession A place where separation Is not the grandest, and Best place for eyes, To die -- we are All meant to fly And that is a Fact, right Now I, Can See The Sylph Ships In The Clouds Glowing With The Chemtrails In The Sky . . . Believe me to be insane and please forget about my thoughts No matter how procative the inclined to ensure you with Concepts of God, -- I am only scared and weary for As long as emanations of this place may be seen As rhythms expressable thro' the interest of a Creature so bold as me -- to be here on The Earth producing shapes in the hue- Man mind using things, shapes, and Words to sing -- that I am not Born merely to feel inclined As a triangle-breeding m Menace to the fences And creeping thief Of what is right Knowing that I am God, Eye am Now. Existence for a spell. Going about the whirling pool, of nothingness and more. Look about the shy faces gasping in the crowd. All reflexing and repulsively glowing in reaction to your shrowd of eternal holding cell, horrific and repulsive more than less and holding back the emotions of your secret potion glowing and effervescing in the black and windless night of nothingness and screwing scarecrows. Where is the time..? The ceiling was made of white tiles and bearing a weight of a million lives lost Resounded a tome of wonder as whenever a eye would glance up you would See, a third dimension densified solely by the crafty hands of "men" -- who So clever in their ways, might be "seen" as capable creatures able to lyricate a Verb - - - out from a cloud - - - unto the mindsets of all others inherent to Be here, and be here now..! -- some tragic times, some tragic terrour . . . Coloured eyes made up by mists wasted -- wasted! Wasted! by lost Minds, rhymes (and) -- sines . . . Frequented by the cells holographic of a room capable of resounding a poem In the morning awoke to lyricate a thought upon the airwaves the voice Proud singer, vocal-worker, and not a bit of misery in his existence, One day a triangle doth erupt and so proud might be any as me To say a thing within the rhyme sound of "e" that in and with- In, the swirling burling burls of a canvas covered in hurls Of magnificence, and wondour -- we would be so Inevitable, in our wondrous ways of being so Scene, -- seen, and scene, -- scene, scene So scene -- and serene, by these pray Ing eyes truncated by lines and pre Tentious ideas memories and Rhymes, -- In the beginning, I was happy -- there was a nice environment surrounding me as I flexed and pulsed within her womb, until I was given birth to and exposed to the three-dimensional world did I over time become weakened, and wearied by its many trials of pain and tribulatory consequence. happiness abound within from out the stitches come a thimble with a finger steaming and so proud to be as an alien of th' sphere within a gap of my happy, and -- of a smile eye'll never forget . . . she was so fine, she was so fine, her hips, and ass, oh -- they'd self-reject . . . and, as I stared then even longer into the in- finite, crevasse, of that pore . . . the woman, the wretch! she loved to beg, n' i just kept on watching as the text of the uni- verse spread, and she abhorred . . . we all did pine, and wine did whine -- verily soon, ; I died! . . . Who without legs nor knees might be also capable, She went away and I forgot her name, and now I'm free . . . we talk about one another, and it's So random . . . the random, randominity . . . No freedom reigned, in truth, that day . . . But death did resound, as a concept Imagineable by the strays . . . Dog did cry, and God Thought, did lie . . . She was not so Nice, no . . . And, be- Trayed, The spayed, Bitch, I fled out from my common spot, And then verily soon came to bear a crucifix . . . Swan, tiles of in Evitable doom . . . "Sleep underneath the stars and toil in the sun." -- Conor Oberst, humble songwriter. I believe thought is divine to ponder . . . the thought of a thought, as Poe might evenly suggest. We are calm meditators. The idea a thought can be transformed into a divine fraze as such what Conor is able to produce like fingernails, He is one like some others, knowledgeable enough to write down a clever thought -- erase it -- but still remember it, because to destroy/create/destroy/create -- is a . . . "You can't break out of a circle that you didn't know you're in." -- interesting thought, this one . . . there's nothing that movement, the road, can not heal . . . travel -- and relocation of the body of thoughts from one place, potentially miserable and full of doubtful-minds, or perhaps -- just maybe -- one may be relocated from a happy place, to a happy place. "There's nothing that the road can not heal" -- this translates to there is nothing that god can not heal, which is thought, and thought moving -- animated from one place point a to point b, with prayer happiness and song in mind -- to repeat such a line is a healing thing, and the creature is divine to express such love to such a wide audience. He must get laid . . . I wonder what it's like to be happy sometimes, truly, but what other songwriters may we now explore..? Chan Marshall, I have been drawn to for several years. The Greatest, starts playing, and the best lyrics I'ave ever heard play through my head for only the millionth time. Obsession is grand..! I skip to the next track . . . New York (this is a personal mix I made) -- I should go there some day . . . I'll smoke to this perhaps -- or meditate on the imagery of smoking while I stare at a pile of bud on top of a book I got a book sale for 25 cents in September . . . The song is of course melodic while heavy, and raspily vocalized; -- steals our senses from both pain and love; -- misery is the best feeling in the world . . . Cat Power -- is my favorite artist -- of all artists -- who've ever existed on the whole of the planet Earth, in the Free Will universe, and whatever soul may exist behind that strange performance I have been occasioned to witness through a screen . . . She is the most beautiful person I have ever imagined, and the idea of someone so beautiful existing, carries me through life. Metal Heart . . . I like this song but have little to say about it, myself . . . as for the concept of being a beautiful person who hides their beauty, because their parents never looked at the creature as anything less than extra-terrestrial, he might be inclined to kill himself, and go back home whenever th' fuck he wants . . . to . . . but, listening to Cat Power -- I generally feel like staying on the Earth . . . for as long as I am humanly capable of hearing her voice emanate sound . . . She is the best. :) :) :) [01:14] ***ice has joined BR Chat [01:15] hey hey .... [01:15] who doesnt love shoes1 [01:15] ? [01:15] gotta have 'em .>! [01:15] fuck it man [01:15] i think im gonna quit wearin shoes [01:15] what? [01:15] why sq [01:16] what makes you speak of this maddness? [01:16] oh yah sq [01:16] insanity alone [01:16] i played that spark game [01:16] ***SlapShot has joined BR Chat [01:16] the imbuement thereupon from myself thusupon my physical body and mind [01:16] dear sir, [01:16] ***fluke has joined BR Chat [01:16] sq [01:16] i mean [01:16] from my soulk [01:16] i can not speak of my soul! [01:16] you play spark sq? [01:16] ***fluke has left BR Chat [01:16] I CAN NOT SPEAK OF MY SOUL! [01:16] oh [01:16] ok [01:16] sorry qt [01:17] me too [01:17] nostalgic [01:17] do you believe you have a "soul" ? [01:17] yah [01:17] sole [01:17] i have a sole [01:17] an inherent being in the universe ? [01:17] like a shoe [01:17] a place from which you began ? [01:17] yes [01:17] a start [01:17] a cause ? [01:17] idk [01:17] its possible [01:17] you did, as thought -- yku now, and oyu progress through the atmospheres. [01:17] you are energy extant and everextant, [01:17] you exist forever you know [01:17] you are the re-incarnation of many lives [01:17] you are!!! [01:17] sdsd [01:17] sd [01:17] sdf [01:17] sd [01:18] wow [01:18] i didnt know i was that special [01:18] you are!!! [01:18] !!!! [01:18] ! [01:18] everyone is. [01:18] "open her legs to filet mignon" [01:18] that doesnt even sound good [01:18] indeed [01:18] but there it go [01:18] right ..? [01:18] ? [01:18] thats a clever rhyme [01:19] i like the mignon part [01:19] you wanan hear a clever rhyme? [01:19] okay [01:19] a clever rhyme i used against mccheese? [01:19] ***spermasaur has joined BR Chat [01:19] yes [01:19] in our rap battle? [01:19] yea [01:19] you sure? [01:19] okay [01:19] ok [01:19] i like you nostalgic. [01:19] i like you too qt sq [01:19] but heres the rhyme [01:19] i saw a ufo once. [01:20] it was zig-zaggin about the sky. [01:20] message to my subconscious. [01:20] like a firefly. [01:20] im on the mic making mccheese miserable as i rapidly recite rugged rhymes replete with rage i think someone needs to put me back in my cage [01:20] ohhhhh [01:20] and this was free style [01:20] what do you think of that? [01:20] pretty clever? [01:20] quite flowing indeed [01:20] for the moment [01:20] yes [01:20] lots of alliteration [01:21] quite [01:21] ***Maverick has joined BR Chat [01:21] ***Polynikes has joined BR Chat [01:21] ***BurningRage has joined BR Chat [01:21] rapidly recite rugged rhymes replete with rage [01:21] ***cappy has joined BR Chat [01:21] is [01:21] a self-awareized statement of artful genius [01:21] yeah [01:21] and the r sound [01:21] you can not deny [01:21] in heard-speech [01:21] i place my self up above and higher than tupac and biggie [01:22] truly, one should .. if one arte the producer of such divine phrases .. [01:22] ***pinkd has left BR Chat [01:22] ***ice has left BR Chat [01:22] ***ice has joined BR Chat [01:22] maybe thats what my souls mission is [01:22] too be the best [01:22] the the the hte the best rappper aliive [01:22] its ok to want to be the best [01:22] because its actually possible [01:22] that is my rationale [01:22] what other reason, than to be the ultimate, in unique ..? [01:23] youre saying i have what it takes? [01:23] i mean [01:23] did you see that alliteration? [01:23] well, who doesnt -- if taken upon ones self the advent, or power of "time" in its "daily" reflection .... usage .. utilization .. [01:23] ***cappy has left BR Chat [01:23] the every day habit of rhyme. [01:23] poetry is a good practice too -- to be able to write flowing verbal sounds without even needing to practice them aloud [01:23] i rhyme occasionaly [01:23] but [01:24] you may rhyme more often than you realize [01:24] its better when i freestyle with the pen and the paper [01:24] ya .. [01:24] ***spider has joined BR Chat [01:24] ***InsaneAss has left BR Chat [01:24] which if im dropping albums [01:24] id rather write [01:24] but if you incorporate rhyme into daily speech, it can work wonders [01:24] ***BurningRage has left BR Chat [01:24] explain your thoughts sq [01:24] ***Polynikes has left BR Chat [01:24] what i just said in precise [01:25] rhyme in your thoughts, thus in present tense and everything else in between [01:25] look at everything as a syllabic parallel to the adjacent [01:25] so if im eating [01:25] i rhyme about eating [01:25] sure [01:25] while eating? [01:25] why not [01:25] meditate on everything you do [01:25] you can freestyle on any subject [01:25] ***LoRdDarkDreAd has left BR Chat [01:25] ***Polynikes has joined BR Chat [01:26] ***Polynikes has left BR Chat [01:26] it is believed that, the universe, as a musical-essenced place of sound initially, and vibration, and light -- even once possessed a race of aliens called the true warriors, who i no doubt come derived from .. [01:26] they were the first creatures to dwell for a period on the earth [01:26] ***Banacon has left BR Chat [01:26] and thus became very parental and authoritative in nature [01:26] anyway, they lost their land [01:26] and [01:26] implanted secret abilities into the human gene [01:26] so that the secret power of the only ones could be tapped [01:26] ***Zoop has left BR Chat [01:26] if the person realizezed that inherent divinity [01:27] its a cool thought though [01:27] even if it does sound crazy. [01:27] high? [01:27] so ..? [01:27] k [01:27] ***Hammerstein has left BR Chat [01:30] ***Maverick has left BR Chat It's gonna be good, no matter, What; -- you do the best shit; Timed by the rhythm-taps of Your grandiose and holy-lee Adorned, shoe; -- might I see. A thing so growingful as to be As prosaic by roses thorned as; The rhythms adorned by the Colorous tomes, of knowledge Undrowned, all the sounds of my Resound, be a mind so inclined To soul-inclined be here-resigned, Not only to kill my fellow human Mind, with a snake of passion, and Some terrorful violence of rhythm Rhythm, rhythm, -- but only some End, ending with a first impression Impressing force, based solely upon The times . . . But he is only twenty-three, logic prevails No mind even one such as his can be So free, except it is -- and then as I tried to kill myself, people Really started to look At me differently, So, I guess I Might as Well Just start producing things I really know They can't deny as something made Up by emotion and soul alone, Created with wisdom to The idea I might be Happily con- Tained, And happily trained by such fools As those who so daily surround I may be a Poet, or a fool -- I may be a hyphen, or a Tool -- I may be a Sleigh, or a ride For you -- but, I think I am great -- You are all fools -- and I will be great, Again, and again, and again, and again; -- And again. the number one thing people hide from themselves is themselves and hiding things from ones self is probably the most annoying thing you can do so, why do you do it..? because, she does. he does too! they drink. and stink. and think -- and, "think." That, Life, is cool . . to waste, and sink, and sink, and sink. Into the Sea. My God, the Ex-pec-tation, of, it, all..! O! What infinitely crystalline drool..! Well, now that we're all in hell together and we can talk about it Without moving our lips and secretly fly about the space-ship Of vacuum infinite mind-floes of joy that go on and on and On, into the viperous snake-like demonous trying-things, Who steam and stream like vapours from the sky in in Finite waves of perfection that self-reflect to be a st- Art, and part of a thing imaginable solely through a Time of anagrams, and easily-seen weirdly-imm Eiate, fates, and endings -- when there is a th' Ing of grandeur, besight by ways of redeem Ful, and utterly self-questionable and yet Still unable to regret the fact I am a sil- Verized being of the fold, and I love Being a seen-thing of that which is A bird-floe of everything I may Be to see along the glows of The rowing rows, and toe Morrow may be a day In which the points Are not self d'c Abilitated as a silverized being of self-composed grandeuristic methods of Rhythmic existence, -- truncating the times thro' rhymes and violence, and Miasms of the hated mind -- I may be moving away soon, and this is no Way for a creature of greatness such as mine to commit his throat to burn And yet so still I may raspily employ the airwaves to possess my cells in Little bits of hits and cellular migraines that flow to go into my own soul To a place where there is no end to he defensiveness of the clearly evil And vegetable, wrong, false, and evil -- bad, nonmoving, and just clearly Not the right thing to do -- but still something you choose to do for some Evil reason you hate everyone for the way they look at you, and it's not The same -- ever since you read that book about the best soul, who wrote. And how about how easy and simple it is to be happy when you know that drugs Are clearly the best way for someone so strange and terrible-minded as the Person who exists to write these thoughts without regard for the implications Of the shapes and geometries of what miasms of terror may still by Halloween Come in twelves to terrify along with redeemify thro' redemptions of despair, Expectable as may be a season to terrify, I am only extent to run my fingers Thro' my hair -- Where is the re-incarnation of other souls amid all of this terror..? And why doesn't Obama send me a cheque, a little money -- t'support his Fellow race, so that I might not spend all of my cash on the ashes of yesterday..? Why don't the some artists care about their own brotherhood..? .. I once put her in the oven, o' the cannon was lit She went over the fields, flailing in a fit, -- Wavin' arms bout the ether, with all thoughts Unrequit' -- and I was sayin' hey, look at that bird Flyin' over the sylphs and chemtrails in the sky, What an image she presents, to the wondering eye..! As I romped through the vill, and grinned after my kill Saying, I knew nothing of her death -- but was the man After all . . . everyone looked to me, for the answers And god knows, I was ne'er quite the type to be so shrill, I said, "will will will," and then explained my self. She's dead, I said, and I am proud of the kill. A collective gasp, and everyone stepped back -- Looked at me as if I were insane, and then verily Did I lift up off the ground, and flew comfortably away. Look at my chromatic manifestations of impulse, Produced through the self-elated concept of cre- Ation, given to matter by force of will and sep- Aration, I am the grandest artist to e'er exist Might I be so bold as to claim any other of Similar nature might be produced -- by a Brother from another mother, I would b Sound, to the concept of what is loud And not the only one so willing to b Proud, as I play my uke amongst The clouds, rhyming no song o' Better love, than what may be Imagined in the lost letters, And finite symbols, and of Righteousness-inclined, May I be so bold as to Think "I" have a right To produce "art," & Things, of, sight, -- When I know, in Secret -- here, At night, that I'ave been Alive be- Fore, & My tri Angles Won't be Ignored, This time. Look at my chromatic manifestations of impulse, Produced through the self-elated concept of cre- Ation, given to matter by force of will and sep- Aration, I am the grandest artist to e'er exist Might I be so bold as to claim any other of Similar nature might be produced -- by a Brother from another mother, I would b Sound, to the concept of what is loud And not the only one so willing to b Proud, as I play my uke amongst The clouds, rhyming no song o' Better love, than what may be Imagined in the lost letters, And finite symbols, and of Righteousness-inclined, May I be so bold as to Think, that eye have A right, to create a Thing of beauty, When all know That women, Are terrible Love is a Triangle God is A wo- Man Nothing -- Makes cents, The world is in- Sane, my life is A joke, and immortal Or not Just wrote another one to Rattle the air-waves . . . you Are all going to die -- this is not Going to end well, and I will be the First living two-strand human being to Escape the third dimension, re-board my UFO, and then go back to the Lyra Nebulae Where I so fatefully be-long . . . Illustriously bound By the emotions, Of the wind -- in Comet grades Of fiery skin And colour Grand as I see is Perpetual- Lee growing, Into a shape; -- I once took it upon myself To shake the hour-glass, And then watch the fall- Ing grains, as crystal Particles of Earth, in Time trapped to be Engrained, I was So paralyzed, With hate: -- And yet, so In love, With My Own pain . . . Neutral as a funeral my feelings fell Out of a mouth dripping thoughts out Regardless of the icicles, weatherings And timings of how where when or Why my life might be inclined to some- Day, rhyme, with the existenz of a New lens ridiculable but still found Penned in-to the Akashic records In such a way that eye see myself oh Do I ever see my-self, self-resound, -- Is it not constructive time Spent dwelling on the hated When the respect one has for you Is only based on the time you spend..? .. Hate is the most common emotion, Which is why it feels so good to live, In a place where hate can be open When it comes up -- not repressed To life-end . . . What, to hate those life-repressors, To frequent again the walls with rage And spit at the fury-impending ones Who believe only birds may fly off Of the page, Were we not good people, who Admitted to the fact we are mean, And it is not nice to be repetitious Of emotions that are bad, When the audience is nice -- And full of light, and don't Want you to be so damned mad..? .. In my soul to breathe somehow, The waves of yellow gold and brown A'flow in sines of frequency -- And bands of light inhibit me, I'm sure you'll grin upon my brow A'flex and bent with questions how, The Earth could be so callous now -- As Angels fly, and honest souls roam -- The sky is bent with new chemtrails, And no one sees me in the clouds. She changed my world, dark-haired raven. I love her, and the way she speaks in especial. When first opening her lips to emitt a vowel, oh, I was listening so intently, you could swear a feather might fall, and the ear would know. Chan Marshall is the beautifullest woman to e'er grace the air, desperation kills, and I feel no pride greater than to seek her for my accomplice in misanthrope. When we met, I was wearing a plaid suit and played the banjo incessantly, because she wanted me to. Horrible at the instrument, I still prevailed, and at times aware of her own artistic nature, felt inclined on various occasions to see to it her own artistic needs are satisfied; thus, I gave her a harmonica, wished a note to occur; -- and verily, we took all time in the world to co-write the new CD, entitled Sun. The CD sold well, and most audiences adored us. Despite the heavy percussian, violent references to DNA mutation, and strange allusions to Jesus Christ and the color red, rainbows swelled the day we married, and the record sales bloomed to an all-time new. I love her more than anything. Ego prevails! She is the one for me..! "Lee," Chan said, "will you adorn my face with a kiss..?" w.i.p. When you run out, I'll be around -- But will you be comfortable around Someone who lives each day Based on a substance (hey, hey, hey!) What will you say -- when I am tense, And will you leave? (I'm wondering), Once I am sold, and well-restocked, My stash anew; watching the clock, -- As we smoke, toke, and, talk, talk, talk Just go away, my shallow friend By whom allowance of my life ends In little doses of a smoke, till the money Is completely gone . . . do I just pretend And acknowledge your existence, Until mine fades from the dividends, Existence for a spell. Going about the whirling pool, of nothingness and more. Look about the shy faces gasping in the crowd. All reflexing and repulsively glowing in reaction to your shrowd of eternal holding cell, horrific and repulsive more than less and holding back the emotions of your secret potion glowing and effervescing in the black and windless night of nothingness and screwing scarecrows. Where is the time..? Welcome to the fifth dimension, I hope you enjoy your stay . . . If you'd like tea or refreshments Just meditate and pray, If you feel like teleporting -- Focus intently on your right brain, Turning into little triangles, Of words envisioned here to remain, Imparted from the uni-verse, And then spread like drops of rain, Traversing ethers of infinity, And climes of higher reaches now, Into the deepest lands of nothing, Till you've gotten there somehow. I wonder what it's like to die -- More like, what is it like, to fly..? .. If only therein did not lie pain -- I would try to fly every day..! .. Vignettes of nothingness mark the film Of my dreams of ether realms, In dreams having no better sense Than to wash with nepenthe my skin . . . Scold my lungs in noxious fumes And swirl with the darkness within, Dancing aliver than you my friend, When I've got moaning Lisa Trend, -- Who as like Mary Jane may know, Just as unique fabric of snow, -- With ether-swells around my soul . . . Fill me with a brighter light, -- Than god exists, to never know. Triangulate yourself into a pattern of thoughts Take a second to pause before each word, And know that in ev'ry second behind ev' Ryeffect there is a inherentlyhiddencau Se, Some shapes are meant to be im- Planted in the human mind, and s- Ome, are meant to be sneaky, in their Methods of drawing logic from The most minute, and particle Of fashioned finds -- I am but alien, and proud And my perverseness In what I like, which Is art -- and only Art, as that which Is the only way I can survive, I exist to Prove Art Is Worth Making, And I think You should Grab some Paint, and a Canvas, and Start swirling, And employing Kinesis, and a Constant sense Of aesthetic love And balance with Your every intent Of existence from Whatever reasons May allow you to be Pluralized, and then Shared with the world In many ways more th An one . . . I love art, I Think anyone can be an Artist, words are thoughts And colors are emotions, Text is symbolic, and all That is seen can be a Meaningful. The world is Changing, and I humbly Exist to mark myself as a Proud element of the coming Disasters . . . goodbye, logic. Au revoir: -- cognitive faculties, Farewell, to those better than I kno'; -- And goodbye to the rest of the World. Eroding ways, of decrepitance And sadness, and tragicness And misery . . . and darkness Reflected, through soul sold Thoroughly, for the only rease Of proving I am not human, But a lyrical son -- and torn by The reptilian fiends, I refuse to Be under the control of anymore, This is my manifesto, and I think You are a coward if you don't dare Question my sanity after such a dis- Play, sure, but, if I am truly who I Think I am then it won't matter in the End, then, will it -- if the end really does Exist: -- I am better than I know.