Acrillic FigaJesuspect Christereogram of freestyle
Acrillic Figaand thats not freestyle, makes me smile and all the time ticks tocking off the shelves, kids without food in their mouths and still gossip persists and opportunities for ___style responses are missed. Talk is cheap and my rhymes priceless. if you know me then show me your subtle moods and leave those who want to, to stay prudes. ___style sat day, i'm sittin down that's right, and i ain't gonna and i dunt wanna come here just to fight, or talk shit about knowing it, rather walk it by showing it. Small talk and short sentences, fake Haiku's and fake white blues. Take offence with your ego script that i just flipped right in front of yer face, but i didn't wanna do it like that i don't mean YOU or YOU i mean everybody > every hue held in a zoo, every theif who stole Hues from Saul williams news and wants to prance and dance with the dead while half in, half out of bed. It's sed, word is born day to day, and i'm speaking in tongues wanna play a game? and don't need encouragment to make further indents into the philosophy of presidents. Now the talk about the woods, the butterflies loving sweetness - don't kwight get THROUGH to these dumb devils that surround us. And as the Dali Lama sits and in some sense quits the raps for walkin [or sittin] it's the future he spouts from his posture, and it's that very sittin that i equate with talk of birds, blazing zing tin flash marmalade sunsets, metaphors about nature which i could keep posting and boasting about, and how humble and ZEN again i am, how peace and love will save the world. Well Bush sez that too, so.....wot cha gunna do, when the Storm troopers start roundin up suckers who never spoke super fluid dynamical systems, war game startegy, rolling armies of poets and flowits, armed with explosive surprises and sentences powerful enough to turn barbedwire into candy floss, tanks into turntables, snakes into microphone cables and lead crazy horses back to their safe stables. so next time your in staples shout out your poem, get the whole world goin with your flowin. But quit the small talk, gossip ego flexin, tossin yer fanny all up in a humble knights scene, like it was feminism not Nazism that becomes the death of innocent men, and so women and children. this ain't a joke no more. It....just ain't funny anymore......Children dyin cuz the language ain't providing the sustainable nutrition of Imagination for a nation. And talk is cheap but my rhymes pricesless, wot you gonna do create a new name and come back twice as faceless. it's the third world baby and i'm now talkin to YOU, yes YOU you hear me, tell me what you gonna do, to help the kids dyin in iraq and in the Ghettos and back streets cuz the virus of language is loose and lassooed by the Pirates that sold you barbie and Micky mouse models and metaphors for control, and that why if you don't wanna know then dont follow me, don't swallow me down into the hole, cuz Alice Liddle plays the fiddle and Alice Coltrane plays the harp, and this hole i'm going down, well really it's perty dark, but i hope to bring light with my rhymes and reasons, and clever avoidancing of rhymin too much with cliche seasons.... cuz i don't bite, i chew and drink bitter, i don't hike, but wage i'm much fitter so unfasten your talk tapes and wright it like you mean it, don't act like a silly groupie slave bitch and be so gullibull. Full of shit, a foolish copydog, and those who think they know me will get wave after wave of flow me until their head rolls off, cuz i'm a proff of the woid, that's like Void = nothing. I know nothing, word is Woid to write up the wrong it, get a note pad and sling it over your back into a bag and walk around your mind remembering to tag > all the things you might find. When i freestyle i leave residue and it's like the steam from my lizard poo, stinky but good for you, to grow on, so go on and wright a new rap, but don't get throwin down that wack shit, don't regurgitate the same crap that you might read or hear about > that's just more bullshit from someothers deadhead like Chinese whispers i say [go and read Kungfewsis, The dharma or the ved] as, and don't believe the hype from the new corporate invaders, the new manifest bushwar darth vaders, come to be our persuaders, and force us too way'd through swumps in our nice knu pumps, or wear a face mask when i'm swollen with the mumps. if you wanna know me then flow me. if not then blow me. I'll see you on the flipside, the B Side the Instrumental, cuz it's the whole universe i come to save through my temple called the mental. damned straight, and let me add that boys who call emselves bad boys remind me of mothers "shouting to them down in the basement....your dinners ready, hope your not playing with yourself again you bad boy"
It's right > most battle raps are just dung flung shit flingin. No enlightenment, no real encouragement to topple the government with insight and well being, with survival requiring a riffle rather than a copy of Finnegans Wake or the Cantos by Pound. If language is the name of the game, and i'll put my head on the line for that claim, then we gotta INVENT it and cement it to the walls of the new up and coming revolution, a solution made from spraypaint, vinyl, lyknow and Micrphone ceremonial amusements. Yet, down in the basement it's sickofrantic "groupy-ism" repeating a rapper on the Bush pay rolls raps, about how their Hummer reflects their "Patriotic raps" or violent tendencies, which may well be a reality in the ghetto > i don't doubt it i have seen it [bronx, brooklyn, 9th ward, hunters point, st. Pauls..... but the revolution i imagine [in my own tiny mind] is about a knu language, assimilating nature, communication and direct transmission of gods and nothing less. That's why Saul williams is a bridge built, as deep as Loch Ness. Listen to the content, listen to the topics, it's not violence it's violets, not the city but the jungle, or a nice amalgamation of a jumble of poetic motiffs, since ancient times - like lost corral reefs he brings up the jewels and thats the revolution fools. Super bionic natural world wide raps, the power of HER in the air, the care free throwing of freestlye mowings of the lawns of inner city garden places, inner persepctive to bring knowledge of self a feel for the ego and a new light of nature to quilt that ego, with a sticky moss or a fungus an organic blanket, a vocal gloss, like Walt Whitman not Walt Disney, it's the leaves not snow whites frilly sleeves. So when rappers have rapped themselves up in a ball and the new world order has scooped up them all with equal violence, equal suffering, equal paranoia and equally, equall truth....look around yourself what do you see? Buddhas meditating on the steps of city hall? conscious rappers up on MTV showing us all, how it's done? who knows, but the the future flow's will be about flowers, cuz when the new world dawnes it's gonna be ours for the takin, not fakin, for the mind/nature interface bakin is takin place right now, this is a shout in the street. Woid is born, lets all move our feet, through down a battle raps and instead treat ourselves to friendship raps, construct raps, poems about bottle caps, divine curves on the inside of a loved ones thigh, a glint or glisten in someones eye, language allows for such attension to detail that it seems that we could write it and just send it by airmail to another nation or city and still have it come out pritty when it's read. Why not right a l;ove letter to a stranger instead, poetic terrorism means random acts of love and kindness, you carn't get more ironic than that cuz now the evil violent terrorist is back. On TV wearing a turban and looks nearly black or brown, who's next the Chinese, world war three fought on MTV against China, just cuz their leaders are demented as our we think we KNOW all of China, all 3 Billion or so of them, strangers in a stange world, speakin a different language, who knows but the speakers, thinkers, actors and seekers of meaning in the moment, so when the war comes and the new Arabs are Oriental just recall this rap from the temple of the mental, and how it's true some battler rappers just make it worse, for the verse in the future when we disscourse with Chinese poets and a hobbeyhorse - Dada, momma ain't gonna tell ya, schools and institutions might well warn you but, they won't do what i do, bring you face to face with the highpotaknu lunguadge itself > via Saul williams house.... i feel a sicko sometimes, droppin these rhymes in THE POETS back garden, fragrance of Ginsberg, iceburgs and Ginsing. A taosit kick beat boxer, coded language enhancer and brave black early defense radar system = POET. And all the raps and crap attacks on any sacks of nutrition we bring collectively here, into fruition, is just a distraction. To STOP us building a new language, which i speak and i speak here now, cuz we gotta step up to the plate man we gotta speak now, it's like it's 1938 and Hitlers about to go KAPOW. And how did those germans feel afterwards when they just sat back and watched, or even worse Voted for the holocaust, cuz it was GOOD for business, and it was. War is good for business and there's plenty people in it. Armaments make the BEST investments, this is what they should teach in schools. So, if ya wanna talk about battle raps you better read Mein Kampf, which was criticized in America before the 2nd world war but, the American courts banned the criticism with LAW Banned it. [the criticism, not mein Kampf] Slammed it. So hear me. Big Bizzness, Rockerfeller, Rothschild yes some jew's too, they are all equally responsible for world war two, because > they were investers in the big metal industry, shells, tanks, ships, tanks, bombs, guns, bullets, hummers, the farben works, read about it, before they burn ALL the books, and yet > battle rappers still rhyme like they are workin for George Bush, they rap about torture and killin and disrespect for: the enviroment, women, traditions, religions, their elders, their bruthers of a different pigment, while the real pigment - that's the government create Nazi death camps, and call it WALL mart, run by WALL street. While letters from the new artists get blasted and unpasted from city slum walls, the only words written BOLD in the dark and cold of our social mold, our place as city ZEN, well it's pritty when the letters blaze off the grey concrete, when the spraycan muralists take LAW into their own hands and write their truth, on a roof. Now that's proof that we are comin up, we are comin to write oblivion, the poet obliterates and operates the flood gates to a revolution in language, a new hip hop sandwidge, a nine iron sand wedge to get out of this bunker, this bunk media nightmare, which will pass, when we awake! AWAKE! just hold tight class, cuz i'm gonna blow such a wind out my ass that SHE will hear us on Venus and SHE will not allow the big bizzness to come between us. She will come, she has come... she is hear, she lives inside the dictionary. Please read here
crillyflestyles.
The lights turn hulkgreen, brids silent, the wind hardly present, and yet inside my mind comes a rumble tumble mumble, a bumble fumble mumble rummble, a wild fantasy worse than any autograph seekers tweeker speaker box flosses toss puss slush. A re:birth, but tuff taffy, not so much hush hush Zen, but Az i come back , rwd, re:wind come again. The balance of the force, the twelve tone scale, and the thirteenth cycles, 64 hexagrams turned into idreographic grafitti jams spewed up on the side of aircraft carriers, aircraft made of rice paper and edible cars, invisible electricity and trips to mars, mind warps but for walks not to bring derangement, a focus along with the hocus pokuss, a timespace model for these engagments [i climbed a fence] a played offensive with drum stix, and ego pipes blown like Miles, Like Hunter i'm blown out of cannon kids, and guess what the football season don't mean Shit compared to the squids and their sacks of ink squirts to write secret coded language messages of skirts of flirts, hangin round yurts eating cherry APL yodagurts. I bring deserts from the desert, a dead sea scroll cake, a caskade of electric harmonic tones tingle your backmind zones, memory like memorex tape.....Memory like memorex tape and hear i taught i dainty have to sport spurt on about wildstyle and the Herc, Z, Futura, Wu and P.E. See here peeps know the time, it's just because so....we put down the wine, picked up the rhyme from out the primordial souper eara, applied beatific slang and yin yang to get clearer, full burners of understanding, tigerstyle pervert berted X-cute cuts, ninny Mo wax Ape records, global communications, Rephlex, Mu, Test, Fullcycle, Superseal breaks.....i could go on and on, but i'm out my depth in that department, and some folks round here were missing in 93 when i saw a wise MC change me into LSD witch > led to ecstacy led to Sun Ra and... a new space station Opera! a Knew radio wave, time slime grave rumble thud rumble birth of a booktable tank, me boy FranK Chat, inspred that. But here i see so many Hiphip honest folk i stay off that rope, i mean i might sound dope down a wire but on stage who knows what rage it might take to cage me, if i spoke. i joke. I mean. I would Choke if Mike Ladd upt n' spoke, i might choke i might spoke a likkle tikkle toke, but i have faith and i hope that the forum will provide a new hope so that peacefully at a distance we can offer freestyle assistance to the resistance to bullshit systems. I see em oozing out of mouths everywhere, the IZ of identity, the noun of stoopidity, we are ever changing beings of light, Hell, we are faster than light, the greatest super computer ever, and we get fed CNN weather and National Treasure like it's a freakin Mental Hospital. I am disgusted at the Trivial pursuits of holywood realism kooks who take revolutionary hooks from history, herstory and all sorts of books and then just re:mashsiz em into a gentle Ben story with no gathering of interested people at the end of a movie. Folks to say...hey.....that movie was really true...i wonder who shot JFK? i wonder if 911 really happened? i wonder if Philip K Dick is the most ripped off Science fiction author who died in 1982 before he got to see his blade runner, changed from a title too long obviously...called 'Why androids dream of electric sheep" and well shoot darn it's because they eat sleep and shit androids, TV evangerloyds bunkers and those who imitate, who wear their logo, of their pogo styx products, and neglect that aquaducts and simple huts that could end world famine. TOMORROW if we...the people had OUR money to share, spend, save, give, buy, trade, worship? Instead of having THE BIGGEST crooks in the whole world turn our baco noir reserve into stale sewage oil. They spoil it for all, they being the reality swallowers, thats almost everyone, thats why i'm on the run, away from myself away from the hand that feeds me myself the human caught up in a philosophical cannonhumdrum and shot out into galactic regions...stellar seasons.....and now i come back, to try to reveal the seal calendar thats gonna end the tyrants hold of reality, cuz with these toolz i offer i rekon we can ascend in harmony, without sounding like we are going round the bend in harmony, i feel that and don't squeel like this in public often, and it's cool cuz the tools are often hidden from public view like the work that i do and the work that most here, except an obvious few > here on these boards do du We wrap and ripple truths and they all contradict the violence and rape i see our leaders and Teachers commiting. TRUTH! How can we listen to them any longer? How can we stand it? with a painted paradise at the end of it WITHOUT a painted paradise at the end of it. Me thinks that death is a vibratory translation or phase shift, and life is also a vibratory translation or phase shift, except the two are APART. For a darn good reason, LEFT and right, up down, me and you, in and out, the duality i shout the duality of man and woman. Language this or that, Noun or another Noun. It's sad but thats why we feel small, insignificant just like a statistic, infear eara, afraid that big thunder farther will come spank us if we step out of line, and thats fine, but the lines been cross't, and....i'm lyke the sun rhyz rhymz, melting the morning frost on the playground, the concrete schoolyard with it's hoops, and the science lab and the coat rack and the bogs, and the boiler room, my ramble must be a part of my bramble bush berry delights > To put this in manifesto form would likely scare the livin lights out of folks, i would be taken two seriously i believe, i would be taken as to stoned, to old and too peeved, off with the system, already jaded and frayded by the iron age, cosmic schmuck > but know this.... they are all wrong i have seen the reel Red Woods, the lakes the Mountains > it's true they surround us, but Walt Whitmen iz dead and so is Terrence and so you might find, us, poets flowin blood from nozzles and muzzle puzzles about the path you walk to tie your talk tapes to your super hero capes, made from your Auntie hilda's drapes, them cream uns wid the likkle snakes on em, little DNA patterns, In England they call em Curtians, opened to bring in the sun and closed to watch TV and get dark with Miss Kathode Ray. It's freestyle sun day, i am not antagonized by efforts to stop this flow, onward to element Zero. As the crow flies.
