I make things. Some are serious. Some are funny. Most are curious. If you’re interested in history, community, humor, stories, music, and the odd corners of human nature, I think you’ll find something here that’s worth your time.
The time has come for magnificent manifestations and linguistic conjurations. Time to find those unknown destinations and put aside your perturbations. Be calm as the song reaches crescendo, and don't panic when the world gets manic. Don't worry about what's going 'round. Just grab a chair and stay right there while the maestro lays it down. Let's go! It's time for a change, gonna disassemble, rearrange, make it real deranged. Here comes the reflection of intention for defection to a whole new stage. I’m not muscle-ing or hustling for some intellectual fart sniffing. I’m not preaching or teaching the next spiritual uplifting. Not creating the coven or the oven where the witch fell in. There ain't no compact or contract to absolve original sin. Laughter is my pastor because comedy forgives. My hector of the heckler won’t be my legacy. Not giving traction to reaction, because art is free. Play my tune on your Zune like it’s 2003, and don’t neglect to detect the spirit inside me. Let me talk on that. Give me some space to be bold. You don't have to listen to these rhymes that glisten like gold. You can walk on if it fits ya'. Don't let the door hit ya' where the Good Lord split ya'. Let me light your fire obtoosly and move through you like muslee. I ain’t here to stand like the man, a tight closed hand, just blank and unplanned. Ain’t no lines to predict my future, just a conch claw scar never sutured. I used to ride the waves like Norrin Radd until time laid down all the hurt it had. I stumble without grumble. Wounds humble the jumble in the jungle of words that I mumble. Became Mister A to Z real quick just to prove that my bars are sick. Magic yet tragic, fresh cacophonic static of a fanatic both frantic and pedantic. Don’t climb in my attic like an addict, full needle panic. Let's get filthy for a second. My antics are tantric, so drop them panties for the ante and meet me in the pantry. Our own 9 and a half weeks with a can of peaches. Don’t swerve from the curve, or you’ll purge the urge. Grab some herb, some blood up verge, and joke the smoke as it rises from each toke. I have a prescription, I swear! Don't buy a history of duplicity and f-f-fuckery, the pyramid schemes disguised as dreams, all subliminal and criminal behind the scenes. Cream don't rise in every life, and the fella don’t choose Cinderella for a wife. A charming and disarming royal brat, waiting and anticipating his next piece of ass. Bust a nut, thrust a rut, blow away. Don’t report because child support is on autopay. Sovereign clobberin’ goblins slobberin’ over the next wad. Give us cash to flash on the altar of the new God. No salvation or creation, just endless masturbation. Woooooo! Let's close it out! Ain’t no love in the rub of the chub, just a complacent nation, thumbs flexing and sexting, perpetuation of light deprived infections, cautionary bill-e-airy complexions, separated from the connections and affections that give life direction. Now hear my intention for the next direction of my creative s-s-selection. Stick with me and you'll see a mind set free from the wonderings and b-b-blunderings of the pick-me-crowd, too proud to be loud, too fraught with thought, too addicted to be conflicted, and ready to have their minds bought. The purchase of a soul is where I slow my roll. Too hard a life, filled with strife, but a mind made ripe for bloom. Don't assume the room. It changes real damn quick, and the floors get slick with perspiration and hesitation. Name the thing, the pain you bring, your baggage overstuffed with ruts and cuts. Let them see just who you will be when the fear you'll disappear starts to flee. Let me end it then and no longer pretend. Just drop the words and verbs that fall from my pen.
