Tookie to Tikrit

In 10 hours and 16 minutes, Stanley Williams will be put to death. 

In 54 hours and a few minutes, Iraqi citizens will begin to vote. 

A gangsta, a thug, a nigga will die a martyr        &

A Sunni, a Sh'ite, a Kurd will live an ideal         

Both be symptomatic of how we humans decide our fate as well as others. 

Both be born of a process that seeks justice through unjust means. 

Both, comedic in their tragedy. 

Both, shocking in their realism. 

Both irrelevant to the average American's day. 

So easy to care about neither circumstance. 

So cryptic to engage either's significance. 

How unsettled both shall read, a textual rememberance. 

How anxious both shall figure, a dreadful augury. 

In ten hours the state will kill 

Tookie. 

In 54 hours the polls will open in 

Tikrit. 

Intro to an End

Wow, to be here now, talking to you

bout this

I'v heard a few lyrics

stole a few rhymes 

But I never felt

so behind the times

Can't watch the game

without feeling shame

#blacklivesmatter

#OscarsSoWhite

I live the bohemian lifestyle 

Words can't bring me down

To definitions I never wrote

Yet understood

To mean I was beautiful 

We all care what others think

No reason to make a stink

We've come so far 

Let's enjoy the brink

Staring down always felt more natural than

looking up

To yous I'm just thug

A Tax Platform

This ain't class warfare 

My platform is for societal welfare

And before you say socialist nigga

Read my lips

I'm talkin all new taxes

Like every good capitalist

Man can make what he make

Just can't take what he take

So if that is your first take:

Than I'm a commie bastard

And a vote for me would be a disaster 

Then you better stop listening 

Lest I Change your mind

As I speak on design 

And how we've all bought in

To fucking toeing the line

Ain't about believing lies

Or speaking truths 

But building roofs 

Providing shelter

Meeting needs

Because

If it bleeds it feeds

And

It will bleed to feed

So it will come for yours if you don't give it some

And now day it seems like none. 

Taxes are what built the Roman Empire

Don't care what gibbon say

I'v never read him anyway

It's when they stopped paying taxes

That empire fell

Come on people it ain't 

Hard to tell 

[ A Tax Platform ]

Hashtag Ferguson

So the decision was tonight

Made it a primetime delight 

Interupted the Bills game, which

Was delayed and relocated due to snow 

That May or perhaps 

Was not caused by global warming. 

Darren Wilson not charged

A just kill

Product of protocol. 

What I hear out the mouths of white people

They

       Gunna

                 Riot

                       Either

                               Way 

What I hear out the mouz of black folks

We 

     Finnah'be

                   Black

                           Either

                                    Way

Just another decision, another tough call

Another life not valued

But yet makes us [society] struggle

About how we value

A symptom of a cause

Like trying to heal a gunshot wound with gauze. 

A phish line for me

A punch line for the middle class

An anxiety for the wealthy. 

How uppity will this make 

US

Even if 

I'm one of them (punctuated by a silent screaming)

                     

Danny's Wegmans & The American Dream

I smoke my weed, eat my cheese cut my coke and watch my screens grow fatter by the day and higher into the night and puzzle over whether this be the dream? 

I slip into Ebonics more and more these days, so this is giving up, turning in, Friday night dinner at the grocers, movie out a vending machine; just cuz I don t feel like streaming tonight. Succumbing to the age, absent of grace, devoid of any discernible talents, hanging on a wage, maybe still scribble out a page, cipher out a tweet, chirping: I'm still young, only half believing  that perhaps this be fun. 

Ode to Robert Moog

New Orleans is 

awash. 

The rain beats steadily outside my window. 

I'm trying to pick a starting hand,

while others pick through their rubble wondering how to start anew. 

Trying to synthesize the thoughts 

so I can lay them juxtaposed in a psychedelic fashion

for others to trip out on. 

Yet they feel so far away. 

The rain outside my window, 

moved on from the Big Easy, when really I sat down, between hands to pay homage to the man, who like Eli Whitney, invented a device of liberation. 

Just as the gin freed the slave through automation the synthesizer freed the beats from monotones. 

I can't imagine the sound and fury of my life without the repercussions of Bob's device. 

For the soundtrack of my life could never have been produced.

I know the world goes on, through tragedy and chance, and through it all we look to god to make sense of what was dealt. Yet I also know that sense is made through synthesis and death is just a part of the blend, and I can't help but think what better way for god to speak and be heard. 

 

Life Can Wait

I go from mostly sober to really high to hardly drunk to officially blacked out, and I know all of those mees. 

I'm Admass with a philosophy like that of mad max, completely in my age since before I was of age. I don't just read, I grok, and if I'm hanging with some techies we can converse on Spock. If I was a painter I'd be sans smock, messy with my work, cuz I wear what I paint. Just a modern day poet thinking life can wait.