CONSTANT EDITING

i got 99 posts but a bitch ain't one.

perpetual snowstorms have caused my bones to atrophy and age
so the slightest fray will more than likely shatter my whole ribcage
though still plotting the shortest route from where i am to where i wanna be
cutting my wrists so i can see where i have previously tried to flee
laying distinctive pathways through all the places passed travelling
resew the neurological tapestry before it's done slowly unravelling
claude monet created artworks considered ten times more composed
you can't reopen old wounds that never properly closed
so you should be able to see into the dead centre of my soul
and witness that i'm made up of nine layers of ashes and coal
slightly off to the left, i can feel jedecca breaking in two
and there's more than enough lesions for him to seep out though
so before i trip over several lies that took years to be strung
i'll do my best to stitch back together skin that flaked beneath the sun

i'm reaching out for guidance only to clutch broken hands
and i can't question direction past each of my swallow glands
what i thought was a seraph was a vulture with white wings
i clipped them in the autumn and kept you warm until the spring
tried to splint your broken wing and repair your damaged beak
but infection defeated healing and your injuries stayed weak
we tried to harmonize but every note we sang was wrong
retrograde amnesia for the melody you were singing all along
then you scratched up my body, took your leave and once again
moved onto another nest with an apparent inability to maintain
so now i'm building stories with the heaviest words ever sung
to add it to my repertoire of songs to scream at the sun
while marching in rhythm to the beat of a slowly fleeting pulse
pushing against the winds until the body starts to convulse

i swear you must have knicked one of my pulmonary veins
cause i can bloodflow redirecting to the frontal lobe of my brain
huge pressure is building and my left arm has gone numb
i feel it behind my eyes, i bet i can get it with my thumbs
not brave enough for blindness so this pain will never dull
i swear i'd be able to grasp it if i could get inside my skull
does the brain lead the parasite or is it the mind that solely guides?
can i reach into each my ears and rip out all the insides?
will i eventually think more clearly once this is all said and done
or will i be forced to replace my broken mind for a newer, better one?
i swear my mind can be rebuilt using the proper mixture of chemicals
flood the pharmaceuticals into the fourth and third ventricles
and hopefully while they're at it, they'll repair my rotted lungs
but disregard my dying heart, as we each speak in different tongues

can't afford crack under the pressure, by my own intent or error
need to create a distinction between what's fleeting and what's forever
discover the parallels between what helps and what weakens
while i'm stuck south of sodom, slightly north-east of eden
i'll neither trip nor faulter fowards, towards an uncertain, tragic end
but i suspect this all depends on how well my broken legs will mend
if the bone will snap under the load or allow me to walk straight
cause all this pressure on my shoulders is becoming baring weight
my eyes aren't commited enough to communicate all the oncoming ditches
that i never hestitate to find, i can be sew back together with stitches
i swear my mind can be rebuilt using the proper mixture of pharmaceuticals
though i'll probably fall apart again, as it's been proven to be the usual
and deep in a shallow graves lie the best laid schemes of mice and men
that have proven only to fail time, and time again

nickels for narcotics - infinite x travis porter (eminem)

first rap i ever wrote. don't hate.

look; take the mindset of a fucked kid from down under
add it to violence of tidal waves and fury of thunder
sprinkle a hit of eminem and mix in a dash of king geedorah
make it enigmatic like makaveli and mind-numbing like ether
combine one-half dimethyltryptamine with four-fifths diazepam
it’ll cause overdoses after smoking only half a gram
fucking nauseating like alice d and sid’s childhood romance
that’s the way i’d explain myself if i got the fucking chance
but y’know, i’m always tightlipped due to my insecurities and anxieties
unless i’m letting go on a beat so we’ll call the lyrics my diaries
but let’s not call it hip-hop, it’s music-assisted poetry
and these aren’t verses or stanzas, it’s my life encoded in .mp3
i’m dropping lines right in front of you, ready for the snorting
but really, it’s a suicide note disguised as a rap recording
i’m surcummbing to the addiction, the way it’s suppose to be
trading nickels for narcotics cause it’s the only thing to comfort me

relished in our worries, victories, failures, fucks and fears
if home is where the heart is, i’ve been homeless for fucking years
i left it somewhere in the eastern suburbs back in oh-eight
really, family to me is worth all the bus trips interstate
consider yourself lucky, you had friends to see everyday
my best friends live at the end of 300 ks away
aside from them and mary jane, city lights numbs my pain
i’ll be the kid seated across from you; looking out the window of the train
exploring the city along train lines through hazy eyes
rushing along between platforms, seats and head highs
and if happiness were a drug, you’d have all died from your binge
skin with a purplish-tinge; fallen victim to that deceitful syringe
it’s happened to me, you’ll escape through a hole in your head
because chasing brightness angers darkness and it won’t stop ‘til you’re dead
push against the grain though; turn the cycle to a revolution
keep self-medicating and ingesting cancerous lung pollution

i may never be a success but my voice will never be suppressed
and like a move in chess, none of my bars meaningless
though i’m a dime a dozen poet like tight jeans at flinders street
i know i’ve been depressive but know i’ll never admit defeat
it’s just i’m tired of living this dreary, bleak reality. shit
am i awake or just a victim to a brain-chemical abnormality?
dunno but at either rate, i’ll end up with too much on my plate
i’d say i’d demonstrate but i’m sure you can already relate
i’ve spent every night for the last nineteen years counting sheep
but every numeral never seems to amount to any fucking sleep
i’m always wide awake, finding ample reasons to stay jaded
passing the moonlight getting sedated, wasted and faded
this insomnia and hatred have provoked the beast inside of me
set free with an insatiable need to devour eemcees
spitting static on an inaudible frequency
gathering up all bitch rappers and to let him feed peacefully

proud of your roots - shiraz x tommy mas (action bronson)

i don't suppose you've got a little time to spare
to listen to my melancholy ring out like children's unanswered prayers
lay down foundations of misery over bass and snares
and illustrate how reality has merged with each of my nightmares
barely lucid, this is lucifer's idea of debut collecting
attacking the victim in the midst of astral projecting
goodness gracious, this place falls beyond all of god's graces
only as tolerant as the last drug it was laced with

be it through rap or psychology, i'm breaking this monotony
i refuse to be the cat killed at the hands curiosity
the only soldier caught on the western front without a gask mask
i'm bound to return home sipping success from a third riech hipflask

i'm an inglorious bastard with a weird accent to mask it
a sly investor with all stocks in the black-market
a narco-terrorist developing al-qaeda's nuclear weapons
the fallen archangel swore revenge upon heaven
should we save everyone the trouble and euthanize me now?
if so, this is my note and i fucking hate this town
it takes and it takes until there's nothing of worth left
until your iv runs flat and you've drawn your last breath

if i ever make it big. i don't know your fucking name
i said after school i never want to see any of you again
minus a select few, and fuck you know if that's you
i've never fucking belonged here, you know that much is true

so if this was blasphemy, i'd feel some form of detachment
instead of feeling like a 50 wolves set free of entrapment
now i'm disillusion and bloodthirsty for my personal vengeance
never left jerusalem, so i'll bablyon my own repentance
and sugarcoat it to the point it's lost in translation
so you people can misinterpret most of the quotations
and apply them to your own life with glue-like adherence
really though, i'm just propagating my first live appearance

fuck you, get your own fucking drugs kid, and sense of intuition
you think i'm magical, drug dealing physician?
i'm actually surprised if you can't notice the repetition
you're the clergy requesting aid from the catholic inquisition

i don't wanna sell each and every piece of absolution
i've acquired just because you need some emotional substitution
from being tragic and helpless, probably die of electrocution
from licking wall sockets and wind up inside an institution
so pat yourselves on the back, such bright fucking sparks
enjoy the fleeting moments before you're thrust back into dark
you'll burn yourselves out like an old candle's wick
and knowing this place, you'll all do it about twice as quick

boring - mythesiser x j dilla

i'm driving a commodore, doing a hundred along the highway
the headspins from the liquor are starting to cause me to stray
from the beaten path but that's how it was intended
i'll suspend my own life before i'm ever apprehended, get it?
i lied about the liquor, need something to forget the night
anything that'll help me mistake a stop sign for a green light
never was a religious man, in fact, i fucking hate it
but god, give me the courage to steer off this fucking embankment
or give me purpose to keep driving out to the city limits
but don't offer me solace, it's none of your fucking buisness
i'd rather a substance but i'd be asking the wrong angel
but there is a book about you where cocaine killed abel

this is the culmination of every last mistake
the point where the burn turns to a debilitating ache
and the pressure on your shoulders becomes baring weight
this anxiety and insecurity make it hard to concentrate
and the only remedy for that is either a noose or an eighth
that sounds pretty cynical and yeah, i'm lacking in faith
in a positive outcome to my cinderella story
i'm only up to the second chapter but shit, it's already boring
so that should make it apparent that i'm no george orwell
i'm merely a scholar carting messages for the mandelin cartel
and i don't write lyrics, i sorta just declassify
words of the greatest lyricists who died from being pacified
and all their prime suspects had a satisfying alibi
while i'd be on the witness stand completely fucking tongue tied
life threw me hurdles but i'm a white boy so i can't jump
seventy, take that speed bump head-first into a tree stump

metropolitan lacking oxygen - jealousy x the purist (danny brown)

i guess burnt out before i really got a chance to even shine
i'm a lowly carbon-based star that supernovaed way before its time
took a minute for me to reach my prime but now i'm on the rapid decline
all my vowels and consonants make up the battalions comprising the front lines
pushed out to fight lyricists militants, battling with instruments
combating against the dissonance with methods widely considered villainous
i'm too short on precious time to be worrying about these war crimes
preoccupied curing the modern day plague with noir nursery rhymes
leading cults of chaotic evil druids and paladins
playing on AD&D cause rolling initiative is pretty challenging
enchanted by dark bardic rhapsodies
lovecraftian reality is blasphemy, 1-d100 damage to your sanity
every party member stricken down by disease and pestilence
this journey's half the length from biblical exodus to genesis
a virus with near human intelligence, and just for emphasis
it turns blood so cold it's own frostbite's fucking venomous

fuck this, if left to my own devices it'd be a slipknot or a fall
cause i'm so goddamned tired i can't even write anymore
so if blood's thicker than water, why am i bleeding from my pores?
shit, i'm so fucking anxious i can't inhale smoke anymore
my teeth have sank halfway through my fucking tongue
my words are broken, jaded fragments cutting at my gums
trying hard to keep composure inside this educational hospice
kinda hard since i'm obscured by the shadow of each and every colossus
stuck between fighting my deepest feelings of inadequacy
or getting a passing grade so my father won't be fucking mad at me
my life's beginning to feel like one giant monday-morning commute
crossing borders and passing towns screaming along to la dispute
i guess i'm kinda happy, i've moved out to a metropolitan
even though i'm suffocating, shit the air's more poison than oxygen
my insides have turned to a city that does nothing but pollute
no help pushing against my insignificance, i'm so fucking minute
every word i vomit forth leads me deeper into hell
helping me rationalize the seventh circle that i forever dwell
within, possibly constructed it from my own melancholic thoughts
bent over in the opposite way that my spine's meant contort
abrasive allergic, as sick as bryan on cancer packets
about as inconsequential as statements falling between two brackets
dance around the subject til i'm a synonymous with euphemisms
i'm aware of more flaws than i'm comfortable with admitting

i'm anchored to the docks hoping to survive these fucking rains
but all sailors know broken hulls never repair quite the same
the wear of ten thousand waves is being worn
and if hearts rest upon the sails, the sleeve has more than been torn

third verse tangent - black lipped bastard x tae beats (ab-soul)

planting bibles in the garden, does your belief have roots?
or just spiritual, religious loneliness that the drugs have induced?
we could be as lost as the doomsayer's planet nibiru
an experimental proposal by other being as scientific breakthrough
really self-aware, can you see using your symmetrical gland?
better yet, can you feel without the use of either of your hands?
if this race consists of any extraordinary gentlemen
they're as two-faced as rorschach and feeding solely on adrenalin
maybe we've been asleep since the creation of the sumerians?
i guess that could explain our dire state of authoritarian
leaders and governments, preach civil but act barbarian
destroyed every hospital and rebuilt them as veterinarians
ultimately, they'd prefer to beat to horse until it's dead
and call it a dog's day afternoon, is this shit over your head?
they care about as much as casey anthony in the fetal position
that's why all your idols are split between artists or musicians
if graffiti could change anything that shit would be illegal
i'd say the same for arson but paint's much cheaper than diesel
and we pull it from the ground so i guess, it's sorta valuable
but not like that hemp plant kids, all perception is malleable
like the adoptive nazi swastika or a cross turned upsidedown
i, n, g following k or illusions of power over crowns
those who stand for nothing will fall for fucking anything
don't believe me? that's how christianity originally caught wind
it comes down to atheists fist-fighting creationists
our civilization is just preceding another flood myth
give me all your blasphemy so i can survive in babylon's tapestries
our greatness will fall to the pages of another biblical analogy
so my strategy to survive is to write my own odyssey
by putting poetry to beats throughout my entire discography
i'm memorizing the depths of the english language's oceanography
so i can part the read sea and become my own man of prophecy
til' then goodbye everyone, i'm so fucking sick of this drama
i'm gonna smoke so much green, i give myself blunt-force trauma

wanderlust - in a dream x the alchemist

reflecting upon reflections, a silhouette in a puddle
my insecurities always pushing me, however so subtle
i’ve got more fears than foes and scars that tell stories
though not self-inflicted, they're merely reminders of my former glories
and fractured memories faded but mentally outlast
i run to them in dreams but they’re always over too fast
i can never seem to hide from these dark clouds and overcast
i’m doing terribly, thank you, first cunt to have had asked
everything always feels ‘same shit but different day’
it’s same brand cigarette and my mouth still tastes like an ashtray
so if my passion lacks purpose and my purpose lacks love
it's one less meaningless feeling i pre-emptively disposed of
cause this is pointless aggression, this is kids searching for light
but the only light offered burns at the bottom of hazy pipes

there’s gotta be a quicker way i can rid myself of hate
or suppress it down to melancholy for my sanity’s sake
if it’ll filter out slowly, i’m not enough patience to wait
so if sober slowly, fuck it, i’ll constantly self-medicate
i started hitting the green and found that it numbed me
so my mid through late-teens i wrote rhymes and burnt trees
i'm known as a white pot god with an asthmatic throat wheeze
i went from only getting glassy eyed on the weekends
to blazing up from the weeks start til’ the week ends
but that wasn’t enough, had more money i could spend
progressed from that and  became a harlem glass globetrotter
shit, i slept less than a full-time, cooked, insomniac grave robber
i became a glass arsonist; a glass orchestra trendsetter
watching minds destroyed dancing with lady meth and ampheta-

it’s getting kinda hard to work for an honest day’s pay
when a drug dealer can a week's wage in half a fucking day
and i’d honestly prefer a steady girl over a good high
but i only ever come home to mary jane and dirty pipes
and that’s how it is, you never really expected it
we never aspired to this, we all sorta stumbled into it
when i was young, kids dreamed of better lives and city lights
now kids only fiend for the party scene and crackpipes
they’re lead unaware straight into the damned junkie system
walking that thin line between being in control and being a victim
dreams will stay dreams kid, so forever stay awake
what’s the point to dreaming if ambition and aspirations are fake?
so when i told you never to sleep, that’s sorta what i mean
these kids are living a nightmare as though it’s a fucking dream

though i'm a ball of contradictions, you'll find me amongst herbal smoke
trying to tie a slipknot while stepping on all the dreams that i broke
callous and hateful, my soul lies at the bottom of a well
forever lost to everyone but melancholy is bound to sell
fuck it, i'm done. it's too hard to outrun
my life's a competition i  never could've won
i'm the turtle in this hare race, fuck it. i'm done
i'll bury my head in the sand to forever hide from the sun
yeah

text files of alexandria - doulbe 07 x the alchemist (currensy)

i'ma post some rap i've done because have a great fear of losing files.

put up your punchlines we're gonna spar over this beat
and start trading blows so heavy handed the gloves seem like concrete
i'm trying to make structure rigid, mr. absurd bastard
graduated past other rappers, doubled standards for my masters
progressed past a prized prose poet and put the rhythm back to poetry
i found what it was lacking like thc without it's potency
that's dmt without it's chemistry and drugs without their remedies
spilling ink in attempts to reconnect the passion to the ecstasy
in my final moments i turned to alchemy to add a score to this feature
couldn't disregard the currensy, so borrowing it is probably much cheaper

that as it may, i'm through claiming ownership over sounds
and once i've record these tracks, i'm taking off, never to be found
forever lost to encryption like the great cities past conquered
now mixing a pint ayahuasca and half bottle lysergic vodka
mixed tape torrent files will eventually succumb to the seeders
unless it's featured to parasitic brainfeeders or other eternal leechers
but i doubt it, i'll leave about as much behind as the sumerians
my text files of alexandria burnt down alongside it's librarian

planting bibles in the garden, does your belief have roots?
or just spiritual, religious loneliness that the drugs have induced?
deep seeded in whatever affiliation your colours imply
irrationality in high supply when scum don't die, it multiplies
on a scope below molecular, call you micro but that's insulting biology
doesn't take a group of scientists to figure out how doggedly
you betray each and every role you meet in this tragic comedy
and how you never cease to be the poster-child for utter mediocrity
or how your greatest commodity is unwavering hypocrisy
your novelty's outweighed by your geocentric theologies
arrogant catastrophe, the exact opposite of gallantry
it's like i'm big brother prussia and bitch, you're little brother saxony

this head is empty; it's merely a container for the mind
fairweather family-first friends always leaving me behind
made the title 'adolescent artisan articulate' mine
but even though i did it seems (i'm always gonna) fail

oh, and i hope your forefathers suffered during the holodomor

revision.

i've got a few questions for the latest jane doe,
like 'darling, where did all your beauty go?'
and to confess to her my love affair with names -
the first name mary and the last name jane
to let her know i haven't slept since early january
now it's late november, still no sight of sanctuary
the candlelight travelled by has burnt down to wax
and i can't even reach half the knives in my back
stretching from my shoulders to the bottom on my hips
coupled with heated glass tearing up the inside of my lips

 so you'll find my childhood self two floors down
strung up by support beams, wearing a noose as a crown
more than likely in the form of a cross turned upside down
it's getting way too hard to pen this grief into nouns