listening to too much AJJ and TSSB.

we're just too fucking concerned with all these worldly commodities,
mobile phones and internet and all other pointless technologies.
i'll hide behind a persona that i've so carefully constructed,
to hide obvious signs of my ever impending self-destruction.
i'll hold faux-demons within me, weighed down by balls and chains,
i'll make sure the venom in my heart pumps solely through my veins.
i'll find new ways to help cope with depression and the stress,
up until the point where i've smoked the entire pack of cigarettes.
burnt the last of the flowers gifted from strangers that i've met,
and if i can't get onto any more, i'm bound to get the sweats,
bound to lose my train of thought, bound to fucking shake,
i'm gonna lay in bed the whole damn night so painfully awake.
i'll find several architects to tell me just how flawed the design
and i'll pay a very handsome man to shank me right in my spine.
i'll lie down on the street corner and i'll bleed out by the night
i'll tell every single passer-by that everything's alright.

wurgargble

i carry the devil in my head, in my heart and in my chest,
i hold the devil in my hands and he wants me fucking dead.
hangs storm clouds overhead, blights every ill-attempt,
if god has favoured our undertakings, he wants me fucking dead.

built walls tall around me to keep everyone out
and waited patiently for the doldrums to totally destroy me.
damned to never find any shelter from the rains,
so tired of being the sisyphus for the modernist age.

oh, what an fucking plague you are.

///

"there is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. all the rest – whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories – comes afterwards. these are games; one must first answer." - Albert Camus.

major bummer / sound is vibration x atmosphere

let's listen to the purging of your narrator's limbic system

as he tries to drive home the point that he's always been the victim

fighting losing battles against insomnia and punctured lungs

every virus of this syndrome dances around the tip of his tongue

mindlessly in rhythm to the off-beat of a war drum

'til his pallet has calloused and sense of taste has grown numb

'til the fingers do tremble and refuse to grip the pen

waves swell from the shifting ground of every 'never, ever again'

'til the microscopic toxins can evade every diagnostic

and the saliva that comes from the mouth has turned fucking caustic

oh no man, i found owen smoking drugs once again

for pathetic attempt at catharsis or alleviation of pain

adding notches to his wrists for every time he's tripped and stumbled

over his words or shortcomings or the rubble of aspirations crumbled

cause the mortar never holds the stone quite so tightly together

can never withstand the frigidness bought by the cold weather

so he fall and he falter exactly like every other time

and arrange every insecurity into a scheme that barely fucking rhymes

that has a subtle hint of truth that runs through every line

but it's always so hidden to the reader, obscured by all my lies

i swear, by now i'm my wasting my breath fucking speaking

i'm burning every bridge i can find to keep myself from freezing

in constant audition, forever fucking fidgeting

i'll never come off as anything more than mildly fucking interesting

here's to another year of eating shit and being betrayed

being force-fed hand grenades while writing more unnamed serenades

i don't think there's much more to me than sleeplessness and anxiety

boundless insecurity, sarcastic wit and non-sobriety

i'm getting old and getting stoned, filling my lungs up with coal

while finding new and inventive ways to slowly chip away at my soul

scrap away at the bones until there's nothing left but pride

which is the only emotion i ever show, the rest are hidden inside

i swear i'm a fucking disease, but i'm sure i'm only benign

amplifying the genes for anxiety and furthering it down the blood-line

i won't crack under the pressure, by my own intent or by error

i'll take every friendship i have and rip and tear and sever

but since i'm always in the wrong, it's alright to fuck me over

i'm the main stepping-stone along your personal journey to closure

i'm a hero with no glory, i'm your biggest hindrance in disguise

i'm sisyphus, forever pushing my avarice towards the fucking skies

help me fade into obscurity, become another silhouette

fade gracefully into the background of hazy memories you'll eventually forget

untitled. i suck and am a bitchy emo faggot.

why do the worst of things happen to the best of people?
what's the point of awareness if consciousness is near-lethal?
why do the best of people think they're the worst of man?
cause the worst of the best men have achieved far more than i can
my skin will never be anywhere near as callous as a lion's hide
man, no gives a fuck unless you're an attractive man or dead
so maybe to seek attention, we should kill ourselves instead
never amount to anything passed null, seriously better of dead
you can never walk so proudly kid, until you hang your head
until you bend your will and hope at their fucking knees
until you stop fighting and habituate to the disease
get educated, well adjusted, obtained some fabled degree
there could never be an outcome worse than ending up like me
comprised of half foregone glory and half half-hearted hate
i'm carrying so much on my shoulders, it's moreso baring weight
there's a developing pattern here, though i doubt any of it matters
i'm just a pirrah that climbed way too far up the social ladder
i've got no hopes, no dreams, no friends and no drive
but i've got cigarettes and malice, just too little to thrive
i've got everything i need, though half as much as i want
tired of being broke and broken, i'll continue to act nonchalant
i'm a blunted knife in the side of everyone interested in me
twisting and turning until it can pierce an appropriate artery

shots fired. oh shit.

reworked this to be about one person instead of two. fuck jj.

your mediocrity isn't obscured by your video editing
nor all patterns you're stealing but are simply not crediting
you're not from hilltop hoods so stop wearing baggy clothes
stop using nosebleed instrumentals and stop biting their fucking flows

you're nothing but another clown prince carbon-copy clone
never call you a 'king' though, no where near fully grown
you could stand two foot over me, i guess that makes you tough man
but i've been writing walls of text since before you even began

so by now i've got the skills of a professional language contortionist
i've witnessed every bar you've ever drop fall short of unfortunate
cause you fake all the drug you've ingested, water's tested and childhood neglect
but i guess, what else have i come to expect?

cause if you can't even make a burger, how can you ever rap decently?
can't even hold your own life together, but you represent me equally?
i vehemently deny this, doesn't demonstrate my expedience
you're seriously another lost dog never taught any obedience

you're a living, breathing advocate for post-natal abortion
when god was handing out stupidity, you took a double portion
seriously, you're about as liked as abbott and the coalition
take off that fucking cross man, you're not even close to being christian

i should get back on topic; this is a diss, not a keynote speech
do something original, the clown prince crown is outta reach
stop rapping about lost love and 'how shard is fucking bad'
seriously man? that's more profound than any thought i've ever had

you mean the drug that tears your lungs apart with glass and differing chemicals?
that's revolutionary your song will be considered seminal
if you're gonna preach to the choir man, at least do it in tune
and don't have your opinions change as often as the faces of the moon

initially when i wrote this, i started a whole new diss here
but you're so fucking pathetic, i made all those bars disappear
and reanimate themselves back into venomous pestilence
so i can kill you a single bar at a time and leaving no evidence

i'm twice as perverse as the first man who learnt how to hurt
i'm more angry than every religious extremist you've ever heard
i'm defending the english language against all your atrocities
while demonstrating how well bad writing can spawn animosity

i swear i'm twice as good as every 'kountry kid' combined
you couldn't pronounce half the words you use, let alone define
you ruin every beat you jump on with your incessant whining
and the sole fact that your tracks end is the only silver lining

stop trying to pass off made-up narratives as non-fiction
stop trying to make some revolutionary point about addiction
instead try to string together a sentence that could ever phase me
only after you do that can you truly call yourself an emcee

i'm writing callous death threats on the tips of arrowheads
aiming them directly at your head, to tear your throat to fucking shreds
so you can no longer vomit forth bullshit that filters from your head
man, i'm twice as good as you even under the affect of psych meds

you've got less collective talent than a middle eastern ice hockey team
couldn't even write a good line, let alone a rhyme scheme
do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?
i play your youtube videos with friends so we can laugh at you

if people play your songs for comedy, you haven't really 'made it'
in fact, every single person i know has said they fucking hate it
you got 'live your dream' permantly etched into your skin
well i'm here to warn you jay, this is where the nightmares begins

and i'm freddy krueger, except this time i'm not the villain
and i'll do to you worse than what the fuck did to children
so call me a monster, i'll make sure you never prosper
all your rhymes have less depth than the current bucks roster

something.

find the shortest distance between my head and my heart
and cut the nerves at their roots so the impulses won't start
i'll completely detach myself from this unrelenting shame
until i can interpret each day as not being the same
if he [god], has indeed favoured our undertakings
he's blessed me with apathy and uncontrollable shaking
with every night i've awoken, covered by the thin sheets on my bed
with abhorrence and melancholy dancing their way around my rotten head;
projecting films onto my eyelids and playing xylophone on my teeth
rewiring all the circuitry til i perceive indifference as grief
someone hold me until the snow melts in the timid, fleeting spring
and i'll suffer another seasons cycle before i quit everything