Yup.....you read right.....March's AOTM is both Blak & Del...a double deadly dose of literary artistry. I don't think we ready. (LOL) Congratz to you both....its been a long time commin'....but I'm sure it was worth the wait. Madd props....you two deserve it!!!!


Keep Flowin'....

much love.

peace.


*********************************

exist in limbo.

"we are accidents waiting to happen" -radiohead

"Poetry is a kind of distilled insinuation. It’s a way of expanding and talking around an idea or a question. Sometimes, more actually gets said through such a technique than a full frontal assault." -Yusef Komunyakaa

"The Black Artist's role in America is to aid in the destruction of America as he knows it. His role is to report and reflect so precisely the nature of the society, and of himself in that society, that other men will be moved by the exactness of his rendering and, if they are black men, grow strong through this moving, having seen their own strength, and weakness; and if they are white men, tremble, curse, and go mad, because they will be drenched with the filth of their evil."

-Amiri Baraka, from "State/meant" in the essay, "Home"

"My love is my soul's imagination. How do I love thee?...Imagine." -Saul Williams

co-sign

This up and coming producer from Philly does all live instrumentation and has a sick ass mix cd out with tight emcees from Philly. Web-site www.ahtakproductions.com Check that shit out and tell me what yall think. Peace.

i used to sleep upstairs from god.

in a small ohio town
on the second floor
of the home
in which i was conceived, born and raised.

he wore a beard
his first name had 5 letters
his surname had 6
his middle name wasn't "h."
but it might as well have been
for all the hell through which i put him
and all the hell from which he sought to save me.

my god was true and livin'
he was blue from livin'
that by-your-collar,
stretch-your-dollar,
clock-punchin',
shift-rotatin',
7 days on-2 days off
existence.

so, he sought heaven in his family
and he created paradise from them.

he woke up each morning next to the only dream he ever wanted to imagine.

he realized his own fantasies with every point and every rebound
his sons crammed into the box scores of high school basketball games.

he accumulated siblings and parents among the townsfolk
who came to love him simply because he was good.

and he tried to pass his version of paradise onto me.

but i'm named for milton,
naturally, i lost it.

not when first phone call from precinct hall asked him to bring bail money for his first born,
or when brew and food mixed to soil his brand new living room carpet,
or even when i gave up on athletics before he was ready to.

no, i lost paradise the day i exceeded god.

it was one of those countless one-on-one battles
when father schools son on how the game is supposed to be played

he let me jump out to an early lead
-as he usually did-
before reigning jump shot after jump shot
on my bald, confident head.

but for the first time,
my eyes looked down at his
and my thighs were stronger than his
and when i pounded the ball against the concrete
backing him further and further into the paint:

god quivered.

spin move.
elevation.
ball.
slams.
through.
hoop.

neither of us had the heart to finish the game;
we both knew the outcome was inevitable
and he knew it wouldn't be confined to that court.

i never celebrated that moment
'cause i never fully believed in it

until years later,
when the old man
stood in my home
supported by defeated knees
admiring the evidence of my own victories:

he smiled

and extended his hand
not to shake mine,
but to ask for help walking to his car.

WOW!
Better fasten my seatbelt...cause i think MARCH we're in for some good quality sh*t

great start!

d, i believe this is the very first poem of yours that i read when i signed up on okp and, for me at least, that makes this start to your double header aotm even more meaningful. maybe if all life's lessons were this poignant we'd get ahead in the game much faster, but sometimes it's the trial and error and the scales falling from eyes long after the lesson's been given that can only make the lesson truly worthwhile. y'know?

peace, bro.

n.

yes, very good work....

the... poems to post.... *smiles*


=========================
If I had a
nothing would be
what it is. ©Alice-Alice in Wonderland

Great GREAT plot and execution. That's why you're AOTM right... This is definitely damn!worthy.

I believe this is my favorite flow of yours -- I remember the first time I read it -- It brought a *smile* & a tear to my eyes -- (at the same time) -- ;^)

(((Rainbows & Waterfalls)))

it never gets old...

n/m

This was damn good. Heh reminded me of that Cosby show ep when Theo was playing Cliff...

Almost every son can relate to that. Good work.

*shit I'm inspired now hahaha*

-Improv!?...he's on that Damita Jo...

christ in you.

-Otto

Congrats DBG and Blak! Wow! DBG, I'm really happy you got it, and Blak, I eat my words and I'm excited 'cause I don't have to wait and anymore and keep voting for both of you until you get it! LOL! Hugs, love, cheers, and respect!

Peace,

N.

NOTE: NOW Y'ALL BETTER RIP THIS!

Do the damned thing!

I'm just elated!!! -- *smiles*


(((Double my Pleasure)))


And congrates you two!

congrats Delsbro & Blak Yukonomics!

yaaaay!!


peace
ladee

you know i'm gald this thing went down like it did ....peace playa's ....

..to the both of youse, you deserve it now let the words flow..

congrats, both of you...

anxious to see what this month brings...especially since i KNOW yer gonna bless us with at least one collab piece,right? RIGHT???

now back to AOTM already in progress.

Congrats to Del's but its about fuckin time Blak got this.....ive been votin for dude every time except this time and all the sudden cats recognize the talent........shit works in wierd ways..just happy you shining fam..peace to both.

sometimes,
love is a big ole booger
and you're seven years old-
wise enough to know about the grossness of it,
yet curious enough to be compelled to dig.

sometimes,
you are a booger
dancing with index fingers,
longing to be picked
'cause the cilia that holds you in place
is neither comforting nor comfortable.

sometimes,
you dance with the right finger.

and sometimes,
you just don't get picked.

what an analogy! ew! *runs away from the booger pickin' romeo all the while giggling at the silliness* cute :)

peace,

n.

But it's cute! -- ;^)


What an analogy?!? -- *whewwww*

such a poet. i never see u post. im sorry i didnt vote for you.
gosh, this is great.

-Otto

now in de hell is blak?


=========================
If I had a
nothing would be
what it is. ©Alice-Alice in Wonderland

ladies!...
gotta sat wassup to the ladies!
they just as niggerish as the next man
look at her
hoodrat with high end taste
moody,not yet mad
bus stop with a dooney and burke bag
cool as fuck
this dirt bag mamma
best believe if faced with drama
momma in y'ass quick fast
with them fake nails
like sis up at county bout to kill
a potential scholar cause she ignored the pill
in a room of about 30
shes like what...30
wouldve been sooner
but the crowd out front had other plans
so in the line she waited
now in the waiting room
now at the time her mind up she made
nah,aint doing this a forth time
thas'niggerish
beautiful brown lil'man will come of age
to a stage of when
upon acres
he'll hear tales of mis momma's drama
when she was niggerish
moody,not yet all mad
saw to the sky
way passed her dooney and burke bag
both have a good laugh
on ma's ol'niggerish ways
aint that somethin'

Mos' def' feelin' this -- FROM THE INSIDE--OUT! -- ;^)


*No Doubt* -- It's a "Black Thang" -- Aaiirrybody can't always unnerstan' it! -- *chuckles*

one word
5 letters
started the conversation:

"my --gg-!"

"what up blak?"

motherless brothers waiting for the a train to brooklyn
traded science like one was named
isaiah
and the other was named
thomas.

on the platform,
a man whose beard reached to his waist
strummed two different keys of "fire and ice",
a woman collected the scattered contents of a broken grocery bag
flinging her spare arm at a little boy who knew how to dodge an angry hand,
and a cotton-topped couple held hands on a "duro"-endorsed bench
ignoring all of it.

two voices boomed from above
preceeding
two suits who descended the staircase
one sharing a story with the other.

one word
6 letters
ended the conversation:

"and then this --gg-- drove up in an escalade and..."

heads turned.
the motherless brothers rushed the suits.
double glocks cocked.

"what did you just say, motherfucker?!?"

the first suit turned the shade of whole milk
and stammered letters that didn't form any word.

"motherfucker, i asked you a question!"

the second suit hugged the bottom stairs and closed his eyes
jumbling the "our father" and "hail mary" in his head.

when the a train roared to a stop
two men laid dead
and two men fled.

say, word?

That was mos' def' a ~DOUBLE BONUS~ -- The storyline behind this pCe was price~less.

Mind you -- I don't advocate violence by any means -- But it's REAL -- And it's how "WE" do! -- (((Forreal Tho)))

so,ok...why all the violence,mang?ha...its folks like yall that make BK look all crazy,lol...
wow...shouldnt mentioned a fire hydrant at some point...nah,but your a sick writer,dude...

blk

isn't it a shame though, as much as i understand it?

peace,

n.

Nice...that was crazy....

moody,not yet mad
bus stop with a dooney and burke bag
cool as fuck
this dirt bag mamma
best believe if faced with drama
momma in y'ass quick fast

were u speaking of this one, blak? I really "really" dug the above lines... Peace~


=========================
If I had a
nothing would be
what it is. ©Alice-Alice in Wonderland

lol..

now make it happen

trilla fo oh fo
((wo))

no one is going to survive.

fate may not alert you to exactly what it has in mind,
but it cannot avoid telegraphing that play
that play being the end-
the end of you.

whether or not you'd prefer to pursue forever,
you can't.

you just can't.

and the sooner a person tips his cap to that
the sooner hair will stop appearing as clumps in his hands
and the sooner his roots can begin to grow in the direction of their destiny.

no one is going to survive
the big THIS
but one can try to survive all the little thises
that string together along the way
or one may not want to
for those little thises often feel larger than

l...i...f...e

and living doesn't seem worth the hassle
'cept for the moments that interrupt the little thises
when

l...i...f...e

puffs a person's chest
or pierces a person's sides through their lips and cheeks
or strokes a person's hand to stop it from trembling
and in those moments
the big THIS
couldn't be further away
and the little thises simply go away.

no one is going to survive
and none of us matter,
but were it not for the matter of all
the one you are
wouldn't be here
and here wouldn't be one half
as _________ as it could be
and the halves that need you to complete them
would matter less
leaving less matter of all for the here
to know now
forcing the now to know that it can't survive
without the one
and
the
one
is
you.

no one is going to survive
the big THIS
but one can try to survive all the little thises
that string together along the way
or one may not want to
for those little thises often feel larger than

l...i...f...e

and living doesn't seem worth the hassle
'cept for the moments that interrupt the little thises
when

l...i...f...e

puffs a person's chest
or pierces a person's sides through their lips and cheeks
or strokes a person's hand to stop it from trembling
and in those moments
the big THIS
couldn't be further away
and the little thises simply go away.


surely. i believe these are probably the same lines i quoted to you about this piece before... isn't this the poem in which you first introduced the "______s?" Peace~


=========================
If I had a
nothing would be
what it is. ©Alice-Alice in Wonderland

>and living doesn't seem worth the hassle
spoke to me. Nice drop.....

usually i shoot from the hip when i post. gonna do more writing first for this month. thanks for the vote yall....
still feeling my way through this

overdue
my next project to most
will be a debut
every line devised to you
comes across over night success
but nah...
this a dime and a few
pennies of many setbacks
yet that just kept flows in tact,righ'
few sugar sis damp cause of nicca's point of view
my raw subtle
oh f'sho will bubble indeed
my type of tai chi sedates souls
make foes reconsider
ill advised manuevers against the time tested
rally your ears around he who finessed it
you braile mines
those stale rhymes fall flat in the abyss
alchemist over whatevers given
powersteer driven
commadeered authentic long dick
out for pennants
staircase music
for those with a jones for labels
absolut on the rocks for like an hour still stable
this for those who
who saw eviction,steel cable
still able to bang out shit
opposite of frail fables and shit
one of many a mic mechanic
overtime with rhyme
killin'the stagnant
home grown minus the additives
at it again in all black like annakin sky
the black hispanic v.i still doin'it
yeah

>at it again in all black like annakin sky
>the black hispanic v.i still doin'it
>yeah


(((U Go Boy))) -- I mean ---- MAN!!! -- *smiles*


This flowed downhill like hott lava over ice -- *SMOOVE*

that i'm impressed? no? well, i am 'cause this was tight! very nice! finessed this indeed :)

peace,

n.

"Hey Boyd! Ain't today your birthday?"

The body on the other side of the cold cell bars
did not stir
as the head nodded affirmation.

"What are you? 36? 37?"

Lips parted
to liberate the only words he would speak
for that day:

"37."

"Damn, Boyd, that means you've been in here longer than you were out there, huh?"

Boyd raised his eyes
toward Officer Kovacs
who was happy to be 10 minutes away
from clocking off the graveyard shift
at the Clinton Correctional Facility.

"I bet you wish they woulda asked for the death penalty."

Prisoner #112255123
allowed his eyes to drift back to the ground
that had owned them for nearly two decades.

He gazed at nothing,
paralyzed
by the everyday that had come to know him
on the day he would kill to undo.

"Well...happy fuckin' birthday to ya, Boyd."

"He gazed at nothing,
paralyzed
by the everyday that had come to know him
on the day he would kill to undo."

head nod on the whole piece; those lines up there, though...cyclic...though, now, i wonder....

peace,

n.

THis was amazing....not what I expected at all.


Keep Flowin'........

congrats guys.

and you, yes YOU! we have some discussing to do.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"...lies are what the world lives on, and those who can face the challenge of
a truth and build their lives to accord are finally not many, but the few."
-- Joseph Campbell


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

everyone loves,
but everyone doesn't love the same.
myself,
i tend toward the life and death approach to love
where my heart replaces my respiratory system:
desperately inhaling,
panting,
struggling to catch my breath
during the euphoria of the moment;
eventually transforming O-2 to CO-2
until
the air becomes thin
and the lack of it
chokes me.

interesting.....

one of my favorite MC's...




O)

assemble 25,000 fifth graders
and ask the question
posed to them previously
on at least a dozen occasions:

"what do you want to be when you grow up?"

the inbetweenagers will dream up
any number of real or ficticious occupations
but none will aspire to be

a failed writer.

few – if any – will anticipate failure
several may see a future for themselves
literally
but none will aspire to be

a failed writer.

i know i didn't.

but here i sit
cursing my own dna
for 78 inches
instead of the 84
that would have been celebrated
82 times a year
as the starting power forward
for the ___ _______ ____rs.

but here i sit
cursing my father's thousands
that didn't have enough cents
to be the millions
that would have piled high enough
for my family to sit in the lap
of a much higher tax bracket.

but here i sit
cursing the
blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah
'cause i can't seem to write well enough
to spell out
s-u-c-c-e-s-s;
my pen is only capable of
s-u-c.

and whenever i see
what it is that i appear to have become,
i come to my senses
recognizing that my own inches
and the cents that were available to me
and the blahblahblah i know so well
are not really that bad.

they're just not quite as good
as my fifth grade self
might have imagined.

was with the nyabinghi(?)
put on to do a site called this
arial fonts
color primary
wrappin'up this sick demo and school
i'm so very
ever so ready
to head back up top indeed
till than
this new site invites folks to post,right
i'm like dude
people really gonna read this shit?
on a humble
after postin'through him
adam opus the guise at the time
other words how i splits m'time
because of chiefin'
on the subject of name we speakin'
a verse sparked a thought of "yo!.."
from two words
blak than yukon
sounds like you on top of
obstacles conquered
its possible
plus this monolith onyx
move ahead now
in the moment the steez
how i get down
mongst the great
my place i take,right
now dark to light
from ranger to king
i'm sayin'
guess yall do like how i does m'thing
imagine that

>guess yall do like how i does m'thing
>imagine that


Yes, "WE" does like how YOU do's yo thang! -- *wink* -- (((No Doubt)))

her belly is growing.

i see this
even if no one else can.

so, too, do i see

that she falls asleep most nights in her own bed
with her nose buried in the splayed spine of a university textbook.

i see
that she needs a wrist watch with a second second-hand
'cause there isn't enough time in her week
for two part-time jobs on opposite sides of town
on top of her full load of courses.

i see
that she searches for the patience to nurture her baby sister,
the strength to scold her adolescent brothers,
and the courage to forgive her father and mother
for raising only one of their four children
before giving in to depression and addiction.

i see that she has needs.

her blood flows red
and no one would blame her for inviting a man to share her bed
especially not a brother as fine as him
him who brings her flowers every tuesday at 1:23 pm
because she dared him to
once
and he promised to return every week thereafter
if only she would reproduce that same smile.

i see
that she is now sick every morning
and sick every evening when considering the choice before her.

i see
that she and he were not meant to be a family
possibly because he already has one
probably because her own is more than she can handle.

i see
that she will choose
without regard for her first communion or confirmation
but in strict accordance with what she believes are her own limitations.

i see that she will choose life.

it just won't be mine.

that i felt like 'one blood' rushing through her veins looking out on her world through her eyes, conveying that message and transferring it to the wisdom of the unborn who knows that 'i have served my purpose and my purpose is done...even if it is not what i would choose...' and there also seems to be a mild bitterness in that last line, y'know?

i enjoyed this read as always, d.

peace,

n.

wow.
can't say much else.
___________________________
-Phyllis-




...The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom...

- Maya Angelou

love
used to come
one
at a time
until
too much of
one love
was not enough
to free her
from the confines
of her own
heart.

rather than close,
she choose
to open
her heart
to as many lovers
as would love her
and she made each one of them
feel special
though she did not
specialize
in any one.

very nice. kinda reminds me of that woman in revelations...i don't know why exactly, but it does. sad, too...

peace,

n.

congratulations to you both.

peace.

you've inspired me in more ways than you know....for all the years we've grown together.

not that publicity is required to pay tribute to older siblings but your words are incredibly reflective of the person and the person is a beauty to behold.

if only my own misspent words could flow so freely, so melodically, so....well. Simply put, your work is incredible.

you got the poetic pen in the family and I got all the good looks. I'll take it.

If I...

thank you
laugh at your joke
wish you good luck
say that your shirt is dope
wave you to cut in front of me on the freeway
help you move
give you my full attention while you're sharing a problem
tell you I love you;

I do it 'cause I want to, not 'cause I'm s'posed to.

My only obligations in this life are:

to breathe
to sleep
to eat
to shit
& to die.

Because I must do each of these by myself,
I am not obligated to you in any way
& the only one I might do for you is the last one.

But that'd only be 'cause I want to, not 'cause I'm s'posed to.

mhm.

so true.

peace,

n.

the steady wail of stomachs signaled revelry
for the men who stood on the corner of Vesper and Oxnard
some were summoned by their own hunger,
but most rose in response to the desperate melodies that played hundreds of miles away

Mariano liked to tuck his left foot underneath him
as he offered his weight to the metal pole that also
propped up a wall of chain links
he had 3 babies in a small town in the state of Jalisco
that only the 97 people who lived there had ever heard of
& if you asked him (or if you didn't)
he'd dig into his shirt pocket and present you with a single photo
where all 3 of them wore sunshine on their faces
& if you asked him (or if you didn't)
he'd tell you, as best he could in the tongue that wasn't supposed to be his,
that the photo was taken on his oldest boy's eighth birthday
which was 3 years ago last month
& if you asked him (or if you didn't)
he'd sigh that he hadn't seen his babies since 5 days after that picture was taken
and he'd sink back into the fence
whispering a "Hail Mary"
preparing to pounce anytime any passing car slipped below the speed limit

Rodrigo planted his back against a palm tree waiting for the morning to pass
'cause the afternoon was always good to him
one day of work a week was usually enough to last from Sunday to Saturday
providing enough bread to pay for his 1/5 of the rent
for the room on Eighth and Victory where he laid his head
and enough bread to fill his stomach every other day
or enough tequila to tease his liver every third day
but he never knew which day it would be
and he could never tell whether it was the week or the weekend
every day became another that looked just like the one before it
except for the days when the skies over Southern California cried
on those days, Rodrigo would say to the other men,
"God's heart is broken, too."

Emiliano still wore hope on his sleeve as if it were his padrecito's finest cufflinks
his brand new wife and her belly fat with life
stood somewhere next to him on the edge of the sidewalk
while they waited patiently in Tijuana for Emiliano to send money for them
to join him in the States
he had been hired five times for work during his first month in Los Angeles
and he saved all $200 he had earned
at the expense of his own waistline
which shrank by the hour
unnoticed by the eyes that looked forward to meeting his first son
Emiliano guessed that six months of work would be enough
to pay a coyote to sneak Amelita across the border before the baby came
and he crouched anxiously in a mock 3-point stance
believing that Abraham Lincoln and Mickey Mouse were real people
who might one day be his neighbors

when a 2004 Dodge Durango eased to the curb on the western side of Vesper at 9:30 am
the blonde bobcut who lowered its tinted windows
sat up straight in her seat when the men on the corner surrounded the SUV
after a deep, calming breath,
she asked if anyone spoke English
standing side-by-side and on top of each other,
Mariano and Emiliano both said, "Si."
the woman craned her neck forward,
her eyes scanning the contents of the two characters
whose bodies were being smashed against her car
& when she judged them to be harmless, she asked if either man knew anything about roofing
Mariano and Emilano both said, "Si."
the blonde bobcut paused before unlocking the door behind her
instructing both men to get in
-which they did-
and the 2004 Dodge Durango turned onto Oxnard
accelerating toward the the work that needed to be done
and away from the wait that never would be
for the men who stood on the corner of Vesper and Oxnard.

i like how
you had me thinking that this was placed a long time ago in america's history. but then you switched it up in the end...making the point (to me) that these guys did not only stand on the street corner in 1935...but today too.
___________________________
-Phyllis-




...The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom...

- Maya Angelou

i don't have to tell you
what song these lines come from:

"eventually
if it was meant to be
it would be
'cause we related
physically
and mentally"

you know them better than i do
and i dig that about you.

always have.

i remember that first day
names exchanged
handshakes, smiles, soft caresses followed
but what stood out most
was the way you elbowed cats in the front row at the common show
making you the coolest chick i had ever met

oh
and you were fine, too
still are
fine, that is
and (arguably) the coolest chick i ever met.

but that's not why i love you
matter of fact, i've loved you for so long
that i can't remember why i do
and i never question it.

it is what it is.

what has changed between now
and every moment before
is that my only thought of you is:

i want to strip you naked and make you howl
everyday
because i have nothing better to do
literally
because there is nothing better i could do.

and that would be a good thing
if you were mine
but you're not
and i'm not sure that i want you to be
'cause the freedom you give me is not unique
and i know enough
that i cannot trust
you to stay in love with me
no matter how deeply you've already fallen.

...I've read each of these, plus each of the many others you've e-mailed me privately. The quality is always there. When I get home from work tonight, I'm pickin' up my own pen and gettin' to work. I appreciate the inspiration.

you can tell me i'm an asshole.

you don't need my permission
but i figured an invitation
wouldn't hurt.

and if anyone is qualified to say so,
it's you
'cause you see and know
all the things you never wanted to bear witness to
but you still answer the phone when i call
and you still invite me to your house to watch the lakers game
and you still don't ask me for the money i owe you
even though you know i can finally pay it back.

and i don't understand why

i'm probably not supposed to

i ought to just be thankful that you've stuck around
and i really ought to ask you to stay a little longer

'cause i'm gonna need someone
who won't call me an asshole
no matter how much of one i am.

I can relate! -- ;^)



*Felt*

I.
Sam and Jan
were never supposed to have an "and"
Sam: the self-professed homophobe
Jan: the man who loved other men
but neither had ever known a wit as towel-like as his own
nor had either ever encountered a –lic who could match him drink for drink
and neither Sam nor Jan ever expected his reflection to talk back to him.

II.
Jan’s jaw was made heavy by his libido
at first site of Sam
causing him to ask:

"Who the fuck is that?"

on the other hand,
Sam struggled equally
in looking at or away from
"familiarity"
and so it went
that Sam and Jan found their "and".

III.
Sam liked to rant
Jan liked to listen
Sam railed about the shortcomings of the capital "L" left
and longed for The Revolution
Jan hung on every word
even as he knew that "Stonewall" was pure Greek to Sam.
for Jan, there was something about
the combination of Sam’s cadence and passion
that could not be avoided.

IV.
Jan lived frankly
Sam respected Jan’s "frank"-ness
Jan did not carry himself like some "Mary"
and he proudly wore permanent wounds
on his neck, stomach and calf
as a resume for not being fucked with,
so it confused Sam
that he found himself more impressed with Jan’s deft tongue
than he was with Jan’s pugilistic prowess.
Jan was a charmer and sometimes
Sam thought himself to be "lucky".

V.
For years,
Sam and Jan were a lower case "and"
Jan put a governor on his feelings for Sam
and "governed" other man after other man
while Sam gave away his heart
to one woman every three years
only to have it returned after a month or less
each time
as if it had no value
as if he had no value
and each time,
comfort was called Jan
and value came from the man who would be
if only "he" weren’t.
and each time,
Jan considered upgrading their "and"
but "he" didn’t.

VI.
One day
when Sam had had too little to drink
and Jan threw punchlines
that had a washboard effect on Sam’s stomach
Sam asked:

"Why don’t you hate me?"

"Why would I hate you? Why would anyone?"

"Because I hate me."

"Why?"

"Because I’m not you."

Jan wanted to tell Sam he loved him
Jan wanted to tell Sam why
but he knew Sam well enough to know
that contempt was all that was left
maybe all there ever was
or would be
so Jan said nothing
bought his friend a drink
and left his "and" alone.

i keep losing the argument with myself:

she was supposed to be my _______
but i lost that opportunity
and now she is only my _______

what's the difference?

what's the problem?

the difference is like...

like....

some people would say night and day
others might say
it's the difference between 5:58 am
when the moon still reigns
and 6:03 am
when the sun finally breaks through.

me,
i figure
the difference is possibility versus reality
and i really liked that possibilty
in the same way that reality
just doesn't sit well with me.

and that is the problem.

i want to not want her anymore
but i need to be close to her
-or as close as two people can get from 3,000 miles away-
so i continue to keep up my
end of the "we"
and i keep losing the argument with myself
that she is just my _______
when i know that i want so much more than that.

and i just can't have it.

>i keep losing the argument with myself:
nice drop....

its whats around that had me on awol
away from what the calender called me
over here for,yeah
somewhere while in the midst of the party
gotta call upon the flip
of overdue thangs'n shit
that plus where a nigga lay
became the batcave'n shit
yo...
out of the blue told he gotta get a provider
or its I without the light
s'like aight yeah you got me
peace of mind was up for grabs
for the take
plus the lab was close due to spring break
i mean its like yo
things take a spell or more
for more than what you got
than were you at,right
ha,enough of that
blak vertabrae,baby
blak's back with his crazy ass
official'ficinado holdin'bottles
of that scottish brew
alot of you think be german
but its not though
type colossal
of the original school apostle
ayo,del...dude i got you

yo, the sun rise
365
and it stay high
300 times
in clear, blue skies
over big, blue wide
somewhere,
inside the city

god hides

waiting for his angels to bring him
the head of the devil,
but the kid is nice
and wings lose flight
like grocery workers lose strikes
like a dime'll get you life
when it's third and long
like prop. 13 made low property taxes right
and public schools wrong.

so the devil moves freely
from ro-day-o to ro-de-o
in a forest green h-2
bumpin' bootleg snoop

lookin' for god

thinking:
maybe the most is just an illusion
courtesy of industrial light and magic
johnson's tgi fridays.

when harvey weinstein rang his cell phone,
the devil did not see
the homeless man crossing the street
and did not have feet
fast enough to brake
for jesus mosqueda.

thank god jesus didn't break.

lung collapsed, he sat
in the hospital
devil holding vigil
waiting for him to rise.

on the third day,
when jesus opened his eyes
he saw his brother
pecking away at a screenplay
on a g-5
and asked the devil:

"se hablo espanol?"

quick tongue, only one
said: "no."

up from his bed,
jesus walked
sat next to the devil
and talked
video for
"we're all in the same gang"
on the screen overhead

jesus said:
"the me i see in you
and the you i see in me
is what makes me believe
that i will endure
even if i don't survive."

jesus mosqueda stood
left room 305
devil silent
at cedars-sinai
watching the sun set
waiting for the night to come
for him.

sorry for tha late congratz, but......CONGRATZ. i know this gonna be hot. about time DBG and yukon, u gets mad props from me, fam. big ups to both of ya'll.

she sat alone,
unintentionally,
her blonde locks poking out from under a faded baseball cap
while she waited to order her lunch
at the italian trattoria on wilshire
just across the street from the workmen's outlet.

she caught my attention
because the $450 sunglasses she wore
wouldn't stop scanning the room
searching for whomever was supposed to be there.

she noticed me
and smiled politely
like women in l.a. do
when they wish to be left alone,
but something about her body language
said she really didn't want to be.

too many sips of wine
caught up to me
and propelled me toward the restroom;
along the way
i stopped by her table
gently patted her bare, toned bicep
and whispered confidently:

"he'll be here. he'd be a fool not to be."

she lowered the car note that sat atop her nose
and looked up at me
as if i'd just told her there was no monster hiding under her bed.

"he'll be here."

i said again.

as she opened her mouth,
the state of louisiana crept out:

"well, if he doesn't get here in, like, the next 5 minutes..."

she failed to finish the sentence,
but the way her eyes moved across me
i could feel her finish the thought.

i smiled
and excused myself.

in the restroom mirror,
a man stared back at me
who contemplated the best way to keep his name out of the tabloids
while inspiring her to sing it
as if he were the lord jesus christ.

returning to my table,
i gave up on basking in blasphemy
when i saw that her company had finally arrived.

after paying my bill,
i gathered myself to depart
and caught her attention one last time.
she smiled widely
and tried unsuccessfully not to stare at me.

as the pile of bronze muscles in an extra medium t-shirt
negotiated his meal with the waitress,
she removed her sunglasses
and mouthed:

"you were right."

i nodded and slipped through the side exit.

before crossing wilshire, i glanced again at the icon
whose eyes were still trained on me
she waved: "see you later."
and i said: "goodbye."

since out the womb with
a heart murmer,crooked feet
symbolic
its like he gotta crawl to reach the peak
brought home away from the haunted castle
king's county
irritable fuck
so much so
pops like forget it
traded concrete for cobblestone
alone for whats at hand
farewell to the apple
hello savan
imagine that
little living room raps the rage
for crews of yacub types
few dark yo whos the true type
overtime of both colors
likeminds i find like brothers
eventually
circulate tapes off chemistry
its there where realization through a unit
done it than smiling back on how we doin'it now
multimedia cats
web or printed paper,how you want it
new point of view from a colored crew
is how we on it
though a break umongst ranks
for the rest
its a keep doin with a God bless
registered trademarks
shirts tucked in remembering days
in the lab with a spark
of the dark green
now a phantom thats hardly seen
its just he with words
to or not to take action
other than that he just observe
position preferred
most high come first
shotty on this ride called the paper chase
in this game
the well seasoned vet who just marinates
i...
i see a move comin'...i
i see a move comin'
its comin'on
somethin'like this dude here,c'mon...

on the first day of spring
in the bicentennial
two blue collared Buckeyes
held number one son
took him home to 790
and kept him there
in a Norman Rockwell painting
seated in front of tv screens
most of the time til 18
hoop dreams deterred
he went away to school
too cool to fool
with any substances
too needy not to
at some point
the kid fed his mind
answers to the questions
no one else asked
and sprinted through a bachelor’s
so Nan and Pap could see him walk
before they did
all the while
alien culture called to him
taunting him with a pen
4 years of Steel
made him hard enough
to load up his stuff
and move to Bev-er-ly
where stars go to die
and be reborn as normal folk
who teach acting classes
year 2 in Cali
blew a heady gust of a woman
and nearly swept him away to Chicago
did leave him disheveled
sitting with a drink in one hand
and the remains of his heart scattered about
about 3 months into the afterlife of her
he let his fingers do the walking
and he ain’t stopped talking
to the page since
no evidence
this is calling
no choice
but to answer.

a collab from the two of you and it is a very nice statement of where you both are in your life right now! very cool! very, very cool! so, is there an audio as a next installment? y'know, to go with this piece?

*cheers with pom poms!*

n.

a friend called yesterday
said she was doing much better than last we talked.

i congratulated her,
listened to her plan for landing a new job,
made a joke about ole dude that did her dirty,
told her a story about losing my atm card,
asked whether she preferred kerry or edwards
and bid her good night.

you know how you can hear someone smiling on the other side of the phone?

well, i heard that
for the entire duration of the call.

and it wasn't the first time
with her
and it wasn't the first time
in general.

actually, it happens quite often
whenever my "friends" call.

personally,
i don't think i'm that charming
or witty
or intelligent
or even better than the average listener.

but i'm a damn good band aid.

not in the penny lane sense of the phrase
wait...
yeah, it is a lot like penny lane

i don't muse for -icians
but i do find my way into the lives
of wounded women
and when i do
they're still trying to scar
and sometimes, they're too scared
to stare at anything but their own pain
and when i come along:

*easy enough on the eyes to be looked at instead of away from
*smart enough to know that what's above her waist has more value than what's below it
*and _____ enough to ask for nothing from her

any woman will affix herself to me
to serve whatever purpose she needs
until she can say that
"she's doing much better"
and she can move on to pursuing all the things she wants.

some women keep me around after they're healed
some women don't
but there's no shortage of would-be lovers
who seek a "friend" to help them mend

and i'm a damn good band-aid.

I've got a box of band~aids -- Just like in this flow! -- *smiles* -- They come in handy periodically! -- ;^) -- (Except when I tried to put a band~aid over a gunshot wound -- IT DIDN'T WORK TOO WELL THEN! -- *sigh*)


*Felt*

its alot to be had for being such
yup,just cut and dry,baby
i mean
i wish i could put phrases together
like this dude here
who i'm splittin'aot...
anyway
i was going to say how
if i drop my pants and swing my dick
from side to side
thats just me being comfortable around you,ma
putting a smile on your face
from an otherwise shitty day
at the sametime
i wish i could do that double meaning
multi-layered, ambiquous stuff
that other folks do here
set aside bluntness
for um...frailty?
succint, subliminal, minimalist
abstraction subtraction of my usual charades?
whoa!?...
ok,that was almost poetic,huh
look...
i'm just trying to keep from being predictable
keep things fresh,y'know
so if i say things
or do things a bit vulgar
is to drive home a point
in this case
that point is i love you

>if i drop my pants and swing my dick
>from side to side
>thats just me being comfortable around you,ma
>putting a smile on your face
>from an otherwise shitty day


Just hold it up str8 -- And we can play "Ring Toss" -- *chuckles*


(((Down~2~Earth Fun Flow)))

what good does an open window do?

when a breeze drifts in through it
to ease the oppression of the house,
is it not bittersweet?

when children laugh or cars honk
or some man in some uniform passes by with a package to be delivered,
is it not a tease of the world outside?

when a ray of sunshine warmly intrudes,
is it not a cold reminder of what could be?

so, then, what good does an open window do?

better to close it, draw the blinds

and go outside

or

stay inside and curl up
with the creature comforts
of
home.

sounds like a writer who knows he's got to write, but really isn't feeling it, but doesn't feel drawn enough to just let it go for the meanwhile so, instead, for the meanwhile, he's just busy resenting it but also making himself feel better about home sweet home's creature comforts...otherwise, if it wasn't sweet, what's the point of it being 'home' and not just a house to write in? yeah, that's my take on this one. i like it for the grumble-against-the-sunny-day-scroogish vibe i got off it...even if that may not have been the intent.

peace,

n.

does a body good
not that dose
of that creamy lactose
we focusin'in on those lower regions
its funny
its all within a pun
a potent cocktail
mix that sunny somethin'
with that ocean spray
than parlay
you'll see
could party with it if you up to it
but i'm sayin'
loosening of the stool due to the prune
than soon a good number one soon follow
due in part cause of whats in the red bottle
keeps urinary tracks on course
bee line clear for whats in the rear
that dark drink on rocks got me
adhere to the toilet near
dont hate
many a chubby folk done lost weight of this
you should try it

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"...lies are what the world lives on, and those who can face the challenge of
a truth and build their lives to accord are finally not many, but the few."
-- Joseph Campbell


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

everything was broken:

hearts
dreams
the piece of crystal that missed his head by 2 inches
the air itself was fractured

this house didn't need a ghostwriter
eloquence was everywhere

the picture frame gamefully displaying glass and cardboard
the abandoned chess game whose pieces were left to find their own way across the board
even the magnetic letters on the refrigerator:

i l--e yo-

sang a sad lyric

"hey man, gimme a hand with this."

i snapped to attention and lifted my end of the dresser
as we walked it to the u-haul truck
the man from 2-b smoked a cigarette and admired the silence of the end;
he had heard so much of the violence of the story that it was truly a welcome change

after we filled the truck with the empty belongings of 2 years, 3 months and change

he took a minute to kiss the dog one more time
shook the hand of the man in 2-b
and drove away.

i'm coming clean

i wanna move to ____k___
tomorrow
i wanna make revolution
i wanna make babies
and i wanna make both with you

we could live in a castle of stacked newspapers
in the middle of ________ park
and that would be okay with me

(even though i know your bo- ain't that -hemian,
and truth be told, neither is mine)

i only need one dime
and that's you
'cause the value of us
is something that few can afford

right now, though, i'm broke
my "us" is bankrupt
and there's just enough "you"
to pay an occasional bill
but, i'm falling deeper and deeper into debt
and i'm not sure any creditor
will loan me enough to get solvent

so, i'm coming clean
'cause i can't afford to launder any more emotions

and my heart needs to borrow some of yours.

*Felt This*

i went away and i'm not liking this jane austen thingy you're doing here. humph! i want to know the place name. lol! i like this one dbg, though, going through your pieces i'm getting the feeling that you seriously got finances or emotional/love dearth on the brain? just wondering. anyways, i like the last two parts especially.

peace,

n.

Two men sit at an airport bar:

velour track suit on one
Italian silk on the other;
close-cropped beard on one
baby face on the other;
Hennessy in front of both
their shapes are strikingly similar
one a bit rounder than the other.

The rounder, bearded, track-suited man whips his head

-gray specks catching the light above to reveal him as Sr.-

to follow a traveler gliding through the terminal.

"There go your idol, son."

"Pardon."

"Dr. J, man. Dr. J just walked past."

Jr. cranes his neck
scanning the crowd for the man
who used to live on his bedroom wall
only to find anonymous faces.

Jr. sighs and raises his glass to his lips

"It was him. I’m telling you, son."

Jr. smiles and sips again.

"You know, after that thing about the tennis player and him havin’ an affair, I’m not so sure I’d call him my idol. Matter of fact, Pop, I always thought of you as my real idol."

Sr. tilts his chin upward,
strokes his beard
and shakes his head at Jr.’s gratuity.

"I’m serious, Pop...What?"

"Son, it’s okay to have childhood heroes. Athletes, movie stars, whatever. They represent what a boy admires and wants to be. But they’re not really real. They just give you a face to attach your dreams to."

Sr. takes a long sip of cognac,
savoring the bitter taste
as the liquor trickles down his throat

"You should never idolize a man. Especially not me. ‘Cause a man is always gonna have faults and he’s always gonna fall short of your expectations."

Sr. motioned for the bartender to refill his drink
and smiled at the woman seated opposite he and his son.

Jr. laughed.

"But, Pop, all I ever wanted to be was a man and I know none better than you."

yeah whatever
machines out
look...
i got a couple of trash bags of laundry to do over here
lemme get some change
big v.i,
typical nicca
you never equate flows
with separating clothes
i got time on my hands to kill
aside from the tube showing spree up the pill
what the fuck!
dude still overstuffed the machine
thats more time to kill
still,the usual scruffy early afternoon
crowd flippin'through pages
cats spittin'game thats ghetto
how you gonna be right there
throwing two ways at that one
huh?...
i like the aroma lingerin'off this one
momma with skin looking like peanut butter
lookin'mean at bruvas
lookin'over machines she bogard
i entertain thoughts of possible throw dart
hold'up
dry humour from another
caught a grin from her
thats cool
see i gotta get another box of clorox
pass her by with a bop
sup and a grin
behind my casual headnod
seen
pass again
caught view of the stitch in the denim
in'em ass crack sneakin'out
back to my business
load it all in two machines
owner screams no drinkin'beers up in here
just two seats over
but a few minutes would pass before another
glance and a smile
cool cause i'm scribbling some shit i...
huh,one seat over
j.hova's a million one bumps in the headset
another flow
off slight vertigo
brought on from watching my clothes washing
though i'm kinda watchin' ma
watchin'me ass out in approval
hey...
huh?
i said hey
oh...wassup
guess she caught a wiff of the yukon charm
its on
among some off the wall steez to build upon
next thing like a little x video
the round mound on my lap for rodeo week
face off like the playoffs
ah sit
shirts come off
a free spirit
in the natural she proceeds to fold her clothes
after which i'm breast fed
play it cool
i cant move or its all over the floor
than in a form of a hush she says my name
she says my name?
huh?
how th'hell she know my name
vic!!!!
get off ya'ass...tired of your funky ass clothes laying
around my house!!!...
whats wrong with you!!!
git this shit out of here,i aint playin witchu!!!

*sigh*

yeah whatever machines out
look,man...i got a couple of bags...
of laundry to do
lemme get some change

Boy -- you too kool for yo own good! -- *chuckles*

But if I was just a lil' closer 2 yo neck of da woods -- I'd do your laundry for ya! -- *wink* -- (((Funky Ass Clothes & All))) -- ~For a small fee of course~


Mr. Laundromat Pimp wit his bebop walkin' limp! -- *You Bad~You Bad*

soft lips
full hips
hands grip
then dip
into this tidal pool of ecstacy...

push across sea shore for that raw gushy
love seeing lips purtrude through
those tinee tiny kini's
like an o'keefe piece
this piece of art along with her ass
stead of me doin'it
i'm gettin'fucked up from it
why???
cause i cant align a dime with a mind to match
that flowery scented warm spot
i take that back
cause i could be out of it
but when both heads are screwed on right
screwed on tight
its a wrap
squishy,right
parted thighs
feeling you clamp down
around this honduran dark brown,
y'know

soft lips
full hips
hands grip
then dip
into this tidal pool of ecstacy...

exhale felt a little more to the left lobe
cause my stroke went right from left roll
hips in unison
tappin'on your right wall
dig deep once done cant walk than crawl
in the midst of this good%$#@$
diggin'the heady funk all over us
all over us
word

all over us...whew

soft lips
full hips
hands grip
then dip
into this tidal pool of ecstacy...

ARIES SPEAKS:

a murdered row of bottles
resides beside the garbage can
i'd count them if i could see
but haven't been able to since
i started emptying their former contents
sometime last week

i am tired
i have worn myself out
i do not care to write another word

yet i cannot stop the pen from moving
it needs to lead you (and me)
someplace we don't want to go
can't wait to get there

so i preside over ceremonies
where letters marry
'til death do them part
in part because
i keep searching for
what love _____s like
and i've found it a few times
scribbled a few lines about it
most of the time, though
i'm trying to recover from it

like now

sprawled on this couch
.3 in the bloodstream
at least
too weak
to stop a chain of slobber
from puddling next to my mouth

i am tired
i have worn myself out
i do not care to...
i do not care...
i do not...
i do...

i do

i do wish that passion wasn't so fleeting
that love wasn't so misleading
that the words i spill are worth reading

and whenever i wake up
i'm gonna stop drinkin'

maybe.

TAURUS SPEAKS:

when its done and said
at the end of it all he stood tall
like when did he ever give a fuck
about what a rapper thought
yeah,keep'em at that title
niggas such as myself scribe the epics
your insecurities epicenter
gave boring ass nerds some words
to imagine their life to
itching to rub backs with some dull ass knives
for that first sign of respect
lovin'life
over and over i had
on some consistant
left mad cause i have,bitch
stick with ya'mixtape hate
cassidy bout to drop a new single
there for you to imitate(echo)
i have this
disposition that a rant from some
clown who aint got a damn thing to do
with whats on my plate
whats in the account
amounts to point zero
i have this love thats deep
for the future baby mama
porchmonks cashin'in on schemes
from back than
yo,these black men with
ornaments attained
due to how they maintained
in this tornament of an existance
setiment pediment deep
against time and gust winds
time and again i win

nice combo this after a couple of reads. kinda jekyll and hyde-ish. like after the inebriation the character woke up and spit everything that was being felt about this writing/producing game he's caught (not) up in. make sense?

i like this part for style:

"i am tired
i have worn myself out
i do not care to...
i do not care...
i do not...
i do...

i do

i do wish that passion wasn't so fleeting
that love wasn't so misleading
that the words i spill are worth reading

and whenever i wake up
i'm gonna stop drinkin'

maybe."

last part made me laugh :)

i hear this loud and clear:

"in this tornament of an existance
setiment pediment deep
against time and gust winds
time and again i win"

that was the wake up part.

peace,

n.

the other night i'm on the horn with this chick
spittin'to me her definition on what gangsta is
surprisingly
fingers point at me
own spot and a whipper
if a nicca got either or in his own name
he prone to gain
this solely
for thorobred homies who lowkey
type brand due to no exposure
plays it cool
one says to the other you know such and such
they say who?
invisible
that of a criminal smooth how he do
nah,point of view more to claude brown
than d.goines
top floor polly with corporate yet still b.boy
bilinqual
speaks two kinds of queens english
rotates around mad earths but only needs his venus,ha
basic,no frills the surface
yet...
for his own holiday is the sole purpose
whatever whether ya'over or understand,
y'dig

yeah, i overstand this one! getting the flow back on point i see! nice, very nice!

peace,

n.

yo...that was hot.....I like this....

congrats, my friend. i don't know anyone (save myself *wink*) who deserves this more than you.

*snaps snaps snaps*

now i shall re-read everything... e v e r y t h i n g... and remind myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.:Kristy:.

.:Southern Belle::Magnolia Smell:.

Rare Form Promotions presents...
.::.
10p. - 4a. every Thursday @ 13 Little Devils (lower level)
120 Orchard Street
(bet. Delancey & Rivington)
F to Delancey or J/M/Z to Essex

"Spread love - it's the Brooklyn way." ~ Biggie

The Former Mods - the most exclusive and coveted clique on OKP.

every word applied science
devote to code of silence
till in back
of mic appliance
on ave of 5 joints with those of alliance
indeed elite breed
without word
it known for them i bleed
the scarred mental but yet with craft
tight finesse
at times feel the rhyme cascade
this crest my best...

on move fuck it
know all sides of my game
i hold tight before leaving
been told,man
it happens for reasons
my calm gives them
habits for sleeping
still
my mental picture hitcha'
thinker like clippers
this man
forever on scan before approach
more words go unheard
not for trickin'off for quote
s'like whatever
up in here late
better than never
let alone another competitor broke
another pen on a letter
afloat goes another rappers hopes...

mmm,gone with the wind

stocky made paradox
rock staccato smoover
bangs victorious
game the aim of this born loser
in front of you and yours
the ego bruiser
make critical acclaim come across petite trivial
hurried speak
the weak,pitiful,ha

watch more videos for some new flows,
ya'critter...

heh heh heh heh

*blak's attempt at spoken word,yall...give it up!*

whatcha drinkin'...

i'm me
that cat with no political agenda
however they gonna set this game of chess
guess a nicca gon'play
dont come and say "dont say nicca..."
look
i cant do the whole romanticize
of some off in the distant lands
of a throne you claim i aint too far remove from

so anyway...

right here and now
under the gun of doubt
thought dispossed
accumlated debts
behind wit
lurks short nerves and even shorter breath
always in a T
to let you see where my hearts at
i never keep it real,ha
keep it close?
why keep it to myself
we're indivuals
just some could spit what most felt
fingerprints shown on table tops
see,i aint chillin'
really risen body heat
from one who sees within himself two
part man
part sleeping beast,y'know
home need tendng before anything else can grow
acres behind me show i can manage
what i reaped than sowed
so you know i'm doin'it,baby...righ'?
yup

bartender!

see i dont need a crown
just my sturdy limbs to bring in
better means
i'm talkin'for when my glucoma starts acting funny
sitting out front sending some lil'niglet
around the corner for me,y'know...

nope, no crown needed
just faith...
faith is at the root to which all else will
and has stemmed since,y'know
so anything else is like...whatever
i'm good
she's good
while i rub her tummy
yeah,that too is good

yeah,i'm ready to close out my tab

good gettin'up witcha'
be good

an audio. LOL
Nice drop.

(((Givin' It ^UP^)))


Go 'head on witcha bad self! -- ;^)

i woke up in the arms of someone who loves me
this morning
it cost $250
and after she "loved" me for 25 minutes last night,
she felt guilty about leaving me alone
and drunk
on my birthday
so she volunteered to stick around
and "love" me some more.

i see her now
in the kitchen
my used-to-be-navy-blue
michigan wolverines t-shirt
hanging loose from her shoulders
yet not low enough to cover the little fold
where her thighs
introduce themselves
to her ass.

"how many eggs do you want?"

my ears are stuck somewhere in my eyes
and my eyes are stuck on her

"did you hear me?"

"umm...3."

turkey sausage crackles in one pan
eggs fry in another
my ears might not work too well right now
but my nose sure does.

she suddenly appears
next to the bed
a plate in one hand
a glass of pineapple juice in the other
cooing:

"good morning."

my stomach is still lined with 5 layers of rum
but when i summon enough strength to sit up
she places the plate in my lap
the glass on the night stand and skirts away
only to return
with her own plate, silverware and two napkins

"i woulda made toast, but you didn't have any bread."

she soaks her sausage in puddles of broken yolk
and celebrates each bite with a subtle "mmmmm"

"go on. eat."

i fumble with my knife
before realizing that she's already cut my sausage for me

i obey
though i taste nothing

after she places her empty plate on the night stand,
she steals a sip of my pineapple juice
straightens her back
and giggles at me while i force myself
to accept her "love".

why did it seem like i was watching a scene from "train spotting"...


*tips fatigue hat*

blk

glad i caught a shower
for my after hour stint wit'kenya
see kenya a grad student...
see what lurks behind those lips
them words that earned her deans list
big ass words
but none will earn her more than her big ass and tits
we kick it like ol'friends cuz i got cash
and we know when i say imma call her i'm lyin...
hold up
she wipes her mouth
she hears her baby crying

i sat
in the same place i always sit
talking
to the same ghosts i always talk to
when the old man
whispered to me:
"fuck you. get over yourself."
like he always did.

ayo,
hold dollars
and rightfully so
a known scholar

steeped in facts
sanity held together with liquoir poured to cracks

some spaz though
dude not on the surface cool like mraz
for his rocket to come
curbside prophet
hands in pocket
confident,yup

behind the first set of carkeys
and a C liscence
the theme songs of makin'it
rest within the first release from
the funky homosapien

flag bearer for the nice guy
i find dudes like that around dimes
on the regular
author, editor in chief of valid,
silently loud speak in soft tone
plays the 3 position
yet other gifts unknown

its a wrap once thats unraveled and shown

once thats unraveled and shown

yo...

he writes documentary rhymes
of his life and times
the monk chillin' on the front porch
prefers the back door or side entrance
never the red carpet
pass him anything but a cliche
and he'll be quick to spark it
ny to ga to tx to what's next?
not sure that he even knows
the focus on survival is all that's tangible
a pen in hand is the only tool to do so

first word: blak
as in: the origin of life

the empty place from which all things spring forth
the wide open space rich with resources become capital lorded over by trespassers

or the power to overcome light

second word: yukon
as in: the bridge

the first people to call "north america" their home
the wolf and the crow (the land and the air)

or the power to fly close to the ground

together: blak_yukon
as in: that hemi revving quietly behind you as if to say,

"move"

and you will

not because he said so
but 'cause he sliced life
into something you tasted
but couldn't bake yourself

so you were moved
while he kept it moving
from sea to shining sea
and all points in between
especially
all points in between

fantasies serve no purpose

if you can't get what you want,
surely, you'll be miserable
so, if you want what you can't get
what do you suppose is gonna happen?

if dreams are the residue of sleep
and sleep is the cousin of death
then is living for a dream really living at all?

isn't desire a synonym for deficiency?

whatever is yours
is yours

whatever will be yours
is not nearly as far away as you might imagine
its only
waiting
on you

what's the hold up?

e-qual-i-ty
e-quals
em-cee squared
square emcees aspire to heights
they will never achieve
cheeba cheeba ya'll
{no} smoke through these lungs
and no ladders without rungs
we stand together as one
but not one undone by the concept of together
it is the individal step that allows the stepper to climb
and just as one is relegated to bottom,
so is another fortunate to stand at the top
topping all others
at the behest of the others
brothers rising together
and alone
different
and equal
e-qual-i-ty
e-quals
me
minus you
plus them over there
multiplied by him
divided by her
squared
so the square emcees can ascend
on the backs of the emcees who bend knowingly
to support the ones behind
who climb
and find more emcees ahead
and more emcees trailing
who wonder how many more tears will be shed
before the process is complete
who wonder why
e-qual-i-ty
doesn't
e-qual
equal.

NOTE: in feb. 2003, saul williams recorded an anti-war polemic condemning the planned invasion of iraq, "live from no man's land - freestyle". he dropped three verses over the track for nas' "made you look". i took umbrage with both sides of the debate concerning iraq and "freestyled" the following over the course of the wee hours of 2-18-03 and the early hours of 2-19-03.

...a freestyle in three parts...

VERSE ONE

now, let's get it all in perspective
invectives against evil directives
accomplish nothing
'cause they're all ineffective
to win the game, the only way
is to refuse to play
the revolution will yield nothing
whether by gun or tongue
it's all bluffing
'cause power corrupts absolutely
regardless of structure
regardless of agenda
tears will be shed every single november
whether
democracy, socialism or military junta
man is known to his own institutions as kunta
history has set a dangerous precedent
and there's no possibility that any president
will rise above lies to realize
what the best of us hope for
that's not to say that we can't dream no more
just that the double barrel of humanity
is perpetually
aimed straight at our hearts
so, where do we start?
and why do we art?
and if there is only the game,
then what is our part?
shoot,
i made 'em look
wasn't that enough?

VERSE TWO

where the people will go, the leaders will follow
that shit rings true, but it also rings hollow
'cause the people rarely go outside of they homes
they only ever endeavor to be left the fuck alone
to pursue life, liberty and happiness, too
'cause me always seems more important than you
and, uh
what happened to us?
what happened to trust?
what happens before dust returns to dust?
the truth is: there never was room for any we
and even i and i are divided into teams
pledging allegiance to dreams
placing faith in the seams
that are knitted by ten, but kept loose by the mean
and when worst comes to worst
the worst become first
and the first are the only ones who are built to last
controlling the past and presenting the future to itself
they hold heat only able to aim at they feet
they shoot
look,
why you limpin' kid?

VERSE THREE

this ain't writin', this is life-hop
bustin' the story of man in one shot
from the beginning of time until the coming end
it's imperative
that no one will win
and no one will lose
'cause no one can choose
any other than this game of existence
resistance
to nature is futile
from nubile to senile, we stay child
any progress is mild at best
today is the test
tomorrow's the score
from yesterday through next week
it's always a war
failure galore
'cause i don't know who or what i'm fightin' for
fightin' against
the logic is nothin' but nonsense
even time well spent is not enough to make up the deficit
the only challenge one can take up is balance
'cause war is not the answer, but peace was not the query
and one independent of the other is simply a fractured theory
shoot,
i took a look
and no one was around to hear me
or even cared to listen
so not in my name
not with my life
will the game be played
i'll find me a wife
and waste away my days
sippin' tequila
and the end result will be unchanged

truth be told
you really can't fuck with me
'cause i'm a writer
so do your worst
or your best
it won't matter
i'll write about either
or both
and i'll be okay
'cause i'm a writer
and truth be told
you really can't fuck with me

thanks for allowing the yukon in to the aotm club...
the month of march off the boards was alot hectic than i care to put on blast but...del and myself did what it is we do...and pretty damn good too...

catch ya'on the boards
blak aka young bobby womack

you guys did a great job with the aotm!

peace,

n.