Monday, 24 February 2014
Wednesday, 12 February 2014
Vol. 3: Lutte Dans
LUTTE
DANS
Prelude To War
The
definition of fear, is what we all live in. Living in what is a constant, a
given, robin. Thievery. Cheated out of peace. He, in front of the where the mic
should be. Free him. patience, a demon in disguise, this way, this way, guided
to putting off like putting on isn’t what he should be doing, like putting out
isn’t what he should be doing! Putting introspective measures into place plays
vital these days, it seams… perfectly in line with the grain of laze streaking
throughout. A constant wrestle, brawl, full brawn in brainwaves, shake of head
when confronted. Soles stomping in soul, lone encounters reminiscent of dark
alleys, Valley ways. Brutal, way this dilemma brews.
Blueprint
The issue
lies in an area, a great and pivotal error, sowed in youthful green so soaked
in with the loam of growth, an unnatural nature. Artificial ghost, extant,
twisted along the threads of his actual spirit, common knowledge, practically
beknown. Where did all the time go? Yesteryear! Reveal yourself; do not show
him shadowy illusions or times bygone. Allow him the chance. Certainly
inopportune to use the aforementioned demon against a weakened and lesser him,
a him, finally caught on to always being caught off. Cause of death?
Non-fulfillment. Half-hearted, never feels full. Cursed by the believers.
Bereaved at the thought of such qualities, going astray. He must be blind.
Simply that, in a sense when only sent to a meditation, all senses except sight
on deck, on site. Then they all put their cents in. all a terrible vice, rests
above his eyes, visors. Inside the depth of grays and blacks, doom and gloom
and steel walls, the dimly lit den of all ideologies crude, reigns and pores.
An
impractical and ultimately thin thing keeps him, them, us, we, all, enclosed.
Think of it, fight the fear; of being oneself. He has sparred to the point of
exhaustion, katana exalted, saulted through summers and winters, hand springs
for evasion, falling down on faces. Wholly jaded, why such a stronghold? Why
not just express? Let be. Let live. Become. Conquer. These schemes of the
conscious should come as natural as the lines he types, as he writes, left in
the cages and chains. Fear, the poltergeist. The eternal tormenter. Accompanied
by the questions. Surrounded by the doubt. Fear, the instiller of timid
spirits. Fear, the limiter. Fear, the everlasting winner. As long as he, and
they, and them, conform to the tyranny. Break free. Uprisal. Retrieve, time
lost. Confidence. Quality. Talent. Whatever be it. simply be.
Saturday, 1 February 2014
Beautifulove vol. 2
Beautifulove
Shake Spears free from wounds.
And beauty is relative, but just
look how close your genealogy runs. Once in my arms two no more and I’ve won, one is now a company.
Bending the doctrines of normalities when normally hills and valleys wont
vanish but the vamping swashbuckling knight likes when the elements are at his
disposal. That being said, sense an ultimately pure pouring of pour in, not of
eeyore, but likened to the joy of Turin, tuning into each other watching
themselves grow. Flow endlessly into every second, not regarding the common
guard of sparring off the quests and remarks.
And the earth turns to meet the sun and is met
by delicate lips, lingering this beautifulove upon the flesh. Jest not, the
complex simplicity, rules without rules, commonplace, no roost without contact,
come back, reach not. Silence the overlying theme, science being sidestepped
for mystics minds read and blind deaths.
Kept, close in the part of the mind. Once again portrayed as a demi, phoenix is
risen, ashes by the tonne. No worries however. The connection could be said
with words worse an attempt at putting down even the most accurate
representation of works.
Blinds given without an end, run
along, don't dive in. sure, not 110 harmony, but the mad theorist, growing in
his stature, implements another theory, magic.
Connections are of an exquisite nature, explosive
and implosive in store when a late stowaway is in place. And beauty is
delicate. Frail hatred momentarily when he fails to make four or make two.
Typical ride out, make it through. Phoenix from the flames does nothing to free
him from the the fame fear not, the fare is worth it. time stands still when
the rhythm is created and cremated in an ultimate passion, climb back after
climb acts. undeniable. Kind of.
Hitches of course, glitches of
course. A Barbie lifestyle? Barbed wire in reality. Barking, but dawg, what's
better than imperfection? bars by society, but eye see bars of poetry, that's
that beautifulove. Teaching while being taught, willing to learn, well into
her. That's that midnight drop an album shit. Surprise and surf rides, whoa. No
faux. Pride! N's joy. Bursts of content, not to be too corny but this maze is
fun, why complain when the love is the run? Simplicity reiterated as if Sizzla
revisited the prism of living, live in such a manner that woman nor man hurts,
stick to the script as your cursive needs work.
Tranquil. Warmth, quilts. Wars,
quit not. Walks,until feet move no longer.
Try not to get track 5, its vegas
when played back, acidic if you sit still.
still, being tutored on how to
care. How to include. How to ink lewd things on skin. White marks like
wahlberg. Feeling anew, refreshed! constant motion in this rest. we'll see.
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