Da one ya name: Bus a ONE RHYM3

So I have to beat you at your own game before we can play mine

Thought I heard that before

I guess they ain’t lyin’.

So amma

Beat you at your game so we can play mine

– One time

Went so hard you won’t have time for crying

I ain’t lying.

Got. Wings on my feet and now I’m flyin’

Talkin’ shit like my ass was saying, listen quick

Listen bitch

Tricks are for kids so go get your doggy biscuit.

No time for games so no more halloweening this bit

Think fast, or your treats will pass

Whispering in your ear like “I know what you did last…”

Mind games and words play

My name with your way

Okay but no way.



*Wrote this to a song but didn’t make note of which song I wrote it to.



Go Run & Hide

At a moment it occurs to me that I am absolutely brilliant, and at another an absolute dunce. Sometimes for absolutely no reason at all.

I’ve been smoking so much weed that it almost seems as though I’m beginning not to like it. And how can such a thing be true? Marijuana, whose very name mentioned brings me inexplicable delight – and still! – is now to me becoming sickening. What do I even do with that, or make of it?

Hiding under the covers

Under, the covers cover the

Coward cowering beneath the

Frock of his mistress, escaping his fate.

Escape the fate or stay prisoner

Trapped in the closet of lies and hate

That you discover

Sentenced for life to die in the flesh

Reason unknown or none

Or run.

So you’re…

Hiding amidst the clouds of smoke

Under the covers covering your tracks

– No, not hidden-

Erasing the traces of your existence

Hiding under the clouds in plain sight of the Sun

Blinding light illuminating the heavens

Casting flames to the down below

-No that’s wrong.

Hiding in the cloud’s cover from no one

Caring nothing, conscience keep.

The fate of suffering borne by the true

The culprit escapes

While you your quiet keep.

So I am

Hiding under the cover’s covers

Drenched in the sound’s cloud (cloud’s sound)

Several steps at a time taking

To emerge at the end

Brand new.

Photo credit: Toy Photographer



What is it that they say about

This and that,

Things and hats?

What is it that they say about rings and bats

Skin and caps?

For when all is won and all is lost

I got distracted. I forgot what I was saying and couldn’t seem to remember. It was the same. Same thing same time all the time. All the times that I remember. That I CAN remember. Never mind where I was going with that.

Think fast when you wander

Before you forget

Never know when something will happen

Or something else.

Think slowly,

Only when you’re getting dressed

Never know who you might meet

In the street or

On the road; on the go

When the sky isn’t the limit:



Photo Credit: Toy Photographer


The Cement Garden

Outside of the promise that this will be one monster of a disturbing book, I found myself quite bored. There are many a dark and desolate image, and the reviews leave every page punctuated with promise, but so far as I had read, nothing really happens. We are, for the most part, merely following the proceedings of a boy with no friends who is dominated by self-loathing.

We see that he has a sexual thing for his older sister, Julie, – who appears to be quite fit – but it would appear as though all the steamy brother-sister action is saved for the end. Or at least beyond the bit that I managed to placate myself into reading. The book itself is snoozeville, perhaps much like an event of watching drying cement.

Unlike most books I cannot read to the end, The Cement Garden is not poorly written. I would find myself reading page after page, for it flows evenly, but when I would put it down, there would be no real desire to pick it up again. Save, of course, the desire to see how he introduces and portrays the sex between (or among) siblings. Is it with Julie that he has the sex? With Sue? Or both of them? What finally pushes them over the edge? Because we saw from close after the beginning that they lived quite on the edge; and that many thoughts and feelings were repressed perhaps in all but the youngest who simply hadn’t developed a care.

Despite my not reading to the end, there is no question that The Cement Garden comes with many a lesson on childhood development, family relationships, friendship, parenting, marriage, and on love itself. It is like that the father, rather than nurturing or and empowering others to do it for him, tarnished their garden by drowning and stifling it with cement, until all they were left with was wilting and death.


*Photo courtesy of: The Internet

Ode to Freedom

I am the master and the servant


I mean the slave.

Eh hem

I am the master and the slave

The serum that you crave and

The voice that makes you behave.

I am the lightening in the thunder

The sound that it makes


In the air and on the ocean

In the sky nor on the sea

It’s me



Photo credit to #ToyPhotographer

The title is at the end

Cloaked and enveloped in dust

It is my soul I try to brush

Cleanse my heart of the futures gone

Get into the timing of moving on

For when the time shall cometh new

It is I

Who will be there

For you.


so thrust

From the bosom of thine heart

In one great swoop we were torn apart

In every way conceivable

– hard –

Disaster Falls


Photo credit to #ToyPhotographer



Clack Spinster Minster

Come on can you give me…

– Spinster Minster

Like he never knew and then he missed her

Kissed her

And he can’t forget it now she missed her


Dissed her

Dismissed her

Before he realised that he would need her

Like he didn’t know his life was lost

And now forever

Because he thought he was the shit

And wouldn’t need her

‘Cause ain’t nobody got time for that

Busy makin’ all this paypa

“Watchu say dawg?”

Busy spendin’ all this paypa

Gotta look fly for all the haters

Stay lit for the original gangsta.

Didn’t think of what you’d need

“For me”.


Didn’t even notice I existed.



Photo courtesy of: #ToyPhotographer


It’s as though, sometimes, nothing’s clear. And you are, really, just floating on a passing wind. And though you know not where you’re going, you feel content just to keep on floating. For what is more naturally occurring than the air, which we breathe? And if it is good enough to sustain the human life, why then, should it be any less suitable for traveling?

For what is more naturally-occurring than a fleeting, passing wind?


Actors whelm over yonder plain, by the curve near the entrance. “Oh ye yon dol pon ee kero watts!” “Mar per lou…” and such that one does not hear for they are so far. Over yonder.

Barbarians! Barking mad with their desire to be seen. And heard. They will stop at nothing! There is no low to which they won’t stoop, no law they will not loop. To have you pay attention. To them. Crude and barbarian.

That one should demand attention without craft or finesse! Absolutely revolting. To have another desist from satiating his own desire and learning his true self, to attend to your idiotic whims.

The body speaks for itself

She said, “I used to be a dreamer like you, you know. A long time ago.” She peered off into the distance, as if looking for the very moment she gave up on her dream. “I used to be a dreamer like you,” she repeated, “until my whole world was just…sucked away.” Suck said for itself how it felt, and the feeling was plastered all over her face so that you didn’t need to imagine the dismay. Like may was lost and then suddenly disappeared. Like hope was all you had and it was slaughtered before your face before you even reached the corner around which you would find it after turning right and going down the road a bit. She said it with such feeling in a monotone, and though talking, was far from me. She said she had never thought it before, that something like that could happen. “I mean of course they talk about these things existing but you think ‘Never in a million years’ and by then you’ll be dead so of course you would never get to see it!” She was rambling to herself by this, having already completely forgotten that I was there. Her exasperated breaths add wonder to her disposition, and you wonder that a thing could be so alive yet so empty in the same instant. Not quite opposites but close, like death and youth juxtaposed in one like H and O. Like you wanna be near it but you’re scared it could blow. Like “‘Whoa o.O!’ and ‘Oh O.Q ..'”

“Wait a minute…” She slowly comes back and gains awareness of her environment. She looks at me, and laughs at whatever expression I was making, not like I was funny, but like her mind just queued laughter. So she was laughing. It was sudden and sweet and over in a minute. She fanned her hand as if waving away the memory of the place she had just been so she could return to where I am.

“I mean, I literally watched my home planet get sucked away into a black hole.” She was like, “Who the bloody hell ever thinks of seeing THAT happen?! [With the gestures and expression of “WhatTheFuck” Universe moments], am I right?”

Photo courtesy of: #ToyPhotographer