lyrical commentary #1

i'm really tight-assed when it comes to letting people read my lyrics.
it's not because i don't have confidence in them, but because (10
times out of 10) people can never read them off in the way that i put
them together. i'd much rather have you listen to the song (or me
reciting them live), and THEN reading the lyrics, so that you know how
i flow my words together, and so that certain rhyme schemes make more
sense.
now, in case that came off as such, that wasn't an arrogance thing.
i'm just saying that everybody's flow is (supposed to be) unique, and
just reading shit on paper will never be as incredible as hearing that
person perform those words with all intended passion, precision, and
prowess.
this is why i don't really post lyrics up too much, though i'd really
like to. i'd much rather put songs up, but that too is still a bit
outside of my means (i was only in the studio recording a guest spot
for my cousin's track. kind of a one-off).

this song i wrote to Donell Jones's Where I Wanna Be instrumental is
gonna be crack.
last saturday i went back into the booth for the first time all year
and fucking TANKED, so i'm currently on the road to personal
redemption by writing really great shit.

missing peace.

how do you re-introduce yourself into someone's life? i'm really
ashamed to have lost touch with a person so thoroughly. i'm almost in
disbelief. this is an odd kind of desparation. it feels...dire,
almost. like without her in my life, there's a sizeable chunk missing
and it's hindering me.
lol, bummer...

comparison.

in the last three months i've spent at job corps, i've smoked about
seven blunts full of shit weed that cost me enough money to
effectively lead people to believe that i should wear a helmet when
outdoors.

since i've been home (last wednesday, 4am), i've smoked eight blunts
full of quality weed that cost me absolutely nothing because i have
friends and acquaintances that actually like me and/or are generally
generous decent human beings. so, at the risk of sounding like the
spunky, "too cool for school" teenager with the sunglasses, backwards
hat, and righteously rebellious attitude that screenwriters refuse to
let be a dying archetype:

Home: 1
Job Corps: 0

…totally rad, dude.

The BumFuck Chronicles #4 - "Homecoming"

so, i'll be home tomorrow. sick leave. asthma. up to six months. probably coming back after thanksgiving, though.

i'm happy as shit.

by the time this posts to facebook, i'll probably be home. still, i'm coming home.

church.

The BumFuck Chronicles #3 - "Death by a Thousand Cuts"

As of late, I seem to be quite incapable of maintaining mental composure. Though wholly unnoticed at first, more and more often I am being interrogated by random strangers about the condition of my overall well-being. I’m not well. There’s a noticeable fracture somewhere. Either some synapses have spaced themselves out significantly, or they’ve shorted out in some sense. The stony pillars upon which my morals, self-control, and self-restraint stand are rapidly being eroded by my environment. My good moods seem few and far-between, and they’re fairly feeble in the sense that it takes little to cause them to falter and fail altogether.

I just found out that, as of two weeks ago, I’m eligible for personal leave, but I need $168 for a roundtrip Greyhound ticket home. I need to take a week off…reclaim my sanity a little.

Yesterday I took my roommate’s mp3 player out of his drawer, walked across the campus, and dropped it in a trash can. I can’t beat him to death with the 2x4 stashed in my locker, or slit his throat with the shank in my mattress. I figured taking away the man’s music was the next best thing. I figure if I can’t just hit him and take out all my aggression toward him all at once (at the risk of both expulsion and federal imprisonment), I’ll go the “death by a thousand cuts” route and fuck with him a little bit every day. Now, there’s no need to tell me that what I’m doing is wrong, I’m well aware of that. But, does it make me happy? Immeasurably so. I have a low tolerance for bitchassness, of which he has an abundant supply. One cut down, 999 to go.

"The sound of the tune precipitated in him a sort of ecstasy and it was with that ecstasy he viewed what happened to him now..."

"It was a mood of intense appreciation, a sense that, for once, he was magnificently attuned to life and that everything about him was radiating a brightness and glamour he might never know again."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

tolerance...or a lack, thereof.

someday soon, i am going to murder someone.

no one will take this seriously until the day someone's blood is all over my clothes.

on that day, i will direct them to this post.

i am not lying. i am pissed off, and i grow more and more irrational by the second.

they say no one man should have all of that shit?

well i go, "but i'm not just one man, baby. i'm SCHIZO"

i find it ironic that every site under the sun (including WordPress) is blocked, yet blogspot isn't. maybe it's because blogspot fell off? i'm not sure. i could care less, though. i've found another creative outlet. the fuckery here runs rampant and i need a way to relieve the tension i amass every day from the massively collective group of fuckery-producing masses.......it's a lot of shit going on out here.

and just like that, my mind is blank.

now it isn't.

a few months ago (on another site), i wrote :

"The girl you love will never love you. She’s too busy waiting on the guy she loves to love her, but he never will. We’re all lined up single file, pining for the one in front of us, and imploring them to turn around.

I’m at the back of the line. "

well...now there's someone behind me (which is, in itself, beyond weird), and it's giving me a whole new sense of perspective. i'm literally not used to being the object of anyone's affections like this. sure i've had little moments and occurrences here and there, but it's different now. this girl really likes me, and i just kind of...well, plain and simple, i only like talking to her when i'm horny. quite fucked up, i know. that's where the insight comes in. like, what the fuck am i doing using this girl like i am? is this what it was like when i'd play do-boy to whatever girl had my heart (and my balls, it seems) in her palm?

i'm fuckin up.

The BumFuck Chronicles #2 (Blogger Redux) 8.22.10

The first version of this entry was erased due to the shitty nature of the Earle C. Clements Job Corps Academy's computer. The entry was long, detailed, and probably a very entertaining/informational read. This, the re-write, will not be.

I'll keep it short and sweet: FUCK THIS PLACE AND EVERYBODY IN HERE. I'm here to advance myself, get that check, and move the fuck on with my life. Fuck the fact that ignorance and caveman-like intelligence is the dominant trait, fuck the stuck-up fat bitches that think they're the shit (not knowing that it's only because there are so few of them here that aren't gay), fuck the shifty-ass thieves here, fuck the food, fuck the slow-ass healthcare, fuck the rules, FUCK ALL OF IT. I fucking hate this place, I really do. If it weren't for me fixing my mp3 and going to the movie room all the time, I truly believe I'd snap and kill somebody.

Fuck that loneliness too. I miss my people.

With all that said, I still refuse to leave here without my certification.

Period.

The BumFuck Chronicles (Blogger Redux) 8.10.2010

Three weeks in and it feels like three months.

Music is my escape from the constant and vast array of fuckery presented to me on a daily basis.
People here seem to forget that they came here because their options were quite slim. They're making the same mistakes that got them here. Why gamble in the room when you know the RA's just gonna come in, take the dice, take the money, and kick you out? Why would you come here and gamble/fight/FUCK UP IN GENERAL? Anyone could've easily stayed at fucking home and kept that shit there.

Shit, i'm a completely different person out here. Why? Because there's no point in traveling to the middle of BumFuck, Nowhere to fuck up in the same way that got me here. Not sure how many of my OTs will be completing their trades with me. I mean, we're supposed to stick together because we came in together and whatnot, but fuck that. I'm here for myself. I'm not here to make friends, lovers, or enemies. I'm here for myself. What's a little crushing loneliness in the face of success? Just a necessary sacrifice. I'll be fine. I've got a phone and an mp3 player.
Oh wait, I HAD an mp3 player...

don't let the pessimism fool you, I'm not giving up or leaving here until I get what I came here for.

patience is waning.
I. WANT. TO. LEAVE.

i'm starting to complain like a woman.

and when i say "like a woman", i mean like the WORST kind of woman. so
ladies, if that ain't you, please douche out that excess sand and move
along.

=D.

saw a gator-mouth bitch on twitter and thought "daaaaamn, you......BOLD!!"
i was gonna (still in my head) say 'ugly', but then i realised that i
wouldn't be caught smilin in a pic until after some SERIOUS dental
reconstruction. fuck some braces, that hardcore headgear shit runs
away when i smile. shit, i don't like to smile around people i've
known all my life. i even catch myself doing that thing celie did in
the color purple sometimes.
about the mouth: me and the cloverfield monster are like brothers. say
cheese? bitches say AAAAHHH like i'm a real monster.

i'm trying to be funny to disguise the fact that my self-esteem is at
an all-time low.
i don't think it's workin.
now i'm starting to feel a little dr. phil-ic.

i'm sleepy and my emotions are breaching the surface. let me take my ass to bed.
i'll have to bury them hoes deeper tomorrow.

[excerpt].cardiac soldier: ransom.

she looked at my right arm. about ten thin parallel scars ran
horizontally down my wrist, and four vertical ones sat atop my bicep.

her: what are those?
me: i dunno. it depends on how the day is going.
her: what do you mean?
me: i mean... well, like on a good day, they're a reminder: don't take
life too seriously.
her: and on the bad ones?
me: blueprints.

i'm writing a screenplay. well i started writing one a while ago. i'm
continuing a screenplay.

why?

ain't SHIT else to do. at all.

social outing rates.

grandma - at least twice a week.
mom - 2 to 5 times a week.
me - once a month…two if i'm lucky.

that'sgoddamnmuhfuckinSHAME.

about:

the girl you REEEEAAAAALLLY like reluctantly gives you her number.

if, by the third call, the girl still asks who you are, it is to be
concluded that
A) she hasn't bothered to save your number
B) she never intends to call you,
and C) based on the first two, she probably isn't all too interested
in you anyway.

this isn't a "back away slowly" scenario, this is a "run like you're a
black person that just saw another black person spontaneously burst
into a fearful sprint somewhere near you" scenario. cut your losses
and keep it moving, for your heart, pride, and wallet's sake.

horror in its purest.

poseur.

i’m not a rockstar, i just do drugs and break shit

scream out all my lyrics, and fuck chicks with fake tits

refer to my boxers as “the snake pit”

full of venom and, like communion, you’ll take it.

like a blessing.

FlightSchool.1

every man has a one-track mind, and that track goes from brain to dick with no stops in between. i have a one-track mind, but i stopped riding the train a long time ago. it's 2010, no one rides them anymore anyway. my thoughts are on an elevated plane, and i'm in the cockpit. no autopilot, i run me. tired of thoughts plagued by gravitational constraints? ready to take yourself to the next level?

welcome to flight school.

nah.

i changed my mind.

Bye.

=)

resurgence.

damn, i can wallow with the best of 'em.
not cool.
i'm bumpin Be by Common, making studio hunting plans for tomorrow, and drunk.
"reality's a BITCH, and i heard that she bites."
ay...i bite back. lmao, serious though...on to the next.

planetrip.3

no survivors.

[IAD].

playlist: 808s & Heartbreak (Kanye West), Straight No Chaser (Mr
Hudson), St. Elsewhere (Gnarls Barkley), Infinity on High (Fall Out
Boy), Pretty. Odd. (Panic at the Disco), The Score (The Fugees)

i'm bothered by the fact that my loneliness is really bothering me. my
funds are much too scarce to undercut this feeling with THC, so my
headphones have been attached to my head for over a week. intensive
audiopathic therapy (IAD), or so i've decided to call it...just now.
it works most of the time, and i'd rather endure earache than
heartache any time.

speaking of heartache, tell me what it means when you think of the
girl you didn't have the balls to express your true feelings to
everyday WITHOUT FAIL? no bullshit, i'd really like to know. while
you're at it, how should you feel given the fact that you're MILES
away from her thoughts? closing in on a year, and i want new dreams.

uh-oh, time for another virtual holocaust...liberty city, i knew thee well...

cupid, you chubby little FUCK.

today i woke up at 3:48 in the afternoon...FUUUUUUUCK.
i didn't really have anything to do besides clean up. still, i'd rather be awake and possibly bored all day than to be asleep and possibly miss out on something to do. plus i could've cleaned my room some more. my mom grabbed some black plastic bags on the way home from work (early, cuz she's got laringitis...bummer), and i'm about to fill up a couple. yea, that's what i'll do when i finish this.

other shit to do:

• haircut tomorrow, rain or shine. if i gotta walk? i''m walkin...time to get this rug cut off. and if my grandma isn't workin tomorrow, i'm WHOOPIN ASS. whose ass? no idea.
• talked to my audio connect, said he had car troubles that resulted in him havin to push his mama's whip. told him i can't hate cuz not only do i not have a car, i don't have a LICENSE.
• speaking of which, i gotta get that birth certificate application notarized. it's gonna take about a month for it to come back, so i need to be up on that.
• <---haaa...bullet.

[in other news...]

FUCK february. that comes from the fingertips of a person swiftly approaching his 19th consecutive valentine-less valentine's day, and yea, i'm a little salty about it. i uh.......nah, i'll kill it here before i go off on a dr. phil adventure. let me cut on my ps3 and kill something before i grow a vagina.

formspring.me

Don't you miss those Billy Maze infomercials?

hell yea, especially since i know that he was coked up during every one of 'em

ask me SOMETHING. lol, my inbox is wack right now.

Grammy Family

I want to be a member of that. I want a Grammy, and I won't stop making music until I get one. After I do that, I want Album of the Year. I'm gonna work like a motherfucker to get it. I know it sounds like a pipe dream, but I'm dead serious.

shiiit, i can't think of a title right now.

so,

• my grandma's shop is madd busy, which is good. so busy that i can slip in for my free haircut, which is bad. i'm shooting for early tuesday.
• my connect never came through (and i forgot to call today...*v8 slap*)
• got my b-day shit filled, just gotta go get it notarized and sent off
• i've got $8.43 in quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies...no weed for me. hopin my cousin hits me up soon for a session.
• my floor's visible, but now my bed isn't. (*v8 slap)
• i wrote 2 new songs

and i keep moving.

formspring.me

speak and ye shall be spoken to...probably. http://formspring.me/amzg26

shit to get done.

on the agenda for today:

• get a haircut.
• (if my connect comes through) record some new music.
• remember to fill out my birth certificate application.
• take monetary inventory (i found out that i'm not goin to Job Corps for a REAL long time, so i wanna blunt.)
• make my bedroom floor visible
• get a haircut.

now, i would have began working on this much earlier, but i just woke up (3pm) soooo...time to get going.

o, and Pandora is THEE shit. next post is gonna be a list of songs i strongly suggest be downloaded.

end.

paradox.

ok, see i have this insane urge to write something. i've got my mom's ex-boyfriend's pc for a limited time and i'd really like to take advantage of the luxury of a full QWERTY keyboard. on the flipside? i ain't got JACK SHIT to say. nothing significant's going on in my life, i don't have anybody special, i don't have anybody gettin on my nerves...just a whole lot of nothing. i need to get involved in some activities, but i don't have any transportation cuz my BUM ASS still doesn't have a goddamn license...NOT A GOOD LOOK. i mean, i tried to get that shit the other day, but then it turns out that my birth certificate fell off the face of the earth. guess who's gotta wait several weeks for a new one? fuckery. and then my mind goes blank, but i don't really care so i'ma hit the publish button and keep it movin. moving where? good-ass question.

"see, i'm that shxt muhhfucka." -Busta Rhymes

so it's 5-mxyzptlk in the morning, and i see in my inbox that i have
now been deemed the "e-shit" by lalalalalaliyabean (idk how many 'la's
there are in her sn off the top like that, but damn if i didn't get a
little whimsy outta typin 'em...it's the little things). so, if you
see little brown pixels and stink lines in the corner of your monitor,
don't be alarmed...

music shit: i can't stress how dope Mr Hudson's album is. if you liked
808s, and loved Man on the Moon, you'll go apeshit for this. i'd heard
the album before, but i didn't get a chance to really enjoy it cuz my
pc went pookie on me and i didn't copy it to my ps3. BUT, thanks to my
homie i got it on here now and have had plenty of time to zone out to
it.
sidenote: i dig the fact that he holds his accent while singing. i
never (and still don't) understood foreign-accented speakers with
american singing voices. so what if you have a nice voice, you still
perpetratin...and know you wrong for it.

ok, the bed AND the rain are singing my name...-_-

i'm ready...sobriety.

musically speaking: Rhymefest, Lupe Fiasco, Mr Hudson, and Clipse are
all spinnin like fat chicks (heavy rotation...keep up).

other shit: no more weed til i take a drug test at job corps (did i
mention i'm joining job corps? i'm joining job corps.), hopefully i
pass. the people that say ganja is addictive are completely full of
shit. put it like this: weed to me is like cake to the morbidly obese
fat-asses. yea, i enjoy the fuck out of it, but i don't need it. you
don't get that crackhead/nicotine/meth-like physical addiction...which
is dope. i remember reading about people getting "addicted" and having
to go to rehab...straight reefer madness coupled with total lack of
willpower. i feel bad for those people and the ones that buy into
their bullshit.

physically speaking: i picked some weight back up, and i'd very much
like to put it back down. also, my hair is itching like i rubbed it
under pamela anderson's snatch...sorry bout the imagery, but it's like
that.

$.

lately i've been seeing dollar signs on everything, and i'm sick of
it. i hate money, needing it, and wanting it. i'm seeing the lack of
it taking its toll on my mother, grandmother, and various other family
members and friends. nothing much else to say, really. just had to
vent that.

amnesia.

right now: mr hudson x the-dream x bone thugs-n-harmony x a full bowl
= my morning. that thing where my nightly dreams are replaced with
memories is happening again, and i'm sick of the cold sweats i'm
waking up in. i'm not sure why this resurgence is
occurring...hm...yea, no clue. i think that's a lie, i just don't want
to admit that the alleged cause is the actual cause.

*smoke break"

backness. uh...bumpin mr hudson...white lies!!!...n shit...tryna think
of how best to take advantage of this chilly winter day. no idea
yet. floaterrrrr...wade in the water...same flow that brought
her...carried her away...the sky was grey that day...floaterrrrr...