The end of the road.

TheNobodyKing.blogspot.com

This blog keeps getting hacked. I'll come by and delete the spam, but posting will take place on the new blog.

The Return

I'm going to try and make this a regular thing again.

Cheers.

STREAMING LIVE ON YOUTUBE, CHILL IN NOWHEREVILLE...

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STREAMING LIVE ON YOUTUBE, CHILL IN NOWHEREVILLE TONIGHT. GET THROWN, HIT PLAY, AND GET YOUR MIND BLOWN. NowhereVille // Alex Parker - YouTube Welcome to NowhereVille, enjoy your stay. Watch the steps. // www.Facebook.com/AlexParkerEmcee View or comment on Alex Parker's post »

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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.