venting.

everyday concerns w/moving forward/ no time to breathe / less time to take steps back/ roses remain as scenery no seconds to relax/ constantly on search for things life lacks/ cut me some slacks in my slacks / performing office tricks just to get my greenbacks back/ so i can burn some green and accept living within my means/ in a system designed to chase another mans dream while yours remains a dream/ grinding daily surviving on the ashy knuckles of our life just looking for some C.R.E.A.M./ and some sort of fine linning, a clue, a hint of something bigger to come/ itoo want to live the "good life" and momma says i can do it, reciting to me many words of the wise, but living in these times words just wont suffice/ they say seeing is believing then i must have closed my eyes/ lid upon the canister of our goals/ limitations to the expression of our soul / shackled down creativity/ watered down reality/ as the beast incorporates our being into the capital motivated machine of corporations/ routine is the slave master of contemporary times that dulls our sights and clouds our vision so we have an obstructed view of our goal and a front row seat to distraction/we need it because it defines "me"/ in form of raw denim jeans, track jackets, and nikes/ not definition/ submission / slave away for a pay check to issue checks payed to the order of nike & every other conglomerate so we join every one else in the category/ is it hypocrisy that i write this in Air Max 90s?/ or instead of studying i rather get bent /maybe i just voicing my frustration trying to find improvement as i let smoke through my vent.

riddle me this...

strange thoughts of strangers cots put the strangest knots in my relationship plots
constant search for loves warm embrace, common ground, understanding or is it the challenge and the chase?
that makes a lovers look about face and re-think the time, pace and space being used or spent
all for someones love to rent
with the most honest of intent but still too disatisfied to be content
its only human to see something you dont have and feel like your missing out
but should it be an everyday bout with yourself as you continue to convince yourself thats its not all about self
while placing people on pedestals or on shelves
emptying your soul on lines of paper and computer keyboards to the point where all thats left is a mere shell
shadow of a man
i want to be the artist not the fan, the painter not the canvas
i dont know if its the desire to impress or the desire to be desired
if lifes climax is death then do people go to work to be fired? fall in love to get hurt?
buy into the philosophy that tradegy inspires, like how the rose that grew from concrete is stronger than that from the dirt
if love at first sight is as true as its feeling
then what happens to that love when second sight start seeing?

distractions.

my hands paint whats in my mindscape, trying to alleviate the stress, convince myself im bless, or at least better off than most, not trying to boast just trying to appeal to my better sense, im trying not to take plays off or settle always swinging for the fence, so is it wrong of me to cut short this song and not prolong the things going wrong, when i said "we can spend a slow forever" i meant we can two step to the same beat, but change is a hard thing to beat, especially when u get tired of being on your feet and decide we can get "too comfortable", thats the type of thinking made the last "one" portable, im not trying to collect a past thats assortable, things like that just happen, when i spoke of us, i spoke of tr-us-t, others brought up a fuss and it all became about envy and lust, and i stay never being jealous, Jay told me that was a female trait, make no mistake i attempt to calculate every step i take weigh out the positives and negatives keep an open mind and stay subjective, but people cant help the way they feel, im trying to keep my mind on an even keel, even when memories of the past come back trying to heal i just keep moving, i need to focus on text books not texts and hooks, need to figure out how to make out like a crook instead of wondering about who shes talking to on her myspace and facebook, i need to go on and find that missing component, stop living in memories, man up and realize perfection last but a moment.

just thinking.

writing just to write, speaking from my mind through my pen record my insight, constantly on search for the light, escaping through words trying to loose baggage, i find solice in my element and project expression through my verbige, living hell or heaven, depends on the perspective, if the constant state is bad then it must have been good retroactive or vice versa, working progressively forward ignoring inertia, taking steps on stepping stones while stepping through stones, aching back bones, tired wish i was retired, so much resistance form this constant tug-o-war,got me stuck in the same space not getting toofar, life takes money, money takes life, i try to stay sharp but lately my blades been a dull knife,stabs for capital, lifes a battle indeed a beautiful struggle, were all 6 feet and under in the end, yet we continue to pretend, break and amend, if its all the same whats the purpose of creating a name or a legacy, am i that vain that even when ive passed i need you to speak of me, maybe, but for what thousands of greats have passed all for muck, lincoln freed the slaves but nodody is truely free,civil war has ended yet still theres death on our streets, from our guns and our bullets, seems as if nobody really cares, ammuniton , fuel for hatred when we spray is the only thing were willing to share, me takes care of me,govt takes care of them, i try to lend a hand"but your taking the whole arm my man", drowning in my pints of hops and barley, sitting, waiting in vain like marley , these thoughts to myself, my soliloquy.

copy and paste.

Just a bunch of copy and paste,

Sad how the world is in so much turmoil, everyday people dying and getting sick, but all these lemmings care about are jean brands and kicks, bunch of copy and paste vultures laying waste to a cultures future, for some nikes and new sutures that’s suppose to define you, funny part is it does, your definition is one of a false allegation, this isn’t you this is who you pretend be.
Hip hop?
No hip pop.
how do you feel being as real as a Louis Vuitton purse from chinatown?