Baby Food for Thought

Baby Food for Thought
By: Uriah “The CivILLian” Walters

You get no piece of me
Not a morsel
Nor a fragment
Not even a bite.

No matter how much I mush it down for your taste buds to decipher
And force feed a portion of myself to your hollow abode
I just can’t seem to be digested.

You salivate a hunger and crave for satisfaction
To which I can’t make myself of any avail

So long as your teeth have not matured enough so as to help you understand.

I have no title for this...

Verse 1:

Now, This is somnolence
With nonchalant carelessness
They call it a lazy man’s fearlessness
For some reason, my confidante’s embarrassment
Seems to be rellished in
My lack of sentiment
I’m only looking for the evidence
Where my experiments
Held present tense hesitence
That I dared to grip
And could barely spit
As I was fairly jipped
By the glares equipped
Within the stares from whence
Came a pair of intense
Piercing eyes from the chairs where blends of diverse ears’ll find
An impairment of reverse gears
Inclined to steer drive
And fear to try to clear the mind
From a nightmare
Right there where the sight bares
Quite scary visions of plight
Varying in its prize due to tarrying
in the lines where they cherish sheeple
Whom cry in a merry steeple for
Pi to give angry people
A slice seen through several peepholes
To vy from detestable evils
Oh why
Do they say I wrestle with this ego?

Verse 2:

Now, Where is the common sense
That the common man has dismissed
And done replaced with a fabric gift
Composed of platinum coating
and some plastic lips
That give a “magic” kiss
That bestows placidness
To shutdown worry and effort
Just to transit this:
A fresh new brand of wit
That only commands you submit
Then, you and your mans could get
All that you demand and wish
Including the ransom for which
Got you handled and whipped
Rattled and ripped
With a gradual drip of tears when you cry
From that smashed hip and spazzing glitch near your spine
Along with Massa’s grip to your shackled wrists, ears and eyes
To put a fear in your mind
And a spirit that dines off of veering your sight
Into a nightmare
Right there where the sight bares
Quite scary visions of plight
Varying in its prize due to tarrying
in the lines where they cherish sheeple
Whom cry in a merry steeple for
Pi to give angry people
A slice seen through several peepholes
To vy from detestable evils
Oh why
Does the whole world wrestle with this ego?

Verse 3:

Now, There goes the dominance
That got lost in our “awesomeness”
And boastfulness spat across our lips
With the power of a Hyper-tuned Rocket ship
Leaving its exhaust to drift
Believing you’ll call it quits
The dynamics of our words echo
When we claim “I’m the sh..
And you don’t want this…”
That’s us being dauntless
And we make silly promises
As long as you spot us with
Money
Our words pocket pick
Everytime you’re watchin’ us
In our defense, it’s like we are heaven sent
Thus here’s the fine
For when you thought our scripts were fradulence with sheer decline
Towards true heartfulness with imparted gifts, or were WE blind
To just get on our grind
And make billions of dimes
While the children still cry
There goes a nightmare
Right there where the sight bares
Quite scary visions of plight
Varying in its prize due to tarrying
in the lines where they cherish sheeple
Whom cry in a merry steeple for
Pi to give angry people
A slice seen through several peepholes
To vy from detestable evils
Oh why
Do we all seem to wrestle with this ego?

Before the summer ends, you should go to the Carnival with me... Pt. 3: Merry Roundtrips

Merry Roundtrips
By: Robert "The CivILLian" Walters

I was, I was mesmerized
I was, I was hypnotized
Not to sympathize for the crooked guys
Whom held poker faces and snake eyes
With deception in every lieing line
But then, I dabbled in the rattling
Rackets and practiced in
Between the same spaces adjacent
To what attracted them.
Tried to escape, but ofcourse
I was, I was mesmerized
I was, I was hypnotized
Not to leave behind what I've kept in mind
The only option left is to abide
With my conscience then taking a step aside
So I do my dirt to live on earth releasing thirsty spurts
That blasts and hurts the worth of brain power afforded in this work
The best turn to worse, then lives in a hearse
Then catches a curse and is set for rebirth
I tried to hit reverse, But ofcourse
I was, I was memerized
I was, I was hypnotized
Not to live a lie, let the past subside
Though what I live is criminalized
With perjury every time I get tried
The irony is blasphemy that fastens me rapidly
To catastrophe for actively attaching these
Tragic themes passionately as a phylactery
Knowing it was attacking me and bashing me
But ofcourse...

Before the summer ends, you should go to the Carnival with me... Pt. 2: Emotion Coastin'

Emotion Coastin' (HIGHS's & LOW's)
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

She puts me at HIGH's and LOW's
Because I felt HIGH by her presence
Making me present presents in present time
So as to get more than a HIGH five
I can start with a HIFI HIGH pitched "HI!!!"
As I fly by
Subtly awaiting the kiss I'll receive on the moonlit HIGHRISE
And I may be highly ahead of myself
If I want to be her LOW day's HIGHLIGHT
I'm HIGHSTRUNG
But what if she smirks
Says "nice try" and "goodbye" to my acting shy
Pulling me down to LOWBLOWS & chokeholds of the LOWKEY
The strike of a LOWTIDE
LOW frequency though frequently,
HIGHTIME I'm LOWLY
...
now...
Should that make me a HIGH minded
HIGH spirited LOW profile loyalist
With HIGH sounding wisdom that showboats LOWLIFE HIGHRUNNERS?
But that's like being HIGHFLOWN, then lowercasing your HIGHBROW
Scoring HIGH levels in compromise
Succumbing to the LOWDOWN, (which by the way was HYPER lugubrious)
Then ending your day with a LULLABY from a HIGH born
One who obviously does not cope nor sympathize.
HIGHLY praised statistic shows a LOW percentage
Of the LOWEST of the lovesick
Deep in his LOWLANDISH pit
Unless he HIGHTAILS it out of there
and rearranges it to say...

She puts me at LOW's and HIGH's

*******

Quite quick and to the point with loops and curves. Sort of like a less wild Joker's Jinx, unless ofcourse you've experienced these words emotionally.

Before the summer ends, you should go to the Carnival with me... Pt. 1: Hall of Mirrors

Hall of Mirrors (Deflect and Ricochet)
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Deflect and ricochet
Everything you see
For everything you see is but
Ricocheted and Deflected verbatim
Verbatim memory commision through mirror images
That mirror appearances 'til you commit 'em to memory
Panel to panel by heart is every reflection
From gullible naivete that slowly bends into erogenous erotica
Unfamiliar faces we get faced with as we pump the blood of impatience
Embracing the laces that strap together these visual mazes
Now all we do is pinpoint to these urges and cravings
Alerted to ineffable mirages of fragrances
Mesmerizing to painlessness
Blamelessness
Carelessness
Monotonous Embellishments
Until our conscience ponders the evidence of our innocence
Only to see the place we flourished as now a labyrinth
That holds a lab rat of claustro- schizo- psycho-
Proportional Un-abortionable In-decipherables
All due to the glance that led to defamiliarization
With thine own anatomy or insecure psyche
The main targets of the hypothesis questioning these anonymities
Scattering about loose comprehension sporadically.
Think about it, meditate it
Give it meditative thought litigation
So that by law you won't be submissive
To the curiosity that takes interest
And maybe, the true you will display
Once you learn to deflect and ricochet

*******

Note: Okay, .... :( I've been trying to "dumb down" my poetry so as to expand in my poetic prowess. Well, its not so much "dumbing down" but exploring unfamiliar sides to my writing. It's supposed to be a fresh slate where I pull the carpet of understanding from under the audience so that you don't get used to the pinballing.... But I couldn't help it, lvs. Consider this to be a fix.

Also this Hall of mirrors uses the rhyme scheme in a way to portray the reflection of oneself, so if you get confused at any parts don't worry about it, because that's supposed to happen. :)

CivILLian Brainables (Team of Wit) ... sounds like a cereal, lol.

Note: Left Brain = Intelligence
Right Brain = Creativity

Time to make a few... Vicissitudes

Left Brain: Interlude
Right Brain: Uh... yeah I thinks so

Just to escape the environment of timelessness where Simon Says I've been invited in...
Rather I start a riot in a dining bin full of hungry men dieing of starvation and....

...
...

Left Brain: Let's try again
Right Brain: Yeah, that's a good idea.

Just to esca...

Right Brain: No, no, no, wait... I got it.
Left Brain: What?
Right Brain: Let's just start over.
Left Brain: That's what we were doing.
Right Brain: Yeah but let's not use the same stuff. I'm talking really start over. A clean slate. Cool?
Left Brain: ... alright... I guess

Dumbfoundedness surrounds us when the profound has acknowledgements
But never pardons men of the bombarded demolished bricks
Hollow tips
Follow with
bitten tongues and startled lips
And if they start to slip the info, their life is departed quick.
A few hearts are slick as bottle tip artists in spewing thoughtful drifts
Within a thoughtless flip of parliament.
They said that theives and arsonists stole and got a spark of wit
dropped a lick of toppled bliss to the righteous optimist.
They said there was no stopping this
Because they're way too locked in this
And that the world was better off holding fear in their awesomeness
Catching these two is not an if
not a when
Just an impossible wish to those who operate to opt against
eachother...

Left Brain: ...
Right Brain: ... what?
Left Brain: Should we add more?
Right Brain: I 'on't kno...
Left Brain: Just answer the questi...
Right Brain: Do you think we should add some more?
Left Brain: ... -_-'... *sigh*
Right Brain: what? I'm asking an honest question
Left Brain: No, you do this every single time.
Right Brain: Do what?
Left Brain: You sit there and stay silent and wait for me to close out, just for you to say "Oh hold on, we should do this." And I sit there and wait, only to find you have NO ideas.
Right Brain: C'mon give me a break, no I don't.
Left Brain: Should we ADD more? Yes or No?
Right Brain: Hmm... *thinking*
Left Brain: ...-_-'...
Right Brain: I don't know.
Left Brain: *sigh* Oh my Lord
Right Brain: That's my honest answer man.
Left Brain: Okay then we're closing it out, right now.

*******End*******

Right Brain: Hold on man, I got it.
Left Brain: ... Why am I not surprised?
Right Brain: No I'm serious, I got it.
Left Brain: Okay, well what? Huh? What is it?
Right Brain: ...
Left Brain: ...
Right Brain: ...
Left Brain: See, what I'm saying, you're doing it once again.
Right Brain: No I swear I just head it in my head. It just slipped.
Left Brain: Oh really, well I'm not waiting for that.
Right Brain: It's not like you've done something like that.
Left Brain: Something like what?
Right Brain: Remember that time you tried to put together the "hate sonnet"?
Left Brain: YOU HAD THAT IDEA!!!!
Right Brain: NO I DID NOT...
Left Brain: Yes you did, and I can also recall you trying to stretch a 17 syllable poem...
Right Brain: ...haiku
Left Brain: ... Into a 17 page poem.
Right Brain: Yeah what's your point?
Left Brain: It's not a haiku if it stretches past 17 syllables.
*******both character voices fade at this point*******
Right Brain: Oh yeah, well what about the "peace flyt"?
Left Brain: Oh there you go again.
Right Brain: That was the worst idea you ever had
Left Brain: It would've work too, if you had better rebuttals
Right Brain: I didn't wr......

*******REAL ENDING*******

Note: I wrote this because people asked me what do I think about when i write and I honestly couldn't give them an answer. So let this just be an example of my thinking process when I write.

Thoughts vs. Feelings

Dreams
Thoughts
Theories
Paranoia
Conspiracies
Controversy
…
It's identity for love

What do you think is more important
The heart or the mind? (Non-physical)
Is this something to debate about?
Do we or should we even care?

There is an undeniable balance between these two
With one, we hold and access our greatest desires
Another, we consider and contemplate the same
Asking ourselves if this is what we're supposed to be feeling. I've noticed that people are basically afraid of what it is the heart displays. What it is we really want seems to be a reflective of who we really are, so just the thought of that can be scarier than facing your greatest phobia. Due to such a fear, the mind comes in to sort of organize the situation. We give ourselves an explanation for everything. Enter into a theoretical process of cause and effect with trial and error though none of the activities we think of leave our heads. For the longest I wondered why it was so, why did we operate in such an intoxicating way? The reason is identity. We have become so bent on trying to prove to the people surrounding us that we can live up to whichever reputation or title that our names hold. So used to a pat on the back that we don't dare to imagine how life would be like if it were gone.

Well after a series of a few events, I must say that what it is I have to prove to folks is not a determining factor for me. I can't say I have nothing to prove, otherwise I'd have no will to write. What I'm trying to prove is this voice that I constantly project. No matter how "unsound" my speeches are, I must say I can't regret anything I've ever said to a person, I try my best to come from the heart. But why I do things is not the reason to my current thoughts. I'm wondering over yonder like an explorer, trying to find out why we bite our tongues.

One of my friends asked me if loving someone was determined by your feelings or by time. I don't know why he asked me that. How many relationships have I been in (seriously) that can qualify me to know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he said that most people believed time was a factor yet he himself begged to differ. He views it as a risk, to which you don't know what you're getting into.

So with that being said, let's say someone takes the risk of throwing themselves out there, only to get rejected. What do you do now… move on or break down?
((asking too many questions means I'm thinking too much but don't worry, I'm pulling it together.))
A lot of people breakdown, and once they recover they move on… natural cycle. The next person they pick up feelings for, they might be hesitant to let them know, because they just might get rejected again. If the very thing we're afraid of is rejection, then that just might be something with the identity, wondering if they'd look at us any differently.

Now if this keeps on happening with each person we run across, then what are we to think of ourselves? Why do we keep extending our hearts out 1 person at a time? If it's that yearning need to be with someone then that may just be the problem there... insecurity, which leads back to identity. But I can't bash all the people we tend to pick feelings for, because a crush is legitimate enough for us to get cut some slack. It's just this fear that grabs us each and every time, the one that makes us afraid to be who we are and forces us to conform to our surroundings, so believe it goes beyond telling someone how you feel.

Well my friend thinks that is subconscious, meaning we automatically resort to these devastating thoughts…

…So I ask you, which is more important, what we think (mind) or what we feel (heart)?

A couple of old tweets transcribed.

Quick analysis on Flow
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Control leads to Relaxation, which leads to Boredom, then apathy, next is worry. The worry is guilt from laziness.

You'll get so worried you'll build anxiety (the next step), which hopefully may build arousal (next step) to actually do something.

Once you master and grasp this arousal, you'll then have flow. Flow is like the epitome of self-expression. Creativity and all.

I'm trying to obtain flow and run with it, never letting go of it.

Usually, when a person has flow, they'll get used to what their producing until it gets stale, unoriginal and redundant, lacking creativity.

As soon as that happens, you're back in control, where you started.

You ever noticed that control in music artists?

Their first album can be so genuine, bringing something new to the table.

When it's time for the second album, that flow they had seems used up. There's nothing new and that artist seems to flop.

I think when an artist releases a new album, it should sound completely different. THere are so many creative juices they could be using.

spontaneity helps preserve flow. Discover the improvised side of your art, and your flow expands.

The reason why we lose our flow is because spiritually our flow is a garden "Check out 'The Shack'. "

When you don't take care of a garden it rots and withers and turns into a "mess" that needs to be worked on.

In flow, when we reach a peak in an artistic formula, we may not be necesarrily growing in our craft. We may just be exploiting it...

We're just showing off what we can do while in all essence we're starving it.

That's why complacency is a killer. "I'm not where I need to be, but I'm not where I used to be." Should be our mindset.

Folks who are cocky enough to consider them selves as the best at what they do are indanger of being consumed and controlled in complacency.

Take Lil Wayne for example (whom is having less and less fans consider him the greatest). Do you not think he can do better?

Do you not think ANYONE who also raps can do better?

That's not operating under flow. THat's operating under control. I want artists who have and stay in flow.

I like to think Mos Def stays in flow. What I hate is his critical fans.

I still find it hard to believe how many folk hate "The New Danger" and "True Magic" and even "The Ecstatic", claiming Mos has flopped.

You asked these people why and their reason is because the albums don't sound like "Black On Both Sides" (His first album). C'mon now!!!

That even tells me that even Hip-Hop fans (especially Hip-Hop fans) seem to fall under that mode of control. All 4 of Mos's albums are dope

But I digress... Just obtain flow people. Flow within yourself. GOD blessed us with gifts and talents and purposes us to obtain its flow.

Something I vented in a Blue Room Session

Just to start. A blue room session is what I call when I'm up past midnight writing. I'll usually have all the lights off yet have the t.v. on to the video screen as it emits a blue light that illuminates the room. That's a blue room session. I'm usually lowkey and mellowed out at the time, and that's the persona I carry when I go to open mics. I sit way in the back, taking in all the performances without barely being noticed until my name is called up. Collection of coolness, lol.

Anyways, on one particular blue room session, I wrote this piece below. Earlier in the day I had went to a house party hosted by one of my friends and was a bit disappointed with how wild they were acting...

Hog's Night Stand
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

It would seem...
My best friends consist of:

Pigs with peglegs
With shoulders that hold kegs
And corroded heads.

*******

Implosion, Explosion
In motion with friends upholding on a podium loads of lust locomotion with a pack of Trojans.
They're like ogres rolling in mud oceans for lotion toking dope and non-sober potions to get the hoeing going.

No Yellow lights & No Red lights.
Just mellow fights by a bedside
with fellows high in a sexdrive
for expresso time with their decrepit grinds.

I've befriended Lechers and swine
whom wallow and exercise
in the hollowest of a deficate sty.
With grunts and snorts
they confront and consort the prettiest bait
with a grin on their face you can't simply erase.
Because, their interest is too intimate
'til they finish it
polish that
demolish it
Then broaden their options to a "ShallowSmith."
Then, swallow some more vodka from parties
Discarding, bombarding the larceny arduously as if to say "You're lost to me"
And it bothers me with a passion
the insecurity masked-in
Mixed with today's societal detrimental fashionable fad being transplanted
like it was RAM, jammed into our glands, damaging US as a people
with no unhanding US
we're tampered goods
in a hamper of fools who think it's cool to execute a binge based on random sexual cues.

My best friends consist of:

Broke minds
With a horny goal find
So long as the "hoe's" fine
Oh why?

*******

Why couldn't they see the beauty
behind her breathtaking physique
where she cried for a more indepth reach
to touch her
& caress her
And not treat her like an item
But realize her essence
Pouring in her moans of pain...

Playing with Heartache

Parasite
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Black inkstains have drenched the pulmonary part of him.
The beating part of him that had to be forcefed its ability to pump enough plasma to keep his anatomy charged, as it had considered refusing to work any longer.
It claimed to have grown tired.
It claimed to have worked by the sweat of its brow for years and was now in too much pain to circulate in that life long familiar musical metronome sound that its host had grown accustomed to.
Why?
Because no one seemed to cherish in full sentiment its warming willingness to be presented as the greatest gift that could be given from within the depths of that which composed a shapely pedastal for it to be rested upon 'til the day it set out to bless some lucky soul with its interwoven jolting figure, too ecstatic in the palms of its receiver to ever operate correctly at its proper rate.
It chokes and flutters constantly, imbued in a blush that brings aches and fevers to the subject, causing reactionary stress-pulsed regurgitations that held the contents too sacred to have been welcomed upon by foreign eyes.
An unwelcome experience it is, like being under the rays of spotlights with more solar power than this Earth's sun could afford in an otherwise blackened room that appeared to have darkness birthed of Melanin and Midnights' love sessions, to engulf and conceal the souls that pitied what pathetic entity tried to grace the stage, with John Cusack's Boombox and a handful of withering flowery love poems, praying this last result formula would work.
Wishing there was a potion to feed the delusion and get it strong enough to replace the reality check constantly given to him on the same silver platter he served his shattered self on.

*******

My take on a very popular subject that we probably all encounter from time to time if at least not once, unrequited love. Harboring feelings for someone who does not return them mutually seems so common. What’s interesting is the toll it takes on the admirer. I read somewhere that a person experiencing unrequited love undergoes the same emotional torment that a person would go through in the break-up of a relationship they really cherished. Do you think that’s wild on any types of levels? Psychologically to me, that sounds somewhat short of obsession, which is weird socially but, hey, I need not knock anyone’s feelings.

What are the solutions to such “afflictions”? It’s safe to assume based on experience of the torment that having unreturned feelings for someone is not at all favorable. It’s just torture and pain with no solution if you and whomever you admire can’t seem to see eye-to-eye on your “beliefs”. When seeking council, one would be quick to hear that it’s best to let it go, or, counter your unwanted low self-esteem for more positive yet real-life kinds of thoughts, as it would help further ease the pain of knowing you can’t have what you want (who you want). And of course, there’s always that “fish in the sea” type of analogy, where you’re told that you’ll find someone better and who will appreciate you for you (and will actually acknowledge your existence). All three of those points can, will, and have been used to council people who just broke up. What does that suggest? I think society and culture inadvertently encourages unrequited love on all levels to be within our grasp realistically, and should we fail to obtain mutual consent from the beloved, we are to feel miserable. You have all these love stories in films that all essentially have the same plot: Boy meets Girl, Boy attempts to win over Girl, A series of events, Boy somehow disappoints Girl, then Boy wins Girl. It’s an interesting fairy tale plot told too many times. Every plot is in need of a happy ending, fueling the American Dream, but I digress.

I bring up those points to help state that I believe our take on this subject is indeed a bit flawed, but perhaps that’s just me. The girl who I suffered/suffer for, I’ve known for quite a pile of years. She is actually one of my closest friends whom I do love and appreciate greatly. She knows of how I feel, and she feels for me, so oddly in our closeness I found myself recently talking to her (my friend) about my feelings for her (my crush). It was like a surreal conversation, but it was definitely needed. I asked her to tell me so that I could stop wondering, what were her exact thoughts and feelings about me. It helps to know, because I don’t want to lose a friend, and that way I know where to meet her mutually. Perhaps that’s just my own method of “letting things go” in which case I’d be contributing to the very problem I said our culture/society has with this subject, but perhaps not. Okay, I’m writing in circles, lol.

This “self-torture” method of unrequited love is what grabs my interest most. One of those days I was completely bummed-down about her and in my haste, I ended up writing that piece up there that I used to open up this article with. After I finished, I was completely vented and back to my normal self. I went back to read it and was completely surprised by what I came up with. A nerve was stricken and I pulled a vibe from it. Perhaps out of the selfishness of a poet, I liked the end result to the point I congratulated such “afflictions”. To take a genuine feeling and utilize it in such a way that I want to do it again. Sounds almost like I’m abusing my power of being able to write my emotions down. But if anything comes out of it for an artist, perhaps it was made to live on.

One suggestion I heard on unrequited love is that you don’t ever tell the person of your feelings if you don’t plan on winning them over, or lack the confidence or appeal to “woo” the beloved into your arms because, though they deliver what seems to be depression should the admirer get rejected, they also have the power to bring euphoria (the kind of stuff socially unacceptable) to the person who knows what to do with said euphoria. I’m not saying turn into a crazy person, but don’t torment yourself. Take usage of such a longing in a way that beautifies and humanizes you back into the reality it pulled you from.

But I dunno, perhaps this is just a personal blog post meant for me and my writing habits I’ve grown to on certain extremes. All I can say is, I find myself vouching for Unrequited Love, as it makes for good poetry. :)

*******

"Notice, how the ugliest thoughts bring out the artist. Cathartic"

The Lonely, Lonely, Loner

The Lonely Lonely Loner
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

Moving forward
Moving backward
It's either up goes the protector
Or down the attacker
The lonliest loner at home
Isn't even alone
The hermit has visitors
Loneliness overthrown
Doorbell has cobwebs
And fingerprints
Doormat shadow is darkened
But who's lingering

Who's answering
Is the loneliest loner who's always alone
Distant in a seclusion even at home?

It could be possible he's lonely lonely
A double negative
Misunderstanding
The lonely is phony phony
Only a tool
An instrument
Only solely
Used to suffocate conversations that were so deep
So steep
So as to penetrate the closet of skeletons
The things that made him so weak
So to speak he's a lonely lonely loner
Mystery aroma roamer
Grasping clouds
Sort of like a stoner

He slips away while he's surfing his brain waves
Until he gets wiped out
Sanity no longer remains
The climactic reactant thus rushed through his veins
Faster than the highest pressure through a pipe drain

...No more pain
The grip that his darkest deeds and enemies
had on him can't be maintained
Tears, sweat and blood seem to leave no stains
All washed away when it rains

Until then
Moving forward
Moving backward
To escape his lonesome self
Is a haphazard
A technique the loner still hasn't yet mastered
Quick to slip away
If only he could do it faster
And be more speedy
Enough to outrun the greedy
The nosy, the needy
Those who bleed into his life
Just to make him sign social peace treaties
Until he can no longer speak freely

Until he can no longer yell stop
His heart
His chest
His loss of breath
It's locked
To reflect his mess
His stress equals a mental complex being torn down
And a cardiac arrest

Loneliness is a restriction
One that gives a depiction
Of how he felt no one would listen to his word diction
And when somebody finally chooses to listen
He goes back into his loneliness just to dismiss 'em

He's trying to clear his head yet his nerves steady twitchin'
Due to the hallucinagins injected in his system
Distorted innocence
Searching for replinishment
How does he escape the point in which his mind deminishes
Being a victim to these cynical predicaments
These experiences are becoming fairly imminent
Thus his lonely loneliness is treated by his ignorance
A bliss that awards him in mischievousness

Moving forward
Moving backward
A lonely misfit unfit with unpleasant attractions
Almost able to escape
From those who cannot relate
Yet it seems to be too late
Confinement in an open space
How can his joy be so temporary
Limited, insanitary
Dirty and inflammatory
Burning him bad and scorching
The earnest of his attempts
Turns into a furnace
Progress is exempt

All over again
The loneliest of the loneliest
Who has a bone to pick
Can't seem to do nothing about it

His world is clouded
Ready to release the rain
For some reason this time around he doubts it

Embracing what he once tried to escape
He's now a lonely lonely loner just for loneliness' sake

Moving backward...
Moving backward...

For the Enjoyment of the Writer!!!

Rules & Regulations (I Just Wanna Let you know that)
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

I Just Wanna Let you know that
Listeners only listen to whatever's beneficial
Whatever's influential
Institutional
and/or comes from kinfolk

Readers only read foot notes, good quotes, and some hood jokes
Whatever looks dope
With a sweet freshness
Like sugary soap

Speakers always speak
As if noise is a constant need
As if silence is a forbidden practice
Practiced by wallflowers
Outcasts and introvert recluse bystanders

Writers are always writing
That is until they dine in a block for months
After depleting what seems to be
A limited literary ammunition
Leaving them to cope with thoughts stuck in thoughtform
With the current ineptitude to make said thoughts tangible enough to be listened to.
But then, they finally re-emerge with a brand new feel
A brand new tone
A brand new home

But unfortunately by this time
All the listeners, readers & speakers allowed the position of the writer
To be usurped by that which had the ability
To instantly display aimless entities with no caricature

Nothing but a frame of a crack or crevice worshipped
As if its detriment was what made the world go round n round
From the Masters to the Slaves.

Speaking of which

I Just Wanna Let you know that
Slaves only know what they're introduced to
What they're allowed to do.
What they’re supposed to do.
Because, what was previous made Massa too envious
Labeled it as devious and said it can't find a friend in us
No beseeching us for any type of leniency
Only do what you're told and behold
The rest of your days'll drift by peacefully

In other words:

"We won't whip you as much
And we'll let you slip through as such
As another ignorant kid who only wants
The same crap we give you for lunch
Such as glam, glory, glitz and an unhealthy lust
'til you're all spent and too far gone to touch"

Oh, my bad.
I was just reciting an excerpt of an old corporate spiritual.
It can be heard amongst a herd of exquisite
Undisturbed
Unperturbed
Unslurred
Sirs
Whom only have 1 nerve, Which is to gain power
And if your fun urkes it, past a certain hour
Then you'll get unearthed, in a sense you'll get devoured
Because you were too bold/sour for the cowards/prowlers.
So they take a chance at amusing theirselves
By abusing their powers

And they said:

And I Quote:
"I Just Wanna Let You Know that
Listeners from now on are only allowed to listen to
Repetitive loops; laced with anti-lyric Super-Duper Sedative tunes
Playing thee most popular swaggalicious lullabies being fed to the conscience like edible food
'til you throw on the ole iced-out ice cream persona like you're the veteran of cool
But then that'll get played out in the next 5 months, rejected and booed.
Like why are you still wearing tight jeans, lettermans and boots?

I also wanna let you know that
Readers have to adopt their own nomdeplumes
In order to react to their favorite authors
Whom all wrote thousands of novels
via cellphone
140 characters in length
Detailing yet another chapter in
their autobiographical rants
with trends of topics to chant.
And you are allowed to promote
No, you are required to promote
The occasional inspirational tweet
About how to live life, hold a conversation
or relationship seek
From the voices of these... speakers
Whom we already talked to upfront
When we told them their speeches
No matter how run-down, cliche'
Duly penetrating to the he say, she say
Talks of innovation
You can appear to be deep
Like a wise sage of a fine greatness
Who spends 5/8ths of his time
Speaking a divine language.
And no one's allowed to turn up their noses
Because that would make them social atheists

TURNING DOWN YOUR GOOD BOOKS OF UNTITLED APHORISMS!?!?
IT'S BLAPHEMOUS
IT'S MADNESS
IT'S UNIMAGINATIVE
Ehh, they're just haters.

Oh,
And if you don't comply
I just wanna let you know that
You'd get bumrushed
By the new waves of fans we made
You'd be labeled as crazy and love depraved
For not having nor sharing this succulent taste
In a thin-layer craft that SOME HOW placed a grudge on your face.

Oh and Writers!!!
I just wanna let you know that they're about to not exist anymore
Because extinction is the result of what we read in their diaries.

And one of them read (and I quote):

'Shouts of revolution 'til our narrator voices crack
And our pair of blades in holsters clash
With their segregation choices crap'

So we locked them all in a blockade-dungeon-labyrinth
Then shackled them to a nonsensical trivial list of pleas
That started off like
'Mister Please'
With begs of mercy devices such as
'My sister needs'
And we made them memorize them and recite them
to help liven the ripeness of our bitter schemes
Then vocalize them to the horizon
With the face of a hypened heightened chipper means to socialize
Like we're hope disguised
with a brightened shining glitter sheen
Replacing what tried to save them from that worker drone monotony
That we had so intricately developed
For the sake of occupying all the free time they seemed to waste
Doodling with wishful thinking of sentimental metaphorical value
And we're resorting to this because
they kept illustrating their day dreams
In an uncivilized acrobatic manner
Catering to an anarchaic Barbarianism-esque threat
That rejects the traditional double-spaced indented MLA format we gave them.
So we vandalized the sessions they formed
Then took the weapons we forged
And then we slayed them
To be rest assured NO ONE tries to test the cord of our verbatim
But the rest of you slaves,
listeners, readers, & speakers need not be afraid
Do what you're told and behold
You'll have peace for the rest of your days.
But in the mean time,
Just in case
We're monitering the words you say.
Your notebooks better be copypaste
Of our mocking taste of your blossoming days
Laced in that silent melody that left you locked-in-a-daze.
Like fat children hypnotized by chocolate cake."

And the letter ended:
"That is all
Have a nice day"

And with that, I picked the pad back up
Danced with it 'til midnight turned back to daylight then the sunrise declined
By the pale moonlight
Then finally reemerged with a brand new feel
A brand new tone
A brand new home

And I shouted

Listeners, Readers, Speakers
Please don't allow the position of the writer
To once again be usurped by that which
Has the ability to instantly display
Aimless entities with no caricature
But of a frame of a crack or crevice
worshipped as if its detriment was what made the world go round n round

Because us writers have something to say.
I just wanted to let you know that.

*******

I've been reading alot of serious poetry lately, thus I felt the need to sort of parodize it, but hopefully without insult or blasphemy towards the emotional tolls one goes through in the process of writing serious poetry

Lost Melodies!! (My occasion Achilles Heel)

Ive recently ran into one of my pet peeves. I call them lost melodies. Lost Melodies is a tantalizing blank uprising that makes me rant about my colliding world. It forces me to stomp in the night to the plight that divides me from the whims that I write, making my skin kinda tight. I feel like a parent who doesnt recognize their beloved child. Beguiled to look at them with a face of denial. All because I see the piece yet cant remember how it reads. My dear these are the lost melodies. If only my brain could retain their frame... :/ ... But then comes conception again once my eyes link up with my College Rule Lined girlfriend. I pray Im not as terrible a father this time around while I wait for my abandoned children to be found.

Does this happen to anyone else? You write something that must be read a specific way and some time afterwards you forget how it goes?

Have you ever noticed...

…so many up and coming MC’s (if it’s still appropriate to call rappers MCs) are self-proclaiming themselves to be Hip-Hop’s savior? It’s like an endless loophole of rap music Jesuses performing counterfeit miracles as the previous one-hit wonder withers away like a wilted flower. C’mon man, this is making “saviors” in general look bad. Try other occupations. There’s hiring for just being a dope MC. See how that works out.

Graffiti D.C.: Escribe Adventurism at its poetic finest!!

I can hear the people shouting…

A MOVEMENT IS STARTING…

Like the strategist’s techniques and with chess pieces…

A MOVEMENT IS STARTING…

Like the activist’s shouts of peace from his direct thesis…

A MOVEMENT IS STARTING…

Like the evangelist’s leaving their seats, telling you to select Jesus…

A MOVEMENT IS STARTING…

And because the youth’s have put victory in their reach with the correct sequence…

…A MOVEMENT HAS BEGUN



Those are but a few words that help summarize the phenomenon being taken place in the Washington D.C. area. A movement of passionate slam poetry from the depths of the soul, composed of the rawest talents on the entire scene is what Graffiti D.C. is. When each poet graces the stage, they let you know that this movement is going to take the world by storm. After years of writing and performing individually, building the impact of the words that danced from the paper to the ears of the fans that anticipate to hear a peice, Graffiti D.C. members have made it their slogan that "Slam Poetry is The Art of War." Which means, they all have something to say, and they are more than willing to fight in order to say what needs to be said.

Here are some of the members that make Graffiti D.C. so profound in its message...

*******





















*******

This is all but a small taste of the batter being constantly whipped up as these poets share to you their life, thoughts, imaginations, beliefs and much more in such a blend of unique styles that they've poured the fiber of their being to you like they were gourmet chefs serving up a plate of food for thought to keep you filled for the rest of the night. They're going for more than just a showcase but an establishment as they are here to stay.

Graffiti D.C. asks for fellow poets to take up their pens and join in "The Art of War", a Slam Competition taking place every 3rd Wednesdays starting July 21, 2010. The winner of each slam (totaling 8 in all) goes to compete for the prize of $1,000.00. It'll be cutthroat of words that slice like daggers, sharpened by the determination of each contestant. Be sure not to miss in this powerful movement.

Intentional Daggers (Maniacal is Comical)

Intentional Daggers
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

Roses held a reddish embellishment upon rosy cheeks because my mold of think was to smother thee with a number of cliche heartbroken lines.

Such as, "I can't live without you
nor would I want to even when it seems I have to.
I have to take a shovel and dig past my chest til I find my heart
but it isn't there.
For I took the scissors and knives and carved it out just to give them to you."

I figure saying that with a hint of subtle softness would promote a gesture that would let you put down that social blockade.
But I almost feel like a jester. Just a cunning jester for knowing that sweet talk is what got you into the status you're at in the first place, yet still I persist.

"You are the harvester that I grow my garden for with diligent working hands, that would go and prepare a place for you to nest in."

And what's worse is, that the words and letters go run-o-the-mill the more I speak to you, knowing my cards are being played and I'm running out of maneuvers.
And we'll once again trickle down to that inevitable break-up where I'm labelled a jerk for taking your everything and smashing it with no remorse... then subtly moving on.

All the while, my skills in buttery linguistics to butter up a mistress grows as the next girl listens to my tales of us, and how I reminisce it.

"...And the whisper in her lips
Became the shouting cry in my ink pen.
Illustrating her heart as her tears
Carved scars...

...Holding on to that small piece of her..."

To which another pretty lady is swooned to my addiction that brought them to doom.

An old piece I always end up posting each year

I was looking around and I happened to notice how the world acts and reacts to a day like this. It inspired me on what we like to label ourselves. Slaves or free.

Slaves to Independence
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

How many of us are slaves to independence?
Searching for a freedom that was yet to reach existence?
As we call for free spaces, the bell continuously rattles
With us awaiting to be released from our shackles
Here we are, leaving the cell block gate
Then we wonder of where we are in life and begin into debate
Sending ourselves back to where we started
Us as a people and slavery have not departed
Going off to make many, many decisions
Not one thought has been able to break us from tradition
We pick a nerve to call the assorted people ignorant
Then we try to say we have the pinnacle of intelligence
How is this so when we continue to curse our own brother?
With respect for the power; we lack it for our mother
Traditionalized by the same old pains
With no plans for the future or a will to change
The people of diversity
Are of different culture, but they resemble a family
Yet we still fight negligence
As slaves who don’t appreciate independence

Methods, Experiments and such.

Okay, so this is a writing assignment I use to fend off writer's block. Usually the finished product may feel like just a piece for yourself, but plenty of ideas awaken from it.

The Inscriber's 6-sides of Madness
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Writer's Block
Writer's Cube
The Inscriber's Cube
The Inscriber's 6-sides of Madness
Glued
Tattooed on a box vacuum
That expels the bad fumes
While strapped to
A detonation device
A suicidal vice
When recitals find plight
Seemingly detachable

But when you're so attached to
Catching a bad wrap, then the cycle only presents the worsening effects

The 6-sides then collide
Squigilly lines then digitally deprives
Absorbing analog vibes
It's more than a bumby ride on the lumpy side,
funny signs
Tell you run and hyde, breaking Humpty Dumpty's Hyde

The Inscriber's 6-sides of Madness
Are fashioned with complacency 'til gladness
Erasing display cases placing Ads-in
Commercial spots that blotch
Eye Sock-etts
Rock-ette Ettiquette
Dynamite Express

Check this and that
Then pencil the map
And instill the fact
That reveals the path
To millions of inhabitants
Whom have a habit
of backwards action
But too confused to have the forward happen

It's every side of Madness
For those too passive
Being consumed, too inactive

Boredom and passion
Forced to be fastened
Ordered by hazardous
Complacent activists

MAN!!!

These actualists to surrealism
Lack intuitives to reality with sure rhythm
Yet they sure hit 'em with a "so-called" pure vision
That epiphanizes, sympathizes struggled living

It's shuffling persistence
Muffles up the listners
The inscriber has subtle inquisitioning...conditioning...positioning
When the pen was no longer glistening
And the Inscriber was finishing
But tell me who's listening?

It's like...

If Affion Crocket told
A distasteful Non-Rocking Joke
With a Mistake of a bomb dropping quote
Being Displayed to the wrong audience of those
whom didn't appreciate...
like it were odd fradulence composed.

Indefinite Aim, Reason, or Pattern...

Untitled Aphorisms Yield the Quickest Results
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

I have a quick theory that pertains to fast life lanes
I have a thick inquiry that contains last life fame
A curious engineering towards living in vein with a massive life dream.

A mind is a terrible thing to (waist)
It's not to be stomached in the feelings and emotions of the average brat that doesn't understand the social transit of parodizing fads and collecting ads.
If you knew that... you're eyes wouldn't regurgitate so many tears.
Your mouth wouldn't sob up a vehement behemoth of pain for replinishment
And your heart wouldn't cracker jack at a stain or smudge from the smug and feel slain.

A (mine) is a terrible thing to waste
You are to preserve your explosive approach to emotional happenings for another time.
Maybe a "funner" time when you run a line or two by that wonderful surprise.
But not while your life drama is like a marathon soap opera in only the 3rd scene of act 1... encore on standby.
Because strapping dynamite and blows for the ones who hurt you most means you lose... Because they knew how to handle you as a foe.
But if you throw them in joyous times as a nuclear warhead of confetti then those very same people you can see cry like you... Tears of joy are the tears you want to employ.

That's also how you make humanistic intrusions into the lives of your rude and twisted passersby.
iT'LL Twist them into a pretzal of special attention that wrestles their set tunes of living
while proposing an unorthodoxal pop that'll unlock their rock heads from the shackles that treated them as untended crops.

These theories come from a nonchalant silent confidante, and a lowkey homey O.G., and a laidback friend who used to want payback then...

The Explanation of The Reboot Series

Okay, as you all know, I’ve finished The Reboot series, so I felt now was a good time to shed some light on it a bit. Such as “what were my thoughts when writing the series” and “what’s the moral of these stories?”

Overall, my original idea was to make it sort of like I was purging the “complex” side of my writing so as to explore the natures of my somewhat abandoned “simple” side. It’s like I’m rebooting and starting anew with a fresh new state. So the idea that came to my head was to treat my complex side of writing like it were a drug that I’m addicted to, but I’m trying to quit. And the full 8 episodes are the misadventures of finding the sober mind of the simple side.

Ep. 1: The virus
The “P”-Virus Storm

The very beginning starts of with the consuming of a drug with the stressed complexity being Alliteration in caps. It’s like I’m trying to stop, but I can’t at this point. I’m feening too much…

Ep. 2: The Sickness
Inkblots of Terrorism

This is the sickness because a person’s body isn’t equipped to handle drugs as a pastime or for leisure, so the person is literally coming down with a sickness. I inserted in through the piece “Page 1” “Page 2” & “Page 3” to further show how the complexity is taking over. So that’s three pages of the complexity drug terrorizing the pages, thus it’s titled “Inkblots of Terrorism”.

Ep. 3: They say, We say
Word of Mouth (Gossip Circles)

I actually took a break from the protagonist with this one. This was the piece that had the gossipers and debaters telling their story about the protagonist and what had happened to him. Ofcourse you can see they’re way off, but it goes to show how folk love to peer into other folks business.

Ep. 4: Honesty Box Mishaps
Flyt to Ms. Anonymous

Lol, the Ms. Anonymous giving me criticism is actually a true story. As I was writing I thought “hmm… that’d make a great piece” so, she unknowingly did a piece with me :). How this fits into the piece is that I decide to make as though Ms. Anonymous was talking to the inebriated and intoxicated complex side. That side seems to send off sarcasm and insults that belittle folk, so she decided to give a piece of her mind. And since our main character is still lost to the effects of the complexity, he can’t take her seriously, and thus makes her into a joke.

Ep. 5: Worlds of Mellow Contemplation
Sanity

The effects of the drug are beginning to bug with our perception on this one, so in this one I took that sort of cliché effect of how I imagine pot heads to be hippies who lay back on the grass and talk about life while they’re high. So in this one, it’s on a mellow “Blue Room Session” level. If anyone may have noticed, I decided not to break the lines in this one and make them into paragraphs. I decided to do that to stay with the writing concepts. That’s the complexity talking.

Ep. 6: The Perversion of Thought
Crazed Logic

I decided to dabble even more into the mind with this one, and now you see our protagonist in an argument with the antagonist. But you gotta wonder “who is the antagonist” right? Well all in all, when your as high as the way the character was written, you’d see images and entities from your mind come to life. The Protagonist is talking to his conscience. And judging from the looks of it, he wins over his own conscience… or did the drug win them both over?

Ep. 7: Dissociative Breakage
Trippin’

This is the climax of the complex drug that our character has been wrestling with the entire time. I wrote the piece with it separated into different levels that go from 1 to 5. The higher the level, the more removed from reality he is. It’s a metaphor that shows how a person’s complexity can put them in a whole ‘nother world. And that translates to me by showing how I’ve been in my own world with my writing. Some say it’s with its own language.

Ep. 8: Recovery, Guilt & Discovery
Letter to the Consoling Consultant

Finally, the hangover moment. The drugs have vented out and our character is back in his right state of mind. The piece written is the only “simple” piece in the story. The one down to earth. It is filled with Recovery, Guilt & Discovery.

*******

And that’s the full analysis right there. Excuse its length. As you can see, a lot was going through my mind with this series. I’m proud of what came from it though. Hope you all enjoyed it as well.

The Reboot Ep. 8

Letter to the Consoling Consultant
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Thank-You
Breakfast was delightful
So very juicy and tender
Truly something I could sink my teeth into

But never again
No matter how enticing your plate is
Do not offer me any

In its illustrious splender
It's tempting presence

Because then, I'd just be living someone else's life...

*******THE END*******

And that concludes the reboot. Hope you all enjoyed yourselves reading as much as did writing!!!

Hmm.... now what else should I write? ^_~.

The Reboot Ep. 7

Trippin'
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

*******Level 1*******

I'm supposed to say...
My thoughts are an open well
springing, sprinkling on the leaf buds
instilling life with a speech
Until a garden is created in the depth of my breath
Like a grove of strength
for the weary to drink from

But instead I said
Time's up, you're draining
I'm unplugging!
No more water hosing
Fire dousing
Drought rerouting!

The little dewdrops shall evaporate
And the cloudy day shall only instigate
Hiding its silver lining in a sly gliding
Coasting fly winds 'til it vacuums up
In a twist of words
The jist of verbs
Can split a nerve
And spit absurdity
Nervously,
Perfectly,
Thunderously

Bent to consume in high volume
You, and the whole worlds value

*chuckle*

Rapid invasions invading
And grazing the layerings

*chuckle* *chuckle*
*chuckle* *chuckle* *chuckle*

Rabid enslavings encaving
And pastings foul casing tracings

Roll-up your sleeves and fill up your gorde
Get blood on your sword.
Leave a few ligaments torn

Just don't be too busy tooting an off-key horn
Recruiting sloppy forms
Of braggadocio swaggering cocky allure.
Don't drop steep or depart detours
Because unfamiliar territory's...

*******Level 2*******

It's the ills of an illustration!
When you can't eyeball the illusion

...ill-fated

It's the ills of an illustration!
ill-hatred is ill-fated
and ill-tasting!

Now while you're sitting in your observatory
Forging a scoring of morphine to forcefeed
towards your teams reporters

Folks are hopping the border for water
Jumping fences for stipends
Causing glitches with an order of symptoms

.murder.
Is it unheard of for foreigners to have concern for
Discerning unlearned love?

Deserving a sum of some
One of them; break the trend
Releasing something deep in his skin to all of his "friends"

What's with his wide-spread wildfire
Consuming, devouring to satisfy its hunger?
Birthed from the abstinence of peace in arguments
What's augmented is ripples in the plans of ones prominence.

...

It's the ills of an illustration
Foulness in litigation.
Shuffling the shuck and jive...

*******Level 3*******

Okay,

Let's have some relaxation, baby
Some tiresome somnolence, infant
Some rejuvenation you, child of a patient
REM cycles and evasive language,
With a kid whose mind dreams of spaceships.

...

The other day I lost my lollipop
And I was shocked
My jaw had dropped
It wasn't in my pocket when I left the park
Luh, Luh, Luh, Luh
So I had thought the guy I bought the lollipop from would have replaced it with yet another pop
but he would not
Luh, Luh, Luh
Thus I had plotted at my spot
To hit his shop, instill his heart
With fear apart from fearless arts
But acts afar.
Luh, Luh
I rolled up in at 6' o'clock and I was hot
A gun had cocked, my heart had stopped
I'm bested by a rent-a-cop
...Luh...

*******Level 4*******

Suppose the prose took an overdose approach
On the boast boost and added it to its goals
As opposed to sitting in a folded chair when
The thrown was over there.
It'd be arrogant, haughty, barging into
Parties unthoughtfully with promising ways
To tarnish speech by way of slurring it until
It's inaudibly edible by the starving credible heads.
Ordering without giving warnings of forging a
Powerful mournful story with no boring scenes
And its entire world is warring against the
Pouring on of another man's authority,
Thus the fight heads to a gore allure allegory.

The annoying gaseous pull in me seemed to
Derive from a timid smidgeon of experiencing
Extravagant living with adventurous pilgrims
And swash-buckling lavishness built into a
Thrilling. Thus the explosion that caught
Me was probably my own escaping from
Embarrasing awkward moment zones,
And into a strange venue

*******Level 5*******

There is such a bulbous pulse up in this
Pompous pauper poppin' proper points to partners
Punctuation markers prick the paper market
Sparkin' problems, hot-and-bothered thoughts are bulging
Out the office, causing pods of awkward plots
To bombard solace with a pause..!
...
A polished pause
A stationed silence
A quiet inquiry
Asking in confused curiosity...

"When will rejection regret its reflection and resound in its reasoning"

...
...
...

*******BINGE*******

The Reboot Ep. 6

Crazed Logic
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters


This is a story of a protagonist and antagonist. Each with crazed logic. But you examine and determine who's logic is more sane.

Protagonist: "There's rigorous rigor mortis on the borderline
The girls I thought were sorta fine now scorch my eyes, with their enormous hydes you'd see on porno sites.
Plus they adorn the hype and they look for the shine of being the whore I liked.
Should I say whore or dike
or neither?
Let's take a breather. I'll make it sweeter in my flagrant teaser.
Or maybe risque and ask with patience either, if I can taste the beaver,
or be the adjacent receiver of her little shake squeezer.
They've made me an enslaved speaker."

Antagonist: "Uhoh, there he goes,
with his dilated pupils and his wide-ranged flaring nose,
developing a more scary approach.
Hoping to get someone's cherry broke
claiming he'd tear it in two,
speaking in derogative defaming dysphemisms in places where kids ride merry-go's.
Now the children swear it's cool to swear at fools.
They say it at charitable functions.
Just lunchin' with sweet potatoes and pumpkins and won't leave the table for nothing.
Look at him. His presence is menacing. Devastating.
He's negating positive objectives with his imaging.
Something livid in me is growing vividly when comprehending his incomprehensible sinful mentionings"

Hey you!
You over there!!!"

Protagonist: "Yes!"

Antagonist: "I have regards to shank you"

Protagonist: "Hmm!!!"

Antagonist: "You should get strangled, with your head disconnected from your spinal cable"

Protagonist: "Ouch!! Who are you?"

Antagonist: "It doesn't matter dude. Just know I'll end all your scattered grooves tatooed on your perverted unmannered school mind"

Protagonist: "Really!! why?"

Antagonist: "Why? I oughta"

Protagonist: "You oughta jump off of your high horse, and consider what'll happen if you maintain this course of action"

Antagonist: "How could you be so nonchalant about what you're saying?
Displaying a chauvinistic, nihilistic, twisted vision incentive persistence to this wicked living?
I don't understand
I don't understand"

Protagonist: "Chilly beings are eating chili bean burritos"

Antagonist: "???"

Protagonist: "Y'see,
Fervently my purpose'll be harmonious symphonies
Spoken from me, potently in motion with opening
And hoping these virgin locomotives have extra nodes
To place me juxtapose to a stepping stone
via catapult.
Just give me a quick jolt
Or a lightning bolt from the electric vault
That's strong enough to put a massive halt
Into my fradulent plastic hoax
Before I smash the thown
Of some wannabe Olympic Cheerleading Mistress.
A hopeful whom has wishes to get a "riches ticket"
Even if it means signing to a business
that places her into a group that rhymes with "witches"
which is quite livid
One little signature incision
Then life goes from priceless to a lifelong stipend"

Antagonist: "Well atleast she can go from eating crackers and biscuits
To muffins and Triskets"

Protagonist: "???"

Antagonist: "What is more disturbing is your unnerving wordings of treating girlies to pearl-links
attempting to swirl their thinking.
Crushing them while their blushing for you with your mushy mushy lovey dovey "lust for you" tools.
It's inhumane, insidious & evil
And what's worse is your insouciant, inhibitions!!!"

Protagonist: "No, it's my intelligence for telling them what they'll amount to by having their surroundings plundered til slumber.
But my hunger for supper, in the world of a lover, loves her, trusts her, but succumbs when she finds another.
Thus I mutter and utter and possibly stutter things from beneath me in a gutter to rupture her."

The Antagonist punches the Protagonist dead in the face. The Protagonist falls to the ground.

Antagonist: "Just as your ruptured sir"

Protagonist: "No, you're ruptured worse. Because I have enough in sudden spurts with an absurd lurk to put you and hers in a hearse.
All for my unearthed flirts."

The Antagonist walks off, whispering to himself.

Antagonist: "There's rigorous rigor mortis on the borderline..."

The Reboot Ep. 5

Where the break-down begins
and continues
continues
but where does it end?

...
...
...

Sanity
By: Uriah CivILLian Walters

Please level with me. I need to tell a speech that tells ya "help ya peeps, especially when medleys of good times dont settle these stressing dreams." But they told me I need a lesser theme than what was naturally expected of me. Thus I siddled softly with a soundless esophagus, lost to what I should do with my haikus in high noon. I was suggested to distort their message, and set a horde of wreckage along their forts to test em. But can I give this moral lesson to these more or less men whom would sport my sessions and support my next trend with a core alledging? The world is filled with deep speakers, and nay sayers all relaying the same saying each evening. Just condemnation of street heathens with leech feenings for bleak weekends bleeding seepings. With expectations to follow suit with no questions asked, I felt sort of bad for this lifelong chore I had. Support my past and ignore my habits. It's more important that my orders passed down to me afford a path. I'm steaming pouring sad, seeking for a rag until I can reforge a plan of reachingly alluring ads.

I half suspected Math and Tetris brought a step of wreckage. Im grasping lecture sessions, mad at my profession. Am I supposed to sit collecting dust, while asking questions of, religion, politics and sexist love? Before we go deeper the sessions up. A few seconds is not enough to evaluate the problems you're thinking of. I met a guy who told me brainless is a language. Its natives are famous, proclaiming we embrace it. I stood adjacent because as I heard him say it I noticed how he looked faceless displacing my thought engagement. My brain shifted to this sane rift. It ripped in the fabric of my planet of man ways, mane I couldnt main-age. Attaining what he's yapping in a dull face that sported a lulled pace showed his heavily involved days. How could a simple puppet preach to me? No scrutiny, leave it be. It just caught me oddly all his remedies. I couldnt help but wonder if his words applied to me or if I should be rivaling this bridal theme our minds'll cling to. But then he said "don't worry. If you gotta think about the things that come out my meaningless mouth you'll be fine." Now I'm seeking routes more freedom endowed. Or should I say freedomly bound?

Please level with my antics and thoughts that were built on a bridge with someone walking it, passing a torch, ‘til he badly got scorched and fell to the ground, which meant within a snippet of an instant, he done blazed his limbs and anatomy’s form.

Burning my bridges, adding on gasoline and match-stick reeds. Stacks of leaves and branch rippings in a trashed city of a masterpiece.

The Reboot Ep. 4

A few weeks ago, I was engaged in a scolding via someone on my Honesty Box. Constructive Criticism is beautiful, but I wonder how to react when my scolder won't take off her veil for me. Thus, the scoldee (Me) ends up rearranging matters (For better or worse: you decide).

Flyt to Ms. Anonymous
By: Rob "The CivILLian" Walters

Ms Anonymous: Your starting to become an asshole and I dont mean that in a bad hater type thing but the way you talk to people as if they are dumb makes you seem like a jerk which is why some many people kinda distance themselves from you.
All out of love just try not to sound so judgemental and that might not be the way you want your words to come off but it how people take it.
Love you Robert <3

Me: I know exactly what you mean. But it's hard for me y'know.

It's like riding a metro.
Going down the tunnel never getting tired of the echo,
Or going in the living room smashing the China in a trenchcoat
that smells like a pineapple expresso.
You can see all your problems and 1 sinus and then let go
Without at all feeling silenced by strep throat.
You're just required to yell louder and higher
and grow a spinal at every approach.
Y'see, The impulse of ailment annoyances
cause you to fail in enjoyment
Waisting pails and grails of ointment.
Playing a pleading to prevail an annointing
All the while not noticing the avail of more positive choices.

Y'know, sometimes... I dunno
I feel you're more worried than an awkward kis at middle school
who carries an elementary lunch box filled with last night's dinner food
dressed in the high-water bundle of clothing
passed down form a bi-polar uncle who's sort of controlling.
There's no sense of security in your stumble of shackles
Only slipknot confusions
Like high-heeled flipflop boots
In a room of outdoor illusions
That leave the aftertaste of a sour nuisance
in the mouth of you who conclude
to have a cowardice influence

You better recognize man
Follow the exercise plan
Or else I might second or thrice a jab
Until you see polka-dot checkered lights in your head

lol, hahaha
Just kidding my pudding
It's not my bidding to place shushies on you
with 1 finger on your lippies and a fist
provoking folk to say "hey lookie"

I just think you're tripping in your hoody
Your HB anonymity.
It arouses something quite enticing...
...wanna be roomies? :)

lol, hahaha
Just kidding my pudding
My sugar dumpling of diabetics to my word wit
who for some reason finds it worth it
to disperse a verse from your lips
adding insult to injury as a perfect fit
treating identity as a pile of worthlessness.

Ms. Anonymous: see this is what I mean being an Asshole instead of just taking the comment and using it to work on yourself you chose to take it to heart. Keep this up your going to be without anyone but God and family, and I'm sure your going to say thats all you need but that just means your accepting to live a lonely life.

Me: I know exactly what you mean. But it's hard for me y'know.

*sigh*

But I dunno, I'm trying to listen to you
But are you hearing me?
The advice sounded cool.
I just can't take you seriously!!!

:(

*******

So there you have it. But I dunno, you decide.

What is to become of Rob if he continues this course of action?

The Reboot Ep. 3

Word of Mouth (Gossip Circles)
By: Uriah “The CivILLian” Walters

They told me what happened
The other day at the place.

One man said it was a robbery.
A man used a few tools
Just to get a few jewels.
Enough for him to buy toilets with golden stools
Just to make the people who owned it look like fools.

"That's not what really happened"
Was the words of another man

*******

Gossiper 2: The owner was home
The reaction wasn't pleasant
Could've been the best robbery
Had he wouldn't have miscalculated
By one second.

And for that second, he was thrown in prison.

Gossiper 3: But also I heard that he made an escape
Slipped out of his cell
And even left from the state.

Gossiper 2: Wait a minute, where did you learn this from?
He didn't escape
He never left the cell.
You might as well call that his new home
When it comes to being locked-up he is no genius.
He has no crafty skills
No constructive mind spills
It's just someone else trying to make a steal
Who just got caught
Against his will...

Gossiper 1: No, No, No,
You guys are all wrong

He never got caught by police.
As soon as he left the house
To his unbelief, the cops stood outside.
Now, he didn't give in that easily,
This was just the start of his joyride.
Pulling off, he steers left and right
Top speed, practically out of sight.
The police might as well give up
It's obvious they can't catch up.
Not with their little government whips
That vehicle of theirs can't even pull off any tricks.
So the siren dies out in the background,
And the thief gets away without a sound.

Gossiper 4: The chase was not at all that simple
Law enforcers happen to be alot more nimble.

When someone is labeled a criminal
Cops will maximize the seriousness
No matter how much the crime was considered minimum.
They did lose him at first,
That is until the foot hits the pedal,
Making the exhaust of the engine's burst.
Blast off down the road they go
Cars swerving
Blue and Red lights flashing so close
It gets you to be unnerving.

Debater 1: But this man can't lose confidence.
To get freedom taken away...
He might as well end this chase unconscious

This theft of his can't be done in vain
Can it?

Debater 2: No, he needs these royalties attributed to his name.
With a few quick turns through alleyways and passages
The robbery will be successful
By whomever travels the road fastest.

Gossiper 1: And from there, he fled to another country

Gossiper 3: I heard he went to London

Gossiper 4: No, he's in Mexico

Gossiper 5: Yeah, he owns a business there now
Due to his invested money

He sells ball caps
Along with hotdogs & chips.
He gave my friend some drugs
Just for the hustle respects.

Gossiper 6: Actually, He just gives to the poor.

Debater 1: To the poor?

Gossiper 6: He felt it was imperative to steal
To give to whomever needed it more.
See, you must always look around and explore the person's motives.
It's not just beneficial to his status.
He even stole a house and sold it
To the highest bidding gambler.

Debater 3: You're lying, how did he do that?

Gossiper 6: Ah, good question
To which I do not know the answer

Gossiper 1: You mean you didn't hear about the fire arsenal he had stolen?
He took shovels and drills,
Planted bombs beneath the house.
The ground shook with such an explosion,

And the house flew 10 miles high in the sky.
Then 20, Now 50
It even flew passed to where the planes fly by.
Then it dropped at an incredible speed,
Miraculously landed,
Intact!!!
And with a new location it seems.
Now that's outstanding.

Debater 3: And you said he sold this house?

Gossiper 6: Yeah, he sold it to the man he stole it from
Just to get some money from him
And then some.

Debater 3: And then some?

Gossiper 1: Yeah the owner doesn't know who stole his house from him
He sees the thief as a hero
For bringing the house back to him.

He was willing to pay 5 million dollars.
Now that's 3 times what was originally paid,
But the bids had forced him to go farther
And the theif gets away with ALL of that.

Gossiper 4: All from a house robbery
To a house given back.

Debater 2: Well, whatever happened to him?

Gossiper 6: He was caught by the police
After all of this time
Finally put in a penitentiary

Gossiper 1: No, he never made it to jail

Gossiper 2: Yes he did, but he never made bail

Gossiper 3: The cops once again failed

Gossiper 4: This was a plan that he nailed

Gossiper 5: ...Now he ships illegal merchandise through mail...

*******

-_-'.... And that's when I decided never to go by these word of mouth gossip circles ever again. Just an impulse of false conversation, fueled by our own creative authorization...

...But then again, that may not be too bad... :)!!!

The Reboot Ep. 2

*sigh* This was intended to be a daily update for the series, but unfortunately as soon as I post Episode 1, that's when the Cable Guy comes and installs Verizon Fios while at the same time disabling the internet. And it was off for a few days until my pops went ahead and did some configuration (which I'm sure I coulda did considering the major at my alma mater) that got the computer back on the web today. Story of my life. But it any case let's get back into it.

On the previous episode of "The Reboot", The virus made it's attack. Will it take over the mind of the speaker? Find out today, on "The Reboot."

Inkblots of Terrorism
By: Rob "The CivILLian" Walters

******* Page 1 *******

Allow me to adjust my jibberish
So as to adapt this new found niggerish insidious symptom of ignorance...

...ignorance and...

...HATRED
Hate, Hate, Hate, Hate, Hate!!!

It seems everybody holds it
No one controls it or folds it
We're caught in origami poses
Crumbled by the crease and pressure
Of some worded conversation or
a lack of proper patience
With a jab in constellations
See the...
Dotted lines connect with the alloted time
You had, which was ample enough to take part in a crime
Then you get arrested
Get pardoned a line
Get pardoned a sentence
No periods, only commas publishing appearances.
Or perhaps ellipses epilepsy
Where you go insanely crazy during pauses and phazes, where partly written phrases
inspire you to go call your agent to get a brand new sheet of paper
'cause there's rips in your aggravation.

HO-kay!!! Let's dump it and start anew
With my valuable, reliable clean slate of fallibles
The volume booms
The value insues
Distorted installation of information...

******* Page 2 *******

But there is hatred on this brand new sheet
In the form of chicken-scratch dabblings and scribbles on the little syntax errors.
No declaritive nor imperative sentence tenses.
All the words tenances is
visually finished with
Question-marks of cat killer curiosity
Blossoming?
Possibly
Tarnishing
Prodigies???

Is this an aut'mn anonymity from overseas?
Or just the overseer of my anonymous falling dreams?

It's incomprehensible
But is it improv expendable?
Am I a slip-off dependable
To my tip-off memorables
Just for a big applause from critics-who
Belittly you
A chip-off the o-riginal
So pitiful!!!

Pitiful
It's pitiful
Terrible hand drawings and carvings
Nothing but wasted paper on artistry,
The part that departs from me

******* Page 3 *******

And we all seem to hold this molding that's molded
smothered in the smolder of ink and soot
suffocating our respiratory lung passages
'til we're coughing up it's awkward backwardness

Getting spewed on every single page
With the glaze of rage
That we didn't know we had encaved
Until we're enslaved on this last stage
Of past age
Immature vast rape on innocence's
"Glad phaze"

Black sheets of blank paper for journalism

News flash, every booklet is sold for tourism

Inkblots of terrorism!

The Reboot Ep. 1

Counting down to my 20th birthday (06/15/90) , I'm going to entertain you with The Reboot series. A series of peices I wrote detailing loss and rediscovery, but you can give your own opinion on it. Be sure to comment.

*******

The "P"-Virus Storm
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Storm drain,
Abash Abash
Flood over the abacus of the underground
With trash, with trash...

Listeners,...LISTEN!!!...........?

Soak within the sewerage of unsanitary
nasty-esque lineage for dirt replenishment.
Undistilled, over-filled, no conceal
overflowing 'til it overflows to overflowable PODIUMS, PEDASTALS, PROXIMITIES of toxic intolerance.
POLYCHEMICAL radiation fluids of POLYSYLLABIC PROBLEMS, so PROBLEMATIC at influencing POLEMIC discussions that the POLITICALLY correct will get criticized to POLICIZE the POLICY to cause a POLKA-DOT POLARITY to the POINT of no return for clarity...
.........
But just when the POISON begins to wear off
... The POINT of view gets PLAGUED to POLYGAMY.
POLYPHONIC musical notes are PLAYED with POMPOUS POSITIONING, PLACING a POMPADOUR-ESQUE autocratic POLISHED crown on the POISED, to PORTRAY POPIN-JAY traits to the POSTERITY.
They will POSTULATE the POSSIBLE...
PROCRASTINATE with a legacy of no POSTHUMOUS dates...
POST-PARTUM POTENTIAL wasted on a PLATE with no POST-PRANDIAL effects...
The toxins are POSTE-HASTE

Storm Drain

No Man's Landers (But I Digress)

No Man's Landers (But I Digress)
By: Uriah "The CivILLian" Walters

Your musings
Are amusing
It is like that music
That moves me
The chuckle in my heart
Was a serious face
'til you broke it with a smile...

...but I digress...

A cheerful heart is the mass hysteria
When the crushed spirit is the norm
It appears to be a poison to
our mouths that we at once
would dare not drink.
We would rather wallow in the
thirst that consumed us
until our bones ran dry.
Simple no man's landers, forcing
A desert to be paradise
And sand to be our beds
With stones as the illusion
We see in the distance, giving
Us a satisfaction to our faces
It indeed joy were birthed out of
our self-mutilation...

We became so used to the aches
And pains and toils and struggles
And weights, that we had forgotten
Any opposite setting.
We were the settlers of a hope
That we had no hope in
So when we saw a way out,
We despised it as if to say,
"Let's go back to Egypt"
Let's go back to being servants
With no purpose
Whom felt worthless
On this Earth with
No reimbursements
'lest it be a keen inertia
That'll redeem a worker
With an idle sidle
Too far back in recline to be inclined
To make a revival as his bridal engagements

A cheerful heart is the mass hysteria
When the crushed spirit is the norm
Yet, it is the medicine
When the crushed spirit is gone

Let the crack of your smile
Be the dawn of your surroundings

...but I digress...

Whoever ought not have a sparked thought that'll mark the route of our conversation is free to jump in just to say nothing to add to that plush blend of nonsequitur observations.

As Gravity Turns Off...

"...for being weightless is a worldwide addiction we all relapse to..."

(from time to time)

That's a line from my latest piece that I'm escribing. Haven't finished it yet as I'm shaping which direction it should ultimately be in. It's based on a newly found thesis that came to mind. The whole world seems to want to be weightless. (metaphorically speaking)

To be weightless ofcourse is to be burdenless and without a worry in the world. No stress about a job or stress about school or anything that the average group of people (depending on their age) would be losing sleep over.

The goal seems to be to find a way to be successful so that we may live ourselves in a nice house like we were royalty. We'll lock our doors and stay in our towers for the rest of our lives drowning in entertainment as the rest of the world now works for us. That's the american dream right there.

Not to sound so negative on the situation though. What grabs me is how everyone is looking for that escape. It's like their own souls have to take a break from their bodies and surf the waves of something that takes them out of this world where they'd be weightless if for atleast a small period time.

I'm not just talking drugs, though. I'm talking hobbies and imaginations as well. And I find it so amazing, because if like is so busy and we're running around like robots all the time, then when gravity turns off, that's where we're truly defined as unique. Now, if only we could usher this uniqueness into the reality that stands before us.

My off switch to gravity aside from writing is ofcourse video games

*******

(Digressing)

Speaking of which...

This has always bothered me...

I never understood why folks, when they got angry. I'd hear them say
"I'm tired of people playing games..."

so many icebreakers with this one...

"Man, I'm tired of people playing games with my heart."
"Yo, I'm tired of people playing games with my mind."
"Son, I'm tired of him/her playing games in this relationship."

"I'm a grown man/woman and I ain't got time for no games."

Really???? I'm honestly starting to get a handle on why you may be stressed.
Now ofcourse, I don't no the situation of any of these people. It may well be a very serious one that indeed could be quite stressing and maniacal. I've just never been a fan of such a thing being called a "game". Folks are making games seem like some heinous joyride that takes a bite out of each and every one of us until we are no more. As if a game is a killer setout to end you. Honestly, I don't believe that is the case.

I also don't understand how games are only for kids. That's like saying every adult is required to not have fun and to stay in a state of constant slavery-esque torment. Plus, look at the adults around you. Majority of folk do look joy deprived and unstable. Only robotically focused on what they "must" do and how stressful life is. Life is beautiful because of its art. And games have that type of liberation as it too is an art. I'm not even talking video gaming but games in general.

Look at any situation you're in. I want you to look for what's stressing you out. If it's out of seriousness between two people I honestly want you to take the time to retreat from it as though it were a game. Excuse the rhetoric for those that may have been caught off guard. People don't imagine anymore. People lack innovation the way they used to have it in their childhood days because they throw it away as they get older for something more socially acceptable. Folks are afraid to embrace their weirdness. Their art. And that little bundle of carefree, innocent joy slowly fades away, thus making them say "I HATE GAMES", missing out on the very thing they may need to liberate and rejuvenate their creative juices to fuel the strength they once carried.

I say, if people are playing games with your heart or mind or relationship, then by all means, play along. Multi-players make action co-exist. It's quite fun. Besides, it's probably the excitement you needed. The stress is just in your head :)

The humanizing things we tend to overlook. ^_~.

In what ways do you turn gravity off?

Hip-Hop on Repeat

Do you know why Hip-Hop is the way it is? Why it seems to just be a marketable gimmick that lacks the talent and art it had in the previous generation 20-36 years ago? Most people will say that it's due in part to the corporate world taking hold of it and ruling it with an iron fist starting with the tempting of the artist with the riches they always longed for. Then, hooking the listener to want to follow in their footsteps, thus creating watered down carbon copies that further distorts an already bland message until all that's left is a hook and 2-3 verses that literally had no meaning to it beyond recycled braggadocio rights. Lastly there's the broadcasting of all these elements to an almost religious level by almost all major mainstream hip-hop entertainment outlets so as to give the illusion that no brand of hip-hop is greater than it, even in past generations. Also, it's a given that a heightened level of ignorance is encouraged so that you can have just as fun as those kids wearing shades and pants that look like tights who literally became famous because they made up some weird cheerleading dance. It's like elementary hypemen going around the school to prove who's the greatest class clown with the greatest sex appeal with a given that they have the greatest phallus of maximum pleasure to every female that catches their eye for the night. And the lady's role is supposedly the quiet concubine that dances 'round in the videos like a good/bad girl.

That's a summation of what I consider the main points that everyone talks about when they bring up the question "Do you know why Hip-Hop is the way it is?". But I'm not here to comment on that specifically.Instead I'm asking another question that I think should now be more important.

Do you know why Hip-Hop is STILL the way it is? It is now the year 2010. As Early as 2001, I heard a song that MC Pigeon John did called "The Heartbeat" on his album "Pigeon John is Clueless" where he talked about the state of Hip-Hop and its unbalanced commercialization with a line that said "...I wish Hip-Hop would die, like disco and supply a seed for something new to multiply." In 2006 Nas made a declaration with the album "Hip-Hop is Dead" that Hip-Hop has died for that same reason that Pigeon John mentioned. The following year, KRS-One and Marley Marl dropped the album "Hip-Hop Lives" to state its resurrection had begun. Also around this time, The debate known as "Hip-Hop vs. America" was broadcast on B.E.T. that showcased Rappers, Black Scholars, parents who's children listen to hip-Hop music regularly. In late 2008, Author Tricia Rose released her book "The Hip-Hop Wars" and it discussed what we talk about when we talk about Hip-Hop and why it matters.

The reason I bring up all these references is to say, we all knowe what the problem is in Hip-Hop. We all know why so much garbage is continually being spoonfed to us like it were the only source of music and existance. I'm sure this argument probably began when artists in the late 80s decided to establish themselves against the fast growing market of gangsta rap, but judging by the topics and debates from just the last 10 years, it's apparant that something is wrong with Hip-Hop and something needs to be done.

So I once again ask, Do you know why Hip-Hop is STILL the way it is? My answer: because, we continue to talk about it's a brand new discovery.

If I gave the average Hip-Hop listener that I know my iPod, they would most likely not come across any artist they recognize (with the acception of JJFP) and that being simply because I like to search for music not so widely advertised because, I enjoy it more. But one major petpeeve that I'm coming to find is the way people comment on my music. This goes for people who enjoy it or people who don't enjoy it. People who don't enjoy my taste in music will stereotype me and say something like "You're not from around here are you?" or something like that. But I can handle that because usually they'll just say that only with the first listen, any other time they'll either be evasive, cautious, or open-minded. The people who do enjoy my music selection however will give me the same comment every single time. It goes along the lines of "That's what I'm talking about, that real Hip-Hop music, not all that radio crap." And they can say that every single time as if it never gets old.

You don't need to constantly express your vehement hatred for commercialized Hip-Hop. Just enjoy the music that's been placed in front of you and not make it a platform for a roasting session for Lil Wayne just because he didn't write this song that you enjoy so much.

Sometimes I feel alot of these "Real Hip-Hop" lovers are almost in denial for liking the music they claim they hate so much. Out of their mouth, you'll hear them say a name of a rapper they say they don't respect more than any MC that they'd blast on their stereo. It's almost as if they always have that radio on, waiting for the latest song to drop, just so they can talk down on it. In all honesty you're adding to the hype that the song gets which inevitably makes you the hater that we thought only existed in the commercial world.

If you want to get rid of something, why make it the topic of interest? I can understand your passion to exterminate it, but don't make it immune to your extermination process. You're going to mess around and catch a conniption drowning yourself in what you want no part of. Instead let's continue to search. I have a wide selection of Hip-Hop that none of my peers have heard of. I'm not bashing they're music, only inviting them to hear with open ears at talent that wasn't picked up on the 106th and Park Hip-Hop radar. Approach them like that and who knows, perhaps they'll come to an epiphany and say "what in the world have I been listening to?" lol (wishful thinking.)

So, to sum up, I say that Hip-Hop is alive, it's been alive, but the shock value of the more popular stuff drowns it out when even the avid Hip-Hop listener doesn't acknowledge its existence.

"...if you don’t like what you see in the Hip-hop glass/ know the future is a present from the Hip-hop past/ and if you don’t like the gift it’s giving than don’t rip the ribbon and tip your glass as if this is living/ demand more/ let them know you won’t stand for it/ we gonna have to change if there’s no fans for it/"

- lyrics from "Hip-Hop Music" by The Phanatik on the album "The Incredible Walk"