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