Archive for October, 2005

Shambles of Ramble (10/20/2005)

No, I have no interest in walking a mile or inches
I can not be woken even after twenty pinches
Still, damn it itches, my rhyming hand still twitches
I try to write a picture but everything just misses
Cause I’m writing ditches from which I can’t escape
It’s hard to operate when you can never think it straight
Yeah sure, I could bring the hate, but I could never fake it
So just slap me in the brain and fucking try to wake it
And feel so free to shake it, like that shaken baby syndrome
Implant me with some pain, just make sure it’s not silicon
Cause I am still a drone to nothing else that matters
Just watch the image of me and stare as it all shatters
The echoes of the chatter of the people that don’t know
I’m fighting through the static to put on a puppet show
Burning up inside the glow of the lights that never shine
A pressure I put on me that eats at me each time
It beats inside my mind like Donkey Kong upon the bongo
I read through every line and just carry on with my flow
But, what do I know? I’m apparently just emo
“Wherever monkey go, you can be assured that he go”
Yet, as you knock my ego and pick apart my writings
Shredding through the pages with syllabolic timing
Though, you will not see me crying, a thousand left for writing
Your actions like a pill to take my hand and guide me
So, please excite me and do something that is stupid
Go do your little dance and say something that is useless
Just prove to me you’re clueless and let me have some fun
Does this rhyme make any sense? I think I’ll start a new one

Notes: It’s not as easy flowing as some rhymes, but I was just experimenting with this one. I just took any random thoguhts that popped into my head and included them into the piece.

Update: I fixed a few shakey areas. Most aren’t going to like this since the flow isn’t the same as my usual stuff. That’s okay since I don’t care anyway. It’s supposed to be random and stupid and almost trippy.

The Beginning (10/15/2005)

It’s funny how this started, a boy became an artist
Writing out the rhymes with the pain inside my targets
It was art from guys like Vargas that made the journey hardest
Comparing words to pictures, I drove myself retarded
But, so I disregard it and look back upon the moment
The first time I took a pencil and paper and just wrote it
And little did I know it, this shit would be my calling
A crutch to pick me up everytime it caught me falling
Or when it saw me stalling and frozen in confusion
A flow right through my head, like a burst from fury’s fusion
Cause the words obscure delusion and put me right back in the race
They settle every nerve and bring me calm, a better pace
And when I get the taste of the anger and frustration
Like a burst of peppermint, a breath to keep me patient
They give me strength to face it and fight hate with a passion
The flow erases every trace of lost hope and distraction

But, let’s get to the scene, the whole story of creation
The pain to plant the seed and the words of my gestation
With intentions for a girl, to express my inner feelings
To show her I was warm and had more than jokes for dealing
Composed up in the attic, of sorts, inside my church
I was really on the job but I could not deal with hurt
And suddenly these words started forming in my mind
It all seemed so absurd since I was never one to write
Though everything felt right as I grabbed hold of the pen
I grabbed a piece of paper and walked upstairs instead
Far from where’d they’d look, I hid inside the bathroom
Couldn’t care how long it took, so I threw my little tantrum
I finished and I sat still and I pondered what had happened
Where did this all come from? Was it the proper course of action?
But soon the satisfaction came into realization
Now the words are like a drug and I could never just replace them

Notes: This is a simple retelling of the first time I ever wrote a poem. I briefly go over how I was a little envious of the visual artistic skills of people like my friend Mike and how, at the same time, I was feeling the beginning of everything I would feel in the next couple of years. In the heat of the moment and with some intent to impress a girl, I simply ran upstairs to the “employee bathroom” in Regina and just wrote a short little crappy poem.