Friday, December 4, 2009

Rapping E=Mc² upside your Head

Yes, I'm sure there's some entertaining and well done Hip Hop and Rap but since I'm not going to spend my time looking for needles in a haystack I thought maybe I be where it's at and here's a song off my Rap Sucks album coming soon.

Dog Poet Rapping.......

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down, dumbit down
pimps and ho's pimps and ho's
back on a leash for the devil again
acting the fool only it aint pretend

This must be some law of physics
if 3 pimp rollers are moving backward on a train
and your are standing in the station
maybe humming love in vain
will they arrive in grand central before you
will the same thing happen on another day
even though you are not moving and
they are going the wrong way

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down dumbit down
down to the bottom

saying stupid fresh, aight aight aight
dis this dis that
word up what's the word
for someone who buys into flash
into the temporary life that is
already gone past

burning and raging
till the fuel is gone
and it's cold and it's lonely
and you got to move on.

Call a man brother if brother he be
or you cop to the fact of the real you and me
are the same as the other
that might just be so
but the rest of it's bullshit
believe me I know

aight aight aight aight
rightright right right
dumb it down dumbit down

when I rap I often think of
Spinoza and Descartes if they were
filtered through a buzzard and then
turned into a fart
they both may have some merit
though aesthetics tend to vary
like the Starship Enterprise
from the Staten Island Ferry.

You got your Battleship Galactica
Michael Jackson faggot
dressed up like a Christmas tree
and you're talking like a parrot
every single rap song can't remember what it said
the [Mc]donalds side of music it's disposable and dead
It leaves plastic cartons rotting on the sidewalks of your mind
you're bitch end up for Wal-Mart they are porking your behind

the shit comes on the radio thumping saying nothing
bitch this and punk that
brain rape jackhammer bad fucking technique
nowhere repetition can't get no relief
sounds like machinery from a factory in Hell
dense as a brick of compressed shit
this garbage really smells.

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down dumbit down
gotta wonder where it is this is supposed to go
gotta wonder where this music is headed
what kind of world it means
what kind of flowers grow there
what kind of people go there
what kinda I don't know where
I am where was I going who was
I when I started heading down
into matter, down into denser darker
hotter thicker closer pressing condensing
pushing can't breathe in this hot
smoky Steven Hawkings bent outa shape
so as to make it look straight
like Picasso on crack took a chainsaw
to the world and some retard with a can
of glue pasted it back together one piece
on top of the other pressing and smashing
and no light, no air, no freedom
and I don't fucking care cause I'm
dead now but I thought it was over
shit it ain't over I'm still here pressing
harder pressing into the shit only the music
is like knives cutting me with a bunch of
bitches and ho's and motherfuckas and fuck this
and fuck that, every word a knife and I'm
pressed into the shit

please god give me something
else let me out of this jackhammer thudding
non-stop shit talking nowhere embarrassing
non-art form load of shit that I bought into
with everyone else and all it did was make Wal-Mart rich
and all it did was make the merchants rich
and they sold it like they'll sell anything
their mothers and their children even themselves
if they get a good price saw off the limb
they're standing on,
do a mobius fuck themselves up the ass on TV
for the right money
call Hitler honey, suck Pol Pots dick

aight aight aight aight
hit the clubs with Mick
right right right right
dinner with Stalin- cocktails with Marlon
douche up with Elton dig up red Skelton
my face is melting
cause I took acid with
bitches and ho's and pimps and punks
bitches and ho's and pimps and punks
" " " " " " " "" " " " " " " " " "

nice world dudes
real Michelangelo Beethoven enhanced natural groove
very clean and crystaline
real architecture
real Spanish guitar and pianisimo forte
a la morte...dead..dead and stinking.
stinking bad...bad ...bad...
You got lost and we got had.

End Rap.......

Patrick Willis narrates:

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Frayed Angels

the frayed angels shed their wings
and descend
into earth’s turmoil
burying their sunlight
in a cloth
of sleek
and willing flesh


incomplete forever
wanders the thirsty deserts of unrequited desire

in dreams sometimes we touch
that place of peace
where longing ends

where the long road of countless sleeps
beckons into the cross roads of awakening

the punishment of separation ends

the slaughter of innocence

the ravaged hearts
and faces of those
who lost their love

there is nothing in this life so sweet
as the touch
the embrace
of one who has come
across all the vastness
of lifetimes

to lie tranquil in your arms

it is as close to paradise
as we
are permitted to come

the casual couplings
the lust of power to possess
are only shadows of this love

ceremonies of torment and loss

for the more one desires
the greater the effort to have and discard

the greater the distance from ones own heart

every living thing
to hold
to that one memory of themselves
in which the candle of love
however briefly...
so brightly

All doubt and hate are merely faith
and love suppressed
And the inability to love worse than any death

Death being only the boat
that sails
us through and into
the fields of eternal peace

not even the worst of us can avoid this forever

it for this mercy alone
that forever exists

there is nothing that you can do
for which he will not forgive you

I wish only that I might linger all of my days in love

Forging that bond that spans
all time
and change
and washes away for all time
The weakness and stupidities of my fear

which is all that has ever stood
between me
and the ones I loved

that has made a lie so many times
Of the living truth

Like all of you

An embodiment of god

all possibilities
at birth were delivered
into our hands
yet we give ourselves into
subjugation to our servants
for ridicule and confinement

Cast out from the castles from where
as kings and queens
ruled all things from within the temple of the heart

cast out into the trackless wastes of our own confusions
amnesia driven
hungry and alone
while those created to serve us
spill our wine
eat our food
and laugh at the ignorance that
has closed our eyes
to the beauty of ourselves

never again will I let myself be
tormented by fear

the love killer

the life killer

Death of a sort comes to us all
no matter who we are
we cannot escape that

we can only accept
and wonder
to whom did it happen?

let go all chains that hold the image

Earth does not speak unless the spirit flames

these times in which we live
dance like some drunken jester
on the edge
of the abyss

great things are within our reach
even as we wait we can see...

the first glimmer of that dawn
for which
so long
we have waited
to see

It has nearly broken me...

but nothing is beyond repair

truly let this moment be
your last moment
of regret

let your heart see
that you
have not touched the best times yet

take back your wings no longer
frayed and fallen

let us rise and soar
as if no one
had ever gone before.

Patrick Willis narrates:

Sunday, September 27, 2009

The Monkey on your Back

Who sprinkles pepper in my pot?
Upon my wall who laid this crack?
Who deals my cards, who writes my plot?
How comes this monkey on my back?

—The monkey on your back is you.
The lurker on the landing is
Your nemesis. You know it’s true
You made the killer and his kiss.

Agent provocateur of sin,
You built the mad menagerie:
The bars you clang, the cage you’re in
You forged in your mind factory.

Never, never, never again!—
And yet the horror’s back, it’s here!
The maggot festers in the brain,
The monkey gibbers in your ear!

by Lasha Darkmoon

Patrick Willis narrates:

I'm breaking with tradition here (and I'm not going to do it again so please don't be sending me entries folks). You're already welcome to print your work in the comments section and if you needed to see it in a blog format, all you have to do is take five minutes to create one and then post the address in the comments. Basically I don't have the time to be an editor for other people's work. I'm showcasing this lady because she is the author of this piece and I wanted to bring the reader's attention to it.

It's a fantastic act of writing and exposes a condition I have long known about but never seen treated with this kind of ability. Be sure and email her if you liked the piece.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Two Reflections

Mexican beaches

whiter than white

sprawled like a fat Cubano chick

with her eyes on my wallet and her heart ready for anything

I told Negroponte it was a good idea

we'd loot the bitch and turn her belly up for

The Pioneers

big handshakes all around

blood in and blood out

it seems to be going around

looks like everyone you can push around

has to take your dick




it don't matter

they're going down

Lansky had the right idea

but it was a smaller scene

hot latin asses

cold white minds

endless stretching oasis

of callipygian fantasy



truck farm the world

I'll plow your north forty with every beggar boy and girl;

lazier that Gunga Din

one gigantic reservation of people that can't come in

some kind of issue to occupy the common mind

those fuckers want our freedom

which would mean they think we



I love it on the rooftops

pissing and throwing shit

look at the savages scramble for it

It reminds me of something

from a long time ago


(worries the corner of his mouth)


I don't know

must have been a long time ago

borders arbitrary and changing like a sidewinder tracks

through the Arizona desert

wind takes care of that

wind rain

come and come again

sooner or later

.... why... I....



cold breeze at the nape of the neck

Patrick Willis narrates:

The road to glory
the road to heaven's gate begins
here on the dusty streets of this temporary
How few they are who
set forth in this
darkness and are not distracted in
their certitude of light

this miracle of faith this
breaking dawn within that will not
be diminished or
extinguished by
the false light of this world

how grateful am I
for the magnitude of
you across the centuries of time
your story cuts into my central core and
reminds me of the way you walked and the
land into which you came and the steadfast watch
you give at the door where you in timeless awaiting
for my tardy footsteps to arrive

however inconsistent I
may be
however held for a lifetime in the
thrall of false adventure and
the silly passions of whatever
impersonating flower in momentary bloom
I will come out of this realm and pass
through the wheel of fire
out of the burning worlds and
horned masters of my frail and wounded heart-
the bas relief of hard resisting mask
overlay upon overlay upon the eternal
blinding light that shall as an
orphan come home at last

Patrick Willis narrates:

Friday, May 15, 2009

A Couple of Poems for the Night's Fading Light

Thank you for liberty as license
in excess to
make us fat and stupid

like turkeys portrayed
as what they are not
but they taste sweet
like the memory of
what we lost

God Bless us for being a nation of assholes
in every country where
they don't celebrate
what we have
lied ourselves into believing
was representative of our gratitude

irony is
the cranberry sauce
and the gravy lines the arteries
of our super highways
in the portable mashed potatoes
of wide load bodies
yearning to be free

where our children are pierced with
navel rings
and tongue studs
the one hidden in folds of flesh
and the other hardening Daddy's
fat cock
while mom cruises the aisles of the
open 24 hours Giant supermarket
in a Valium haze


I been searching

I been searching every day

and generating vipers
like The Bible in hiphop
done by Snoop Dog and
dressed by Diddy
and available in Spanish
and Braille for those who
need to touch what they can't feel and

joined at the hip to
the country we fought to achieve
independence from
who never stopped running the show
and who joins us now
in another nation where
death is the technicolor
dream coat

and we like it better from behind
with a reach around than
we do on our backs and looking
into the face of the rapist
who made sure that the only people
walking on the sea of Gallilee are
Palestinians running too fast to sink

Yeah, I got your
gratitude swinging
I got your illuminated text
and the bloated bodies that
Rumi might have mentioned
if he had been Nostradamus instead

or Nosferatu
in the White House where
they don't get mentioned

We hold these truths to be

we hold these dark woods and
serial killer drop zones in the
ice plants along the sides
of California freeways to be

I wish I had a country to love
I wish I hadn't died in the loading zone
I wish I had not
shit in one hand and
wished in the other

I wish

I wish

I wish

we thank you lord for these blessings we
are about to conceive
with no kind of fucking justice
in thrall
to the Homeland Security pigs
in the hall.

(there was another Thanksgiving
that wasn't on Thanksgiving where my
Mom made me hotdogs because the chili
the family was having for dinner on the
night I got back from the hospital
was too spicy for my 12 year old stomach ulcer

that I got because
someone was so angry and cruel
that I
burned my insides out

I lost it-

for awhile before
I even knew it was there

my health
my life
my heart broken inside

I cried

I wept

I died

My father called me a
special privileged character
he whipped me
like a dog

that's what I got for Thanksgiving

that's what I got

that's what I got
for Thanksgiving every day
and he was a soldier for life
in the army that protected
the land of
fat blessings
for which Thanksgiving is the
day before shopping is celebrated
and the day after the two day wait to shop)

and succotash
cartoons and life
animated characters poping up out of the sidewalk and one of these days

one of these days

"ba ba bada ba bada 'bing' that's all folks."

cartoon spiral sucked back into the real spiral
"buddha budda budda" said the machinegun scream

"Down on your knees!"

"Good grief, it's Daddy!"

For these gifts we are about to receive
from a god that looks like John Wayne Gacy in a clown suit
on a bed of clouds with handcuffs

we thank you god for the rain of fire that
we richly deserve
more for the fundies and missionaries than
we do for the porn

What does it take to paint sugar water under the
eyes of starving black children for
photo-ops in a Banana Republic Safari Suit?

the same thing it takes to be in charge of
exploited children
the same kind of photo-op
of men congratulating themselves for
killing half a million people
so that
their buddies in supply and demand can
make enough weapons to defend the bottom line

I am thankful
on Thanksgiving that
I am not you
and grief sticken too that
you are a part of me
Here in the pumpkin pie wilderness of
the land of the free.

Patrick Willis narrates:

fast asleep
coiled at the base of life
the love of self and its reflection-

the dreams of appetite...

twined one about the other
one and the same
endless longing for expression
to be reabsorbed and born again

like Nicodemus
the mind asks stupid questions
the unknown
is just that


and the reality of things always
more simple than we can understand
amidst the clamoring of-

the dreams of appetite

oh...for what a length of time...
with nothing to measure itself against
except itself
and emptiness
the grand empyrean arched
and bottomless
from which falls
the fiery rain

there in the cauldron of confused
and ever changing shape
came forth whatever was wrought
by fear and delight

fantastic beasts
and languorous Venusian witch
to dance
amidst the purity and squalor of-

the dreams of appetite

where is the solid ground?
swallowing sands swell the invisible winds
and serpentine funnels race
through the carnival ruins of
the wreckage left
from the battle for survival in-

dreams of appetite

how we mourn the passing of the patterns
in the kaleidoscopes twist
what special meaning has any one-
among all the rest?

when the colors go
only the backing screen remains
that…is the sum of it….
…across the face of which
parade the wizards and fools who
pursue the mist.

a temporary focus
and uneasy sleep

In dreams of appetite

nowhere to stop
to stop is to forget
beyond galaxies and
beyond that...

homeward past bright angels
whose work is to refine
all circumstance and substance...

guardians of the soul
at that fearsome banquet-
the featureless night
the black table upon which are served-

the dreams of appetite

bardot upon bardo
from Paris to Tibet

elusive spirals
the upward swing into illuminated rooms
where imagination serves us best
but cannot prepare us for
the splendorous rites
performed by those abstaining from-

The dreams of appetite...

far in the unremembered past
there is a music like coursing blood
a shine without shadow
a milk of self forgetting
a rising, rushing wind of living song

it is the provocation of all longing
the unknown source of every want
to be achieved in silence
under lustrous love-hewn stars
silence has
prevailed upon the world
with all its might

whatever world there may have been-

in dreams of appetite...

Patrick Willis narrates:

Sunday, April 12, 2009

There is No Injustice

There is no injustice

There is often the extreme nearsightedness

of selfish intent

for as long as i stand here
and you stand there

the appearance of difference
is the God divided

and worshiped from a bloody altar
that man has built to his own dark needs

everything moves
toward a unity
gone missing

time and time again

until pain has brought forth the blossom
of loves symmetry
there is no injustice anywhere
there are no innocent bystanders
there are no accidents
and being sorry doesn't help

its not your fault
it may not even be wrong

who knows...?

whose view is vast enough
that passing time does not soon compromise
their line of sight?
who sees well enough

to leave well enough

beautiful bubbles break inside the oceans foam
the water leaks into the sand
then swims away unseen

the wind stirs the leaves
the grass grows
the bees make honey
the fish laugh beneath the surface
and the horses gallop forever beneath the waves
that will never free them

it is only longing
and there is no injustice anywhere

clouds float by like dreams in a peaceful sleep
and the sky is blue
and the sun is brimming with life
and the moon is pregnant with form

and the coyote howls
and the eagle screams
and longing and hunger will never end

desire is the agent of Gods will

and there is no injustice anywhere

the light changes
and gridlock comes
and the car horns honk in Hells unfinished symphony

where the smoke from hidden fires
rises from the manholes and grates
as Jesus blows on his hands in a broken stairwell

with Bethlehem two thousand years away

its going to be a long night

but there is no injustice anywhere

the heat blisters the streets in these cities of wanting
the mad fire dance
the insane dervish in a suit

it fries the palate
all sense of taste is gone

it burns the bowels

and turns the earth an alkaline white
devoid of life

here in the pushing crowd
where loneliness is king
where no one makes love
but are only ashamed

and cannot speak

eyes do not meet

the money changes hands
but never the heart
nor the mind

a place
is what takes place

if you want something else
then go somewhere else
love will only be a problem for you here

It is incredible
and it is insane
it will not get better
it is supposed to be this way

a million years ahead
or a million years behind
t’was ever thus
the city is the same

the drama does not change
the cataclysm comes
and the fiery rain
vaporizes the stage
so that it might all begin again

and there is no injustice anywhere.

Patrick Willis narrates:

Saturday, January 17, 2009

The Big One

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.