Lemming, lemming, lemming, that’s all that you are.

I watch you plummet from the tops of the cliffs, to the piles of others like you below.

To not even know, where the predecessor is leading you, rain, sleet, or snow,

throughout the heat, throughout the cold.  The chill in your bones,

won’t matter much longer, because I know your prone to what others have fostered.

A mind of your own is the necessary tool you lack,

why else would you follow footprint after footprint until you’re flat on your back.

And what’s even more whack than that, is there’s more behind you, and that’s a fact.

So allow myself to step aside, set up a temporary reside,

and study your features, how these mundane creatures,

could delve to the depths onto other lemmings filling the bleachers.

If I could intervene for just a moment, and be a teacher to these students,

but what’s the sense when you and the others are fixated on prudence?

I suppose if I could run ahead to the front of the line,

maybe move the first lemming to the left, instead of over the ledge.

That could be my pledge, cross my heart, to embark on a revolution;

yes, this is the start.  It’s exactly the spark,

that this dim-witted, dim-litted existence needs to illimunate the dark.

If I could make a difference to just the front of the drum-line major,

it might just be enough to set a course of difference actions.

I’d call that a job well done, and pat myself on the back,

and sit atop my own throne, knowing I gave everything I had,

despite acknowledging there’s a few things I lacked.

But for now I observe, and await my time to impose,

my dish is not ready to be served, I’ve only begun my prose.

Squiggs

There’s a skeleton in the closet, a monster beneath the mattress, and I stand a scarecrow unafraid of a box of matches, a little bit off my axis, crooked like every spinal column, my brain wears a skull and I’m still trying to find the problem. I’m autumn this season ‘cause I’m changing my mind too often and the reason is the ladder looks much taller from the bottom region. Always seeing demons in a place that reeks of God, because the author of your dreams is often sleeping on the job. It’s like the carpenter’s hands no longer recognize the hammer grip, and Jack-Be-Nimble wasn’t quick enough to dodge the candle stick, a metaphor for life’s abandonment of perfect balance, but I stand a scarecrow unafraid of a little challenge, like questioning an answer, ‘cause everyone has a Goliath, and David wouldn’t have made it if he waited and never tried it. Autopilot removal is crucial for every pigeon that dreamith of someday leaving the ashes to be a phoenix. But what if the zenith isn’t as scenic as you imagined it? And what if Alice’s rabbit was only a bad acid trip, with Mad Hatter laughter and caterpillar collaborative drudgery, all for just a mediocre cup of tea? That’s life ain’t it? Like you painted a self-portrait and then framed it, only to realize you hate the artist that made it.

losers die, and so do the winners
it only matters what we are in tha begginin
we’re all the same, it’s all a game, it’s all for fame
and i call it strange that we all will play
so fuck this, fuck the entirety
fuck the emotions, fuck the society
i gotta get out, without the doubt inside of me
projectin a project of what i try to be every day
ive forgotton how to embrace pain in plenty ways

It’s funny, i date girls, you con hunnies, i make raps, but you make the money
we all in this togetha, so i dont see whats better in stackin cheddar
with every letter you produce cause the weather is rough like zeus
dont give a fuck bout you when i touch that caboose of the girl
you be stickin, world fulla chicken heads its like love is a different pledge
you cant make even if ya got the donation, a heart’s hard to come by but
spot all the patience, most heads cant take it, fallin offa bridges
onta pavement, scraps for the vagrants its amazin, our cicle of life
it aint like what you see on tv honestly, it’s an ugly place
statein truths as i run through space, it’s a hunt an chase, bumpin bass
in a sunken state.. incomplete.

I’ll post some more tomorrow

–OminousOne

(my) hands grip scripts in sandscript, i manage ta damage the oulandish bandits
rappin famished without a plan, shit, im standin without a scam, get
real before you try ta rip a mic, cause i rol with the gifted type
who always rippin right, pay attention and listen like
you duckin a fuckin fist in flight, cause when i done with my run
there wont be a bitch in sight, my writtens tight, and i lay down the law
and phase crowds with raw straight sounds that drop jaws cause i stay poundin hard
with this rap shit, wack shit is cracked quick when i smash it with action
massive skill that just cant be measured, i crush rants with letters
emcee’s dance with cheddar, but get my flow must grant me better
status, cause these kids is tradgic acts, spittin average crap
patterns wack need a fuckin magic hat to make battle raps worthy of my battle axe
when i spit theres no aftermath, plain and simple? i got phatter raps
and unravel fast style when i free, to catch up youd have to travel back to see
what im about, and im about to leave, a fat gash on your fuckin mountains peak
cause yo i use my mouth to weave my mental fountains leak and gather clout and steeze
while you left out to freeze for doubtin me

–OminousOne

yo It’s simple, i leave emcees mentally crippled
launchin rhyme like nuclear missles,( i keep my ) brain silos With notes
synchronized im linkin ties to tha rise of underground, an’ you wont miss those
mainstream gay dreams of fake teams with lame steez, i rip jokes
an’ my worth is deep like poetry, what did you think im rich with, gold?
i haunt minds with this flow - cause yalls homo, ya just so so
so-ditch. the lyricUL tryina climb out ya ditch to the top?
kids, your thinkin’s too wishful
i tip toe, stealth like, an belt tykes without help like
steady assassinatin, massive greatness cause i melt mics
avid statements with the basic interprutation cause do it fluent til’ its felt right
like hell might send a hitman, cause i bring heaven on earth, with my own idea of gods
so yo fuck a christian, and the “what would jesus do” wristband
im flowin phat raps with mad cats that match gats like clack clack!
with words and mad tact i smash you herbs with attacks that hurt when i act berserk kids!
cause ive mastered work on track, with ill-verses

–OminousOne

my science be applied with lyrical violence
flowin real CURses that get ya aparatus to snap
im phatta than cats when i splatter a rap
matterafact you crews cant pathom the facts
i fashion with tact about how im madly in love
with a dream of polishin rap, while mainstream
artist get known but they just scatterin crap
ballistic bullets spray from my mouth
while emcees pray im out of ammo, i cram flow
down they neck without respect, im ghost
found in check without an ounce of rep
bouncin checks of the mental, goin insane with instrumentals
boxin beats with a toxic dream of rockin streets while poppin geeks
with sentences that prove smooth, droppin neat
styles like basketball rhythms, smashin all visions
of bein more than half as raw as livin my life
im rippin the mic like grippin it tight
distilling the right sound that might sound like your favorite emcee
but they get washed cause they wishy, they big dreams soundin iffy
at best they gonna diss me for proven they cant rip me
but yo its shifty, the average cat is fishing for a deal, but cant find one
cause the producers are actually listening
at least they should be….
lookin at mtv with all these could be’s, but they style’s all hooks, see?
i took a look see, to find they all shook trees, makin money insteada leaves
i better be, top rated when compared, cause i dared to flare a real glare at the prize
i stare at the size, of my tries, and lable them despised by the guys who write lies
in these lyrical slump, lyrics i dump out could be material for material chumps
im clearly in front, so back of the bus, its cool until the bus stops and ya wack as the rust
you turned out to be, you mastered the fuss of how to be a g
but cant make one until ya image is faked, uh! you snakes run cause ya late ta class
im makin fast riffs, with phat spliffs and a hint of magic

–OminousOne

Strike a match, wake the bats, shake the cave and laugh at complacency’s collapse, break the traps, lay the tracks, let the face replace the mask, bring a tear to the eye of the needle within a haystack. My all too unusual scrupulous views are beautiful when measured next to the doom of Rubix cubicle suitable. Here’s a funeral for the Jack that’s actually trapped in his box, obviously the last of his flock to master his thoughts. I scatter the rocks you call stepping stones and make a modern mosaic of a pattern that was once thought of as basic. The expression on the faceless shows shock of my intrusion, confusion to illusions i’m using to raise some eyebrows, like why plow the field if you’re not planting the seeds? I challenge a different breed to impede with their apple trees. Riddle me this: a tired man is sitting upon a rock resting his feet while under it a centipede enjoys his walk. Something is lost when the teacher becomes the student and the student misses the cue to improve and nothing is taught, the movement is stopped, like Captain Ahab lacking zephyr and choosing to curse the weather instead of just acting clever. That’s the measure of a go-getter who’s become a deer in the high-beams, vulnerable exposure like the eye of the storm with Visine. My dreams consist of the most incredible spectacles never to bless the devilish festivals in your widescreen. Picture that, freedom, presented without commercial interference, or the false appearance of a true experience. Humanity’s a consequence of our developed institutions and we’ve become the victims of our systematic disillusion. Who is here simply because they were being herded toward it? Who is bundled up in a metaphoric corset? Who’s the most unfortunate? Who’s absorbed in the corporate? And who painted a self-portrait but then felt less important for it? These are just the orders that we’re given, and too many people die without ever actually living. I want a palette to explode all over every single canvas that harbors nervous glances from those afraid of taking chances.

Abstrakt

And thus we pedal into the puddle, rippling every pixel of the puzzle as it bubbles for the thrill of a little struggle, but even a simple rebuttal will render a system crippled, like a million cynics when huddled will buckle the bridge in the middle.  Life’s a bitch with a sickle and the will to swing it at random, whistling opera anthems and leaving disfigured phantoms, once handsome.  When self-perception alone is a lethal weapon, we build a castle of mirrors using just our neighbor’s reflection, dressed in a festive costume, looking like Warhol models, “i promise to be standing when the last domino topples,” said Picasso to his canvas prior to cubist blueprints, ’cause he pictured a circle of life spun with Rubix improvements, and thus, art became more than simply amusement for the bandwagon passengers, critics, and rebel students.  It’s evolution with a capital R that starts a riot, it’s that moment when the caterpillar metamorphosed to pilot, to infinity and beyond, we wander until we’re honored, like the night the child conquered a closet of conjured monsters, for fear of being afraid, we’re made to believe a system, but a system of belief is something completely different, thus we’re victims of a capitalist hoax practical joke, where fifty percent of us sit with anchors, the other half of us float and cut away the ropes that mold us, controlling our focused motives, it’s like learning about voltage while holding a bowl of explosives over an open flame that glows in a knowing brain that is going against the grain of a motoring clone on novocaine.  A rose is still the same even by a different title, so i chose to be the poppy that arose to rival the cycle, with one hand on a shovel and integrity in my free hand, waving at every man living life in a sardine can.

Abstrakt