Tears of a poetic clown - IL. Subliminal 5/21/12
Now I have holes inside my soul,
That are only filled from clapping
So I came to the open mic show,
To hear some poetry, singing or rapping.
Somebody on stage is wasting cliché spit.
Bragging about how good their sex is and shit
And I’m depressed again.
This person up here advertising.
I’ve fuckin’ heard this before.
Don’t wanna hear it no more…
Now there’s nothing more entertaining than
A man who wants people to understand
The tears of a poetic clown,
Which is really just a frown,
Cuz we’re stereotypically always down
Whether or not anyone is around
Now if there’s a frown on my face
I’m tryna keep it real in public
But why I’m actin’ a fool on stage
For applause is a different subject
Please don’t let my sad expression
Take away from this song’s impression
I’m really mad,
at the world that I have
I’ve gone to my pad (and my pen)
To complain and feel bad (again)
Now there’s nothing more entertaining than
A man who wants people to understand
The tears of a poetic clown,
Which is really just a frown,
Cuz we’re always down
Whether or not anyone is around
Just like Taylor Mali did
Bein’ all satirical and facetious.
While tryna to sound smart in public,
But in real life, all I do is dumb shit.
Tears of a poetic clown
Whether or not anyone is around,
I have holes inside my soul,
That are only filled from clapping.
Please don’t let my sad expression
Give you the wrong impression
Oh yeah baby…
For those who like putting their name on shit.
by il. subliminal 2/25/12 4:40pm
“First rule of … (blah, blah, blah),
is that we never talk about …(blah, blah, blah)…” - Tyler Durden
Hey, you, Brainwashed Mr.
self important stenciler,
you ever really ran from death before?
Mr. Take it in your own hands and jack it,
so that you can brag about it to your friends
over a round of PBR.
You’re a hepititis laced dildo, with no batteries.
You are not apart of the discourse of importance.
You simply like to waste fluid.
Saliva, Semen, Spray Paint.
Why you know no history?
Or maybe you’ve paid for history classes
Or better yet,
maybe your parents paid for your history classes,
where you sat with a grouped majority
who look like you.
And You don’t like
going out alone, do you?
You do it though.
Cause you need the cred.
You own no latch keys.
You’ve never had to
invent an after school activity for yourself,
have you?
At most,
you’ve had parents too caught up in their bullshit,
to notice you crying for help by vandalizing the neighbors
garage door down the street.
I pity you.
And you,
mr. “I like to brag about back in the day”.
Those who did truly important shit,
don’t talk about it,
because evidence of incrimination
has no statute of limitation,
in city of Chicago.
Where CPD likes to blast real muthafuckas,
off walls,
off roads,
off lakeside cliffs until they drown,
off rails until they split spit-rome shock twist.
This risk…
is not a big thing,
beyond writing your name.
What’s your name, again?
This is not something you become famous for,
except to your haters and contemporaries.
What’s your name, again?
Even if you do risk your well being for your art,
people will still ask,
What’s your name again?
The ones who become legend,
do so after they disintegrate,
into paint fumes,
or into a parents basement,
or a county cell,
or a desk job,
or an art school,
to a bar stool,
to a back room,
to an uninterested ear…
Attempting to live out the good ol’ daze.
Our Future is Odd
by IL. Subliminal 2/21/12 9:45pm
Epigram - “Earl puts the ass in assassin, put the pieces of decomposing bodies
in plastic, puts them in a bag and mixes them up with scath, feeds it
to niggas like fat chicks eatin’ catfish.”
One of my students said that the only reason he goes to Church is
because of “The Lord” and all the other Females who be there.
Charlie Sheen now smokes some spanking new drug called Tiger Blood.
And brags about 7 gram rock banging.
Charles Hamilton is a man child preserved pubescent by pink lava
lampoons of youtube tomfollery.
Oh, last month he was someone’s girlfriend in Cleveland County Penn.
Earl, I like you. So homo. No pause.
Tyler, I would LOVE to slide into your kelidescope and underdig
why you hate yourself so…
Undertake where you made your mephistopile deal.
Delve into your dark hate self loathingness.
I’ll Wait to watch
while you danced alone
in the pale moonlight of your shadow.
Oh fly lord children.
Didn’t y’all study VH1 behind the music?
Didn’t y’all see Basquiat with Jeffrey Wright?
Oh, I forgot, art movies with David Bowie are too faggotty for your
pubecent palate to swallow.
Earl,
because your mother cared enough to send you 2 boarding school,
you MIGHT get off easy.
Don’t you know that NO ONE loves the Genius child?
Tyler, I know you witnessed
Michael - first hand,
pause,
Every Man’s dream is Never Never…
really possible.
Bells tinker away from the clapping sound.
Panned Peters piper in pies too hot for a young man like you to injest, sweety.
The shadow yo’re slowdancing with is
piloting you to the masses,
masking you as gyro meat (lamb).
Nailing you up on billboard charts and
drain your penned fountains
for his own youth sirum.
That’s all the hyenaed hipsters want, something to laugh at,
Something to milkbone manage,
Someone to make plastic,
mass produce,
Make parody.
Imitation
Is the greatest form of mockery,
the best trick the media mogels ever did was make everyone believe that
the vaudevillien tar n red lipstick
No longer exists.
What will you do when
the next Vanilla-Elvis-Timber-Bieber
cuts your head and
Uses it as a soupbowl?
What happens Earl,
when he passes around your
Mother’s C cup around
at the Superbowl?
Getting paid billions more than you to
Scare blackpeople into
skinhead sayonce slurred shock.
What happens when his quirky cousin gets signed by spitting your lyrics
wit popcorn porcupine proficiency.
What happens if when they
get awarded grammy
n your black n blue music isn’t even
Jailhouse rockin’ thru the
payphone to your mammy?
What happens when your doomed to repeat someone elses miscalculation?
What happens when ur crazy enough to expect a different result?
Hopefully, you’re real giddy go lucky.
Hopefully, this is all a dream during boyhood, meaning momentary.
One of my students said that the only reason he goes to Church is
because of “The Lord” and all the other Females
who be there every week.
Our Future is Odd.
Elegy to Rihanna’s “S&M”
by IL. Subliminal 2/13/12 11:48pm
Epigram -
“I may be bad, but I’m perfectly good at it. Sex in the air, I don’t
care, I like the smell of it. Sticks n Stones may break my bones but…”
Listening to this song
makes me feel sexy,
As if someone tied me up
and fucked me into my proper place.
Listening to your
pre-pubecent squeel,
Re-Re,
I feel a little dirty,
In that middle aged,
white MALE privilege
Sort of way.
That watching barely legal porn
while wife n daughter are upstairs sleep sort of way.
That Disney-Boiler-Room-Enron-
Rupert Murdock-Congressman Weiner sort of way.
In that
“we molest boy bands and
Market Human Trafficking on VH1” sort of way.
You ever watch Taken?
My pops wishes
that he were Liam Nelson.
Because if my sister
disappeared,
She would be fucked.
In that ruffie cocktail,
and heroine syringe,
Sort of way.
There are no Avengers
no Batman
No John Grisham great white
Mathew McConnehey
on the way to
Rescue.
This is what it is.
Chris Brown goin’ upside your head
caused a whole generation’s amnesia,
Re-Re.
Those who ignore patterns are doomed
to be seduced by Pop icons.
Its not easy to forget
the ovens of Hitlers
cremate-baked dreams.
Why is it so hard to recollect
black bones being swallowed by sharks
searching for brown bait
shackled-cuffed like
worms on a fishing rod hook?
Long John Silver,
Colonel Sanders, and
Neo-Nazi Skinheads,
All have something in common…
Sarjeee Baartman was christened Syphilis
and died: immaculately
conceiving Little Kim Kardashian’s Ga Ga
“gaze-fetish”,
French eating 3 Nikki‘s.
What small wonder her large clitoris is?
Pickle jar suspended for sexual experimentation.
How many heads rest in your
California King Bed, Re-Re?
I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, sweety,
You ARE NOT the only girl in the world!
You are a grown woman.
When you “sing”,
Your voice is
Channel’d Clearly into lobed-youth who fantasize your lyrics their truth.
Want proof?
Have an all girl assembly at any public high school.
They think that they are you.
They chant verbatim
when nothing is playing out loud.
They don’t remember
what you conveniently ignore.
Record company owners look a lot like
men who shackled our fore parents,
put them on boats,
split-raped families,
and had children
who tend to pass paper bag
Emergency broadcast system standards.
Like You…and me…
This is not a test.
Chains and Whips
Depress me.
(Source: jamesbadgedale)
