Family Ties in letterbox, big cymbal crashes;
True story of Ebony and Ivory, retitled
"Shut the Fu ck Up, Nigga."
The audition was rags to riches and the lead
actor took success to the head and got creamy in the noggin.
Four sheets the wind and we just leave the public
access on to help our rested head's will crawl back in.

Check-writing to sketch-writing.
Not a face to tread oe'er from the box.
A bit where Daphne Dupree is to be interviewed by me
and after lapse her nose starts to bleed profusely and
the people go "Oh!" ya know? and the point
was turning her bedroom eyes and sweater thighs
into a timeline, and boss, she just don't need that.
We've been jogging on the balcony
with Nicorette for weeks.

You sweep up slider boxes and torn pocket thread
and in return you already know how to speak,
So now you're the auction caller and you're beating
it out of Ted Gudekunst.
"Was that the place with the table fountain?"
"No, it was a little joint where Daphne was working"
and everyone raises that head off the pillow
to go 'Boy yeah' and the only thing wrong was
more solidarity,
more apathy,
more plugged into the timeline of a
seed, bud, sprout so far planted in the ground
it's ideas of us all from decades swelled his
head too big for him to get out.
Poor advice.
Last edited by stellar_legs at Jan 18, 2012,
bedroom eyes and sweater thighs is an overused image/idea. The sweater was stuck in there, but the rhyme of eye/thighs with a bedroom in the thought nearby seems a bit lazy coming from someone like you who has a well-established history of inventive images.

The rest of this was okay, but won't stick with me like your pieces usually do. Nothing about this leapt out at me, the content wasn't fascinating and the delivery wasn't your normal shock and awe; so I don't have much to go with.
change "boss" to "hoss" and you get an A+

but in all honesty, I mostly agree with Zack, a bit forgettable.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
Boss was carefully selected.

Damn, I thought this piece meant a lot.
Thanks regardless, all.
Poor advice.
I was really happy with this one.

As we get older out hard-nosed senses dilute into
safe ground of pop culture and easy targets, and our once acerbic
dispositions soften and we find ourselves railing against a
surface villain - a topic that cheapens our thoughts, but is
ripe for Beat scrutiny and shit head views.

I honestly thought I did this well.
When you guys hit your mid twenties then maybe this
moment of clarity will ring more true.
We become docile, fickle beings sooner than you could imagine.
Poor advice.
I'm 25 (in a few months).
I'm not getting what you're laying down. It isn't that clear. I guess I got the general idea that you were going for (I got the same things you're hinting at) but I didn't feel it in my chest, if you will. It didn't ring out as a moment of clarity or something that would resonate with me; it was just a story for me.

Damn, I thought this piece meant a lot.

just because it isn't written well (in whoever's eyes) does not equate to it not meaning a lot to you. sometimes I write garbage but that garbage heals me.
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn