About Me

Blac Garner
I'm seven different people. Six of them are dope ass rappers.

Gideon Wildflower
Most would call me a writer.. but most don't know what the fuck they're talking about.

We are both @APurpleUnicorn .

Friday, December 31, 2010

The Tragic Beginning of "A Lyrical Thrust Into The (Blac)est Heart of Modern Darkness: The MixTape"

My dear esteemed colleagues,

It is with the utmost regret that I sit here typing this on the eve of a new dawn. Things are exploding all around me and it's making my head hurt and my hands shake. I sincerely hope Blac Garner gets his art back without being killed in the process..

But perhaps I shall start this story from the beginning.

It seems that, because of his lack of experience, Blac Garner has had to trust too many people with his project, "A Lyrical Thrust Into The (Blac)est Heart of Modern Darkness: The Mixtape". I believe he has referred to said people as his "many midget minions of Man Research." They have helped him do what he could not on his own. Developing the laboratories of Man Research, mixing and mastering his sound, tweaking the music so that it gives the eardrums a most delectable twang. This freed Blac up to do what he does best.


And now it seems that, in this final hour of creation, some of the minions, in an effort to perhaps glean more money from the already desperately broke musician's pockets, have stolen the 18 mp3s to "A Lyrical Thrust Into The (Blac)est Heart of Modern Darkness: The Mixtape"!

We should have kept back-up files.

Crazies and gentlewomen, the factory above my head has been turned into a warzone as our Hero battles with the forces of gluttony and selfish pride to retrieve his artwork in time. This battle has quite literally split Man Research into two sides.

The Have-Nots and the Want-Mores.


I'm sorry. It just breaks my fucking heart to have to even tell this story. But it must be done.

Blac Garner was only given the mastered .m4a formatted tracks, with the promise that the mp3s were to come shortly. He has been so busy working on his next project, trusting his minions to successfully carry out their work, that he has neglected to stay on top of them. Granted, he shouldn't have to. A job is a job, especially when money is involved. Perhaps these crooked Want-Mores are so terribly evil because I understand there is a part of them that lives in all of us.

But I digress. I was starting to ramble. And I must finish this before the power goes out.

There is a war going on upstairs. Hopefully Blac Garner can get his mixtape back so that you all will be able to hear it shortly.

Now I will busy myself with the disappointing task of making sure that even if he loses this battle, his story is told.

I am not a man of God. I'd much rather be a man of Me. But in this instance, I will pray on it.

With new fears and new tears in the New Years,
Gideon C. Wildflower

I have the m4a files. I am unable to upload them to a file sharing site as they are not mp3s or wav files. But I will email them to anyone who responds to this post with their email. Maybe you all can help this man's voice be heard. Thank you in advance. I love all of you.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

the flightless bird looks up at the sun
and wonders about the myth of unconditional love
the sun
burns bright in the darkness of space
all life
all planets
look up
and nobody can deny it's brilliance
but the flightless bird looks up and wonders
does the sun ever get lonely
does the sun ever feel compressed by the black
surrounding it
does the sun ever look out
and stare longingly at the other
seemingly tiny stars
does the sun need their warmth
because the universe is a dark and cold place
and the flightless bird wonders
why nobody else wonders
as it does
about the light from the sun

. gideon

Friday, December 17, 2010

Cover Art... Bitches.

I'm super excited. You should be too.

Shout out to all my friends, acquaintances, and enemies who have been talking about this project. You all build me up on the outside. My insides thank you.

Eternally mine,
Blac Garner

PS - Fuck you Gideon.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Lover/Flying Lotus Project

You there.


Click this.

Not that.


No, not that either.

And download The Lover/Flying Lotus Project.
My personal favorite is Revival(Soul) ... Listen to the album and tell me yours.
Want to know more about the artist?
last two things...
Thank you Dana, you fine young thing.


Excuse me Andrea.

Currently hiding from winter in the basement of secrets,
Blac Garner

Sunday, December 12, 2010

For The Parent ...

It does not matter
whether they like you
love you
or hate you
Just be there for them
Because they're going to need someone
to be there for them...

Good luck,
Gideon Wildflower

Friday, December 10, 2010


Gideon Wildflower here.

With one quote.

"When I see the blind & wretched state of man, when I survey the whole universe in its dumbness & man left to himself with no light as though lost in this corner of the universe without knowing who put him there, what he has come to do, what will become of him when he dies, incapable of knowing anything, I am moved to terror, like a man transported in his sleep to some terrifying desert island who wakes up quiet lost with no means of escape. Then I marvel that so wretched a state does not drive people to despair."


And one note.



Thursday, December 9, 2010

Lovingly Yours

Making this mixtape is killing me.
I have no food and no shelter.
And $130 in my account that's all going into mastering this music.
Dedication will be the death of me.
Gideon would be proud.

With dreams as sustenance,
Blac Garner

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Jelly Beans

I spilled my jelly beans on the train today. Everyone laughed. I was not amused. I wanted to eat my jelly beans.

Now I don't have any jelly beans to eat.


My belly screams for jelly beans,
Blac Garner

Monday, December 6, 2010

Dream: A Journey and a Priestess

Hello World of Wonders, Mothers, and Human Mutters.

I had a dream. So I shared it with a muse of mine in Ghana. Now I want to share it with you. Here is the email I sent.

I already forgot how it started. But for some reason I was following something. I can't remember what exactly but I remember that the journey started out on a football field during a game. I just walked off and started following something. Then I got in a chair. My brother was there with me and sat beside me. He was asking me a whole lot of questions like where was I going and why did I leave. I didn't know the answer. I just felt something that told me to go where I was headed. So the two chairs start moving. We travel along the highway, travel along some body of water and then come to a subway. The chairs take us into the train and start moving towards the back of the train. I can feel that my brother is as scared as I am. Moving chairs aren't normal and there are a lot of different people on the train. I remember I stopped by one lady. She was obviously either crazy or homeless. But she smiled at me. She was missing some teeth. And she was reading. She tried to reach across me to get another book that was on my other side but I flinched and she stopped. Then the chair kept moving. At one point I left my brother. The chair got caught up in some wires. I ended up getting off at a stop because I saw two offices. One read priest and the other read priestess. The chair wasn't moving anymore but I wasn't sure if that was because I was supposed to be here or because it had gotten caught up in some wires. I left my brother behind to check the offices. I checked in the priestess office and my "Contemporary Black Poetry" teacher from last semester was in there. I didn't want to go in there. She had given me a C.. I deserved a worse grade but I always got the feeling that she had a little thing for me. She wasn't unattractive for a 40-50 something year old woman. But I didn't want to talk to someone familiar. So I checked the priest office but nobody was in there. I ended up going in the priestess office. She asked me about a textbook that I had "found"... I told her I didn't know what happened to it. Then we started talking about why I was there. I told her a chair had taken me to places where I had murdered people and then onto a train that brought me here. I told her that I wasn't sure if this was the last stop though and I needed her to help me get back on track. She wanted me to prove that I was dealing with an unseen force. I thought that was a waste of time and I didn't expect her to do that. She pulled out a poetry book, covered my eyes, and asked me to recite one of the poems... as a test. The words came to me easily...I had never read the poem and I cannot remember what it said now. Because in the dream I forgot the words immediately once I tried to tell them to her. I couldn't. Then for some reason she had a blindfold on. And she kept changing into this young woman ( about 20 )... I don't know who she was. But I kissed her. She was astonished and asked me never to talk about that with anyone. I either woke up at this point or I can't remember how the dream ended. Have you ever waken up and tried to finish a dream in your conscious thoughts? ... I found myself doing that and all the endings I came up with ended with violence. I don't know why and I don't understand any of it. "

I still don't understand it.

Dreamers made this world,
Blac Garner

Sunday, December 5, 2010

A Lyrical Thrust Into The (Blac)est Heart of Modern Darkness: The Mixtape

Fighters, Lovers, and Lickers of Others... Welcome.
Gideon Wildflower speaking.

Our dearly retarded friend, Blac Garner, in a most sincere form of incredible selfishness, may have just created a masterpiece.

I use the term very loosely.

For what is a masterpiece? ... Was the work of Vincent Van Gogh a collection of masterpieces before he received recognition? ... Or did it only become a masterpiece after his post-mortal fame? No, perhaps we should not give the collective that much power. The true power, without a doubt, lies in the individual.

Now, I believe that the human race is in just that. A race. With itself. Trying desperately to catch up to it's geniuses, to it's creators, to it's innovators. Trying desperately to find and define all of those unknown masterpieces.
Intermesting, no?

One could even go as far to say that a masterpiece is defined by it's creator. Not to anyone else, but to himself. For the ego is man's greatest critic.

Now, I was off in my own world finishing my tea while Blac was recording... but I'm pretty sure as he finished he uttered...

"This is a masterpiece."

I looked at him. He was staring at his hands. I found it extremely appropriate at that moment, and from now until infinity, to call this particular project a masterpiece.

But alas, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sorry ladies and gents. I tend to do that. Too much marijuana.

Our... special... friend, Blac Garner has created a mixtape. I tried desperately to talk him out of it. I pleaded with him, screamed even, "They won't understand you! How can they appreciate the weight of such a full soul when they do everything to run away from their own emptiness." I even tried locking him in the bathroom for a whole month. He just scribbled more songs on the walls... the bastard. And so, it seems he's destined to suffer at the hands of you unworthy fucks. For what can a creator do, but create.

I say all this to say...

"A Lyrical Thrust Into the (Blac)est Heart of Modern Darkness: The Mixtape" by Mr. Blac Garner will be officially released to the public on January 1, 2011. I was there for most of the recording and I must say, you all are in for a treat.

Despite my feelings on showing your soul to people who can't possibly understand, I was impressed. And I am not impressed easily. So while you're thinking on the subject please look inside yourself and ask, "Am I ready?" You might be surprised at the answer you hear.

I pray his efforts help you find your ever so elusive integrity.

And i find it appropriate to end this with a toast. Hold on, let me get my tea. Here we are.

To Hip Hop! And to the MC! The Master Creator! May he live on forever and find his home amongst the stars!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

18 years of this shit? ... No Thank You.

hip hop faked it's own death so that it didn't have to deal with the lovechild it had with fame. it knew it shouldn't have been fucking with that crazy bitch anyway...
but the pussy..
the pussy was like diamond chains, velour suits, and big houses in the 'burbs.
The pussy was like drug money.
The pussy was like dreams.
Like waking up to a sunrise and seeing your kids off to school in a beautiful neighborhood.
fame's pussy was just that.
fucking famous.
and just like that
hip hop was fucking famous.
had all the little white kids lined up against the window
watching fame drop down to her knees
their little red noses pressed squarely on the panes
the breaths heavy
as they watched fame suck hip hop dry
hip hop faked it's own death so that it didn't have to deal with the lovechild it had with fame.
it knew it shouldn't have fucked with that crazy bitch anyway
Something in her eyes looked too much like insecurity
Something in her hair smelled too much like inadequacy
And now...
Something in her womb looks too much like hip hop
so hip hop faked it's own death
the formula's simple
shit get's too fucked
you either run or you die
and hip hop ain't never really been about no death

Thursday, November 18, 2010

What do you teach your children about me?

What do you teach your likkle children about me?

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

"The DropOut's Last Symphony" --Blac Garner

Even in pain, there is a song to be heard..
"The DropOut's Last Symphony" .. by Yours Truly

Monday, November 15, 2010

Letter To A Child Born in Poverty but Made of Dreams

Dear Child Born in Poverty but Made of Dreams,

Be bold. Be selfish.
The road you have to travel will be difficult.
Because the path laid out for you it must be paved,
every single dusky red brick, by your own hand
And I wish that I could say you'll be better for the experience
I wish I could say the children you see that have things handed to them
are going to end up worse off
Because it would make you feel better
it would lessen the load off of your shoulders
But dear sweet child born in poverty but made of dreams
I cannot say for certain if that is so
All I can say with certainty is that
Your path will be so harsh
there will be times when you hate everyone for not caring
there will be times when you're hungry enough to sell yourself
there will be times when the world seems to laugh at every motion you make
that fights your own untimely demise
Sweet beautiful child born in poverty but made of dreams
the world will do it's best to break you
But you must fight
You must resist
Because you are
the world's only hope.

Blac Garner

Untitled II: My Weekend

And the crazy thing is...
This isn't the dopest thing I did all weekend.
I love my life.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Favorite Rappers Pt. Uno

One of my favorite rappers today..

And this isn't even on his newest mixtape. Old Shit.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Second Handers

"Yes! And isn't that the root of every despicable action? Not selfishness, but precisely the absence of a self. Look at them. The man who cheats and lies, but preserves a respectable front. He knows himself to be dishonest, but others think he's honest and he derives his self-respect from that, second-hand. The man who takes credit for an achievement which is not his own. He knows himself to be mediocre, but he's great in the eyes of others. The frustrated wretch who professes love for the inferior and clings to those less endowed, in order to establish his own superiority by comparison. The man whose sole aim is to make money. Now I don't see anything evil in a desire to make money. But money is only a means to some end. If a man wants it for a personal purpose -- to invest in his industry, to create, to study, to travel, to enjoy luxury -- he's completely moral. But the men who place money first go much beyond that. Personal luxury is a limited endeavor. What they want is ostentation: to show, to stun, to entertain, to impress others. They're second handers. Look at our so-called cultural endeavors. A lecturer who spouts some borrowed rehash of nothing at all that means nothing at all to him-- and the people who listen and don't give a damn, but sit there in order to tell their friends that they have attended a lecture by a famous name. All second-handers.


A truly selfish man cannot be affected by the approval of others. He doesn't need it."

--Ayn Rand, "The Fountainhead"

Friday, November 5, 2010

Man Research

The brainchild of Blac Garner and Vince Hill.
Once we get enough money for equipment that's not shit,
We will shit on your favorite rapper...
But that's not the point.
The point is getting the music out of us because if we dont, we'll go crazy.
Our music is purely selfish.


Man Research-
man, so that we never forget our place in this universe. with all of it's beautiful limitations
research, as the catalyst between science and magic..


Tuesday, November 2, 2010

The World in My Head Pt. 2

“The people must have a voice!”

Alexander Nelson had to kneel quite a bit to bang his gnarled fist on the desk. He was a tall man but this action made his anger seem small and a little forced. Had the man on the other side of the desk been facing his direction it would have been this action that made his entire argument ineffective. As it stood, it was not. And he did not move his fist.

The cheery mahogany wood stood in defiant contrast to his rather violent motion. In fact, everything in the office of Mr. Pierce Spencer seemed to be mockingly pleasant. The lamp in the corner whispered a dull yellow across the ceiling that reflected onto the simply furnished field of deception below. Three walls opened up to a colossal window that Mr. Spencer often, as he found himself doing now, gazed out of with wonder. Spencer liked to pretend the button on the side of his chair, which he used to call his receptionist, was a remote control that if he wished, he could press and change the channel of his 24 hour view of the New York City skyline. He knew it was that easy. Reminding himself of this made him feel mighty and feeling mighty was of utmost importance to him, though to admit it would’ve made him quite uneasy. The curtains on each side of the window wall were black with white trim. Spencer hated to be too extravagant. He found it distastefully obvious. His desk, though almost as wide as his room, was as simple as the things on it. A silver, translucent paperweight shaped as a pyramid stood calmly on the slightly fluttering sands of paper beneath it. A small radio muttered softly, filling the air with a slight touch of Beethoven. A laptop, a pen, and a small box of tissues all sat patiently in the middle arranged in a fashion that seemed carelessly neat.

Nelson hated it. All of it.

And since his ego would not possibly allow him to see his hatred for himself in these items, he directed all of this energy towards the man sitting in the chair, staring wistfully out the window.

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

Spencer said these words slowly as if he could taste each one and regretted not keeping them in his mouth longer. He had not, at one point in the conversation, turned to face his attacker. He received a silent thrill overtly showing that he knew Nelson knew he was beneath him. All those who knew Spencer would describe him as a strange and quiet man. Spencer enjoyed this and he knew all those who knew him were idiots. He enjoyed that as well. He began to stroke his mustache, as he always did when he knew for sure his actions tormented someone.

“Have you not been listening? You cannot shut my newspaper down! We are the only independent source in this part of the city. By destroying us, you are destroying the voice of the people. I warn you Mr. Spencer…”

Nelson stopped talking when Spencer suddenly turned his chair around. As they locked eyes, Nelson could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise to meet his collar. Nelson was not an easily scared man but there was something in the look that Spencer now gave him that made him want to go home, pack his things, and leave for the other side of the world. Recognizing the desperation of easy prey, Spencer slowly clasped his hands together and staring directly through Nelson he began to speak in an even tone, similar to how one would speak to an angry child.

“You seem a little confused, Mr... eh, Nelson is it? In order to have a voice, one must have a mind. The people do not have a mind. They think whatever I want them to think, whenever I want them to think it. They are all totally plugged in to me. I could get it in my head that I want the sky to be pink and by tonight I will have everyone all over the world convinced beyond reason. You think your little shit newspaper matters? The average human being barely spends enough time off of the web to wipe their ass correctly let alone read a fucking paper.” Spencer cocked his head to the side. His lips slowly extended into a wide smile as a look of shocked anger began to spread on Nelson’s face.

“But, you know this already... Yes, I can see that. You understand that I hold more power in the tip of my pinky finger than you will ever have in your entire life. And yet, you cannot bring yourself to stop fighting. Well consider it an early Christmas gift. I’m putting you out of your misery, you blind, spineless twit. You’re no better than the rest of these idiots. Now you’ll be unemployed, just like them.”

Spencer liked watching his words settle amongst the furrows of the now red face of Mr. Nelson. But he turned his chair around anyway.

“You may see yourself out.”

Nelson almost shook with rage as he brought out his .50 cal Magnum.

“Go to hell,” he said.

“I’m looking at it,” replied Spencer.

He said his last words almost whimsically, with a satisfied smile on his face that told the crushing story of the human spirit.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Fuck Wayne's Lying Ass

"The World In My Head" Pt. I

Recently, it seems like everything I do fucks up. I'm fast becoming an habitual and seemingly professional fuck-shit upper, or as I like to call it, fucker-upper (has a nicer ring to it, sounds like something a little kinky, and I am a fan of kinky..even when that bitch ignores my calls).

I've invested my time in shit that's fell through, most of the people I've incorporated in my life don't matter to me and don't give a shit about me... I'm beginning to suspect that secretly they've been plotting my demise.
I'm either on the verge of an epiphany, a breakdown...
Or I'm showing symptoms of schizophrenia.
Either way, something's up.

So I've decided to fall back on my ego. But to the extreme.
Sounds like a Pokemon.
Or the name of Freud's son.
I am God.
That's right you fucks. The creator of all things is....
Now I know what you might be thinking right now... So shut the fuck up. Nobody asked you. You don't matter. I'm God.
I am the creator of all I see, hear, taste.. You know.. sense and shit. There is nobody but me. All of you are merely the creation of my very powerful will and imagination. I was lonely. So, I decided to create you fucks. Now knowing that having puppets would do nothing for my loneliness, I made it so that all of you act seemingly independent of my will. And to convince myself, I made myself forget that I was God. But, in the words of one of my more brilliant creations, I've "misunderestimated" myself. So I've remembered.
Thank God/Me!
Being worried about what you think all the time was getting extremely bothersome. I had to figure out how to live amongst you and matter to you. Now none of that matters. It's like a breast of fresh air, a fuckload off my shoulders.

God smiles on you today.

You see I've been assuming this whole time that I am like you.

I've assumed that because you all die. I, too, will one day die.

But now I have nothing to worry about. Why worry about something that I can never know? ... Something that just doesn't exist to me.


Yep, that's right... Not. At. All.

I'm free. And it feels good. And Yes..

You should be scared.

Friday, October 1, 2010

The Dutch Master Scripts

First I'd like to apologize to my audience for not finishing the #30Days30Poemas movement, I will as soon as time allows..
I've begun memorizing some of my poems for an audition to perform with Saul Williams and Amiri Baraka in the Howard Homecoming Poetry Cipher. The audition is this thursday.. Wish me luck!

This post is dedicated to something different. Last semester, a friend of mine, in true collegiate spirit, passed out a brochure of sorts (more like an essay in the three column brochure form).. It read as follows:

"The African American, excuse me negro female is the (often unknowing but many times aware) ardent ally of the white supremacist campaign to weaken the condition of the 'African' man. She is all too often the virulent, insidious, enemy from within while the overt, vigilant forces attack in concert from without. I am aware that this is a sweeping indictment of 'her' with straight talk. But the salvation of the African man comes from his self-redemption and his total amputation from the (deliberate quotes) Negress and the gangrene decaying of his masculinity that she represents. Now notice I have defined my terms specifically. The African female and the Negro female are 2 separate entities. So do not be alarmed. My position is overwhelmingly grounded in reality. The Negro female makes statements like the following 'Some people gotta sleep with some people just to get money, but why should I sleep with you if I can get money from you otherwise.' The value system of the Negro woman is apparent; avariciously acquisitive, malevolently materialistic, soul drainingly self-interested, and nastily narcissitic. The African woman in her proper form is quite a different creature (regardless of her geographic origins). Most notably she does not believe that a man is only what she can consume of him and from him. He is much more. (He is a MAN) The African man is much more. He is a man with a soul independent of most western norms. He is not defined by the human properties of slavishness and stupidity so well exhibited by the negro man. The negro man and woman should be together so they can destroy themselves in righteous genocide to the benefit of true Africans, the true black people. I tell men that they key is to get grounded in principles. "If a woman does not have solid ethnic ties, don't fuck with her!" It is evident from the divorce rates and the non-marriage statistics amongst negro women. 74% of negro women will never get married. It is their natural fate. They get guys locked up, divorce and despoil them, betray and beguile them. The African woman does not do this (at least not to a single degree in that frequency). The negro woman is often not satisfied to partner with a man. She must imprison or enslave him, or abandon and reject him. She often has no true loyalty to a loyalist; no ethical framework of any worth. She can be said to have pseudohumanity, for she has mind/biology but a very undeveloped soul (as the Jill Scotts' of this hemisphere might have). The problem is that men who acquiesce this are divided by the archaic idea that (all) females are delicate (in this environment). As black people, our men are vulnerable to no avail and no response by and because of our often alleged 'partners', but look at the lock up rates. Black (Negro women) are the parties that get 'niggas' locked up on false charges, despoil them in divorces, and institute or reinforce restraining orders to the satisfaction of the 'other' man, at the expense of our community. Where are our Michelle Obamas that would date us at higher levels even with holes in the floors of our cars? Where are our Assata Shakurs? They have been replaced by T&A dolls, obsessed with conspicuous consumption and machinations of bubble headed popular culture and fashion. These are our wives! Hell no, is what I say! Rebel against the agents the white man has made us think we must breed with and cater to. The Black man of Africa is the head of his home (literally). The American black man cannot speak the same of himself. Why? The answer is that his woman is a mercenary looking out for herself (most) often times. She is sexually disloyal, morally inept, as far as virginity is concerned, naturally inapplicable. She is often a harlot that pretends to be a wife, often to the detriment of a loyal man. In her self interest you can see the areas that she helps the 'other' man demasculate US. She is his partner! But not the true African woman, No! She is the stalwart of her community and the advocate of her man. The 'Negress' wears clothes to entice the sinful nature of a man so that she can engage in her duplicitous prostitution with impunity, because several blank minds in charge of penis' have ratified her. It is time to stop! We must now as Africans embrace women of communal, moral character. My friends, I have a solution. From my extroverted point of view, it's too late for the army of prostitutes of our kind. The values of community are more often than not determined by its women. So 'if a man could f*** a woman in a cardboard box, he wouldn't buy a house!' is true in this paradigm. Negresses love find fabrics, jewelry, luxury and spacious estates. That's how they assess and value a man. An African woman wants good tangibles too, however her first priority is to find a man that is pious, loyal, integral (familial), truthful, and philosophical for she knows that the tangibles will flow from there. She does not believe 'he is' those things is the fundamental difference. So this is the declaration; Any man seeking a good woman should acquire himself a passport and seek the bevy of beauty in Beirut, Dakar, or darker in the Lagosian metropolis of Lagos, the many maidens of mainland or coastal Morocco, or even in Maranhao, Brazil. There are so many more sisters of our lovely race on this planet than the degenerates the white man has produced for us as monopolistic xx chromosomes. 'Seek and you will find', unless you're a male negro in which in that case I encourage you to seek negresses as brides so that your destruction can at least bring about the process of elimination. The African American women of old have long faded from the scene and now all I can try to do is uplift my brothers and (true African) sisters. Any woman who is a true African in her soul, "please treat her right" is my word to my brothers. To the haranguing harlots of Howard, I especially wish that you get what you deserve.
Gratsi Dr. Zero"

Comments and questions are welcome. Let's have some discourse about this matter.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 25

Self-awareness is a bitch
The little man looked into the ocean's reflective guise
He sighed and tossed a rock
disrupting the gaze he held with himself
Self-awareness is a bitch
If he looked closely the little man could still see traces of the little boy
He loved that little boy
The little boy knew love
The little boy looked fear in the face
pulled up it's shirt
and gave it the most awesome
raspberry ever..
That little boy was someone to look up to
Now all the little man sees
is ....
a little man,
a little man that made all heads
take a sharp decline
as they sought to make quick eye contact
then turn away with disgust
The little man knew why they looked away
His existence told a story
It told the story of the little boy
And everyone knew of the little boy
They knew him personally
Sometimes he let them call him
The little man remembered vividly the day
the little boy died
It was the day he realized
when he imagined
when he perceived
that he was not in the least bit

Friday, September 24, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 24

There is a whirlpool of reality
picking up speed at the
top left corner of my vision
it's slowing sucking the light from
my universe
As darkness begins to swirl
I grab the two nearest objects
and lean back
hoping to slingshot my way
into and through the abyss
I let go realizing that this
would be a sisyphean effort
and rather than let my strength
be overcome by some futile hope against hope
I should merely
grab my knees
holding on to my individual self
for preservation
And let my thoughts circle round
and travel into
the darkness of my ego

Thursday, September 23, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 23

Black man knows
Black man knows white man owns
everything is everything
and everything excludes nothing
Black man knows that white man owns
Black women
He sees it in their weaves
in their perms
in their straighteners
in their make-up
in their inability to wake up and see
black man
as a man
to talk to him
as a man
to love him
as a man
to treat him
as a man
so he beats them
cause he can
Black man knows that white man owns
his own will
to keep the oppressed oppressed
make them worship everything about the oppressor
black man lusts after white man's money
black man lusts after all that money
we lust after all that money
you lust after all that money
I lust after all that money
(Goddamnit!I just got an erection)
Black man knows that white man owns
all his brothers
the word brother is like the word revolution
it means nothing now
because everything excludes nothing
Black man sees black man
and steals
and takes and kills and even rapes
Black man knows taht white man owns
his law
Black man has no law
Black man knows that it is criminal to be a black man
Don't let them catch you nigger
Cause then they're putting you behind some physical bars
Black man knows that white man owns
his escape
White man is God.
So we drive around in these God-given
automobiles made up of narcotics
but be careful nigger
if God catches you using his stick shift
he'll send you to places where other black men
stick dicks
up your whole entire asshole
and while the floor is covered with your blood, tears, and shit
black man sees your pain
and it gives him the satisfaction that his wounded huberis
(Goddamnit I just lost my erection)
And you wonder why niggers fuck with automatics instead
It's cause
Black man knows white man owns his music
He hip hops to the tip top
in tune with
sex money drugs
with ballads screamed from 40 caliber lungs
in perfect rhyme in perfect repitition
"please make me like you
please make me like you
make me like you
and maybe you'll like me
the way I fuckin' love you"
Black man knows that white man owns
his youth
His offspring are living contradictions
Literally figurative
So he hides in the front of buses
scared of them
as they reflect his own ignorance
Black man knows white man owns
his hopes
his dreams
his whispers
his screams
Black man knows white man owns everything
and everything excludes nothing
The only escape from everything is death
Black man knows
and it hurts his soul
Black man knows and it hurts his soul
Black man knows and ..
it hurts his soul

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 22

I walked into a strip club
and a good idea
sat in my lap
lips smeared with epiphanies
she danced
the music made me close my eyes
and feel

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 21

Soil becomes sand
when there is no water
What does soul become
when it has no water?
I'm sorry
I don't feel like talking to you right now
I am lacking nutrition
But doesn't the sand feel good when you're
on the cusp of the beach and the water
You don't have money?
It costs 5 dollars at the door
Don't bring 25 quarters
That will be embarrassing
A five dollar bill is much more

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 20


Nothing's more important
than a woman who ain't
scared to show you love

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 19

I want you
to come and fuck me
Push me down to a seated position
Straddle me
and as I seek to find words
silence me with your tongue
Grab my arms
and push them above my head
then undress me with your mouth
Taste every spot you see
Discover if my body tastes the same all over
Whisper in my ear
How much you want me
Fuck my feelings
Fuck my ego
Fuck my past
Become my present
and stroke me to the
boundaries where sex and love meet
Shed your inhibitions
And let me see you
Leave that cold outerwear outside
for the frigid
Let's fuck summer
Let's make spring blush
with the way you moan my name
Tell me how much you want me
Tell me what you want to do to me
Then do it
Chain my fantasies to a bed of
chocolate covered wet dreams
Then ride them until the waves themselves get tired
Let's make a safe word
And lock it within the depths of climax
Tell me what to do
Show me how to fuck
My darling Nikki
A submissive woman
never gets what she wants

Saturday, September 18, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 18

"And their eyes change as they learn to see through flames
And their necks crane as they turn to pray for rain.."

Writing prayers on the papyrus of yesterday's dreams
for tomorrow's hopes
we send them down rivers of obscurity
the same rivers which quench the thirst of so many
we pray that perhaps
they shall,
in their misguided lust for that which is liquid,
swallow our ancient texts
these words shall feed their brains variation
putting a halt to the cliche cycle of cool
perhaps we shall give it beginning by giving it an end
as for those who continuously relieve themselves
in our holy water
streams of what they waste
running through our own digestive systems
we await them
with armies set up in the purple fields of disaster
These soldiers have guns that shoot secrets
these secrets have rough hands that pound eardrums
"They say every atom in your body was once a star"
these twisted ladders that send directions in our core were once stellar
Now shackled to jackals
cackling with bright lights
vigorously licking the blood of their hands
so as to get away with the crime
and all I can do is rhyme
all I can do is

Friday, September 17, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 17

On some cool shit...

fingertips play piano on mahogany skin
until you scream the notes
to a symphony of passion
on the inside
you stir
conductor's baton waving
air inhaled sharply
as i tickle your eardrum with my tongue
the horn section
blares loudly
bopping left and right
to the rhythm of your hips
swaying like the cool breeze
that the flutes softly whistle in the background

Thursday, September 16, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 16

I think I've masturbated in every single room in my house
This week would be the first week I haven't missed a class in my 3 years at Howard University
I have a downward curve in my penis and I wish it looked bigger
I'm skinny as fuck and my feet get ashy fast
I wish I had more hair
I want to be famous
I lie to myself way more than I'll ever admit to myself
Everytime I'm about to have sex with a woman I get as nervous as I did my first time
Which by the way was with one of the ugliest women I've ever seen
She bragged about how good she was at oral sex
And it was horrible
I fucked her in a supermarket bathroom
because I didn't want to come to college a virgin
I've been bullied way more times than I care to admit
I'm terrified of physical confrontation
Once when I was in 6th grade
a boy i considered a friend
slapped me
And I cried
That's it, I just cried
There's a man who owes me $80
$80 that I will never see again
because he says he will not pay me
and I'm scared of him
We almost fought
He faked like he was going to hit me
And I jumped
The 10 people there all laughed at me
Some days I just feel like laying in bed
slipping in and out of consciousness until I can't anymore
then get up and write
and make music
This summer a man stole my television
I had let him borrow it and he said it was stolen
But i found out through someone else he still has it
I've made terrible friendship decisions in college
I'm scared more times than I'm not
The proudest moment of my life was scoring a touchdown
when I was on the neighborhood football team
at age 15
Everyone fucked with me cause I was one of the smallest on the team
I caught an interception and ran it 54 yards back for a touchdown
My dad walked in the stadium just in time to see me catch it
I felt like my heart would burst when I past the goal line
It was an amazing feeling because I knew
that nobody expected shit of me
I scored another one before I left that team
Fuck them.
The coach didn't like me
I almost slept with his daughter
She wanted to fuck
I was a virgin and didn't know what to do
And I fell in love with the bitch
I still have feelings for her to this day
I could see myself as a homosexual if i had been raised differently
I've half-assed everything I've ever done
And I won't admit why to myself
I'm terrified of people laughing at me
So i wear an air of false bravado
I lost a full scholarship to Howard University after my freshman year
I'm a poet
I'm an MC
I don't clean up after myself
I seek mastery of myself
And on that road
I must find peace with everything...
All that is me

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 15

As the wind in the night whistles and blows
it carries the echoes of long dead Negro screams
They've seen beyond this reality right before death
with eyes bulged out of sockets
And as their blood soaked progeny
Swift and fleeting is our memory
We swing to the tunes of fantasies
as we distance ourselves from realizations
of just how easily our four limbs become the extension of trees
dipping our nooses in jewels
we hold our chains up to mirrors
and blind our reflections
instinctively we pull away
subconsciously we remain
giving our children their names
we claim it's only for job security
Pimp our seed out to plantation masters for survival
Teach them to work for another man's dream
A dream which steadily mares our night sky
and in day battles the sun with it's own waves for us to soak in
We sit and let our world spin
into a sad parody of once was
Where love for oneself is just a fad one grows out of once they leave college
Where it's cliche to even say what we were doing before
Where image is more important than action
Because action promises no safety while image
allows us to play hide and no seek with our fear
Well, i've seen the future
and it has danger in it's eyes
With passion filled hands it grabbed me by the throat
Leading me, kicking and screaming, into it's library of thought
Opening books across the floor that reflect the nights sky
I stopped moving once the biggest book was laid flat
The north star glowed in reception of my epiphany
I'm going on
And those who wish to follow me may do so
The road is perilous
But if you yell back to the master
I will make sure you die to silence your treacherous shrieks
This is not a game
Let's find freedom

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 14

Observation Room

Daughter of the Nile
Hair hidden behind the fabric
of her self hatred
She wears it down to her shoulders
keeps her mind shielded from her thoughts
Three small dots
on her nose
As she inhales
they dance slowly in my direction
She smiles
her eyes swim softly
stroking in a threesome with my reflection and fuck
they beam movies of her fantasies into mine
She asks me to undress
Smile lopsided, chest heaving
I comply
The ground meets her knees
As she kneels to take measurements of me
Reading them aloud
to the lady in the red shoes
several paces away
she sits and records
I close my eyes
crossing my arms over my chest
Feeling crucified for my blood lust
In my mind I reach for my notepad
Something to help me release these thoughts
before they thrum the air
reaching foreign eardrums at the speed of sound
and rendering me truly naked
"Put on your clothes"
It's over
The lady with the red watch arises from her station and asks me to follow her
I leave the room and walk down this hallway of dreams
Bright lights fade to nothing and reappear as bright lights
We enter another room
The tv in the corner displays a flashing face
with two strippers dancing it's eyes
It says nothing
Then says, "Nothing"
A man with a bald spot about his right ear walks in
Staring at me with hate bred by competition
he watches
The lady with the red glasses
sits down with a butterfly needle
she taps my soul until a riveting line appears on its surface
it pulses with life
"Hold still", she tells me
the butterfly needle inserts itself into my essence
Cocooning in my core, it transfers hope into a test tube
and worms its way into my heart
To stay.
I arise to walk away
And as I leave
I realize
I've left my fear behind

Monday, September 13, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 13


The city that never sleeps
blinks with eight bright eyes
and eats all its young.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 12

My fingers
Tapping out the rhythmic misses of my existence
Even as I seek to keep its distance
They spread as roots
searching for sustenance
in this world of excess
But reality escapes me
I am but a dream
seen through the lenses
of many streams
of consciousness
something too abstract
to be symbolized
by mortals
And as I walk away
from the doorstep of love
She calls me back
I turn
and her
not knowing what to say
simply places two curved hands together
in the shape of a heart
I smile
and grasp the place
where I've been told mine lies
But my lies stop me from walking to her
And so I proceed on my way
Mind expanding
in compressive manners
Lessening the matter
that amasses in my search
for endarkenment
Love thyself
Love thyself and you will enjoy
the tongue of understanding
As she seeks to suck out
All bad deeds
Taste me.
Lovely how your mind
tickles slowly mine
I find the divine amongst the stars
In awe at how
all my knowledge has been proven wrong
Still strong with persistence
that knocks at the door of mortality
with three bullets to claim its soul
I hold my entire whole with parts that scream
of me

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 11

Calling all
upside down voices
that shake and shiver
Calling all
waves that bend light
All hey's that need fright
Calling all
Highs that love lows
All drunkards that stumble on the wine of life
Calling all
beautiful women
who only make up
their mind
Calling all
Wonderful souls who stand still in the rain
Watching pain
wash away
Calling all
Veins that remain unscathed
Calling all
Calling all fearless
Calling all
aborted children
who bleed with a death unbirthed
Calling all
Calling all
Calling all
Birthers of wonder
Calling all
shudders of pleasure
Calling all
feudal fists
that tremble with the feeling
of poverty
Calling all
lows that love lows because highs are on horizons
Calling all
All missions
that listen to more than
sounds uttered by human mutters
Calling all
Rainbow traces of sight
Souls that stink with the funk of decay
Calling all
The Revolution needs you.

Friday, September 10, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 10

Her supple fingers
echo a come hither
as she walks through a closed door
And this is why I keep my love below
Collision hurts
My judgement at its best
And yet
I follow against
And so
I speak no fiction
As our friction makes fire
This flame speaks names
of goddesses unfulfilled
She loves
and leaves something
as she makes her way into me
Breast feeding infinity
with milk turned sour
by too many dames who played games
But in this minute
In this hour
We become time
Our sexualitys entwine
with mines on top
but her's still more higher
Lovely is her last name
How dare I think to befoul her with mine
And yet
As pilgrim fingers touch pure Africana
Her moan
tells me that she is willing
Her kiss tells me that I am not building this tower in vain
That perhaps one day
Her heavenly heart
I will claim...

Thursday, September 9, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 9

I move my head
The world moves with my vision
And keeps moving when I stop
Back and forth
Until it settles
three seconds two late
a pendulum
Girlish giggles
and weezing coughs
Fire water
fuels my take off
This smoke brings clouds
to level of ground
And turns it into fog
And in this fog
I see shadows of other lost souls
It feels good
For three seconds
As I turn my head
I'm not alone
by girlish giggles
and weezing coughs
please don't stop
I'm so happy
I could spin
I'm the shit
watch me put my face in the toilet
as I vomit away
my depression
seizing the reason for existence
and fucking it with the finger that doesn't give a fuck
When it comes
I swallow
And gargle
to spit this mouthwash
so when I leave this bathroom
again surrounded
by girlish giggles
and weezing coughs
i'll lose interest for anything real
Because reality is pain
of course
in an effort for pleasure
I drive myself insane

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 8

Lauren Pt. 1

Life was made for days like these
Amazed at our ease
Old man sees
he names us his hippies
Recognition that we were high
and free
but what he didn't understand or see
this boy fighting hard to be a man
this woman who sees his beauty
And I
am but a peasant
offered a king's ruby
lovingly fearful of what this offering could do to me
Sometimes I declare
Let us be his hippies!
Let us become the Earth's love child
if only for a while
Let's draw our fears into a smile
if only for a while
Let's devotedly gaze at this
most amorous painting of now
if only for a while
And though
my inadequacies might end
the beginning of
these stirrings of a love affair
I will never forget
that perfectly beautiful day
Like the hint of a kiss
it still remains
deeply imprinted on the surface of my mind
Life was made for days like these
Days with you and me
like this
like now

Monday, September 6, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 7


Destined to become the Sisyphus of my generation
Strain against these insecurities
Shortcomings naturally bestowed upon me
And for every day I feel I get closer
three months pass where
hope sets
leaving me in the night
where all lights are artificially
And so
shivering with the frost of time on my mind
I rest
Weary of staring down my reflection
And fighting the world
Just so I can keep looking
I rest
And yet
This rest
is so very temporarily insignificant
Can I not even remember my sleep state?
Can I not enjoy those precious moments inside my mind?
It seems this isn't to be so..
And I feel this enervation settling in
Becoming cozy amongst the muscles of my mental
Feelings pass like shadows through a fog
But I can't seem to shake
this overbearing underlying
sentiment of fatigue...

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 6


Let's get lost in each other tonight
No worries
That's fear talking
Silence that savage beast
And let's explore
Learning more
our existence
through each other
with one another
let's find heights
and know lows
and classically grip
this massive balance
with each other's spirit
Let's find love
Tear down this wall
of what ifs
and embrace the beauty
of what is
Let's find
new mes
new yous
Let truth through
Because the truth is
I can get lost in all that is you
And I'm scared of how happy
that could make me
Because once you're gone
I'll be
Let's embody spirituality
Create a new religion
just for two
Praying to each other
on knees
tasting truth
Let's kiss skies
and massage the earth
Birth a weightless spaceship
that's crawls through all
Slowly and certainly
never sure of future
but positively blessed
by the gift
of present
Let's present our presence
Till when we imagine our essence
we shake with a message
that's purer
than the darkest black
a mix
of mixtures
get fixed
of upside down birds
who flap in efforts to avoid crashing into the sky
Let's embrace that collision
listen to what others are terrified of missing
Let's evolve
around the stupider aspects of this universe
then intellectually grasp our feelings
and tongue them down until they orgasm
squirting epiphanies into our awaiting mouths
and we shall taste
we shall swallow
we shall ingest
the directions
and allow the nutrients to become our skin
Let's mend and blend our minds
Let's become the makers and creators of our time
Floating like the note
on a rhyme
Let's blast through reality
Hug our insanity together
Let's make
Let's destroy
Let's fall
Let's rise
My Love.
Let our thoughts match our actions
with that
we shall

Saturday, September 4, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 5


Dreamers see men in multi-colors
Where lovers don't fall
They hover

Friday, September 3, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 4

This man knew closets
This man knew closets
winter clothes in the summertime
monsters hiding in the imagination of young children
porn magazines and condoms in shoeboxes
hidden from parents who maintain the illusion
that you're too young to know
right around the time when you've discovered
that you're just old enough
to blow
This man knew closets
This man knew closets
because he never knew the lust for a woman's touch
Never pressed for a woman's caress
He desired a more masculine approach
And he felt
Missing the thing
that he thought made him a man
So he hid
This man knew closets
And with his shame
Came anger
He clings so tightly to his fantasy of manhood
that he never manages to grasp
One day
this man met me
And discovering he likes what he sees
He reacts in the only way he knows how
Confrontation is a pleasantry
when running from self reflection
Anything to avoid
this fight within
And I was blinded
I couldn't see his soul
the core that he blocked so readily with a closed fist
And if I could speak to that man candidly today
I'd tell him
I'm sorry
I'm sorry that I wasn't able to recognize
wasn't able to aid
didn't know what to do
in your struggle for sanity
I'm sorry I helped you hinder your growth
with my own clenched fist
Angry at an anger that made no sense to me
Well it does now
This man knew closets
This man knew cold dark fear
And as he ran from himself
he knocked me to the ground
His fight
will never be known
He Will Never Admit
To knowing the deep dark shadows
Glowing within his own soul...

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 3

Running this bath water
It's been a long hour
Painful how the air touches my skin
Even more painful how this truth rubs against my soul
The friction makes me cringe
and beg for fiction
And so I run this bath
Intending to stay as long as life lets me
I turn the faucet off
These lies will do just fine
Dipping my leg into them
I feel the warmth
of my own fantasies caress my leg
so gently..
But I'm starting to notice a catch...
The longer I stay in this tub of deceit
The more I

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 2


I sit here
with my feelings
A bit stale.
They've been locked away far too long.
in a box
Almost forgot the combination.

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 1

So, a friend of mine is writing 30 poems in 30 days and has asked all writers to join her.
Here's Day 1.

"Black Hole"

there's a black hole in the middle of my mind
daily i circle it
eyes wide with something too close to love to be called fear
trying to avoid
this inevitable darkness
inch by inch i get closer
like slow sex
but without the passion
only in moments
when drug induced vision
allows me to look and see light
i upchuck my fright
and end up right back in the same plight
there's a black hole in the middle of my mind
in it lies the questions of my existence
the blessings I find myself missing
sometimes i listen
and I swear I hear in it
my voice
yelling in a whisper
barely audible
that I have something so powerful
that it can change change.
There's a black hole in the middle of my mind
Everytime I get too close
I lose reality
Slipping into uncertainty
Until I find an epiphany to grab onto
and help myself
pull myself out with it
There's a black hole in the middle of my mind
And I would stay on the outskirts all the time
If I wasn't so damn sure
that at the epicenter of that black hole
Lives a