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 .

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

the sun's soil

From Lily:

The painter sighed and thoughtfully stroked his beard
Whilst staring at another portrait of his soul
This one, he thought, almost involuntarily,
this one is different
He knew not where this thought came from
It seemed the only thing his work had in common with itself was
Usually he didn’t have the patience to look at them once they were finished
And something had been wrong with this one, missing from it
It had been three years since he drunkenly stumbled into his seedy apartment
Merriment and sorrow exchanging soulful kisses within him
Slashing at the canvas like a lover scorned, he had made…
What exactly?
He didn’t know
And yet for a long time
It was incomplete
He had tried everything to finish it
Drugs. Sleep deprivation. More drugs.
Anything that would change his mind state so that he might return to his work
And leave from it, successfully imprinting whatever it is that we’re made up of
Anything that would make him remember
That he painted to make himself real
And one night it came.
One solitary black line across the painting.
And it was finished
He didn’t understand it, felt it rather than knew it
He sighed once more
Something was indeed different about this one and he couldn’t place it
But life was for living and he soon became restless
And as he left his apartment
The black line on his painting became aware of itself
And as it asked itself why it was there
The painting spoke to it, answering,
“How else would I know how beautiful I am?”
The line shuddered and became a wave
But was straightened out immediately
By thoughts that bled art
Like the movement of everything around it.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

since i haven't given a verse in a while .

i see,
wombs that i'm growing in
flowing from an everlasting source
that aborts
a different kind of rhythm
wait..listen .
listen to what?
your blood glistening guts?
they call for another and another
watch the hunger make me squeeze from the emptiness
singing in a symphony of difference and similar
with same under it all
the one and the many, as above so below
shut the fuck up and watch how it's insane how you know
how you know who you're dealing with
you listen now but feeling shit
from the day before and the day before
in that way you ignore
the things they doing, misconstruing dreams
so it seems
that reality survives in the seams of your vision
and i would like to take this time to thank you for assisting
in my verse
by going through the purse of your fallacies
and laughing cause you're probably still mad at me ..

ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

A Sonnet for Alia

Dear Muriel Alia Solomons,

'ere her sacred shadow lies cast down by the groom
The light by which we all should search reflected in the moon
Such seeking is no more than glance and glance where we begin
And I no more than seed of plant that has and knows no end
Oh Alia, dear Alia if all were right and fair
Then love would drip into your eyes befall'n from your hair
And all would sing the tunes that match the walk that is your dance
And silence would become so loud it fills the world with chance
But as it is when darkness falls we mourn when morning's due
Not knowing, nay not feeling, there's no me, no she, no you
The trees have told me secrets, the cold has shown me death
And all these natural wonders find solace in your breath
So my dear, whene'r you feel your heart has turned to stone
Know that life has writ' you this and you're never, ever alone

Best Regards,
Gideon Wyldflower

something pulled me inwards .

Okay, so usually I'd think this kind of thing would come off as creepy, so I wouldn't do it even if I wanted to.. But two things about your profile changed my mind; your name, Experiencer is an amazing name and so brilliantly simple and new, and your hair color.. you've had pink hair once, which makes you awesome. I want you to know that. You're awesome. And those things made me go against my better judgement, and perhaps my fear of how I'd be perceived by you, and send this message. I would certainly like to meet for coffee. friends call me Gideon. You may call me what you wish. And I very much look forward, like a maiden looking out the window of her dragon guarded castle, to hearing from you. Until then, peace & balance. Gideon

Saturday, September 24, 2011


Titties are interesting people. They are the only people that really understand me. Everyone else says, "Hey, you have to believe this or you're stupid." Or, "hey, don't believe this or you're stupid." So much fucking pressure. Fuck all that. Conversations between me and titties are so much more calmer.

Titties: Hey Gideon
Gideon: Hey Titties
Titties: I love you Gideon. Look at how I shine for you. Look at how I make you feel. Feel that? That's love.
Gideon: I love you too Titties.
Titties: I know.
Gideon: -sigh-
Titties: Hey Gideon..
Gideon: Yes, Titties?
Titties: If you want to you can lay on me. I've noticed you staring for a long time now.
Gideon: I know you have titties, it's just... do you think she'd spazz the fuck out if I did?
Titties: Fuck her Gideon.
Gideon: You can't say that Titties, she and you are connected.
Titties: No. You misunderstand me Gideon. Fuck. Her.
Gideon: Oh.
Titties: Shit, she's talking again.
Gideon: I know. She does that a lot. I wonder why.
Titties: She's frightened of how you make her feel. She's frightened of finding herself in your silence.
Gideon: That's a useless feeling.
Titties: I'm sure you can relate though.
Gideon: You're absolutely right, Titties. How else would I know that's a useless feeling?
Titties: -laughs- I love you.
Gideon: I love you, too.
Titties: I love you so much, I'll show you a secret.
Gideon: Really ? Oh man, I'd love that Titties.
Titties: Come close so I can whisper it to you.
Gideon: Yes, Titties?
Titties: -whispers- If you kiss me like you love me, if you really focus on how much you love me while you kiss me, you can get this bitch to shut the fuck up.
Gideon: Aw shit, really?
Titties: Come now Gideon, lies exist in her realm.. not mine.
Gideon: I'm speechless.
Titties: then don't speak . Kiss me Gideon.

Thursday, September 8, 2011


There's this woman who I haven't met yet. And I've been in love with her ever since we started our digital contact.

She told me I've been big headed lately. She said

"It's like you're not looking at yourself anymore & if you are it's only a fraction of what you used to do, you come up with one albeit brilliant but still limited idea, the audience goes mad, your ego is satisfied and your dazzling brain has nothing more to do."

Reading these words threw me into a despair that I couldn't shake. I was angry with myself for allowing this woman to have such an effect on me. My sudden sadness at her words made me angry with myself. Who is she to you? I asked myself. There is only you, I told myself. And then I realized that I was enjoying the despair. It was fitting. It felt like putting on a sweater that I hadn't worn in a while. I went outside for a walk, listening to Ghostpoet, and I relished the role I was playing. It made me smile to be sad. I was the scorned artist for the entire world to see, to gawk at, to dissect.

And then I went into Manhattan and met up with an old friend from high school. Being ensnared in her world, her reality for a minute allowed me to break free of my own sadness. And I did it fluidly. There was no opposition once I realized, without thought, once I really felt that my emotions are outerwear. I shed them and put on others with the ease of actual clothing.

And as I was headed home, I began listening to my mixtape. And my mind started doing something, that it's been avoiding in a long time. It started planning. I've got a running plan for my life right now. It's, as all plans are, frightening, but the fear isn't me anymore. It's outerwear. And it feels appropriate for planning. It'll keep me honest in the wind.

She was absolutely right. And I was absolutely right. This woman's got a hold on me like you wouldn't believe. I feel her underneath me. Not like something separate. I feel her like I feel me underneath me. I feel us underneath me. It makes me aware of everyone else. Only, they don't have her eyes. Her eyes see it as clear as I do. It's not something I can deny. It's not something I want to deny. I feel like I need her. I feel like I don't, I feel like I have her always no matter the circumstance. One doesn't need what one cannot lose. I get scared to tell her something's sometimes. Worried about how she'll understand it, what it will say about me. That used to be my biggest fear growing up, instilled in me by my father; that someone would understand something about me that I've overlooked. That fear used to define me. Now I don't speak to her sometimes simply because my mind is moving too fast, and I don't feel like going back to type it all.. It's going to be great talking to her.

My father told me in high school that I was too stupid to be involved with women. I'm going to ask him what he meant tomorrow.

Monday, September 5, 2011

30 Days, 30 Poemas / V

A Verse

Unforeseen circumstances
Pulling them together
Kept on pulling
Till it's pulling them through one another
Now it's pulling them apart
But the pain of the tension is a necessary beauty mark
Now they know the difference
Now they see the surface unimportant
Or we pray they do
If they pay attention
But maybe that's a heavy fine
When entwined
With what reeks of sorrow
But tomorrow brings
Another different choice
We take it
Or leave it
Seldom in between
Its something for the mind to make complex
Got me kissing on her neck
Skin mimics images in thoughts of what that pussy do
Cells excreting wet in excess
I mean I start to sweat
mean my skin is wet
entrapped in heat's hold
memories of tongue's touch
provide the right cold
Unlocking the key
Two cycles rubbing up on infinity's tit
Bare closets and see secrets

30 Days, 30 Poemas / V

Sunday, September 4, 2011

30 Days, 30 Poemas ....

day 4

enjoy the rain for the droughts come soon
i pity the man who complains of monsoons
and he pities i for daring to pity
his laugh at the circle like sounds from the city
they banter, they banter
they jest, they jest
my fever is cooled by the warmth of my chest
and picture the man who cant picture himself
no one knows a thing like the poor man knows wealth

Saturday, September 3, 2011

30 Days, 30 Poemas ...

Day 3
A Free in the Day World

Walk outside
nice night
a little chilly but sometimes a breeze feels good
complements the fire of the human spirit nicely
Lily's with me
we have hula hoops
makes me feel like a dance
she gets angry because I have headphones in one ear
i'm chilling, the music is delicious
Walk in the store
deli groceries populate the Bedstuy corners
Guy at the counter says they're from Yemen
Admire their beautiful language
even though it's coupled with suspicious looks
pull money from my pocket
their faces soften
... they are not their confusion
Walk outside with new plastic bags
Mine's containing
honey bun
dollar water
& blueberry poptart
sugar makes hunger temporarily leave my doorstep
tobacco smoke
feels good while you're smoking
not so good afterwards
living in moments
A park
Lily suggests we go in
Good suggestion
Sit down, exchange dreams
She thinks my calm is a phase
I think that's cute
...they are not their confusion
Medina & Wolfe
their badges shine in the street light's soft glance
Wolfe takes the lead
pointless questions
writes down our names
Gives the usual Babylonian response to mine
A stutter coupled with, "can you spell that?"
I'm used to witnessing this matrimony
asks where it's from
I tell him I was named after Patrice Lumumba
first prime minister of the Congo, murdered by our government
He seems uninterested
I giggle inside
Medina seems disturbed by my stare
I can tell she doesn't know what to make of me
"Perhaps he's trying to intimidate me"
...they are not their confusion
Lily doesn't have I.D.
Wolfe runs my name in the computer
comes back with court summons
and handcuffs for Lily's wrists
She struggles, I feel useless
Lily doesn't dig the situation
She lets Wolfe know that
Wolfe doesn't dig Lilly
I run to the house to get her I.D.
while running, i tell my soul to stop crying
...they are not their confusion
we are our own victims living with drama as our sustenance
death is necessary and we fear it
God, we fear it
as we suck on the dark tit of society
i throw the key in the lock
it's so lonely in this world where money is God
i throw the contents of her bag on the floor
it's so lonely in this world where money is God
i grab her passport and rush out
it's so lonely in this world where money is God
running back now
They let her go after much deliberation
As the cops pull off
I hear my father's laughter in my head
I smile
Just another free in the day world
Just another
free in this cold and lovely world

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

30 Days, 30 Poemas ..

Day 2:

why is it you can't see
that my body was made for you
and your beauty made for me

Hey, Hey baby, can I talk to you for a second?
Who taught you that you were meant to be fucked?
Denial is useless
I've been watching you watching me watching you
for this entire train ride
You've expected me to approach you
You don't even question why that task falls upon me
Perhaps you secretly prefer it this way
Or do you recognize choice
Thou Mayest
Why do you take a backseat in your own sexuality?
Shall I clamber into your open driver's seat?
Why is it that you don't see the value of your own noble steed?
Denial is useless
If you knew the price(lessness) of your love
You'd, without hesitation, take the reigns that were made for your grasp
Do you understand what I'm saying to you?
I was meant for your grasp

I wonder if you know
that I see infinity in the sway of your backside
Your desire resides in the unfounded depths of my chest
And your refusal to be aware
Pains me

do you know this pain bores into me
and turns my pleasure to boredom
You're turning my pleasure to boredom

You are not your fear.
You are not your confusion
Even in my boredom I can see that
Even in my boredom I can see you

30 Days, 30 Poemas

Day 1:

On the birthdate of my memory
my father gave me a bucket made
equally of the outer layer of his soul,
hardened by the friction of his dreams rubbing against reality,
and the soft, malleable parts within
My mother poured the milk from her breasts
into my father's gift until it was filled to the brim
And they asked me to look inside
I obliged
Gazing into the depths of their present
I laughed at my presence
As my father witnessed my mirth, a shiver went up his spine
and, perhaps without realizing it,
he began to cultivate a solid distrust of me
On the day I began to nurture my perception
my father gave me the gift of his laughter
From that gift sprung the ability to doubt my mind
to listen to that doubt like a musical note
to sit back in the throne, separate of me only because I think so,
and truly be aware
of my Being
I'm going to die soon
and it feels, well...
it feels like the tingling of an orgasm

Sunday, August 28, 2011

thank you

i like to masturbate to my compliments.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

The Glory

Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep drawn breath is sweet. It's beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then -the glory- so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man's importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.
I don't know how it will be in the years to come. There are monstrous changes taking place in the world, forces shaping a future whose face we do not know. Some of these forces seem evil to us, perhaps not in themselves but because their tendency is to eliminate other things we hold good. It is true that two men can lift a bigger stone than one man. A group can build automobiles quicker and better than one man, and bread from a huge factory is cheaper and more uniform. When our food and clothing and housing all are born in the complication of mass production, mass method is bound to get into our thinking and to eliminate all other thinking. In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God. This in my time is the danger. There is great tension in the world, tension toward a breaking point and men are unhappy and confused.
At such a time it seems natural and good to me to ask myself these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against?
Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.
And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerbows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.
And this I believe: that free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a patter must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.

-John Steinbeck, "East of Eden" pg. 130-131

Thursday, August 11, 2011

journal entry

Wednesday, August 10th

"judgement is either to confuse someone's unconscious behavior with who they are or to project your own unconsciousness onto another person and mistake that for who they are"
eckhart tolle

i can see myself behind everyone's eyes. i'm back, it feels like. aware of my presence. aware of the fact that it is all mine, that i am all it's. it happened while i was reading tolle, he said dont mistake the unconsciousness of others as who they are. then it all clicked. i wasnt just lacking presence myself. i was confusing the identity of everyone as they confuse it themselves. with that realization, i almost can't stand to look at people, they're so beautiful. it's all me. i feel so connected with them. i am aware that they are aware. while it is true that most have been taught, and continue teaching themselves, to hide from their consciousness, becoming their fears, their judgements, their beliefs, and their lies, it does not change the fact that that is not who they are. my back is straight again. i'm supremely aware of my body. i can feel my stomach full with the food i just ate. my breathing is like music. it's like everyone is born as a spirit, and as they enter this world they begin playing dress-up with grotesque costumes that they confuse ffor self. i am no longer afraid at this moment. they are beautiful. if they dont know it, it's merely because they don't know self. and that's alright, because they are not their confusion. they just... are. everything is. i am. fuck.

Monday, June 27, 2011

is you with me?

still looking for the right sound .

but about two cyphers ago Wildflower just looked around and said fuck it.

we all agreed .


Thursday, June 16, 2011

unfinished verse .

i've got
unfinished business
a couple cool listeners
a muffled peer circling the digits of my wishlist
this is
the opposite of greed .which
comes around to meet it
at the end of the beginning
it's the sin seeing the sinning while the heavens shine
on the rhinestones that are dripping off the hell of my own
crea.. tionistic euphemisms
this is like a new religion
man research be the illest shit and if you listen
you can here it driving from a mile away
in a stolen acura
bumping to my tape
i hate . everything about this fucking system
see i can play the pussy or i can be the victim
who. nails himself to crosses
while shouting to the bosses
that their routine is awful and it's fucking up my confidence
misogynistic lessons from the lady of my dreams
who whispers in my ear that
everything has a scene
so shove a couple beans down your throat
and just see
if the black eyed peas don't
doggy style your soul
now i'm fighting for control of the man i once thought hated me
affections are a hummingbird
so it seems my bravery

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

june 7th

june 7th

on 12th and L st in Washington DC
there's an alley that will make your bones jump
if you're high and running from the police for jaywalking
i usually love walking
it's so
but paranoia makes the world exciting, and beautiful
and dangerous
as i turn the corner, i'm safe for a little while
and then i stumble upon a neighborhood where even the children have practiced predator faces
i come to a watermelon house
that says
"Enter me," in the voice of a bitch in heat
the doorway illuminates my thirst and as i walk through the threshold
i'm transformed into the perception of a once great homeless man
a pink and yellow pixie skipping on the dust falling from her hair moves toward me
she asks what i'm doing
i tell her i was telling the voices to shut up
she laughs
the sound is a mixture of Brazilian congos and Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"
and it was everlasting
i ask her why she found that funny
but my inquiry finds no welcome in her mirth
i've never seen laughter grin at me quite so wickedly before
finally she ceases her melodic chatterings and moves within an inch of my face
the light from her eyes reflects off of my skin like moonshine leaving me intoxicated
. drunk and homeless . today is shaping up wonderfully .
she giggles again at my thoughts, her laughter changing tempo to match my slowed breathing
pointing to her heart, she whispers
"if you lived here, you'd be home"
never in my life have i felt so alone
as i did in that instance
my hat slid down my temple and into a pool of my own worshiping tears .

gideon Wildflower .

Monday, June 6, 2011

Marvin Gaye - Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)



The voices in our heads that we call thoughts can’t really do shit but watch and talk

They control nothing

Don’t believe me?

Yell at yourself in your head to talk. I mean, physically talk.

Command yourself to say a word, one word. Berate yourself. Curse yourself in your mind

For remaining silent


Talk. Go on, speak.

Say a word.

You see, your thoughts don’t even control your body’s movement

Your thoughts don’t control your heartbeat

When you wake

When you sleep

And yet which do we more closely relate to; our thoughts or our physical being ?

Do we define ourselves as the wiggle of our fingers?

Are we the stretch of our necks?

Are we the movement of our feet?

Or are we the voices in our heads, the things we observe, the words we say that nobody else can hear,

The thoughts, that can’t do shit but watch and talk?

And you wonder why you feel so powerless all the time

Why behind every movement, every idea, there is doubt and confusion ..

Why indeed.

You see the reality of the situation is we all own our own realities. We control everything we perceive. It does not exist if we say it does not.

A TV is not a TV if I do not know it is a TV.

Everything that we see is seen for an actual reason and we see far less than we’ve seen,

Which is dreadfully shameful because there is a whole of beauty out there

Dangerous, profoundly overwhelming beauty

Beauty you want to grab, beauty you want to hold, beauty you want to squeeze so tight that you don’t know where the “you” ends and where the beauty begins

I just want to remember everything I already know .

Fuck love, fuck money, fuck power . Truthfully, I don’t even really know what those things are.

But I do know beauty.

And she is the knight in shining armor

She is the flowers after marijuana exits

She is the 5 second glances from that symmetrically pleasant clerk you pass everyday

She is the possibility.

But who am I kidding, it would be impossible for me to perceive all the beauty that this existence has to offer.

Well if it is, then it is only so, because I believe it so. And that’s pretty fucking beautiful.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Crazy Bitch Dialogues .. Part . !

- . "Hey, have you seen my tomatoes?"

-/ "you mean these tomatoes ?"

- . "What the fuck . Why are you eating my tomatoes?"

-/ "see! that's why i was trying to wake you up ! to tell you the good news. I've been looking for some tomatoes of my own to eat for so long. This feels so good."

- . " but those are . my tomatoes "

-/ "you know what ? ... fuck you . You ain't never going to change. Why can't you ever just be happy for me ? I've finally found some tomatoes"

- . "but those are . MY tomatoes "

-/ "you selfish asshole ! fine, you want your tomatoes ? have them !! you fucking prick !! i'll be in my room masturbating . "

-/ storms the fuck off .

- . "but i don't understand ... those were my tomatoes ."

don't worry tomato dude . you're not crazy .

just another unsuspecting victim of ...

the Crazy Bitch Dialogues .

Thursday, May 26, 2011

coming Down.

and right after i ejaculated, she told me

thank you .

Friday, April 22, 2011

Childish Gambino- So Fly


Had a dream

In it I went to sleep

And had the same dream

It seems

It’s mocking my reality


…Wouldn’t need the word “honestly”

If we had any sort of honesty

But uhm

We’re in a world where the word is a shotgun

Hers a weapon


Any second might blast

Waving white flags turning red

As they finish the job

That’s the reverend and god

Even minutes are odd

Watch ‘em tick on the clock

Clock switches to watch

On my wrist as I walk

Towards alarms

As they go off

I turn and see her next to me

Her eyes moving quiet

And I wonder what they’re telling me

Wait, never mind

For the 22nd time

I turn on my back

Fame gets you money, Hollywood takes it back

Now the ceiling’s telling stories

I tell it shut the fuck up

It’s really kind of boring


Maybe I’m silly and I cannot take the moral

How glory is a hurdle and the rest of it is history

I love it how she gets me

I wonder if she’s with me

Or if it even matters when our matters fit gently

I wonder will I mind if there does come a time when she proves that she really is against me

Think I’ll stop the rhyme for a second just so I can have a little bit of time to think about it

Fuck it

On to the next subject

On to a new budget

There’s fun in my stupor and I’m loving how it all comes together while I’m weeping

When it comes to my future I’m like stevie mixed with sleepy and

I can’t wait

Monday, April 11, 2011

.. rhyme noteBook .

yoda with a microphone substituting the force
see this masturbating Rapper who's doper than you and yours
and I'm nasty as these headphones that are jacking in your pores
cu-cu-cumming down your nostrils, knees knocking through the floor
that's a metaphor
so please stop cock blocking the door
cause i'm shoving my shit in 'til "no." turns to "gimme more"
if she's a whore.
i'm a whore
times two
plus a million
who's watching as the clocks tick times across the ceiling

that's all i got.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

people, places, and things pt. 1

mom once told her not to lean back in her chair
or she'd fall
she never did listen to her mother
her mother was addicted to cocaine
and the various erections of nameless lovers
but that's not why she didn't listen
she was frightened
that's much closer to the reason
she was scared that her mother could be right about anything
because if her mom could be right about anything, then she could have
been right that Thursday night
when she came into the living room--slash--kitchen--slash--dining room
and said,
"you'll never be any better than me."
that was it.
no explanation, no conversation.
and so the daughter tried not to think about that night often
she leaned back as far as balance would allow
she broke curfew religiously
she saved no money. fuck a rainy day.
the whole world is a cloud
and she smoked
good lord, how she smoked ...
if her mother was aware
of anything but herself
then possibly, through psychological negative reinforcement and reverse psychology,
she could've raised the next president
but she wasn't
and so her daughter was destined
to fall

Friday, February 25, 2011

I Just Wanted To See Her Happy

I Just Wanted To See Her Happy
lumumba biko marshall garner

She makes me forget who I am
Turning me upside down, she shakes
my foundation, loosened by her love{..then..fear},
isn't ready to battle the coupled forces of gravity and her arms
And now I'm watching my reflection shatter into a million pieces in the dark
My eye stares back from several slivers on the floor.
Right side up again
Okay. It's going to be alright. I'm. Okay. We're. Okay.
And now her finger
a single finger with chipped gold nail polish
she shoves this finger, cut from the feminine hand of God,
down her throat, deep throating my desire to be close to her
and she vomits
the smell.
everything that I had left behind into my now empty shell
i become a host of her insecurities
and she gloats as she watches how it affects me
how i cower beneath the might of something i once held the power to fight
sometimes, tragedy knocks on her door
she feels the whole house.. no.. her whole life tremble
and so she comes downstairs
where I, blinded by darkness, am searching within for the pride i didn't know I lost
And she sees me
And she spits venom in my eye
Now. I'm blinded by love{..then..fear}
she gets out of the car
headed to a machine that holds what she holds dearest
I detest this.
You only lack what you feel you need. You only lack what you worship.
With me gone, she home
i stare at the inadequacy in my bare hands
hands that once held nothing, quite gracefully
he drives up
his steed, an ocean blue symbol of status
in it I see the reflection of all that I used to hate
and all that I now covet
my reminder of me still remains
a far away echo
to quiet to turn me upside down
and right side up again
frank ocean tells me, "it's murder she wrote"
i respond, "I hope not."
Hopes. dashed.
she walks up to his car with a smile
I remember that smile.
10 minute conversation stretches on for eons as I wonder at the definitions
of comfort and jealousy
numbers may or may not have been exchanged
and I
well, I wait in her passenger seat
as her passenger, her bitch
frank ocean cries out for the love crime
i tell him "hush, it's suicide, I did it to myself"
she's back in the car
pocket a little fatter with something I used to not see back when I was me.
she's quiet.
says nothing of the passing transaction
leaving me to wrestle with my insecurity in silence
leaving me to wrestle with my insecurity in silence
leaving me to wrestle with her insecurities in my shit
leaving me to wrestle with her insecurities in silence
shut the fuck up frank.
i know.
you're right.
i'll never ask her for any other favor, ever again.
Especially not,
for her to please..
be happy.


Friday, January 28, 2011

Thursday, January 27, 2011

...back up

ay listen
i had a dream i was fucking you while holding you down
and you would scream with the passion of a 1000 rounds
shot from the sun
automatically spraying innocent ones
who've yet to enter into positions
upon this battlefield
fuck it
i don't expect you to understand
this man with a plan
that's too big to hide inside his hands
it's leaking
tears from the roots
while the leaves whistle with the wind's secrets
my what strange fruit
dangle from these southern trees
while birds in v's
catch northern breezes and fly by
turn the noose around and straighten my tie
i'm late for work
you start to shake and go berserk
now punish that ass
whip to change
i am man in this chain of command
who you fucking with bitch
66 6's crowd around and tell me I should
bust on that ass
but you strut as you pass
quite heavenly
i guess these metaphors are quite rhetorical
especially since my oracle just turned seventy
missing the peak was the hardest
so she turned around and started
giving head like an artist
paint me paint me paint me
i laughed as i painted she
then made her psychic
took a bite of the "right thing to do"
and didn't like it
the apple of my eve
just woke up
and now i'm back up
putting needles on the vinyl
and injecting lyrics to my mind so
even wearing this blindfold
i'll smile
and the sun will make my eyes glow
cause all this shit is a
simply simply
a motherfucking

and i'm a motherfucking psycho

Friday, January 21, 2011

Blac Garner -- In Liquor Heights

Cause all we wanna do is...

Download link --> http://www.mediafire.com/?4xqsw2i5k4ha545

Wednesday, January 19, 2011


whenever I'm around white people I feel like a God. Not just any god, but a sex God. But I have to be around a lot of white people to feel as such. I have to be in their neighborhoods, in their areas. I feel like a sex God come from distant places, places they have never been, to bless them with my presence. To make them feel.

Because whenever white people look at me. I can see them feeling.

whether it be fear or lust. i can feel their feeling emitting from them like the force after a collision. i can hear it like sonic booms after an airplane spreads reality and enters that speed which sound travels.

i can see myself in their eyes.

whenever i'm around white people I feel like a God. Not just any god, but a sex God.


everyone is just an idea in your head.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Have You Gone Trippy?

Everybody does drugs.

There is no such thing as a bad word.

I don't lie to children.

I have to lie to adults. Self-defense. But a child poses no threat. There's no way I can rationalize lying to them.

A man once told me that it takes thousands of years for the images of the stars to get to our sky. What we are seeing is the delayed images of the stars. Because they're so far away, the light takes years to travel to the receptors that we call eyes.
Now think.
The whole world is like that.
What you see is really just light bouncing off of an object. The light takes time to bounce off that object and travel to your own receptors. Sure that time may be infinitesimal, but it still takes time.
At the same time, there are millions of reactions occurring around us ALL the time. No one thing is the same as it was. Ever. Look at yourself in the mirror.. Then look again. You are looking at two different people.

You understand what this means?

We are always looking in the past. Everything we see has already happened. We're just receiving it as we see it.

There is no present. There is only past and future.

Act accordingly.


Hey. You.

I'm a Genius.

Read Closely.


Blac Garner


Dear reader,

Listen to him.

Sincerely Mine,

Gideon Wildflower

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Fair Weather: The Reminder

Nalah E. Guevera January 12 at 6:41pm Report
So. Due to a couple of your actions (none dealing with me so please don't go there) my team has decided they not really tryin to work with you and they've left me as the messenger. Need details then ask me but knowin you, you don't. Be easy
Smash Williams January 13 at 12:39am
Lol, what actions?
Nalah E. Guevera January 13 at 12:43am Report
A couple of the women don't like your demeanor. Or your arrogance for that matter. And rad doesn't like the situation w/you and dev and to tell you the truth, neither do I. A lot poses concern for me, personally to but I will never be the one to have to work w/you so I'm over that
Nalah E. Guevera January 13 at 12:43am Report
Smash Williams January 13 at 12:47am
What does my demeanor or the situation with devin have to do with the music??

Does anybody care about beautiful music anymore?
Or is it just me?


I'm too through. I'll build on my own. Ya'll can watch.
Nalah E. Guevera January 13 at 12:50am Report
Ok. You know...... There's so much I have to say to you but I'm def just droppin it. I've tried to help you. I've been tryin to help you. STOP TRYNA KILL THE FKN MESSENGER. Too done with this shit
Smash Williams January 13 at 1:03am
Fuck anyone judging me. They don't know SHIT.
Tell them I said that.

Like I SAID. I'll build on my own.

You heard the mixtape. I'm just getting started. Ya'll can watch.
Nalah E. Guevera January 13 at 1:05am Report
Lumumba. For the second time. Stop comin at ME. I've done nothin but try to help you and all I been gettin is shit from you and your silly woman. Stop that shit. Or take it else where. I DO NOT have time
Smash Williams January 13 at 1:08am
Don't insult my woman again to me. Ever. Or you can stop talking to me period. You know nothing about the shit we've been through together. Don't pretend to. K? Thanks.

And what's between ya'll is between ya'll. Nothing to do with me.
Nalah E. Guevera January 13 at 1:11am Report
Oh. I didn't insult her. Understand that first and foremost. And truthfully. I don't give a shit. I ONLY check up on you. I ONLY try to help you with your music. I DON'T talk to you cause you're full of bologna. And truth, you don't wan me to insult her but you allow her to insult me. That's stupid. And you must forgot who elle is. But uh.....yeah. This is too personal. I just came to drop the info. Give a fuck what you do with it. I just feel like you don't appreciate shit and I'm tired of receiving the bs you give me. Dead that. Its 2011. Bye. Be easy
Nalah E. Guevera January 13 at 1:12am Report
Oh. I didn't insult her. Understand that first and foremost. And truthfully. I don't give a shit. I ONLY check up on you. I ONLY try to help you with your music. I DON'T talk to you cause you're full of bologna. And truth, you don't wan me to insult her but you allow her to insult me. That's stupid. And you must forgot who elle is. But uh.....yeah. This is too personal. I just came to drop the info. Give a fuck what you do with it. I just feel like you don't appreciate shit and I'm tired of receiving the bs you give me. Dead that. Its 2011. Bye. Be easy

Monday, January 10, 2011

A Conversation

A Conversation

By: Gideon Wildflower

A: There you go again.. Making the same old dumb ass mistakes..

B: Not the time old man, not the time nor the place..

A: chuckles You young niggers kill me, always looking for perfection. Let me tell you something, you stupid motherfucker, you gon’ fuck around and fuck up “alright” looking for “ideal”.

B: What? What the fuck are you talking about?

A: You wanna know why I married my wife? You wanna know why I’m still married?

B: No.

A: I married my wife because I settled down. And you know what settling down is? It’s settling nigger. It’s fucking settling. I’m still married because I’m a settled nigger.

B: No. What you are is a sad excuse for a nigger. That’s what you are.

A: Then do better.

B: I will.

A: Don’t look like it.

B: Fuck you.

A: laughs

B: I just… I just don’t understand why the bitch can’t see what’s right in front of both of our faces.

A: She can.

B: So why can’t we talk about it?

A: You think my wife is perfect?

B: I know your wife ain’t perfect.

A: You damn right, little nigger. So you want to know what I do when she shows how unbalanced she is?

B: looks away … Balance.

A: That’s right. You wanna know what I do?

B: What?

A: I run. I run and hide. And I make sure I stay hidden.

B: Where do you hide?

A: Only one place to hide.

B: In your…

A: That’s right. In your head. And don’t get me wrong! I love my wife. Bitch’ll sure make a nigger feel good. But that’s where I stay. In my head.

B: But how can I be close to her? How can we have a partnership if I can’t say what’s on my mind? You don’t hide from the people you’re close to..

A: Those are the people you hide from the most! You hide from everyone. Either they’re incapable of understanding or they just plain don’t want to. -thoughtful look- Damn… that bout sounds like the same thing don’t it?

B: Shit bout makes me want to cry.

A: laughs I’ll admit, sometimes running gets hard. Some people have the tendency towards inclination. Like you and me. We cut from the same cloth boy. We both look up. All the time. But you can’t deal with what’s up there. What’s up there is all in your head. You down here in the funk, in the stink and decay of everyone else’s fear, and you have to run.

B: I wasn’t made for all this running.

A: And nobody knows it better than me. See, we’re one and the same. But I’ll tell you what you were made for.. you were made to survive. And you know how you gon’ survive?

B: ….

A: C’mon. Say it.

B: -mutters- Running.

A: Damn straight!

B: Why the fuck should I listen to you, huh? Why should I follow your advice? Look at where you at!

A: Naw boy. Look at where you’re going.


A: See that. You gon’ let your ideals kill you.

B: I just want to keep my integrity.

A: -scoffs- Nigger, don’t you know that’s the first thing they take? Do you even know what integrity is?

B: Standing behind what you say.

A: Damn straight. Now how can a nigger stand behind what he says when all he knows are lies.

B: I’m trying to learn the truth.

A: You can try all you want to! You can try until your knuckles bleed from the effort! You can try until your eyes roll back into your skull and it won’t mean a damn thing! Because you’ll be one. Dead. Nigger.

B: What?

A: See that, that’s the trick. They killed integrity by killing everyone who has it. They see it like a disease that needs to be eradicated. It’s because niggers with integrity can’t be controlled. Niggers with the truth own themselves. They’ve even made it so that other niggers don’t like a nigger who owns himself. Cause all a nigger who owns himself does when he walks into a room is remind every other nigger in there that they’re enslaved. And if it’s one thing slaves can’t do.. it’s think about their enslavement. Because man is meant to be free. To own himself!

B: How can you know that? How can you possibly know that and still be who you are?

A: Because I want to live.

B: This shit ain’t living.

A: And it damn sure ain’t death… But you wanna know something?

B: What’s that?

A: I ask myself the same question all the time. Sometimes I can’t bear the sight of my face in the mirror. And you know what I do when it gets like that?

B: What?

A: I think about you.

B: Pssh.

A: Shut the fuck up. I think about you and how you can even exist in a world like this. Cause see here right now little nigger, this world ain’t meant for you.. and you are this world’s only hope.

B: You talk all that good shit. And then tell me to run.

A: Because I want you to live. I want you to choose your battles wisely. Because there’s a whole lot out there to be fought and not too many motherfuckers like us, not too many fighters..


B: I understand. It’s just hard, you know?

A: Hell yeah it is. You’re gonna want to connect. Every inkling in you screams for it. But you’ve got to fight that shit. You want love, trust, and mutual respect? That kind of relationship can only exist in you! You gotta learn to hide from the people you’re closest to. They are the most dangerous. Cause they all got the same intent but the ones who are closer… the ones who are closer have the means to get the job done.

B: Yeah.

A: laughs I’ma tell you something though. I ain’t never been no religious man. Wanna know why?

B: Why?

A: Cause if there is a hell… I can’t imagine it being much worse than this. No sir.

A pulls out two beers. Hands one to B.

A: Here, have a beer with me.

They both open and drink, in deep thought.

A: laughs “I love you and one day I’ll want to fuck someone else” .. Ha! I can’t believe you said that shit to her.

B: It’s the truth.

A: That ain’t got a damn thing to do with anything.