Static
¨Static¨
Horrible rhymes in my head all day:
Bells, whistles, tunes, people;
All day and most of the night, they BOOM.
So, finally, I figured what they´re for, this static;
It´s a blinding effect and it's a lifesaver.
You see, this future poses threats, it does.
I wonder about it-- then!
I grow scared,
I grow timid,
I grow small.
So here comes the static,
The noise, clatter, clutter and wham!
So then I can grow away;
I can dance, sing, scream, and jam to my static.
And in the end, we all jam to our static.
Run Run Run
"Run Run Run"
Like a sore on the roof of your mouth.
Something that shoulda never been let go.
You go and handle something old.
Try and catch a balloon five minutes after you´ve let it go.
Ribbons!
¨Ribbons!¨
September 11th brings the five years ago,
So some will wear ribbons-- maybe black, maybe blue, maybe some other color.
The material will be made in China. (Outsourcing is the new slave labor.)
So wear your ribbons and bring your words to the local Starbucks,
Check out the employees with their ribbons!
Ribbons everywhere!
Sip on your Colombian coffee made by people who will never know the pleasure of wearing that ribbon like a GOOD American.
Don´t be stupid,
Don´t say what´s expected.
Shut the fuck up and put your picket down,
Give some new words and quit repeating what you hear.
Give me something new to snack on,
Stop trying to be a GOOD American.
Pure Nasty Habit
"Pure Nasty Habit"
You got three minutes to get it said:
Smile, don´t agree.
It´ll be titanic; you can deal with it,
Don´t push the revolution out, kid.
Make your move, mate,
You can grit your teeth and kiss someone,
You can pick a daisy and make someone eat it,
You can bust your style, smiling hard, always.
Do it so your heart´ll beat as fast as it can.
Oi!Chew Vitamin C and drink lemon juice,R
ape, THEN date.
The beat´ll go on and on and on,
Always harder.
Tell ´em they´re wrong,
Find a new way,
Find a way to spark the fury, the revolution.
You better make that machine work for YOU.
It´s just a pure nasty habit, this.
But Uncle Sam ain´t got nothing on my drafting skills, I can draft for anything.
I´ll send you a letter in the mail too,
Only it´ll have a poem.
I´ve got hives.
It´s a giant beehive,
Bomb it,
Force freedom down the bees´ throats.
Make ´em see what they´re missing.
"Pure Nasty Habit"
Cock your gat,
Grab your bat,
Pen and paper too,
They all do the same damage.
Fuck you for labeling, too!
The few and proud won´t be Marines,
They´ll be the ones that´ll bring the heat.
Every fire started is a broken gear on that machine.
I can break bricks with my head,
I can chew through steel,
And I never even have to even touch ´em.
Just gimme a pen.
And I´ll tell you one last thing,
If that fucking machine don´t work for you--
Smash it to fucking pieces.
Look out for number-fucking-one.
But, then again, it´s just pure nasty habit, this.
My Penis, The Liar
¨My Penis, The Liar¨
My penis is in jeopardy, ergo, I am too.
My penis is a sadist,
My penis is a liar,
My penis toots a tune,
With consequences all too dire.
My Hut
"My Hut"
So in a hut made of bamboo poles,
One needs many bamboo poles.
These are my bamboo poles;
Someday I might be able to live in my hut.
Muse
¨Muse¨
I hold all power,
I smile at the sun.
I dodge the blame,
And take drives in the country.
The eternal is still my muse.
Moving Through
"Moving Through"
When you think you have it figured.
When you think you know what to do and when.
When you know what today will bring.
Tomorrow will come. Hard.
It´ll leave you on your ass.
It´ll be something for the planners.
The dealers,
The bad apples,
The seers.
Thing is,
You´ll never know.
What it´ll come as,
It´s shape,
It´s color,
It´s taste.
It´ll taste like a hooker´s mouth.
Or a green apple jolly rancher.
It´ll all be like climbing up a flight of stairs and not knowing when a step will give underneath you.
Morning After
"Morning After"
I dont know who I am as I wake,
Bittersweet cacophonies ring in my ears.
Breath tasting like a thousand different foods,
I realize I can't remember the day I was born.
I gag on toothpaste brushing my teeth,
And manage to make my gums bleed blue when I floss.
Another day smiling at me,
We'll always scowl back.
Putting on pants seems comparable only to boxing with no arms,
The room's darkness seems so inviting.
Out in the day the air smells strange,
Not like the air in your home,
Acrid, unforgiving, angry air.
People will look at you strangely.
Middleground Is A Lie
"Middleground Is A Lie"
Stuck in the crawlspace between two rooms,
Crying out for daylight, for some sunshine-- clarity.
Singing the ode of the man in the wall,
Spitting out the grunts-- ornery and garbled.
The plaster will break apart one day,
You´ll fall into one of the rooms,
Clarity will seep through the veins in your eyes.
Be ready, old man.
Memoirs
"Memoirs"
In truth, I live in a meadow,
as a snake in the grass.
Corrupting--
the masses,
the few,
the one,
the dreamers,
the screamers, the emo and devo.
Marijuana Steve's Revolution
"Marijuana Steve's Revolution"
There once was a man named Steve. Steve smoked cannabis. Only, Steve lived in a place called The United States.
Before anything, a little history on the US. The United States was founded (not discovered) by a group of people who didnt get their way in their homeland and decided to start a new country. (The equivalent of a 5-year-old claiming he doesn't want to play a game anymore because he's losing. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for not conforming, but the wrong people were the non-conformists.) Anymore, these people founded a country based on strict imaginary laws and borders. Things were good for them, because they could play their own game in which they always won.
But things changed, the new generations born in this country did not think like their ancestors. They began to see how easily imaginary borders and laws could be crossed and broken.
Enter Marijuana Steve. Steve was a normal man, doing his part for society and doing his part against it, too. It sometimes felt that his relationship with marijuana was like a dirty secret, like wearing women's underwear. Other times, Steve felt empowered, knowing he was not alone, knowing that there was an entire counter-culture of people behind him.
Steve tried not to think in such big terms for he grew sad that things would take a very long time to change. Steve visited the nation of Spain in the spring of 2003. (Had the entourage of prudes not inhabited this country, we'd all be speaking spanish because of these people.) Steve was amazed. Spain had very pliable marijuana laws. You could grow and smoke in your own home, legally owning up to 50 grams of green. You could not distribute, though. Steve then learned of other countries that had even slacker marijuana laws, countries where it was even legal in some places. Steve returned home and grew sad for several weeks.
Steve told his friends of everything he had seen. Steve's friends grew sad as well. Steve then fell into a semi-serious spiral of drug use. Steve wound up getting arrested for possesion of cannabis his sophomore year of high school. Steve grew sad. It was after several months of reprimand and hypocrasy that Steve smoked again. Brainwashed isn't the right word but it's the first word that comes to mind. Steve accepted his country and its invisible forces. There were too many against him. Against us.
Steve then realized that marijuana would only be the beginning of something very big. Big things take time.
Call me Marijuana Steve.
Lucas
"Lucas"
Winding up,
Finding ways,
Looking out,
Like a sponge,
Like a shapeless lump,
Like a flower bud covered in dew,
Like an aging sun coming up, again and again.
