Baron Mynd

[Sn00p]

Baron Mynd


Also known as Lars, Camarac, Brian Bryan, Clutterbuck and Robin Banks.
Active from 1999 to the present time.
Posted on RapBattles, RapMusic, 411Hype, MicFiends, LetsBeef, UrbanFlows, H2Flo, FiendWorld, D12World, UrbanProwlers, LyricOlympics, RipTheMic, ProjectRhyme, B-Boys, BeatsRhymesLife, RhymeNReason, MrBlunt, Rhymeology, CanibusCentral, Netcees, BragginWrites, ArtofBattling and others.

[Lars]

The Nightmare Before Christmas

by Baron Mynd



Don’t you just fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives?
That meticulous time,
When soft mittens comprise, snowmen of formidable size ..
.. From the thickets of white,
Sitting astride, the distant horizon.
The winds cold, briskly respite, navigates deciduous pines ..
.. Whistling by,
On its mission-less guide, where with pure intuition it finds ..
.. A lonesome snowman,
That glistens with pride, deep in the dark midst of the night.
Abandoned by his creator,
The young girl was forced to kiss him goodbye ..
.. Leaving him cruelly exposed,
To the adoration of which he despised.
His movements restricted,
By the barren branches that stick from his sides ..
.. And so he sits in the silence,
Bitterly frightened, with his pummelled face missing an eye.
…
I used to love it.
Christmas had always been a favoured fixture of mine ..
.. And often I reminisce on the times,
When anticipation meant the hairs on my neck would bristle and rise.
Mother was quick to surmise,
That I had to be asleep before Saint Nick would arrive ..
.. But I’d sit with my eyes,
Firmly affixed to the blinds, awaiting the glorious gifts he provided.
I awoke, both betwixt with surprise, and of startled relief ..
.. Heading downstairs,
Where my father would be, clutching the star for the tree.
With his assistance,
I’d place it on top as he marvelled at me ..
.. Then open up my presents as I sat perched on the arc of his knee.
I made a metropolis,
From our laminate flooring that was sparkling clean ..
.. My remote control car,
Traversing the length of our house and all parts in between.
Elated rapture exuded,
From my smile in the most ardent of beams ..
But one year in particular,
I could sense the pretence in her parlance of glee.
It was only when I witnessed,
My dear Mother starting to weep ..
.. That I realised,
She was harbouring me, from the darkest of secrets…
…
And I guess this is where my hate of Christmas derives,
I was six at the time,
When it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did – I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and Mommy could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
And this is why I fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives,
Cause now I’M the lonesome snowman,
Out in the dark midst of the night.
That puerile pile you’ll find out on the distant horizon,
Cold
Heartless
Unable to move on, and sitting in silence.
Abandoned by my creator,
But with his memory’s still rich in my mind,
I was six at the time,
And it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did – I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and her could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
My father had died from a multiple heart attack,
And that’s why all I want for Christmas THIS year is my father back.

Peace.

[Lars]

vs. Blanco Bishop (Swag & Flow) 2012

Acid-charged and camouflaged - I'm Dragonheart The Gatherer
A man apart who carries armoured cannons large enough to bring down Battlestar Galactica
Fangs as sharp as Dracula's; I've seen more Meth in the lab than when he and Redman's collabin'
I'll leave you dead in a casket, get up and laugh while full of more pills than Deborah Mathers' medicine cabinet.
I've had Jessica Rabbit selling her ass since she become a wayward addict who craves more
Inhaled the grams that she's paid for... Shit, her nasal passage has chased more dragons than St. George.
You'll get bodybagged for an eight ball. I'm dropping tags on the Great Wall visible from outside of the globe
The primary drone your Messiah was cloned from as scientists probed; My DNA's in binary code.
I'm as Sly as Stallone; Stood in black with the gloves to match, a Clubber Lang voiced henchmen
Who'll go running past, double back, then snuff your ass to cause a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage
A motherfuckers back on the streets after a week blasting the heat; They need tanks just to keep me imprisoned
Even an African weave couldn't tangle with me; I'm the savagest thing man has conceived since religion.
A gargantuan beast who's mandible feasts while pillaging Earth for everything that she's worth
Deactivating me's simply absurd; Like an unemployment agencies administrative clerk, I can give you the work...
Twisting the sherm like it's business as per; While you little goons have bricks to move I'm in a suit tailored by Versace
It's simple, duke. I'm quicker to call you a Jiggaboo than Jay did to Beyonce when he made her his fiance!

[Lars]

12/03/2013

"Burning Bridges" Feat Flo Real


burning bridges?! I vanquish the abyss that's beneath em!
I Churn a Rift wit language filled with anguish, I am a Demon!
I am blasphemy personified, I am a legion of souls of heathens,
I am actually demoralised beyond all doubt and reason.
Im malicious, im vicious, rough round the edges, skin covered in scars!
im auspicious, im pernicious, lyrically scarred, from punches on bars!
Im bitterly sinister, a cold inimical winter, characteristically charred,
literally the definition of delivery but only a splinter of a bigger picture
Yo lars...

Your little sister’s kiddie fiddler on the roof. The middle-fingered loss of youth’s a synonym for prostitution so live in sin while knocking boots. No giving in. Do what you do. Who gives a shit if not for you? It’s what living is. Be an opportunist. Stop listening. You’ve got to choose. Blot the rulebook, cross the I’s and dot the T’s. Do what you like, not what they’re pleased with. Apologising’s for the weak when borrowed time is what we’re breathing and tomorrow might just offer peace.

[Lars]

"The Flyest Since CopyPat!"


The dude’s mad eloquent, a boom bap specialist,
With true rap sentiments, my doorag’s evident,
Old skool cats reminisce at me flying the flag
Cos I inspired ‘em to rap & still got new jacks checking this...
I’m bring ciphering back, who said freestyling was wack!?
I use my mind as a pad when I’m writing a track.
Always got a mic in my hand, don’t try with me fam,
Wouldn’t scuff the side of my Vans to draw a line in the sand.
You bet your life I’m the man, the flyest since CopyPat,
And you’re right to acknowledge that ‘fore I find you a bodybag.
I’m applying for college grants while high like I’ve got a chance,
Lighting up chronic sacks that act like guides to the promised land.
You guys are just holograms, I see through your transparency,
Lucifer’s mad at me cos I raised hell & ruined his balance sheet.
I’m the looney who’ll stab ya niece, mixin’ juice up with anti-freeze,
Seeing you in your battle steez has me snoozin’ & catchin’ breeze...





Quick key. The flyest since CopyPat... Holla back!

[Lars]

Doctor Doom on amphetamines


The original micfiend with formidable rhymeschemes. I grew sick of the lime green I used to call home, now that shit is behind me. I'm fooling. Although a lot of truth is said in jest. I'm an opportunist letting stress off so you can second guess my rotten mood, but never question what I do. It begs acceptance. Solitudes an endless sentence to a monster who blends dependency with wanting to pen relentlessly what bothers you exponentially. I've not got a clue what the hell it means. I'm Doctor Doom on amphetamines. I lock my room and attempt to sleep hoping the sonic-booms in my head'll cease before I jump off this roof just to get some peace. I'm seldom seen, yet everpresent. Evergreen and efflorescent. Went from a never been to textual legend between the ages of seventeen and twentyseven.

[Lars]

"You Aside" Feat. Namix


"You Aside" - Feat. Namix

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marvel comic books were the start. I’d got enough of my hard-earned pocket money to feed my addiction. Reading through fiction. Endeared to them instantly, I leafed through the pages in disbelief and amazement. Though my heroes were makeshift, these were the days when my life mirrored their own. Gifted. In control. Distinctive and bold. Instinctive, even though I was given a role to depict. It was so much more different. I had goals. I had Vision. There was no confidence trick. I had hope. I was vivid. A full blown optimistic. It was golden. I was in sync with the moment and I lived it, ‘til it was over.

you were the light in our eyes, you colored our face;
the wind beneath our wings…. and under our capes!
ya famous, known well! revealed yaself, the mask is fake;
ya came out of your shell, as we helped to crack the case.

never-mind our accolades; we’re the dreams u hadn’t saved
got stashed in a trash bin; as your back in that masquerade!
we’re the saints of tomorrow; save your praise for latter days;
cuz we swung from divine just to face the wrath of grapes.
see, we’re made of the character you seem to lack in ways;
so in disbelief, you had to leave;
…….but best believe, the magic stays.

Now I’m monochrome. I’m on my own. Pixelated. The ink has faded. I’ve gone and grown and got so old I’ve lost my soul like Rock ‘n’ Roll. The pictures faint. Disintegrating. I’m in a state of disrepair. My dictions dated. Reiterated. Within the page theirs hidden tears. My staples loose. I’m unattached. I’m tainted, chewed up, full of crap. I’m ancient, fruitless, rubber stamped. They take me, use me, put me back. I’m utter trash. I’m rubbish. Scrap. Unloved. The past. Forget about me. The pressure’s mounting. My head is pounding. Can’t let it out and it never ceases. I’ve begged and shouted, pled and weeped ‘til I’ve shed a thousand empty pleas. I’m dejected. Hounded. Empty. Drowning. Help me now, then… Let me be.

dismissed your conviction, we’re too bitter to win;
and too sour to speak of a mint condition we’re in.
you were once a conductor, but you’re now a puppet
who keeps forgettin his youth pursuing fountains of it!

from the valleys to summits, you scaled to plummet.
too attuned to a tune that the fat lady aint sung yet!
if you said it, you done it ; it smarts, you’re the dumbest
son, summon some courage from that pit in ya stomach!
in a crowd of ten hundred the wisest one is the youngest
cowards are known to take their life,
….but heros know what they took away from it!

No tortured soul should walk alone. After all, I know, I wont be missed. I’m slowly sinking. Cold. I’m finished. Loneliness is closing in. I’m broken, twisted, old I’m sick. Malodorous and over with. I’m droll, I’m slipping. Scolded, distant. Motionless and frozen stiff. I’m bone and limb. I’m blood and tissue. I’m toes and fingers. I’m muscle tissue. I’ve no existence. I’m ghostly. Grisly. Unwholesome. Filthy, tired & I’m weak. I’m woeful, stagnant, quiet and serene. I’m a growing cancer. Silent. I’m asleep. I’m a closing casket. I’m finally at peace. I’m suicidal with my ethos doing battle with my will. I’m the Jagged Little Pill that Alanis didn’t swill. I can’t handle this, it’s killing me. I need to find escape. I am languorous. I’m history. I’m bleeding. Dying. Fake. I am vacuous. I’m misery. I’m evil. I am hate. My only chance left is to quit, to leave, for me to find my way…

you once lived in the moment.. ya, life, it’s in tense;
yet ya lost all ya good sense along with ya innocence.
we were larger than life but much smaller than livin it
so here’s the truth, if ya less interested in what fiction is:

we DID mirror your existence… reflect on it, reminisce!
we ARE your story, and we’re precisely as you pictured it!
all the heros and every villain, no figure is figurative!
then one day reality hit & ya forgotten how to scissor kick!
see, no crime is victimless – so just believe in us a little bit;
cuz we believe in you…
and’ll have an answer to ya problem when the latest issue hits!

[Lars]

"Lover Haters" Feat. CopyPat

"Lover Haters" - Feat. CopyPat

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Baron:
New flavor of the month. The true player ladies want. Soothsayer with so much game, I'd caught her with a smile. If I talked to her a while, she'd wish I'd walk her up the aisle. I'm an author. I'm a stylist. I'm a thousand different lies. I'm the loud-mouth spitting rhymes to the crowd she's with outside. You're the clown who sympathizes with her after I'm done. When she's down you bitches try to play the man she should love. I'm at the back of the club, that male chauvinist pig flossin', while chatting it up with Copy's chick, just to show him I've still got it!

Copy:
Loaded and pissed off, crashin the party. Go to just swig shots, actin retarded. I’m after the hotties with the naturalist bodies. Motive to get sauced and bag me a shawty. I’m basically prowling when I’m eyeing this whore. Flagrantly fouling when I’m trying to score. I’m the eye of the storm when I’m talkin a little. A mess on the outside but I’m calm in the middle. My confidence bristles when I wanna get with it. I’m talkin to bitches but they do not even listen. And the common denominator in all a this business is all of the alcohol that I’m constantly drinkin.

Baron:
The gift of the gab's just this thing that I've had before I knew of its name. Don't over-think it. Relax when talking to her. Be patient. Listening's actually all it usually takes if you're with it and tactful in your pursuit of the game. It's as simple as that and as complex as you make it, to get a chick in the sack with irreverent statements. I'll be chilling out back having a drink with the lads, when I'll get a text from one saved in as "Whatever-Her-Name-Is". I can't remember their faces, just their asses and body types. I've slept with 'em ranging from bad bitches to college tykes. From bedrooms to basements and every place in between, but it's an effort maintaining and changing the sheets!

Copy:
Number one mack daddy, somersault back bending in the back of my Chevy, hunched and all that sweating.. is foggin the windows, the mirror and the chrome. I brought the essentials: the beer and Patron. You can hear the bitch moan when I’m puttin in work, from here to the road. Shit I’m goin berserk. Bonkers, bananas, I’m wild and I’m zany. I conquered ya asses, vagina's and anus. Defiling and tainting, I find it degrading. Woman are the canvas see.. I finished off this masterpiece by finally spraying. Signing the painting with my signature of splatting seed. The eyes of my lady are filling up, it’s rapidly blinding. She’s making me give a fuck.. I’m actually trying to basically give it up. But that would be lying, a fate that I didn't trust. Cause Pat is the guy who just hates that he is in love.

[Lars]

"Fuck a 9 to 5, I'd sooner bust a rhyme online!"

Black shirt, white tie. Passwords. Five tries. At work, time flies. Energy drinks are the remedy. Stimulating my memory. Thinking. Wake up and then I sleep. No rest for the wicked. Code red. This is business. Notes left on the fridges doors. I won't stress. I'll just give a call back and explain in jargon as plain as Martian. Paper. Sharpeners. A hole-punch. I've paid for garbage the whole month. "You're late,". Regardless, I've shown up. I want a bigger office space to sit in while I'm off my face. Hidden. Boxed in. Lost for days. No realistic options. Coffee tastes like Styrofoam. Dock my pay. It's time to go. Silent. Moping. Driving home with a scowl to greet the missus instead of showering her with kisses. The hours deplete in minutes. I’m out of my league. I fidget with the pen and pad left in hand while drawing an incessant blank. This never happens. Writers block. I’m getting cramp while rifling off these letters and I’d like to stop. My head is banging. I’m tired of signing forms, typed reports and supplying calls to faceless suits. They’re dinosaurs who’ve paid their dues to climb the corporate déjà vu.

[Lars]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s my living quarters, a place to stay. It’s bricks and mortar. Vacant space I sit in bored from day to day. It’s windows. Doors. It’s smoke-stained ceilings. It’s timber floors in no way heated. It’s cold, grey evenings. The damp is rising. This lonely feeling just amplifies it. It’s standard sized. The lighting works. The bathrooms fine, I don’t mind the dirt. There’s no blinds or curtains, roof tiles are missing. No outside conversions. No stylish kitchen. Just piles of dishes I’ve left to clean. There are nice additions. There are steps that creak. There’s a bed to sleep in but the springs are broken. There’s expensive leaks and you think I’m joking! The sink has mould in, but the stairs have carpet, and this is home. This is where my heart is.

[Lars]

Tales from the equipped

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m the callous on your heel, I’m the anger that you feel. I’m the grease within your pores. I’m lacking in appeal. I’m the teeth that you ignore. I’m saccharine. I’m sclera. My features are deformed. I’m rancorous. I’m evil. I’m greedy and I’m coarse. I’m devious and haunted. Bleeding at the core. I’m seething, ceaseless, tortured. I’m needy and I’m awkward, teeming and I’m taunted. A demon. Beat. Exhausted. I’m sleazy and appalling. I’m uneasy. Unsupportive. I’m ingenious. Abortive. I’m queasy, feeling nauseous. Bleak, diseased and caustic. Weak, depleted, chloric. Incomplete, defeated, stormy, cheapened, breached and tawdry. Beastly, peeling, gaudy. I’m unfeeling, fiendish, morbid. Impeded, lesioned, sordid. Illegal, mistreated, lurid. Misleading, jeered and torpid. Deceitful, I’m weird, contorted, unclean and I’m dreary, boring. I’m weary, in tears, I’m nothing. Yet it’s me you appear in love with.


MORE QUICK SHIZZ, ONE SITTING, HOLLA ATCHA BOI!

[Lars]

"The Return"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A glow the hue of cobalt-blue accompanied it's bleeped, deft, vestige...
Alerting the dexterous thumbs of middle-management to the fresh presence of a text message.
Despite his best efforts in ignoring its incredulous sound,
He let it ring out,
While the cellphones face lit up and beamed brightly -
Much like his own as he read it aloud.
Before he jettisoned down the steps of his house,
With steeled eyes affixed on "Cn we meet up 2day?"
Needless to say his cellphones screen had relayed
the text message up on its scenic display.
His demeanour then changed with immediate haste
as the astute businessman seemed to pause,
And glean in thought,
with his smile opening upwards much like his lavish Lamborgini doors.
When reaching for his handheld phone,
Its shells chrome cradled in his massive hands,
Activating its Sat Nav feature which mapped and planned
his route around the interference of traffic jams.
Its navigation kept him a happy man,
and he placed his trust in its alert settings,
Yet he never lacked a sense of direction when it came to his work ethic.
He'd exert effort and deserved merit
for the enthusiasm he brought with him each day,
Yet the phone he owned had slowly grown from a must-have gadget to a portable PA.
It would order the names of clientele all by itself,
placing them right at his fingertips,
And provided a valueable lifeline while he was away from
the heartbeat of family life on business trips.
He missed his kids,
and thoughts of being unfaithful had never entered the affairs in his head,
Though when his wife rang,
he'd joke it was just him and Sam Tsung who were sharing a bed.
There was unbearable stress in his job,
which he somehow encumbered with verity,
Though his phones hundred 'accessories', had gradually become a necessity.
He had just sprung from the mezzanine
with his mobile's status set to ignore,
When it had dawned on him just how rarely he spoke to anyone in the flesh anymore.
He'd send them plethoras of texts,
but never remember to call or include his friends,
And so their friendships grew as empty and
non-commital as the exchange of messages they used to send.
His afternoons were spent in board meetings bored out of his skull,
Sat with accountants so dull,
he almost found it insulting how long they took to ground out results.
He found them repulsive,
a complete corporate clothes rack of faceless shirted males,
Who believed a child's concerning wail
was but an unwanted distraction in the heady world of sales.
Words had failed him as he again stared down at his phone with hard tenacity,
While wishing he could plug himself into the mains
to recharge his batteries.
But then he started panicking, while so tense his insides were shaking,
After realising his dependence on technology had meant he was isolated.
You could sense he was tired of waking up to the empty side of a bed,
And the countless nights that he'd spent away from the wife he'd neglect.
He wanted to see his children smiling again,
And to engage them in the vibrance of speech,
To make face-to-face contact without always having to lie through his teeth.
But by the time that he'd reached this conclusion and had his eyes opened,
The phone was flung in a volatile motion, then left lying with its insides broken.
With the device motionless on the floor,
he stood over the case of its remains,
As a sense of freedom fought for position against the determination in his veins.
And from that day he would change
as he prioritised the life that he lived,
He worked in a environment where time is money...
...but what price do you place on spending time with your kids?
It finally hit him that that which cost nothing but time to produce,
Could be invaluable,
Irreplaceable,
Even priceless to you.
And that night was amusing after the days upturned events,
Because the children didn't receive your standard SMS reply -
Their father was returned to them.




Peace.





Old shit. Dug it up from '09, don't think I ever posted it here?

[CopyPat]

a feel a little doper just reading this you sick sick bastard.
never saw the doctor doom one before: straight puke
others are very familiar classics that i loved
didn't read the long ones obviously.. c'mon
u got the paragraph steez down to a science, thats the illness for real

[Lars]

We crushed Love(r) Haters, yo.

We should do it up again soon.

[Lars]

Love is a game as couples we play when were stuck in our ways and too stubborn to change. Love is the way you now look in her face with utter distain and nothing to say. Love is amazing, love isn't great. Love is frustrating, there's love in the hate. Love is the waiting, love is the chase. Love is you waking up to her gaze. The guttural pangs and fluttering state as butterflies take off in your stomach again. Love is the pain you've suffered, mistakes, troubles you've faced, every hug and embrace. Love is a game as couples we play when were stuck in our ways and too stubborn to change...



2011

[Lars]

N-E-T-C-E-E-S-.-C-O-M

The ticking time bomb with an IPod attachment. Living rhyme God. A savage when I switch the mind off. Average if I try jotting patterns into fine blocks of multisyllabics while lost zigzagging through my thoughts. This happens. I sign off. Quit rapping and I'm gone. Til I sit scratching at my noggin and I think back to when time was that I did actually try logging in to diss faggots like "Why not?" So I'm sat click-clacking at my comp and before I know it, I've already clicked back on the icon.

[Lars]

http://thejailbreakbay.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/apple-earth1.jpg

It would be easy to say this world, at its core, is rotten.
All too often countries brave their thick-skinned exteriors when short of options.
With their ethos built tall on softened beds of timely tradition,
The sizeable schisms you find that are missing,
Help create only divide and division.
So then why have we bitten off more than we can physically chew,
To then stare at the apple of our eye with such severely limited views?
We live to consume from the pith to the roots we duly source,
Which proves of course that through discourse this requires serious food for thought.
The hour will come when our devouring gums will bite down on our own misfortune,
If we fail to behold the warnings to the grown importance of Global Warming.
We'll see the icecaps slowly thawing as the temperature rises,
Then as it heightens each ocean will be swallowed up, leaving a desert behind it.
The apples resemblance is frightening, seeing how its former seas have emerged left...
...with dry, barren, troughs surrounding continents scorched a deep and burnt red.
And even worse yet, it's too late to peel back this globally grave intrusion.
But it's state has proven the apples gravitas hasn't been observed since the days of Newton.
The fruits of our labour sustained a bruising which blackened the world economy,
And cast an ominous shadow over the darkest fears of the concerned majority.
Politicians searched to assert authority with
downtrodden souls beneath their gleaming shoes.
As they were presented with this fruitful subject -
One they could all sink their teeth into.
But the medias view has grown tedious through the worlds economic state,
So this modest break wont be served to them on silver platters -
But on the worlds tectonic plates.
What a waste of the vast creative juices our rich planet has secreted in soil,
As Russian billionaires needlessly toil deeper for oil -
Just to keep on reaping the spoils.
Which keeps us embroiled in a fruitless farce to help ease our sudden thirst,
While the seeds of change become seeds of doubt in the ripened ovaries of Mother Earth.
To look at first it would be easy to say this world, at its core, is rotten
But all too often countries brave their thick-skinned exteriors when short of options.
We're always watching when the world's a stage where EVERYBODY has a part to produce,
And whoever said we have the whole world in our hands, wasn't far from the truth...
What once started with few whole-heartedly grew to billions in density,
And while an apple scoffed in a day keeps the doctor away -
An eco-friendly planet offers your grand-children prosperity.
With a little will and integrity we can help to restore the world we bestowed,
And see it flourish under our watchful gaze as we nurture it's growth.
If we worked as a whole purposefully though without neglect,
Then we could finally give new meaning to the term greenhouse effect...

[Lars]

Black D put up a piece called "A Thousand Faces". I felt inspired. Here you go:


"A Thousand AND ONE Faces!"

iAm,

The government AIDS, belligerence in the blood of a slave,
The child in Haiti that could only watch while others were saved -
from the rubble then cradled, cuddled and praised
...The guttural quake havin' devoured all that stood in its way.
I'm the dream that crumbled away along with the place,
She rhapsodicly called home before its summit was razed...
The punishin' gaze of the sun that broke the camel's back,
Lifeless hand of Charles de Menezes as it holds his haversack.
The lowly camera flash blamed when Diana was murdered.
Change of name to Windsor at unrest the Royal Family was German...
I planned the diversion, I'm the bullet the force and the gun
The outpouring of blood that deprived Afeni Shakur of her son.
The warden in Scum...
As brutalised by the system inside as the prisoners.
The attempts to silence his wisdom and Litvinenko's defiant resilience...
those who die of attrition, the west's reluctance to stop 'em from starvin'
- Both Robert Mugabe and every last one of his army.
I'm the shot of Bacardi that pushed Andrew Curwell over the edge,
The scalpel probin' the death of Heath Ledger before his global success...
I'm opium fresh from the poppy fields of Afghanistan,
And those who made heroes of the Mujahiddin, now fearing the Taliban -
concealed within Pakistani borders plotting at will...
The corpse of Madeline McCann rotting in filth on top of a hill.
The hospital bill to fight superbugs their cleaners created,
syringe that gleamed with the painless resolve Harold Shipman metered to patients.
I'm the Indonesian faces the tsunami had wiped out,
A thousand eyes blinking in unison ..
and I'm watching you right now.

[Lars]

"Unstoppable" Feat. Iglos and NinjaMic

-((Ninja))-
...in the back of my mind I think had an epiphany
so I had to pioneer originality and master it instantly
I've seen everything that will happen after infinity
the afterlife is the only place to channel me spiritually
only Achilles had the agility and a natural ability
to have a half a chance of surpassing me physically
pass me a symphony to see it massacred lyrically
inspire artists to paint after they imagine my imagery
it can't be reproduced, like a man lacking fertility
reengineer genetics to alter anatomy's fragile stability
a fanatical madman, Mengele's answer to mystery
never allowed my evil twin to advance past his infancy
salivate PH levels that perfectly balance acidity
no serotonin inhibitors will help to handle your misery
trying to practice humility but I laugh at stupidity
I answer any amateur's audacity with ample artillery
in all actuality, this animosity acts as the epitome
of the massive amount of vernacular I pack in a simile
economic bankruptcy cannot cancel or limit me
long as I send verses in a properly packaged delivery
my family tree still standing, sanctioned in Sicily
only bitch could carry my seed is the Statue of Liberty

-((Baron))-
These rappers are killing me! Sounding wacker on finished fea-
tures than the instrumentals they happen to spit and speak
on with vapid deliveries. Clad in their skinny jeans,
hat that's been fitted teamed for swagger with Timbs. It seems
they lack the affinity which rapping would give to me
back in my infancy. Now every albums a swift release
pre-packaged with mimicry and tracks with no synergy.
They've sold the last of their dignity and mastered it digitally.
Now they're a fad in an industry that acts as a big machine
they're contracted to sit and feed, but sacked if they disagree.
Their plastic humility having landed them inbetween
the path to timidity and the back of a limosine.
They're lambs to the guillotine.
Only management intervenes when matters turn bittersweet.
Then it's back to the little leagues.
Having sold the last of their dignity and mastered it digitally...

-((Iglos))-
Say what you want but the sun'll still shine
always raw like Thor bring thunder in rhymes
I swear to fuckin' god men are dumb an' all blind
unaware of the depth that is under my lines
witty an' gritty style, call it slummy with grime
I laugh at the naive who are stunned by our crimes
lyrical magic, my flow is summoned with chimes
adapt an' move on, become one with the times
or don't cope an' smoke dope getting' numb off of wine
so sick of politicians, and their gluttonous pride
It's like I'm shackled down up in a dungeon inside
..stuck at a stand-still, wont run or abide
test my with a flow and you'll get hung while you cry
most stay in poverty, but some will get by
and very few care, they just wanna' get high
I make beats all day, on the drums I get live
writing is my drug, I get strung out on mics
you better than 'glos.. phst.. fuckin' yeah right
each word is like sword, so come get swung on with might
line up 1,000 emcees, I'll leave none in ya sight
the youth today are raised, by scum it's a plight
but I really don't care... 'cuz all I want is to write

[Lars]

---


"Affair Of The Heart"


"Adrian, there's something I need to ask you...
...Are you having an affair?"
"What? No, of course no, how could you even say that?"
"Adrian, wait, it's just that things have been..."

* Door slams shut *


Slowly you pick up the broken, jagged, pieces of your heart from the floor. And it's hard to ignore the silent sobs your partner deplores. As tumbling tears travel her weary wrinkles. Leaving scars of remorse. You pause for a second as the ball lands hard in your court. "Adrian, wait!" the woman cries "please give it another try,". And you gulp anxiously as you stare into your ex-lovers eyes. Their pale, sullen, guise seems to trick you again. As you stand their helplessly, hoping the howling winds will whisk you away. Because you're a man, and your too proud to admit your mistakes. That's when it hits you. The soft, sobering, kiss of the rain. Droplets are hitting the pavement as you lock lips with Lorraine. And the thought of make-up sex is all that sticks in your brain. As you count down the hours until you can see her sister again...


Heh.



----



http://www.funerella.com/graphics/graveyard/albums/gothic/winter8st2qw1ro.jpg
.
.
.

Do you remember when you would call me yours?
When I was the savvy sailor navigating those stormy shores;
And you were the burlesque barmaid we all adored,
The first female that I’d fallen for...


“...All aboard!”


...I guess I’d always been too afraid of letting go;
‘Cos you never know what can happen when you’re caught in the ebb and flow.
But I was carried away by the current and swept to the side;
Where I found myself drowning in the deepest, dark, depths of your eyes.
As their replenishing grace lashed over me,
I embraced it strong,
And with a sharp intake of breath, I would gladly take the plunge.
You were the mermaid on the barnacled buttresses I braved collision,
As I courageously steered my stern vessel on its maiden mission.
But simultaneously I found myself in a strange position;
Because I’d always been careful not to go overboard with inane decisions.
Yet our relationship was as open and free as the oceans and seas;
From the moment you seized my heart,
Gone were my loneliest needs.
And I was thrown in the deep end where you left me amazed;
Where I leapt in elation while riding on the crest of that wave.
I was so desperate to make a splash, I kid you not, I did the lot...
...As you were the beacon up in the lighthouse,
That guided my ship to dock.
But I soon found it wasn’t all plain sailing attached to you;
Even though I’d gladly choose to do what you asked me too...
...And sometimes I’d call you a “Beach” behind your back, it’s true.
But much like the incoming tide,
I’d come crawling back to you.
Yet there was a lot more to me than the guy you’d always see;
Beneath the calm surface lay a cold, scathing, storm at sea...
...You’d drifted into the arms of another as I watched you float;
And up fecal firth with no paddle,
I decided to rock the boat.
But my emotions turned like the tides, and I fostered regrets...
...As you probed my turbulent mind, for what had got me upset.
And then I watched as you wept, on the docks with the jetty;
Before dragging your body down to those same rocks where you met me...
And waves of anger crashed over me alone where we stood;
As I thought to myself “If I couldn’t have you, then nobody would.”
But I was already in too deep,
And that much I’d admit.
I tried pushing her onto the rocks, but during the struggle – I slipped!
And I fell backwards, hearing her gasping screams suddenly stop,
As I hit the ground –The true meaning of Love On The Rocks.
Now I’m just deadwood,
Tossed and thrown around these stormy shores...
...And you’ll forever be the only female I’ve fallen for.
But you’ll never wash my blood from your hands,
No matter what you pass them through.
And much like the incoming tide,
I’ll come crawling back for you...


Beach.

[Lars]

"Deflowered Rose"




Under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless, guy who hides the carcass ..
.. of a seven-year-old school girl back in his high rised apartment.
She’d tried her hardest,
To escape the ropes he’d tied her arms with ..
.. before the tyrant started to divide her garments,
And molest the child regardless.
The violence started, once she’d rejected his evil suggestion ..
.. he beat her ‘til her cries for help, were little more than silent yelps.
The pungent stench of his stale breath, clung to her pale flesh ..
.. and she balled her fists at each sordid kiss,
Placed upon her by his morbid lips.
A single finger prised open the pink insides of this shrinking violet ..
.. and as his assertive hand plundered her cervic glands -
He barely blinked an eyelid.
Rose couldn’t bring herself to meet the glare of this demon,
So, tearfully, she stared at the ceiling - Feeling her innocence tearing and bleeding.
Her tormentor had climbed, the lengths of her thighs and ventured inside ..
.. Clenching the sides of her face -
To reveal the dark intent in his eyes.
Tensions were high, as the monster snarled through pristine dentures of white ..
.. And spat in the young girl’s face,
Where a mass of fear and resentment preside.
The animal lengthens his strides, as beads of sweat secrete from his pores ..
.. The heathen ignores her pleas for remorse -
His sickening lust still eager for more.
With arms that are strong and sculpted, and veins that feed him copious strength ..
.. he gropes for her neck, holds her over the bed, and chokes her to death.
Poor Rose had tried her hardest, to escape this violent hardship ..
.. Now her lifeless carcass, sits on a dirty mattress back in his high rised apartment.
And under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless guy who’s prides departed ..
.. His lone physique roams the streets,
While looking to find his targets…

[Lars]

"AinT GoT No How WhaTchumacalliT!" (Kurt Cobain Tribute)
04-19-2007





To those who had known him a while, the jovial smile bestowed by this child...
...Was thrown to beguile, masking the one thing he'd hold in revile -
His parent's divorce!
An unbearably fraught event which left him fairly distraught...
...And it was there in the courts, where he was taught to avoid sharing his thoughts.
The air of remorse, shrouding the issue...
...Made it one he'd never dare to discourse.
Kurt became reclusive, and remained secluded in the bedroom where he played his music.
He'e tape acoustic sets from each of his favourite acts, to play them back...
...holding a great attachment, to what each sixty-minute tape would capture.
Elated rapture beamed from his face, as Kurt embarked...
...To purchase his first guitar, which played a major factor in his change of stature.
He strangled the strings, and sang with a grimace as the anger within him...
...Was channeled and driven, through those amateur hands with precision.
And Kurt roared with angst long before the chance had arisen...
...To pour his vast lyricism over coarse clamorous rhythms!
The rasping emission of his howling vocal chords, evoked applause...
...And of his own accord, Kurt was shown a warmth he'd never known before.
His well honed performance soon pertained a slew of rave reviews...
...As on stage he moved, in a way attuned to captivate the room.
The dreary basement proved of great refuge to one so hate consumed...
...A place removed of all the tasteless rumours that shaped his mood.
And here Kurt became marooned with papers strewn around his desk...
...He found it kept him grounded nestling down in his surrounding mess.
But inside the basement, Kurt's eyes awakened with wide elation...
...As they fell on the pine encasement aligned adjacent that tried his patience.
In there he would find an ancient shotgun that was primed and waiting...
...For Kurt to pen his final statements, in a song with no rhyme or cadence.
How could one so silent natured, of grown so tortured in measure?
To those who had known him a while,

That jovial smile will haunt us forever.


http://www.cs.wisc.edu/~pachu/images/note.jpg

[Lars]

Not sure if these were posted previously, just submitted them for an upcoming project and figured I'd re-post while I had them:


"Elephants Never Forget: The Elephant Never Forgot


"What a splendid head, yet no brain."
Aesop

http://www.unexplained-mysteries.com...ephant_man.jpg

From the age of five,
My face comprised, of distinct growths that ranged in size ..
.. and plagued my mind,
When I’d hear the hateful jibes, my classmates devised.
The torrential torment was often initiated by,
Bullies that would take the time ..
.. To state unkind, spates and lies, until they had made me cry.
Empty tears cascade the sides, of my craniums strange design ..
.. And with grace they slide,
Over my shapeless guises grey confines.
The great despise I faced at times, would duly strip away my pride ..
.. But Mother often told me,
“Beauty’s nothing but a state of mind,”
And I held her sweet words with me, up until the day she died ..
.. As they were right,
And I was stronger than the pain I faced inside.
My father would later find,
A stately sprite, to make his wife ..
.. Who placed her spiteful talons, well in view of his grateful sights.
Her waves of white,
And ageing lines, had made her face refined ..
.. But she was as cold and calculated, as a sculpture made of ice.
Her severe disgust was noted,
Through each of her weighted sighs ..
.. And she’d leave the room at the faintest sight, of my heinous plight.
For months she gamely tried,
To exploit this great divide ..
.. Culminating in the deft ultimatum that came to light,
“It’s either I go, or he goes!” she’d proclaim with spite ..
.. And I raged inside,
When asked to leave our estate that night.
I found myself out in the cold world,
With no place to hide.
Followed by the japes and snipes, of children that raced me by.
My deformity meant,
Looking for work was a waste of time ..
.. As nowhere would accept such a disfigured face as mine.
Then to my ornate surprise,
A fly-poster graced my eyes ..
.. About a travelling freak show that sought my distasteful kind.
The pay was trite,
But so were most jobs in these days and times ..
.. And I felt somewhat insubordinate as they caged my hind.
The steel curtain was raised in time,
To meet the publics scathing pries ..
They never saw me, just the disfigured mask I’m portrayed behind.
When one day a saintly guide,
Would enter to change my life ..
.. “Dr. Treves” he stated quite, profoundly. I remained uptight.
His gaping eyes,
Fell on my hideous growths that had stabilized ..
.. And he informed me,
He could help to investigate their rise.
So I moved to Whitechapel Hospital, where I’d the greatest time ..
.. And Doctor Treves,
Removed pockets of flesh from my face and spine.
I yearned to be ‘normal’ again -
To sleep as I faced the sky ..
.. A comfort I hadn’t known in years, due to my heads weight and size.
It was during my attempt in the dawn of one fateful night,
That upon my own stupidity,
I would suffocate and die.
Empty tears cascade the sides, of my craniums strange design ..
.. And with grace they slide,
Over my shapeless guises’ grey confines.
The great despise I’d faced at times, had duly stripped away my pride ..
.. And Mother had told me,
Beauty was nothing but a state of mind.
I held those true words with me, up until the day I’d died ..
.. But these people never saw me,

Just the disfigured mask I was portrayed behind.

- Joseph Carey Merrick
5th August 1862 – 11th April, 1890

"The Nightmare Before Christmas”

http://www.picturegrill.com/images/c...tachimney.jpeg


Don’t you just fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives?
That meticulous time,
When soft mittens comprise, snowmen of formidable size ..
.. From the thickets of white,
Sitting astride, the distant horizon.
The winds cold, briskly respite, navigates deciduous pines ..
.. Whistling by,
On its mission-less guide, where with pure intuition it finds ..
.. A lonesome snowman,
That glistens with pride, deep in the dark midst of the night.
Abandoned by his creator,
The young girl was forced to kiss him goodbye ..
.. Leaving him cruelly exposed,
To the adoration of which he despised.
His movements restricted,
By the barren branches that stick from his sides ..
.. And so he sits in the silence,
Bitterly frightened, with his pummelled face missing an eye.
…
I used to love it.
Christmas had always been a favoured fixture of mine ..
.. And often I reminisce on the times,
When anticipation meant the hairs on my neck would bristle and rise.
Mother was quick to surmise,
That I had to be asleep before Saint Nick would arrive ..
.. But I’d sit with my eyes,
Firmly affixed to the blinds, awaiting the glorious gifts he provided.
I awoke, both betwixt with surprise, and of startled relief ..
.. Heading downstairs,
Where my father would be, clutching the star for the tree.
With his assistance,
I’d place it on top as he marvelled at me ..
.. Then open up my presents as I sat perched on the arc of his knee.
I made a metropolis,
From our laminate flooring that was sparkling clean ..
.. My remote control car,
Traversing the length of our house and all parts in between.
Elated rapture exuded,
From my smile in the most ardent of beams ..
But one year in particular,
I could sense the pretence in her parlance of glee.
It was only when I witnessed,
My dear Mother starting to weep ..
.. That I realised,
She was harbouring me, from the darkest of secrets…
…
And I guess this is where my hate of Christmas derives,
I was six at the time,
When it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did - I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and Mommy could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
And this is why I fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives,
Cause now I’M the lonesome snowman,
Out in the dark midst of the night.
That puerile pile you’ll find out on the distant horizon,
Cold
Heartless
Unable to move on, and sitting in silence.
Abandoned by my creator,
But with his memory’s still rich in my mind,
I was six at the time,
And it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did - I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and her could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
My father had died from a multiple heart attack,
And that’s why all I want for Christmas THIS year is my father back...



"Washed Up!"


.
.
.

Do you remember when you would call me yours?
When I was the savvy sailor navigating those stormy shores;
And you were the burlesque barmaid we all adored,
The first female that I’d fallen for...


“...All aboard!”


...I guess I’d always been too afraid of letting go;
‘Cos you never know what can happen when you’re caught in the ebb and flow.
But I was carried away by the current and swept to the side;
Where I found myself drowning in the deepest, dark, depths of your eyes.
As their replenishing grace lashed over me,
I embraced it strong,
And with a sharp intake of breath, I would gladly take the plunge.
You were the mermaid on the barnacled buttresses I braved collision,
As I courageously steered my stern vessel on its maiden mission.
But simultaneously I found myself in a strange position;
Because I’d always been careful not to go overboard with inane decisions.
Yet our relationship was as open and free as the oceans and seas;
From the moment you seized my heart,
Gone were my loneliest needs.
And I was thrown in the deep end where you left me amazed;
Where I leapt in elation while riding on the crest of that wave.
I was so desperate to make a splash, I kid you not, I did the lot...
...As you were the beacon up in the lighthouse,
That guided my ship to dock.
But I soon found it wasn’t all plain sailing attached to you;
Even though I’d gladly choose to do what you asked me too...
...And sometimes I’d call you a “Beach” behind your back, it’s true.
But much like the incoming tide,
I’d come crawling back to you.
Yet there was a lot more to me than the guy you’d always see;
Beneath the calm surface lay a cold, scathing, storm at sea...
...You’d drifted into the arms of another as I watched you float;
And up fecal firth with no paddle,
I decided to rock the boat.
But my emotions turned like the tides, and I fostered regrets...
...As you probed my turbulent mind, for what had got me upset.
And then I watched as you wept, on the docks with the jetty;
Before dragging your body down to those same rocks where you met me...
And waves of anger crashed over me alone where we stood;
As I thought to myself “If I couldn’t have you, then nobody would.”
But I was already in too deep,
And that much I’d admit.
I tried pushing her onto the rocks, but during the struggle – I slipped!
And I fell backwards, hearing her gasping screams suddenly stop,
As I hit the ground –The true meaning of Love On The Rocks.
Now I’m just deadwood,
Tossed and thrown around these stormy shores...
...And you’ll forever be the only female I’ve fallen for.
But you’ll never wash my blood from your hands,
No matter what you pass them through.
And much like the incoming tide,
I’ll come crawling back for you...


Beach.



"Deflowered Rose"

http://img1.imagetitan.com/img1/1/16/vandam.jpg


Under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless, guy who hides the carcass ..
.. of a seven-year-old school girl back in his high rised apartment.
She’d tried her hardest,
To escape the ropes he’d tied her arms with ..
.. before the tyrant started to divide her garments,
And molest the child regardless.
The violence started, once she’d rejected his evil suggestion ..
.. he beat her ‘til her cries for help, were little more than silent yelps.
The pungent stench of his stale breath, clung to her pale flesh ..
.. and she balled her fists at each sordid kiss,
Placed upon her by his morbid lips.
A single finger prised open the pink insides of this shrinking violet ..
.. and as his assertive hand plundered her cervic glands -
He barely blinked an eyelid.
Rose couldn’t bring herself to meet the glare of this demon,
So, tearfully, she stared at the ceiling - Feeling her innocence tearing and bleeding.
Her tormentor had climbed, the lengths of her thighs and ventured inside ..
.. Clenching the sides of her face -
To reveal the dark intent in his eyes.
Tensions were high, as the monster snarled through pristine dentures of white ..
.. And spat in the young girl’s face,
Where a mass of fear and resentment preside.
The animal lengthens his strides, as beads of sweat secrete from his pores ..
.. The heathen ignores her pleas for remorse -
His sickening lust still eager for more.
With arms that are strong and sculpted, and veins that feed him copious strength ..
.. he gropes for her neck, holds her over the bed, and chokes her to death.
Poor Rose had tried her hardest, to escape this violent hardship ..
.. Now her lifeless carcass, sits on a dirty mattress back in his high rised apartment.
And under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless guy who’s prides departed ..
.. His lone physique roams the streets,
While looking to find his targets…



"Neurasthenia"


My father raised us responsibly;
As great threads of gray swept through his rich waves of mahogany.
And he also worked as a salesman, so I safely acknowledged he
lied for a living and this was why he hated dishonesty.
His way was the common theme.
But this dictatorship remained a hit due to his smiling face of authority.
He wages on comically, playful and folly free,
While saving a stolid beam for the occasional modesty.
Pops was as neat and organised as any page from a glossary.
While my brother and me would disagree while playing Monopoly,
and David would often leave to create a ***ophony.
Heaven knows our Father must have had all the patience of Socrates.
After a stern talk from dad -
I was more ‘forced’ than ‘asked’ to make an apology.
While David was scooped up and placed on his knobbled knee.
Spluttering threats under my breath, I laid the table with crockery,
“Dad,” David sniffled, before I heard him say -

“Why did mommy leave?”


The atmosphere in the room grew so tense,
I prayed someone would hand me a knife.
As his candid, refined Cheshire grin became sadly resigned.
Before his so called stone-jawed expression was cracked and he sighed.
I sat at his side,
And he frantically tried to explain what had happened and why.
It didn’t make him any less of a man in my eyes,
to stand there and cry.
Because since her departure over a week ago, we’d been a family divided.
Standing in silence as empty tears traversed his great frown,
There was an upsurge of raised brows at the words that came out,
as his lips trembled “Your mother’s had a nervous breakdown,”
I reared up from his beer gut with a sneer but
my austere look was a mere bluff
to mask the disbelief which had sphered up in my tearducts.
It appeared such a clear-cut thing when dad had said she'd gone away,
So what was grating at me,
Wasn't that he made us believe she was on her holidays,
Nor the ensconsed distain which dislodged the pain,
But that he'd lied to me.
To us.
To himself on the odd occasion.
And because of his jejune job where the selfish fool
delved into whichever velvet ruse would sell to you,
Me and my brother held the view we should always tell the truth
When infact, honesty was a welcomed tool he seldom used.
I felt dispelled, deluded, cozen and course
as I spent a moment marauded in total discord with the sobering thought
that the grown man's tears he so nobly fought back
were the coldest I'd caught.
His eyes opened once more.
The pain etched within stretched the skin on his weathered face,
But given his present state,
And the wisdom he'd resonate,
I knew lying to his children was the hardest decision he'd ever made.
Yet even with his troubles part-considered,
I grew sullen, dark, and bitter.
And felt I'd lost the trusting father figure I'd loved with heart and vigour.
I felt crushed with hardened rigor.
But this huge hysteria soon deteriorated and grew inferior,
When I thought of the Mother I loved, being claimed to her Neurasthenia.
And I'll never get used to seeing her reclined in that chair,
When all that remains of the woman I knew, are the eyes that we share.
The pride isn't there.
Inside it's unbearable, but I hide it with care.
Yet since it happened I feel closer than we had been before,
Because I too have no real sense of who I am anymore.
My mood's altered by drugs,
The difference of course is you're administered yours -
While we'll both sit in our rooms 'til feeding time or a visitor calls.
So I'm glad when you'll send me letters,
to write back and pretend you're better.
But most of all i'm just thankful for the time we manage to spend together.

We never had much in the way of duckets or change, just the occasional pudding made for our cousins who stayed a couple of days. When our cupboard’s contained less than Old Mother Hubbard’s, lets say. But you would never hear our Mother complain! No matter how often we struggled to pay the bills, or budget, and save. No matter how often, or emphatically, she tried to juggle her day. No matter how hard she’d just worked to serve a hot meal up on our plates, you would never hear our Mother complain. Not even through the ruction we made! But maybe us being so dysfunctional gave us that strong, solid, structural base. That sense of family values and well-being you just couldn’t replace. And when you have nothing to lose, you start looking to gain. This is how me and my brothers were raised. We were told to go for the jugular vein, to give back as good as they gave, but that good things come to those who have the gumption to wait. Sure there will be punishing days, where you’ll have taken just as much as you’ll take. Where you’ll feel like a blundering great lummox that makes a hundred mistakes. But these testing times are where Mother’s are humbly made! In their multiple roles as a chauffeur, housewife, a cook and a slave. And you’ll stumble or stray asunder some days under the strain. But you’ll do anything to see a smile on that childs wonderful face, no matter how laborious the task or how long that it takes. This is a full-time job with no time to be squandered on breaks, and could even result in you taking a cut in your pay. Sometimes it’s all too easy to shovel the blame, but these testing times are where Mother’s are humbly made, and so I’m asking, if the roles were reversed – Could I really stomach the same?

I doubt it.

Thank you.

[Brian Bryan]

2007-ish

The Little Drummer boy"


I was sat in the high-chair with beans running over my chin ..
In a sheer smattering of sauce they sat,
Cold on my skin.
And as I stared at the food before me,
My coiled hands dwelled on the soft ..
Pristine, plastic, panels of the fortress that held me aloft.
Then towering above a trail of toys; I picked up a spoon...
...gripped the maroon handle, and flayed with poise as I made a noise!
A wave of joyous rapture beamed across the front of my face ..
As with my spoon,
I conducted the imaginary drums I would play.
I craved the rhythmic ensemble, and the thrill it evoked ..
While swinging my arms wildly,
Hoping to hit a familiar note.
With no audience for the drummer boy who cautiously stared ..
Just the crescendo of the metal spoon that tore through the air.
As the cutlery clanged and crashed,
Hitting the plate with a prang ..
In the silver head of the spoon,
Reflected the face of his dad.
Its rounded scoop made daddy's eyes bulge; Cold, hard and pallid ..
And though I was too young to comprehend them fully -
The words he mouthed were barbed with malice.
Turning the spoon slightly,
I saw mom in tears that ran from her eyes ..
With those strong, sculpted, arms of my fathers clamped to her sides.
He shook her violently,
His stubby fingers raked and clenched her hair ..
And I could only watch on,
Helplessly,
As her stoic, frail, body was thrown against my chair...
The impact was followed by one rasping, loud, gasp of sound ..
As my fortress' tall, elongated, plastic structure came crashing down.
The spoon soared from my hands as I looked in awe ..
Its cold, metallic, drumroll -
The last thing I heard before my head struck the floor...
And there I lay,
In a silence that echoed this cruel, tortuous, blow ..
My red-flushed cheeks now pooled by the blood that poured from my nose.
I awoke in a hospital bed with tubes attached to my stomach ..
My father was sat at my bedside -
And I cried out in an attempt to say THAT bastard had done it...
The accident had rendered me brain-dead,
Unable to have fun, to play,
And Daddy's little drummer boy would never get to drum again.
Now, twenty years later,
I sit in a high-chair with beans running over my chin ..
In a sheer smattering of sauce they sit,
Cold on my skin.
The beans sticking to my face,
Beneath the consumate heat of the sun ..
Where I attempt to lift my spoon,


And dream of once again beating my drum...

[Lars]

"Old McDonald Had A Farm"

Old McDonald had a farm
he mowed as gospel after dark.
Alone – a fossil – past the mark
He sowed his crops with crass regard.
In fact, he hardly slept a wink,
the man took charge of everything!
The hens, the pigs, the melancholy
kept him busy in head and body.
He never lobbied cries for help,
He’d get the jobs done by himself.
The pride he felt, he’d honestly say,
was a prize excelling monetary gain.
With no prodigy waiting or son of his own
to have gone & replaced him or took up the role
he studied the process of making a will
that covered his golden acres of field.
The place he had built was more than a business
with horses and chickens or adorable piglets
So all he envisaged in his passing at death
was being staunchly committed to his animal friends.
His Father had him a hen, from what we’re told,
that lavished them eggs of solid gold!
Its produce sold at a rate that alarmed
‘til he got his goal and paid for a farm.
That day was the start of a marvellous run
upto a changing of guard from father to son.
Eggs weren’t harder to come by, the hen was just fine,
but with no partner to bolster the hereditary line
the end was in sight - hence he drew up a will -
put pen to it right then to see his duty fulfilled.
A suitable tyro was the target post-haste
the pupil would be owner of his farming estate.
Old Mac garnered the papers approved by his brief,
and marched through his acreage hugely relieved!
Renewed with a feeling that filled up his chest
he duly proceeded with the will that he’d left.
His diligence led him to read through it all,
& a final signature meant that his dream was assured!
.
.
.
But on seeing a clause, Lord Tenterden ordered
The hen Mac deeply adored was exempt in the small print.
A sentence recording ownership of all animals listed
had no mention of poultry, hens had been omitted!
Old Mac’s non-specifics would prove costly indeed,
once they passed his novitiate the plot that he’d leave.
The immoderate upkeep of maintaining the farm
was beyond disbelief, so he gave up its barns,
Traded its heartland rather than hope for survival,
The acres we’re halved up and sold to a rival.
It’s new owners were spiteful, savvy, marketing sorts
who kept hold of the title of the man who started it all.
It seemed heartless to call it that after they put nothing in it,
But that’s all part of the boardroom -
The subtle difference between love and business.

Enjoy your fucking chicken.


​http://www.adweek.com/files/image***he/node-detail/news_article/mcdonalds-nyc-2012.jpg

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2004 ] props to Forecast ..

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
.. on some piece of his i read, inspired me for this.






Looking out ..

.. my bedroom window,
the moon's cleavage in the nights sky ..
As i sit and contemplate ..
.. whether or not im in my right mind.
Scared of what i might find ..
.. if i pry too deep,
These voices in my head,
.. make sure i cry to sleep.
Something's inside of me ..
.. a being of putrid form,
It's speech ricochet's my cerebrum ..
.. & echo's through my thoughts.
I hear it calling ..
.. shut my eyes to try & block it out,
but the voice screeches violently ..

.. " You cant stop me now.
Its pointless trying to fight me ..
.. kid, I thought you'd learnt?
Plus you've already killed ten -
.. one more wont hurt.
Why this sudden change of heart? "

.. Because im fucking sick of you.
Filling my head with voices ..
.. & always tryna twist the truth.

" That isnt true ..
.. i just bring out your dark side.
No one forces you to prowl the streets ..
.. filling craniums with sharp knives.
Stop using that as a scapegoat ..
.. this voice in your brain,
cant make your decisions for you ..
.. when choices are made -
its YOU making them happen. "

Man, stop with ALL this shit!
.. Its listening to you,
that's got my life falling to bits.
Your destroying me mentally ..
.. I really need to think a minute,
Try to gather my thoughts ..
.. & maybe pay the shrink a visit.
I cant take much more of this ..
.. You're playing havok w. my mind dude,
This has to stop ..
.. and its either you go .. or I do.

" You mean suicide!?
Come on, lets be honest you ..
.. know inside your heart,
that you'd lack the guts to follow through.
You're a murderer ..
.. cold blooded, you change in the night ..
The reason you're aggrivated's,
.. cause what im saying is right.
The more it plays on your mind,
.. the further you're enslaved to me.
and by killing yourself,
.. you'd just make my day complete. "

You've fucking lost it.
.. Man, i planned to settle down,
YOU made me kill those people,
.. and i fucking regret it now -
I imagine their relatives ..
.. are filled with hate and spite,
& though it wouldnt mean much ..
.. if i were to take my life -
Id escape your grasp ..
.. your murderous ways.
You're the most twisted motherfucker ..
.. that ive heard of to date.
Your lunacy's whats ruined me ..
.. you're crazy as hell.

" Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight ..
.. Says the guy that conversates with himself! "

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2004 ] Shadows of The Apocalypse

3. Insanevillian

Tell the story of the four horsemen of the apocalypse...


.. Chapter one, verse eight, in the book of Revelations ..
Depicting mother earth being shook to its foundation
As God looks on his creation .. as a failure before his eyes
Dissapointed and appauled, the thoughts .. soar in his mind
.. Of whether to end humanity .. To disgard his craft ..
.. To erase all life on the planet and start from scratch ..
.. Such a heartless act .. but take into consideration ..
Everything that he's gave us .. And how we've repayed him.
We've lied, cheated an stole .. are adulterous & dishonest
.. Do you REALLY think that's ANYWHERE near what he'd of wanted? ..
He promised long ago that .. in this event ..
Four angels of the Apocalypse would begin their descent ..
.. Down to earth .. turning our world into a battlefield ..
.. Humanity's final hour .. as we cling tight to a shattered shield ..
.. Until that cast is broken, with no signs of vast emotion ..
.. It was predicted long ago, now that time is fast approaching ..
.
.
.
.. The Four Horsemen Are Among Us ..
.
.
War
.
.. Horseman War began his course from the floors of heaven ..
His cancerous form, taking storm of the war on terrorism
Releasing its agressive rhythm, as war-scarred Baghdad fell
.. Burnt flesh .. heavily decorated by shards of shrapnel ..
The wounded left to die, as bystanders stood the sidelines
.. Wide Eyed .. Watching the blood pour, & tryna fight cryin ..
.. cold tears for the fallen, as the Horseman played Umpire ..
.. to Bloodied Bullet-ridden Bodies; laid to rest from the gun fire ..
Bare flesh .. torn from bone .. As the innocent fall
.. The horseman stake is claimed. Their victim's of War ..
.
.
.
Famine
.
"Help your fellow man"
.. It's often neglected by parliment ..
So the third world felt the wrath; as Famine struck at the heart of it
.. Food sources were scarce, and the villagers starving ..
As fierce floods destroyed the wheat they'd pillaged for harvest
Hunger consumed the pupulace, beneath their hand-me-downs
.. Hungry for answers as to why this .. had to happen now ..
The Famine was God sent; a horseman of ruthless choice
.. That let thousands starve to death for him to prove his point ..
.
.
.
[u]Pestilence / Plague[u]
.
.. Among this apocaliptic apex .. Plague played his part ..
Leaving the world astounded with an outbreak of SARS
.. No one was safe from harm; the disease increased its cause ..
.. through the un-knowingly infected, eager to leave the shores ..
And escape the sudden outbreak; consuming their city
As an increasing death-toll has them doomed in self-pity
The news reached a global audience; announced on TV
.. Brought to the world's attention ..
.. Plague had done what it set out to achieve ..
.
.
.
[u]Death[u]
.
Think back to nine eleven .. To the building the planes were flown
To the second you watched the towers become a heap of paint & stone
.. To when the first plane collided against the Tower's face & ..
.. How the world watched; as it collapsed to its foundations ..
Leaving nothing in its wake, but a bitter tasting surplus
.. Among those that lived to see it ..
.. Death has served his purpose ..
..
.
.
.. Im a religious man, so it's important i stress this ..
.. I strongly believe God's using these events as a message ..
.. A predule of sorts .. Insight into our looming fate ..
.. Of how the Apocalyptic Horsemen WILL consume our race ..
.. If we dont start making a change; or an attempt at stopping this ..
.. We'll all be men in black ..
As
Shadows Of The Apocalypse

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2004 ] Dead Letters: The Crimson Shadow

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Quote:
The Ainesfield Chronicle

A mysterious professor known only by his pseudonym 'The Crimson Shadow'
was found dead inside his laboratory earlier this afternoon by one of his
closest employee's, Dr. Wesley Pagett. The eccentric millionaire had no
known next of kin, and is said to of wanted his fortune invested into a long-
running project of his, intended to advance the human sensory systems and
prolong death. Employee's of 'The Crimson Shadow' refused to comment
further on the subject, other then revealing he had left an entry into his
journal shortly before his death, which they are now looking into ..


Date: 30-10-03

It seems,
ive been successful in my project on heightened sense ..
.. Blotched skin around the eyes & neck,
appears the only side effect.
Despite the tests, confirming my initial thoughts today ..
.. id like to analise the subject before his corpse decays.
See, the research ive obtained -
from the dead is far lesser then ..
.. that which i could of retrieved from a living specimen.
Its highly important, the syrum i injected yesterday ..
.. into those human beings, acts positive & tests the same ..
as my previous results. The slightest change could affect ..
.. their mentality, or even worse ..
.. result in sudden death.

Date: 31-10-03

The .. strangest of events, have occured overnight ..
.. I arrived at the lab this morning, to discover broken lights ..
.. & shards of glass on the floor, as i examined closely ..
It appears somehow,
the test-subjects have broke free ..
.. from their containment chambers.
Our tests weren't finalised ..
.. so they havent received the dose to control their violent sides ..
They're somewhere out in the city,
.. walking time bombs.
Accidents, waiting to happen. WHAT HAVE I DONE?!


Passage abstracted from the journal of 'The Crimson Shadow' dated 30-10-03 and 31-10-03 depicting the escape of various test subjects, yet uncaptured by the FBI - Exhibit A


To Be Continued ..

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2007 ] "Why I Play With Dolls"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I refused to answer the door when the pounding began ..
.. And my fear seemed to intensify the louder it rang.
I'd been left at home for the first time on my own that night ..
.. and as the front door crashed open, my body froze in fright!
A thick cloud of smoke entered first, that was tinged with the glow ..
.. of the brightest light I'd ever had the dis-privilege to know.
A dark, cloaked figure had followed, sweeping me off the ground ..
.. While whispering low and soothing,
"It's okay, it's okay. I've got you now..."

It was several minutes before I'd even started to embrace ..
.. The simple fact that the whole of our apartment was ablaze.
The fireman carried me to a barrier, where I sat and assessed ..
.. The roaring rosin flames which spat and scorched the back of my neck.
“What’s your name, honey?” he asked, to which I calmly replied ..
.. “Samantha Reynolds, sir” while the gold flames bit hard at the night.
“Sarah was in there,” I exhumed, as the consummate heat wavered ..

“She was a special doll from my bestest friend…
…Please save her.”

*****

- Flashback –

I remember the clouds breaking up, to reveal a vibrant glow ..
.. Rather anxiously, I’d b.olted back out the door minutes after arriving home!
I ran to the playground, where my jovial mind spent copious time ..
.. Amongst the sturdy red-brick buildings, where a young girl sat alone on the slide.
I joined her for a moment and said nothing, before she turned to me ..
.. “I bet I can make you sick on the swings!” she teased quite churlishly.
Suddenly our eyes connected, "Bet you cant!" I jested after a while ..
"My names Samantha, what's yours!?"
"Call me Megan," she beamed back with a smile.
Then for hours we played and we flounced, as she chased me about ..
.. before dusk drew near, and my new friend asked me to stay at her house.
"You can have one of my dolls" Megan insisted, cutting brief the discussion ..
.. And we talked into the small hours, before falling asleep on the cushions.
I woke to find her crying, a trails of tears travelling past her light hair ..
.. So I reached over to console her, thinking maybe she'd just had a nightmare.
Megan choked back her tears, but her sullen state had raised alarms ..
.. And there in her bedroom we made a pact,
That our dollies would keep us safe from harm.
"I've never told anyone this before…" she began with a sigh ..
.. Struggling with her own conscious, as cold tears ran from her eyes.
"…my father rapes me." Megan sobbed, while meeting my silent gaze ..
.. Both of us whispering softly, as we discussed how to end his violent reign.
We decided to tell my mother, who then that night alerted the police ..
.. Megan's teary eyes shimmered, under the veil of brown hair they were curtained beneath.
Her rich green eyes were consumed in darkness, and though the brute was heartless ..
.. Her father's hold on her was so strong,
That poor Megan soon withdrew the charges.
Within days they moved apartments, her shoes and garments deeply thrust ..
.. and packaged into cardboard boxes, along with dreams to keep in touch.

*****

- Flash Forward -

The clacking sound of a diesel engine increased to a roar ..
.. Tyres screeched on the floor, as the fire truck proceeded with force.
Lights flashed as it flied past, with it’s sirens blaring their sound ..
.. And in the odd rotating red hue, I noticed it lay there on the ground.
It was Sarah, the patch-work doll I was given with its faceless charm ..
.. The one Megan had sworn would keep me safe from harm.
I stared at the burnt building I once called home, and thought “Maybe she’s right…”
And maybe Megan’s gratitude is ultimately what saved me tonight…

TOPIC: The Hidden Shadow

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2007 ] "I'M THE GREATEST THAT DID IT!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just freewriting. Real talk. Enjoy or endure! :^)




Some say I'm the greatest that did it,
I prefer to say I just stated, and spit it, the way that I lived it.
But almost everything portrayed in this image,
From the day to day living, in the most outrageous conditions...
...to the mental cage I'm imprisoned in,
When my patience has withered.
Every single statement delivered, was based on my life...
...taking you through the pain and the strife, that staged my beginnings.
And every single day that I'd write, it's like that weight would be lifted...
...which was often great for my spirit - but stripped me naked inside.
What I've laid waste to these lyrics, has been made way too specific...
...I wake up and rise to straighten the blinds with hate in my eyes.
But I take it in stride, and tell myself I'm the greatest that did it! ..
Proud to say that I stated, and spit it,
The way that I lived it until the day that I'm finished.


Hate on it, bitches.

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2008 ] "Garden of Eden!"


Imagine the scene,
When Adam and Eve inhabited Eden ..
.. After he reached,
Through a cavity deep in his abdomen region.
The wrath in the screams,
And passionate pleas that he released ..
.. As his fingers passed in between,
Each fatty secretion.
Til they latched to the beetling,
Rib that snapped as he eked it...
...out and gasped in relief,
Placing it flat at his feet, until at last she was BREATHING!
And his immaculate queen basked in the green gaspers of leaves...
...That hang from the trees,
Filling her with a rapturous glee!
Their laughter would lead,
To a snake that would entrap and deceive them...
...into a matter of treason.
Snatching their freedom,
The second that rotten apple was eaten.
In a manner of speaking,
They had to conceive - They had an agreement!
But Kane and Able were named in fables,
As both born to Adam as seedlings.
So if all is as happens to be, then its only standing to reason ..
.. That Eve was raped by her sons,
To continue the bloodline while lay stranded and bleeding.
She'd prove no match for the beasts,
No matter how hard she thrashed or she screeched...
...and its taken until now for us to shatter the secret,
The Bible's been so tactfully keeping!

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2006 ] "Square!" the children would taunt, while she'd build her reports…
…As prefect for the school, Kate neglected to fool around and respected the rules.
The teacher's pet, would even keep a set of weekly tests…
…neatly resting upon the rostrum seated next to her reading desk.
These daily chores retained allure she favoured more than fame or fortune…
…the maze of halls, her quaintly gaunt frame would haunt, became rewarding.
When one day a blaze of auburn, hair would halt our brazen warden…
And bark in a boldly profound, manner “…Wanna show me around?"
Kate duly accepted, moved to the exit looking truly majestic…
"…you must be Sara, the new girl" she asked, assuming correctly.
The red-head gave a stifled “Yeah,”
Exchanged conversation ‘til the tour had ended…
…Where the two had formed a friendship, more authentic, than ANY Kate thought to mention.
They’d meet on the dormant benches, forging an unlikely pair…
…Sara being the socialite with flair and vibrant hair, while Kate was quite the square.
But that was soon to change, as Sara’s influence grew on Kate…
…Bbefore long she’d flirt with boys, with certain poise, and rued the day-
That she’d ever divulged happiness from how she’d build reports…
…Now she’d found acceptance in make-up, and underage intercourse.
Until eventually she fell pregnant,
With the ‘dad’ wanting no part of it.
The thought of her son being raised fatherless, tore her heart to bits.

All she’d ever wanted was a little acceptance from the ‘in’ crowd.
What a waste of a kind young mind.

DaMn.

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2007 ]

“Naked: My Soul Laid Bare”


You fuel the fire, of this fools desire.
You provide the warmth, when I’m frozen by the storm.
You’re the rock of empathy, attending to my every need.
You’re my ray of hope when I feel life’s got the best of me.
You’re the recipe, behind my success - My ecstasy.
My armour,
My weaponry,
My strength from harm or jeopardy.
You’re the karmic energy, to balance my own ..
.. the calming melody, when I can’t cope with matters at home.
The balm and remedy, that soothes my pain -
Yes, it’s you again.
My unsung muse,
My heart,
My every dream come true.


I loved you.


But we’ve been back to square one more times than I care to count.
You stare and pout, intensely ..
.. Questioning my whereabouts.
Those enigmatic eyes greet my every whim with an air of doubt,
Ready to tear and pounce,
If I so much as make a mistake.
So you wait and you wait, with a grimace kept upon that fairest mouth ..
.. Spewing venom my direction,
In no spared amount.
You’d labelled me a liar before I’d even decided to speak,
Claiming that I was a cheat ..
.. With nothing but lies and deceit. escaping through the whites of my teeth.
I try to compete,
Without having my every statement unfairly trounced ..
.. before you dare announce,
That we no longer share the house.
You rarely shout, but your stern silence strikes a chord ..
.. that speaks volumes,
On this over-possessive side of yours.
You’re always inciting wars,
Our once-glowing trust has waned ..
.. in much the same, way we’ve found our very ideals brushed away.
And though it’s cruel to admit accusations of me cheating are true ..
.. It would be crueller still,
If I had chosen to keep them from you.
Now I’m the vile creature consumed, by a shade deeper than blue ..
.. It’s not the fact that I cheated -
More that I was caught and each of us knew.
I rose from the shell of the man,
Over which this secret had loomed ..
.. and prised away my silent gaze, from the walls of this featureless room.
The unease of my mood,
Prolongs each and every tedious movement ..
.. as I work towards a time, where you and me can reach a solution.
And though it’s cruel to admit,
That accusations of me cheating are true ..
.. It would be crueller still if I had chosen to keep them from you.
Now I’m the vile creature consumed, by a shade deeper than blue ..
.. It’s not the fact that I cheated -
More that I was caught, and each of us knew.
I rose from the shell of the man,
Over which this secret had loomed ..
.. and prised away, my silent gaze, from the walls of this featureless room.
The new dawn seeps,
Through my broken blinds as I lie in a sprawled heap ..
Call me a bastard.
Call me a liar.
Call me what you will ..


.. Just call me.

[Lars]

2013-2014

"Inner Daemon"

“Jesus Christ!”
Joe had exclaimed
with sheer surprise
wrote on his face.
His tone gave away
a hint of resentment
and total dismay
the instant she mentioned
to him she was pregnant.
It couldn’t be true!
They lived in abstention
where lust was rebuked
and stuck with it too.
So what had occurred?
The couple concluded
as one that the birth
was God and his work.
A gift from the skies
to honour and serve
his siblings alike.
Soon whispers were rife
of the child she adorned
and Kings would arrive
with a guide from the North.
The messiah was born
in a Barn-cum-Sty
to righteous applause
one starry night.
He started life
in humble surrounds
as far a cry
from the wonders we now
come to denounce
as you can imagine.
His avuncular grounding
was to his advantage
when pursuing his passion
and teaching disciples
numerous passages
that would lead to The Bible.
Believer's were vital
to establish his role
His key to survival
and Christianity's growth.
They travelled the globe
professing religion
recanting his scrolls
and spreading his wisdom.
Lead by his vision,
and aiming to please,
he dispensed them on missions
to purvey his beliefs.
Their Saviour would greet
vast crowds in swathes
regaling them each
about the great
powers he came into
but there was a secret
shrouding his reign
that Mary'd been keeping.
Her heir was a demon
with Jesus sent to Earth
not there to redeem them
but oversee the Devil's work.
An evil menace lurking
amongst the unsuspecting
deceitful in his purpose,
both cunning and deceptive.
The brother they'd accepted
was a sophism of Satan
governed by obsession
to stop them contemplating.
The 'Prophet' was a blatant fraud,
Man-made religion is hell,
Not so much a gift from God
as a deal with the Devil himself...

[Lars]

"Stone"

Take a concrete thought or idea
aim to spot the flaws that appear.
Before you adhere tools of the trade in
your engineering, view it with patience.
- Use your creative juices to crack it,
there’s numerous ways if you just imagine!
Using a hammer could bring you results
but if you were to add just a chisel and sculpt
with unadulterated freedom of thought
& instinctive impulses leading the course
it could be so much more given time to perfect it.
- Clean up the corners and find a direction
File at each section that’s rough at the edges
so its lines are connected & done to your credit.
Study your effort with critical eyes
looking intensely at which you’ve designed.
- Is it precise and holding your gaze
giving new life what you’d hoped to convey?
If no, strip away at the layers of debris
‘til what solely remains the creation you dreamed.
As great an achievement as you could accomplish
a shape that’s ideal and yet brutally honest.
A beautiful homage to original thought
remove what’s unwanted and rid it of flaws.
Strip to the core of the subject in essence
exhibit it purely and cut the excesses.
So nothing is left but the principle premise
to sum up the rest and deliver your message.
See, in the possessive hands of an artist
this gift of expression comes natural regardless.
Whether tablet or parchment or what you prefer
it’s how concrete concepts are turned into bodies of work.

[Lars]

"Old McDonald Had A Farm"

Old McDonald had a farm
he mowed as gospel after dark.
Alone – a fossil – past the mark
He sowed his crops with crass regard.
In fact, he hardly slept a wink,
the man took charge of everything!
The hens, the pigs, the melancholy
kept him busy in head and body.
He never lobbied cries for help,
He’d get the jobs done by himself.
The pride he felt, he’d honestly say,
was a prize excelling monetary gain.
With no prodigy waiting or son of his own
to have gone & replaced him or took up the role
he studied the process of making a will
that covered his golden acres of field.
The place he had built was more than a business
with horses and chickens or adorable piglets
So all he envisaged in his passing at death
was being staunchly committed to his animal friends.
His Father had him a hen, from what we’re told,
that lavished them eggs of solid gold!
Its produce sold at a rate that alarmed
‘til he got his goal and paid for a farm.
That day was the start of a marvellous run
upto a changing of guard from father to son.
Eggs weren’t harder to come by, the hen was just fine,
but with no partner to bolster the hereditary line
the end was in sight - hence he drew up a will -
put pen to it right then to see his duty fulfilled.
A suitable tyro was the target post-haste
the pupil would be owner of his farming estate.
Old Mac garnered the papers approved by his brief,
and marched through his acreage hugely relieved!
Renewed with a feeling that filled up his chest
he duly proceeded with the will that he’d left.
His diligence led him to read through it all,
& a final signature meant that his dream was assured!
.
.
.
But on seeing a clause, Lord Tenterden ordered
The hen Mac deeply adored was exempt in the small print.
A sentence recording ownership of all animals listed
had no mention of poultry, hens had been omitted!
Old Mac’s non-specifics would prove costly indeed,
once they passed his novitiate the plot that he’d leave.
The immoderate upkeep of maintaining the farm
was beyond disbelief, so he gave up its barns,
Traded its heartland rather than hope for survival,
The acres we’re halved up and sold to a rival.
It’s new owners were spiteful, savvy, marketing sorts
who kept hold of the title of the man who started it all.
It seemed heartless to call it that after they put nothing in it,
But that’s all part of the boardroom -
The subtle difference between love and business.

Enjoy your fucking chicken.


​http://www.adweek.com/files/image***he/node-detail/news_article/mcdonalds-nyc-2012.jpg

[Lars]

The topic we were given for this week in the league was that of a past verse submitted by a user. Hence the quoted verse:

Originally Posted by Vulgar
Raising the Lindbergh Baby

"One should see the world, and see himself as a scale with an equal balance of good and evil. When he does one good deed the scale is tipped to the good - he and the world is saved. When he does one evil deed the scale is tipped to the bad - he and the world is destroyed."
Maimonides


The only thing in this world crueler than a child with a magnifying glass
is the man that takes the brainchildren of a just and equal society ransom.
Here’s an alibi at last, taking fatality’s chances. The survival of anthems
dependent on the youth reclaiming the olden masks of these phantoms
Our lifeline’s short, we needn’t even ask for compassion’s enjambment
It's a long, unrevised poem about theology: shipwreck on Nazareth landing
let’s get past all the chanting, ranting, and havoc to managing planning
let's put a halt to throwing stones at Goliath’s evening carriage at random
I don’t see giants among men, I see adolescent vassals and barons
I see Lazarus baring his teeth in a palace disparaged, collapsed in the barracks
Some would prefer infanticide to being trapped in a harem,
or going to church with no lasting morals, a pale, waxen appearance
the factor's embarrassing. We need to grow up, summon the blue flames
As a race we’re still wet behind the ears from the blood of the crusades
Buttered nougats and soufflés adorn a table fit for no man
Most that dine deserve the boxed lunches at Auschwitz’s daycare program
The fountain of youth without an irrigation system -
causes sandy hooks that do little to lift the veil on properly raising children
Keep your top hats on, my brothers from a number of troubling tribes
Please take your prayer beads out and raise 'em up to the discomforting sky
My point to make is that the age of accountability doesn’t apply;
if we don’t live in an age of accountability, but that‘s the crux of this lie.
Take the offspring of our wives. Those little munchkins make a stunning regime
I hope the mark of the bee sting leads to prosperous fields of honey and wheat
Rather than a toppled veneer, the rubble of Greece, we were rubbin their cheeks
though they crawl, coo, & cuddle in sheets, soon they’ll succumb to the breach
We wear condoms in fear that we’ll give birth to sons that besiege
We’re past the 1980’s coups, the incubation flukes, it sounds crazy too
The first steps that they take…stamping on the human face forever, in baby shoes.
Exaggerations? Few. Just look at the data I’ve collected
If evil stems from childhood, why not at the earliest stage attempt to correct it?
Today’s lesson: Children of men, if given the chance to...
Would take advantage of that undeveloped, foreign disguise
When the umbilical cord is cut, don’t be hypnotized by those adorable eyes
cause I know human nature on a first name basis & he can be a horrible guy.
These first-borns’ll provide much destruction, build missiles and drones
Miniature killers who continue to hone lineages of anti-spiritual rogues
Consider that Reverend Death smiles at us all, smitten in chrysalis smoke
for the crimes our brainchildren have committed in loads
Payback’s a bitch to the bone
and poetic justice wasn’t the most well written of codes
therefore I regret to inform you that your million dollar baby's on official parole...

…our children could grow into bitter monstrosities
without limits, control, and physical monitoring.
But with simple – imposed - dermal digi-technology
the chips on their shoulders administered properly
could give us more honest feedback on their thoughts
their physique, their autonomy, actions and more.
Once that’s been procured, we can start to address
any harmful intentions or partial defects
found in arduous tests, then attend to their cells
& embark on corrections to save them from themselves.
With everyone helped – which is the purpose given –
God’s playground can be enjoyed by the most gifted & perfect children...
…Are these political words of wisdom being used to deceive
or a modern miracle worth conviction? The future looks bleak
no matter how you choose to perceive it. Be that as slaves to genetics
- mere human guinea pigs the meek await to inherit –
labelled authentic when our very identity’s manufactured
with our double-helices the structures really keeping us captive.
Creatures of habit become a breeding ground for clone-esones
and our freedom is banished because of greed. Now it’s otiose
to think how they chose to cope when if only they had believed
what millions of minds all pulling the same way could achieve
with conveyor belt DNA signatures, processed and assigned,
- Genetic designer babies replicating the next that’s in line -
from the pigment to their height – Each identically matched
with no ending in sight as they’re engineered together en masse.
Using replica strands for our betterment & our wellbeing we trust’s safe,
…but our government wouldn’t use if for any other reasons, would they?
A deep mistrust lays beneath the guttural rumble of machines,
that grumble as if realising how their productions been received.
- They splutter and they screech as if appalled by the retrofits,
while the Government release statements on how it’s all for our benefit.
The factory walls see it’s eminency in their noxious, plastic, smiles
- but I wouldn’t trust ‘em as far as I could throw their robotic bastard child.
With carbon-copies stacked in piles & innumerable data collected
we’re promised advance in style… towards the day of our reckoning.
- We automated their engines, sped them up as a novelty,
Took away the attendants who oversaw they were functioning properly.
Now if we look at it logically, with everything we’ve ever fed
them, we’re just a commodity - They don’t consider us a threat.
It’s Darwinism in effect.
Both options fool to deceive -
The future looks bleak no matter how you choose to perceive it...

[Lars]

"Origin of Language"


Let’s start with the day our protagonists met:
For arguments sake, we’ll call ‘em ‘Alpha’ and ‘Bet’.
Two Neanderthal men at the evolutionary cusp
form a hunter-gatherer friendship in pursuit of the hunt.
Food is a must, so in tandem they work
with a mutual trust in an absence of words.
Hands are their first tool, signals made with the fingers,
so an understanding’s asserted to be relayed at a distance.
With a waving of digits and signed interaction
a basic depiction of what’s required is established.
It’s vital for catching prey – their ordinate nature
a survivalist tactic to warn them of danger.
Their calls and behaviour grow ever-expressive
and forge their relationships strength in dependence.
It lends to expression, though their conveyance is blunt,
a succession of gestured sounds made with their tongues.
Replacing the grunts and guttural roars
they are accustomed to trusting before.
Adjusting accordingly, they share with their group
the functioning orders of various tools.
The pair of them use this form for announcing
the areas new food sources are found in.
As more is recounted and usage increases
it also has grounding in grooming and teaching.
Due to this reason adaptation excels
in the communicative region they’re creating themselves.
These basic, but central, components combining
as each stage is essential for homogenising.
The protocol rises, trust’s further cemented
in a social environment through the emergence of friendship.
Working together authenticated the bond
as they learn from endeavours, which makes it so strong.
As communication prolongs, so the larynx does in the throats,
and they place an importance on trusting their own.
The hunter’s are vocal in where and when to attack,
as one studies for opening’s they’re aware their enemies have.
The hair descending his back stood as he heard a deafening bellow
that dared to tremble the canopies with its prevalent echo.
It was meant to let ‘Bet’ know of a new situation -
a threat to the threshold the two were engaged in.
‘Bet’ pursued it to aid him, lengthened his stride,
with no clue what awaited and his chest filled with pride.
He swept at the vines that appeared in his path
expecting to find a clearing at last.
When the searing impact of a blade struck in his chest
hand-engineered from a flat stone, just like the hunter possessed.
The blood unrelenting, a sign of abatement,
he looked up to question and eye his assailant.
‘Bet’s life had been taken by his ally and his friend
with the first lie in creation, ‘Alpha’ brought his life to an end.
The guy he depended on most had attacked
to try and affect dominance over their pack.
The stone still cold in his hand, he waited in watch,
content with knowing the fact -
the ‘Alpha’ male had resumed his place at the top...




TOPIC: Thanks to words, we have been able to rise above the brutes; and thanks to words, we have often sunk to the level of the demons. -Aldous Huxley

[Lars]

As spermatozoa we flock to the egg
our journey unknown, unsure what to expect.
We jostle against up to a hundred million alike
but we’re not just dependent on will to survive.
We’ve a belligerent drive for adventure that’s present
instilled in us right from our very conception.
No sense of direction, yet a desire to explore
inherently extant and hard-wired in us all.
As a child, once we’re born, and our muscles develop
we rise up from crawling to look for new ventures.
A wonderful sense of intrigue and fun
is discovered in everything seen and touched.
Our keen indulgence outgrows the pedagogical brain
which feeds compulsively on the knowledge we gain.
There’s a lot to explain and not always the grown up
to offer their take or talk to and show us.
So the more that we notice, the further we probe,
all in the process to learn on our own.
We still search when we’re older - just with different objectives
from our earlier motives, beginning with acceptance.
It’s a principle of friendship we examine through social need
once were given independence to stand on our own two feet.
We challenge our old beliefs and look to find who we are
with the matter of sewing seeds still just a minor regard.
We up and widen our targets, making our own mistakes,
becoming wiser and starting to take control of the reigns.
There’s great emotional changes as adolescence subsides
& we break the hold that constrains us to question what’s right.
Our identity crisis resolved, we no longer seek the approval
respect or advice of the people we used to.
In our teens they were crucial for our self-esteem to have grown
but now we’ve different scruples and ideas of our own.
We’re reaching the moment in life to think of our future
and key to this goal is a similar suitor.
It gives us security when paired in marriage,
possibly producing an heir apparent.
We share and balance the weight of our needs
through careful planning of aspirations and dreams.
We help managing each other’s choices; Agreeing to
establish a medium or point in between the two.
Voicing our fears and views in what course of action to take
to then jointly proceed in doing all that stands in our way.
Talk of families raised, as lovers we’re wed,
and sure our paths are the same - a new map of discovery’s set.
As our young couple commence, with life’s cycle coming full-swing,
one journey comes to an end, as another begins…


http://i.imgur.com/AUXTS1L.jpg

[Lars]

"Same Chips, Different Table"

I adored my Gramps and how fearless he used to play.
“Call it,”
“Black,” He sneered at the croupier.
The wheel was excruciating to watch as it sped
past the gleaning enumerations possibly left.
The polished roulette centre-circles turning beside each other
revolving against a whirling dervish of vibrant colour.
Certain; He slides a number of chips stood to his left
perfectly timed to cover his introductory bet.
As numbers descend into focus, the wheels momentum slows,
the ball jumps at one section while rolling – I feel the tension grow.
The sphere a metronome while bouncing from jaws
to jeers and pensive tones sounded by all.
Gramps scowls at the ball, I watch as he stands
open-mouthed and it falls into a pocket of black.

***

The hospital staff say it’s no good for his heart
that he’s got to relax and stop pushing so hard.
Gramps shrugs their remarks off, smiles at me blank,
before thrusting a card in the slight of my hand.
It read: “Life is a gamble, roll the dice,
find you an angle, know your price.
Throw the blinds up, make a profit,
but don't sit by just chasing losses.
Weigh your options, spread your bets,
raise the pot to get ahead.
Second best's unsatisfying,
never fret or have to buy in.
I've had a try and lost it all,
stacked them high & watched 'em fall.
Flopped and called with deuce and king,
dropped the ball on roulette spins.
Seen losers win and winners lose,
threw them in - then hit a fluke!
Missed a few and made a buck,
in pursuit of lady luck.
If you play for fun that’s all you’ll have,
but your day will come, I’m sure of that…”

***

I thought that Gramps had lost his mind.
I was too small to gamble - the slots too high!
I’d not a dime to bet or keep;
Was the rhyme meant for me?
I spent my teens and adolescence
endlessly just asking questions.
Had Gramps intended me to risk it
once his gambling tendencies rescinded?
Why need to bring this up to me
- a means of hinting subtly?
I took to read and retrace the lines
when another meaning came to mind:
The game of life has peaks and troughs
but play it right, you can reach the top.
You’ll need a lot of luck to best
and beat the odds you’re up against.
Some have spent obscene amounts
where others went and beat the house.
Clean ‘em out and hone your edge
before the dealer shouts there’s “No more bets!”
Hold it steady, check or fold,
composed as ever – let it roll!
Roulette had shown me life's hurried at a frenzied speed,
the ball they set in motion doubles as our destiny.
The jump at interventions relayed as past mistakes
and us coming to our senses to change the path we take.
The pace we travels made slower as we reach the age
to make our lasting place known before we leave the game.
The green and beige set the tone where most become unstuck
either way, you never know when your numbers up…

http://i.imgur.com/mgOL8dX.jpg

[Lars]

From Single Cell To Living Hell"

"From Single Cell To Living Hell"


Whether you argue religion conceived us the world that we have
or particle fission as heat and inertia react.
The earth was a mass of violent components
its world uninhabitable by life as we know it.
Ions and protons were fast to generate
a seismic commotion of atmospheric change.
The planetary state reached an extraordinary level
as its recalescent rage meant no water could settle.
The core drawing in metals the planet would need,
but volcanic storms were essential as gas was released.
A gradual easing of temperature meant
rainfall began to increase in torrential descent.
Millennia’s spent as beads then broke from the skies
until the weather relented, leaving ocean’s behind.
These components combined and a new cycle dawned
as we reached a moment in time where life was formed.
Tiny spores of algae hold bold significance -
They provide our orb oxygen through photosynthesis.
A host of primitive flora expand
on their own initiative from water to land.
Early forms of a cyanobacteria constantly merging
in a primordial tapestry of symbiotic convergence.
With oxygen, Earth became more tenantable still
but lots of our early ancestors would be killed.
It lead up to us building on the features that we had
with the necessary skills life needed to adapt.
From seas onto the land, cartilage tissue to bone,
our feet becoming hands as we continued to grow.
Amphibians honing flight as natural selection endeavoured
with the proto-wings that we owned developing feathers.
To weather the elements, fur replaced some scales,
our genetic antecedents balanced weight on tails.
Bipedal traits prevail, we rise up to stand,
as this change unveils an untying of hands.
Our reach rightly expands, along with the girth of our legs,
the arrival of mammals sees births without eggs.
Nature and nurture commence in perfect accord
simians turn into ‘men’ in our earliest form.
Learning to talk helps communication increase
as words replace drawings, we’re able to read.
The attainment of speech was a masterful step
in our brains engineering no other animals met.
With language invented through use of our brains
man had ascended the evolutionary chain.
Us humans created; shaping in time
tools of the trade to aid in our lives.
These basic designs would lead to the usage
of our daily devices, touchscreens and computers.
Our need for ‘improvement’ defied thermodynamics,
leaving the blueprint that Earth had established.
Now we’re usurping the planet of its natural resources
preserving our habitats not a matter of importance.
But what happens when it’s all been brought up from the ground
the vast sums are exhausted and a shortage is pronounced?
We can’t afford to live without it by the time this occurs
a nuclear war is what’s announced and we fight for reserves.
As missiles are returned, our own extinction’s a viable path,
our survival on Earth threatened by the enquiring of man.
We’re so blind to this fact that we can’t even see
we’ve paradise in our grasp, yet it’s never seemed so far from our reach…


http://i.imgur.com/K67bf5r.jpg

[Certain]

[ 2004 ] Shadows of The Apocalypse

3. Insanevillian

Tell the story of the four horsemen of the apocalypse...


.. Chapter one, verse eight, in the book of Revelations ..
Depicting mother earth being shook to its foundation
As God looks on his creation .. as a failure before his eyes
Dissapointed and appauled, the thoughts .. soar in his mind
.. Of whether to end humanity .. To disgard his craft ..
.. To erase all life on the planet and start from scratch ..
.. Such a heartless act .. but take into consideration ..
Everything that he's gave us .. And how we've repayed him.
We've lied, cheated an stole .. are adulterous & dishonest
.. Do you REALLY think that's ANYWHERE near what he'd of wanted? ..
He promised long ago that .. in this event ..
Four angels of the Apocalypse would begin their descent ..
.. Down to earth .. turning our world into a battlefield ..
.. Humanity's final hour .. as we cling tight to a shattered shield ..
.. Until that cast is broken, with no signs of vast emotion ..
.. It was predicted long ago, now that time is fast approaching ..
.
.
.
.. The Four Horsemen Are Among Us ..
.
.
War
.
.. Horseman War began his course from the floors of heaven ..
His cancerous form, taking storm of the war on terrorism
Releasing its agressive rhythm, as war-scarred Baghdad fell
.. Burnt flesh .. heavily decorated by shards of shrapnel ..
The wounded left to die, as bystanders stood the sidelines
.. Wide Eyed .. Watching the blood pour, & tryna fight cryin ..
.. cold tears for the fallen, as the Horseman played Umpire ..
.. to Bloodied Bullet-ridden Bodies; laid to rest from the gun fire ..
Bare flesh .. torn from bone .. As the innocent fall
.. The horseman stake is claimed. Their victim's of War ..
.
.
.
Famine
.
"Help your fellow man"
.. It's often neglected by parliment ..
So the third world felt the wrath; as Famine struck at the heart of it
.. Food sources were scarce, and the villagers starving ..
As fierce floods destroyed the wheat they'd pillaged for harvest
Hunger consumed the pupulace, beneath their hand-me-downs
.. Hungry for answers as to why this .. had to happen now ..
The Famine was God sent; a horseman of ruthless choice
.. That let thousands starve to death for him to prove his point ..
.
.
.
[u]Pestilence / Plague[u]
.
.. Among this apocaliptic apex .. Plague played his part ..
Leaving the world astounded with an outbreak of SARS
.. No one was safe from harm; the disease increased its cause ..
.. through the un-knowingly infected, eager to leave the shores ..
And escape the sudden outbreak; consuming their city
As an increasing death-toll has them doomed in self-pity
The news reached a global audience; announced on TV
.. Brought to the world's attention ..
.. Plague had done what it set out to achieve ..
.
.
.
[u]Death[u]
.
Think back to nine eleven .. To the building the planes were flown
To the second you watched the towers become a heap of paint & stone
.. To when the first plane collided against the Tower's face & ..
.. How the world watched; as it collapsed to its foundations ..
Leaving nothing in its wake, but a bitter tasting surplus
.. Among those that lived to see it ..
.. Death has served his purpose ..
..
.
.
.. Im a religious man, so it's important i stress this ..
.. I strongly believe God's using these events as a message ..
.. A predule of sorts .. Insight into our looming fate ..
.. Of how the Apocalyptic Horsemen WILL consume our race ..
.. If we dont start making a change; or an attempt at stopping this ..
.. We'll all be men in black ..
As
Shadows Of The Apocalypse

Lars, was this your verse against me the first time we faced?

[Lars]

Yeah, I can't find the original battle though. Sadface.jpg

[Certain]

Yeah, I can't find the original battle though. Sadface.jpg

I was going to see if you could remember what I wrote.

[Brian Bryan]

No idea bud, sorry!

[sral]

GSL Week 2 vs. Choice Words


"Pennyford Blue"


The seven seas never seem short of a tale.
“Let her free!” the vessel leaves, adorning its sails.
Setting forth in a gale against the black of the night
as intrepid waters prevail, they’re carried from sight.
A flagon in right hand, hook in the left,
the captain arrives with rum on his breath.
He stumbles on deck of the Pennyford Blue
for a public address to his cretinous crew.
“To treasure and booty,” came the guttural roar
“If you pledge me your duty, there’s enough for us all!”
The others onboard then clapped as they yelled
In sudden applause for the man at the helm.
Captain LeVell was a porthole of a man
But could look after himself were the moment to pass.
He’d disposed of his hand when at odds to be free,
as Redbeard showed him the plank and he dropped to the sea.
Watching it bleed as he gnawed to find an escape,
- a true seadog with the teeth for a fight, as we say!
Some pirates had claimed he was done and rejoiced
with surprise on the faces of landlubbers ahoy
When they discovered him coiled up one night on the beach
discoloured but buoyed, like them there devices at sea.
The tide doesn’t sleep, though it often relents,
and neither would he as he plotted revenge.
He wanted them dead, reduced to a pulp,
by an ensemble of men with proven results.
A crew of old salts, all colours and creeds,
grouped with hopefuls then took to the sea.
Looking to seek vengeance on Redbeard and his men
cut ‘em to pieces o’ eight and leave ‘em for dead!
Which leads to our quest for Redbeard and his gold
to season adventurers, these seas are their home.
Every beach, every cove, every opening and passage
every secret it holds is known to the captain.
And so the advantage was his in pursuit
They row with abandon as he considers their move.
The ship and its crew adjusting the bow
As LeVell instantly knew where to look for his foe!
He took to his scope, lookin’ east as the crow flies,
Instructin’ his covey to what he’d seen with his own eyes.
Their belief in the old timer proved a trusted source
As the creeped up its lone side and then jumped aboard!
A rush of swords soared through the breeze
as cut-throat corsairs fall to the sea.
They brawl under siege, with both sides losin’ men,
‘til Redbeard’s brought to his knees in a fight to the death!
LeVell had eyes of resentment, cold as the sea,
as it was time to avenge his only defeat.
The very moment he reached for the sheath on his cutlass
he felt a blow that would see him bleed from his stomach.
The greedy curmudgeon had waited alone
to make sure his leader was bludgeoned ‘fore he made away with the gold!
There’s no place for heroes in this grey, timeless abyss
but that’s the way that it blows - double-crossed like the flag waved high from the ship...

[sral]

GSL Week 3 vs. The R


"Daliwinism"


Lots has been rumoured in studies of recent
about the possible futures of us as a species.
Some of it easy to grasp and retain
while others completely baffle my brain.
The fact still remains that, all in good time,
the advancements we make will ensure we survive.
The dawn will arrive when appearances change
though the thought of it might seem a weird one today.
An era awaits for the big and the bold
when we peak as a race in physical growth
The fit and the mobile find to their luck
that symmetry’s vogue in desirable looks.
Giants become the me and you of today
right at the front of the evolutionary race.
A uniformed beige increasingly defined
due to our racial interbreeding and its rise.
What we eat within our diets sees radical change
both key to our survival and attracting a mate.
As we adapt and replace with more technology
the practical brain becomes a sought commodity.
This course we follow in leads to divide
& forms the origin of a sub-species that thrives.
Its people unlike their genetic relatives
more feeble in size and less intelligent.
They’re separate entities with inhuman physiques,
- inept degenerates who’ll do as we please.
Our beautiful-geniuses keep the ugly-stupid at bay
view them as meek and use them as slaves.
Mere tools of their trade to unearth, barter and sell
in a truth that’s as strange as the works of Dali himself…

[sral]

GSL Week 4 Champ Match vs. eNCee

"Unfurgettable"

Tossing the hair that framed her pallid cheeks,
“We’re off to the fair!” she claimed ecstatically.
Her name was Natalie. “Waddaya say?!”
I lay back passively, lost in her gaze.
“C’mon ‘cause we’re late!” I jumped to her side
where her mom was there waiting for us to arrive.
With a tut and a sigh and a slam of the door
Nat’s clutching me tight by the hand as we walk.
My eyes cast to the floor as we’re taking strides
until standing before us is a cascade of light.
Illuminated rides shriek upward and plummet
as Natalie takes her time to summon her courage.
She looks at me worried, pulls me next to herself,
as much for encouragement as anything else.
She leapt as a yell of giddy excitement
had then been dispelled by the kiddies behind us.
She was a little bit frightened but climbed up to pay
the ticket provider while the ride was delayed.
The silence became ever more harkening too
with what was lying in wait as we started to move.
Darkness consumed both carriage and track
and harsher it grew to a gradual black.
We were sat at the back with her mom to my left,
where Nat had me clasped, pushing onto her chest.
The fog up ahead disappearing from sight
as we plod through its dense cloud & veer to the right.
A mysterious light unveils a murderous scene
its appearance is frightening, Nat squirms in her seat.
Blood-curdling screams greet a bump in the road
and I’m hurled out of reach by the shuddering blow.
Crushed under the cold wheels, soft fur everywhere,
who will she cuddle at home, now Nat’s lost her Teddy Bear?

[sral]

GSL Week 4 Champ Match vs. eNCee

"Unfurgettable"

Tossing the hair that framed her pallid cheeks,
“We’re off to the fair!” she claimed ecstatically.
Her name was Natalie. “Waddaya say?!”
I lay back passively, lost in her gaze.
“C’mon ‘cause we’re late!” I jumped to her side
where her mom was there waiting for us to arrive.
With a tut and a sigh and a slam of the door
Nat’s clutching me tight by the hand as we walk.
My eyes cast to the floor as we’re taking strides
until standing before us is a cascade of light.
Illuminated rides shriek upward and plummet
as Natalie takes her time to summon her courage.
She looks at me worried, pulls me next to herself,
as much for encouragement as anything else.
She leapt as a yell of giddy excitement
had then been dispelled by the kiddies behind us.
She was a little bit frightened but climbed up to pay
the ticket provider while the ride was delayed.
The silence became ever more harkening too
with what was lying in wait as we started to move.
Darkness consumed both carriage and track
and harsher it grew to a gradual black.
We were sat at the back with her mom to my left,
where Nat had me clasped, pushing onto her chest.
The fog up ahead disappearing from sight
as we plod through its dense cloud & veer to the right.
A mysterious light unveils a murderous scene
its appearance is frightening, Nat squirms in her seat.
Blood-curdling screams greet a bump in the road
and I’m hurled out of reach by the shuddering blow.
Crushed under the cold wheels, soft fur everywhere,
who will she cuddle at home, now Nat’s lost her Teddy Bear?

[sral]

Best In the World PPV vs. Sly Kuts

"Art Imitating Life"

There’s an element of realness to every picture I paint
its just cleverly concealed; I keep my distance this way.
By switching the names and making events
a little bit vague I maintain the pretence.
My way of addressing the thoughts on my mind
is to make a confession through the stories I write.
These forums online help with easing the burden
as the audience likes what they read in my verses.
But what they see on the surface is only a fraction
a preened and cut version I’ve chosen to hand them.
All that’s told and imagined, each juncture explored,
has a moment that happened at the crux of them all.
I’ll subtly draw from the people I know
while looking to forge an appearance or role.
Heroes and rogues, it depends on the day,
and could be on how closely our friendship is based.
My many creations are staples of this
regularly taken and tailored to fit.
Shaped and then scripted in cautionary tales
to paint you a picture as boredom prevails.
I draw from them daily, caricaturing my friends,
as all of their failings have brought me success.
I don’t normally fret over what’s said in my writing
or call into question the method behind it.
Yet there have been times when an incident’s happened
that’s echoed the rhyme in a similar fashion.
My instant reaction was one of surprise
Did I imagine it? Was it a sign?
Was it possible I could predict what they do?
There’s no logic behind it, but it was the truth.
Everything I would choose as a story unfolded
ringing as true in all its components.
I thought about posting fictional topicals next
but the audience voting were not as impressed.
I lost in the end as, sick with anger, I watched
and it’s not an option again – I’ll win no matter the cost.
By killing characters off and thinking of ways they die
until my family’s gone and I miss my creative side.
They’re victims I've plagiarized, every figure that’s played a part,
but was it art imitating life, or life imitating art?

[sral]

"Son Of A Bitch"

The son of a bitch and I hate her for that -
if you’ve something to give, then she’ll take what you have.
While you’re breaking your back supporting her greed
she’s changing the man that you thought you would be.
I’ve crawled at her feet every morning I’ve woke.
She’s all that you need, and more that you don’t.
She’s always evoked both laughter and hatred -
but proved the fork in the road to each path that I’ve taken.
All manner of faces have told her goodbye
as she’s naturally aging and growing in size.
There’s been copious times I could’ve left her and gone,
but the lows and the highs seem to strengthen our bond.
She’s never responded to my wishes and wants
so my sense of belonging and affinity’s lost.
She’s different spots that protrude from her pores.
The same people slinging her rocks view her with scorn.
She’s abused like a whore, but never opens her mouth,
I suppose she’s used to them walking all over her now.
When no-ones around, she takes me to task,
by showing me how to change and adapt.
There’s mistakes from her past she’s obscuring from sight
as she’s papered the cracks and moved with the times.
Her once beautiful, vibrant self now ugly and static
secluded in silence and looking abandoned.
She’s bloodied and damaged, she’s lost to neglect,
she’s struggling and carries a god-awful stench.
But with what she has left of her prominent features
she wants to defend beyond logic and reason.
Downtrodden and beaten, shown no respect,
and her options look bleaker the older she gets.
I love and loathe her immensely, but I’m not looking for pity,
just the son who knows he’s indebted to his mother – the city.

http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah288/slaneee7/map_zps17b9e8d0.jpg

[sral]

Martyrs Tourney Rd.1 vs. Sn00p


"Blix"

In the afterglow of a star foregoing it's collapse
the frozen Takhaar kingdom lies prone to an attack.
The cold has been so ravaging, with harsher winds to come,
that the home of the Takhaarishi has halved within a month.
It's architectural sculptures of once monumental size
lie carpeted in sulphur beneath a frosted bed of ice.
The drop in present climate has seen their numbers deplete
as they're not as energised without the sun and it's heat.
They function by gleaning it's energy through their scales
so this sudden extreme has left them weakened and pale.
Its people are ailing, but we're not here to try and support 'em,
we're just eagerly waiting to strike without warning...
"FIRE ON MY ORDER!" caterwauled General Binx
who smiled at the corners of his menacing grin.
His dual-headedness lifted a tentacle upright
addressing his missionaries as he steadied his good eye.
"READY?" he grunts while they hang on his word
as the vedette adjust in a mechanical whirr.
Binx blasts an assertive "AIM!" to the squad he's commanding,
as the polax-cannon then searches for a Point of Optimum Damage.
Once the POD is established "FIRE!" comes his ***kling cry
as it's infrasonic galactic beam lights up the vacuous sky.
Binx glanced to his right, where his deputy sat,
& thought back to a time before he made the General's badge.
A centuries passed since the falling of that star,
when he was drafted to go to war with the Takhaar.
Binx was always pretty ardent that their hecatomb was met
but had worn a heavy heart today when sentencing their deaths.
His deputy had questioned him before they set off in pursuit
and still etched within his memory was "What did they do?"

[sral]

Martyrs Tourney Quarter Finals vs. Ullr aka Baron X


"The Great Cleansing"


Grimwald survived The Great Cleansing but his camp had been taken,
so there was no time to waste as he planned his invasion!
Standing there waiting, shrouded in silence,
He anticipated their next move while he scoured the horizon.
He shuffled out from his hiding place to view what was standing before him
but all he found was a mighty drop, the gap was enormous!
The chasm a yawning mouth, gaping as long as wide,
yet he'd have a camp up by morning if he could make it the other side.
Bravely he scuttled sidewards and fumbled along the edge,
- a foot misplaced and he would have died, tumbling to his death!
So he clung to each nook and crevice with each step he persisted,
suddenly up ahead, he heard the hum of an enemy that crept
in the distance!
Grimwaulds adrenaline instantly intensified but he tried to feign composure
as his predatory instinct of fight or flight had taken over.
He lies in waiting.
Closer.
Theres an urgent stabbing strike
and his rival lays disposed of, having first been paralysed.
No ones heard the hallowed cry as Grimwauld leads him away
to serve his appetite, as he hadn't eaten in days.
He feasts on the late victim and flesh drips from his jowls
leaving the taste of ironised blood thick in his mouth.
It was kill or be found, and if he thought he might die,
he'd do everything in his power to ensure he survived.
Grimwauld was a wily veteran of sorts
and bearing caution in mind had been what kept him from deaths jaws.
He was a remnant of the wars.
This didn't feel like a victory though
as while his many friends had fallen, he still considered this home.
He picked up his old resolve, embarking with deft side steps,
before he quickened his soldier march to a left, right, left.
With his chest tight-pressed up against the pallid wall
his omniscient eyes met with the safe haven that he sought.
He had made it to the forlorn encampment he had seen
with cobwebs draped from the bulwarks, it was scattered with debris.
Grinwauld scanned the vast retreat for all he could use
before he ambled to retrieve what he thought was a morsel of food.
As he neared toward it he knew, the object was no small snack,
but what he saw was his true loves cephalothorax!
Her exo-skeletal war mask and strewn body parts litter the web,
with Arachnia's head held in his small hands, he attempts to kiss her again.
It signals his end.
He crawls above the bathtub and retreats.
Hid from the cleansing, and safe for another summer at least...

http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20101222073311/starwars/images/0/00/Revanfindsmaskblank.JPG

[sral]

Martyrs Tourney Semi-Finals vs UnbornBuddah aka Godcomplex

"What Does It Equate To?"

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l2ujIgs7DW8/UM1Ucv4mKnI/AAAAAAAAAp8/uAjgmWAz7fY/s1600/Spectrum+19+EK+Images+02.jpg

The sky didn't load today. I stared straight at the screen
as binary code fell where the rain should of been.
It simulated a series of sums in substantial
chains of repeating numbers and fractals.
Hundreds of calculations began their descent
as I studied their patterns to exact what they meant.
The mathematical medley spread further afield
until every last geometric of Second World was revealed!
I searched my surreal surrounding amazed to discover
that this perfect ideal had been painted by numbers!
Every shape had a structural plan at it's basis
that made up the sum of a mathematical matrix.
These enigmatic equations were behind all that I saw
- the statutory basics of what had caused them to form.
This ordered conformity proved hard to resist
as I was sure there was more to it, so I started to think!
How did every part of this simulation work to a mandate
yet remain so largely in-sync with it's virtual landscape?
Second World was a man-made augmented reality
that was perfectly translated from a numerical tapestry.
Was there a connection I hadn't seen that was hidden as well?
I sensed that there had to be, so I continued to delve!
These algorithms all held predefined symmetries
from the patterned ridges on shells to the changing tides of the sea.
Even the spiralling sequence pine cones happened to have
- it was like they'd all speak the universal language of math!
These fractal-like patterns were a product of automation
manufactured en masse so they were functioning verbatim.
I studied the equations and how they related to each other
both the number of the nature, and the nature of the numbers.
Fascinated to uncover the building blocks of this digital zone
- was there a way I could adjust it, to the one we physically know?
I clicked to look closer, compare and contrast,
thinking this over as my avatar searched everywhere on the map.
It became fairly apparent in the use of this fresh search
that both worlds shared an elaborate numeral network!
I continued it a step further, looking at the characteristics
in the movement and tenure of our planetary systems.
They all have an elliptical structure they have to keep
it's a mathematical synergy that's governed by gravity.
The circumference they travel being exactly the same
is yet another example seen of these factors at play.
The galaxy's made up of constants and certainties
with math at the base of the logical world we see!
Once that anomaly first appeared for me to establish the fact
I knew the one universally spoken language was math!
Things didn't happen by chance, there was a method pertained
and the more I carried on asking, the more questions I raised.
Had the universe "invented" this matrix the day it first formed
or had we developed it later, to explain what we saw?
Did we make up the formula as a tool to depict with
or was this nature performing as it would do since existence?
The true coefficient is we still haven't answered its secret
but i'm damn sure it inhibits a mathematical sequence...

[sral]

Martyrs Tourney Finals 2015 vs. Mr. J

"Thick As Thieves"

http://images.mentalfloss.com/sites/default/files/styles/article_640x430/public/3067896.jpg

They had a routine with both playing a part
one would stand a few feet away from the mark.
The other came up and started blithering nonsense
making way for his partner to pick at their pockets!
The quick-fingered accomplice relieved the owners items
lifting the wallets he commandeered in total silence.
The thieves were both reliant on the other for success
but keep the coast in mind, as the punishment is death!
If they were rumbled the offenders would make light on their feet
and run to their Dickensian den to hide from the police.
It was here they tried out techniques and the items were opened
refining their deceitful ruse as they'd divide what was stolen.
There were tie pins and broaches, tobacco cases and tins,
all acquired in the hope of them one day making it rich.
The places they picked in and plundered for pence
were laden with riches, and more money than sense!
Blue-bloods were the best you could hope to pocket in
because of them revelling in their own incompetence.
Once they'd chose an obvious stooge who's wage looked decent
- a knowing nod and wink was exchanged between them...

The square that day was heaving so they quicken their great strides
while lying in wait to fleece him, hidden in plain sight!
They switch up and change sides, desperate to lay low,
yet inching their way right toward the depths of his waist coat.
Edging a stage closer and with all eyes on the job
there's not a second to waste so they strike on the spot!
Their timings like clockwork - their movement sudden and swift -
and as synchronised as the watch they were looking to lift!
They fluster the stiff just enough to distract him
- one bumping deliberately into him as the other’s distracting.
It’s shoved in his jacket and The Dip leaves unannounced
with his crooked companion left to deal with the crowd…

The easy-touch bounded and raised up an arm
climbing to his feet as he's shouting “Stay where you are!”
The Distraction, playing it calm, did as he said
hesitating to scarper to ensure The Dip was ahead.
“You pitiful wretch, you’ve stolen the watch!”
the victim exemplified as his mouth openly frothed.
“Show me your pockets!”
The distraction had nothing.
but that alone, if they got him, would show he had an accomplice.
“It’s one of His Majesty’s watches!” then pled the deceived
but realising it’s value and profit, The Distraction fled from the scene!
The gentry and regals try to keep up with him
as he heads for his secret bolt-hole to meet with The Dip.
The screams of these rich nobles follow him all of the way
down every street he'd commit to as he sought an escape.
As he nears the corner of Main Street he quickens his sprint -
climbing through the smallest of spaces to give them the slip!
The Distraction signalled The Dip, knocking on the stairs in repeat,
but was instantly distraught when he was nowhere to be seen…

The Distraction tears their retreat up, “I’ll kill him!” he pledged
as the heart he’d wear on his sleeve sinks in his chest.
He thinks for a second as he acknowledges this
- I bet The Dip had heard mention the watch was the King’s!
The dodgy delinquent had dishonoured their code
to prosper by pilfering from one of his own!
He'd took off with the golden watch upon hearing it’s worth
- what d'ya know, you can’t take a thief at his word!
The Distraction’s feelings were hurt as this imposture had cut deep
but he had got what he deserved, there’s no honour amongst thieves!

[sral]

Rapbattles.com "Wes Craven Memorial" Keystyle Tourney Finals 2015 vs. OG Maestro and Tim

- 24 hours to key 50 lines.


"Invitation to Hell"


The darkness engulfed her beautiful skin
as she started to tumble through the abyss.
As she continued to spin toward the unknown
the high-pitch she vociferated caught in her throat.
The fall wasn't broken until such time had surpassed
that the poor thing awoke as she arrived with a crash.
Sideways she glanced to take in her surrounds
before trying to stand, only to find something pinning her down.
She winced at the mounting pressure applied to her back
but from this position she's powerless to try and react.
"There's no fighting this," ***kled an anonymous foe
"Where am I?" she had snapped "I want to go home!"
The voice dropped to a low octave, many times that which it had spoke,
and her body had froze as the ominous tone laughed "This is your home!"
Within that moment there was a sudden bursting of light
she blinked uncontrollably to find him stood over her with a scythe.
With one merciless strike the poor woman had been marked for death
where the curve of its knife-blade had passed and carved an X.
"Shall we start again?" the sarcastic sadist spat with malaise
as she grasped the scarring flesh with a hand to her face.
A sharp vascular pain jolted through the length of her being
as she tried to answer her jailer, only to find her strength had depleted.
"Don't you get it yet, heathen?" he hissed with a rasp
"You were sent here to me for your sins in the past,"
"Then kill me!" she panted. He snorts "Haven't you figured it out yet?"
"This is about wrath, dear girl - this isn't about death!"
His eyes were simmering round embers that seethe as he speaks
"I've witnessed the countless friends you've lied to, cheated and fleeced,"
"There's people I've seen help you..." the Devil sat and observed
"...only for you to repeat your deceit once their back had been turned!"
He glanced at the girl menacingly while he weighed up the facts.
"Maybe it's time I grant what you've earned," he paused. "I'll make you a pact,"
She waits for his gambit. "If you can climb from the pit,"
"and escape from the shaft, then I'll let you live!"
Right at that instant she was expelled from his hold
and blinded by pitch-blackness as it enveloped her whole.
Her senses on overdrive as she struggled to see
then fell on the broken glass shards under her feet.
They cut her to pieces, the stygian blood drying to scabs,
and her becoming numb to the feeling with the more time that elapsed.
Her slight little hands crept the crepuscular course
until they finally happened upon the foot of the wall.
Upward she crawled, as she'd cling to its edge,
pulling her wrought body up with everything she had left.
Her fingers were red and calloused, almost buckling under the strain,
but she picked up her head and then pushed through the pain.
It took her an age before her arrival at its peak
as she shuffled her weight slowly and started climbing to her feet.
"After all the times you were deceitful in those fables you'd tell,
and you don't know a liar when you meet one?" he scoffed.
"You're staying in Hell!"

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

[Diablo]

Fire.

Most viewed Hall of Names.

[emcee squared]

Really nice rhymes for the most part.

But you make me fucking sick.

The first 2 pages of bars wasn't enough classic.

Log back on to sral (the one w. the clean record?) and Slap about 10-12 more in a row ...... other ppl putting ur shit up in the hall just wasn't enough.

accomp! accomp! let's roast pharaoh! let's entomb him! I'll help Lars I'll help.! Personals all over.

He doesnt even need this thread to COMPETE tho.
!

[sral]

Some of those first page rhymes are over 10 years old now, some of those on page 2 are even older… from when I was a literal teenager first trying out ‘topicals’.