Spit First, Transcribe Later, Chapter 5

I'm Loki of Literati trying to figure out what is odd inside of me, prodding out. Feel like I've gone so far and all these bars that keep coming I keep coming back to them. Writing is mostly re-writing. If you delight in what you've got that means that your thoughts are nice and tight but if you can't do much with it. With that kind of meaning, if it's still just steaming then all that magical patter is only half practical like Sociology without Cialdini. I mean, I really wanna' be dutiful to my rhymes. I really wanna' have a beautiful mind. Rest in piece, John Nash, by the way, fact check that. The original teacher from the real Beautiful Mind. Checked in the New York Times. That cat was totally spotless. Not me though, I'm a hot mess. Chop my stress. I'm a relic like Loch Ness. Or Vedic Scripture. Twisted Sister. Never embellish the picture. Blurt a thousand words. Segmented off. In a pregnant pause. Elegantly raw. Relevance in the minutia. To hell with what you're used ta'. No point is too fine to be inscrutable. No mountain is immovable. Lilith blinked when she found me in her ink fountain. That's the roots of my soul. Clawed out of the deepest hole. Red and brown dripping from my cuticles. Bred to make the underground beautiful. Led by a hunger sound. Humanity is a zoo in total. Fed on wonder crowns, blundering clowns, staying dutiful. Moving what I slay. Every beat coming from sliding feet like the shuffle step doo doo shoe ballet!

Yeah I'm too bare for pride. Sharing what's inside, that's a good thing. Trying to wear the horizon as a mood ring. Striving to compare with titans that had gods hoodwinked. Right there on the Event Horizon is where I stood at the brink. Never run out of slugs from my soul. Untethered whenever I dug my own hole. But that's further than I knew I COULD sink! Every thought glistening. Everything coming so quick wonder if gods are truly listening or if we're just talking smack to a universe that doesn't care back, doesn't care what we disperse? I hope so. Otherwise, this is nothing more than a wishlist.

For every thought dismissed I caught a whiff. Turned a hot lick. From linking the gist. Distinct riffs. From the Office of Loki's Ink Kiss! Cunning Linguists will never go extinct. Our tongues are forever indebted to the Divine Clink! How is that? You endowed with talent at raps? That's a powerful strap. More than an shower of traps. Your final hour? How's that? Creators are cows on tap. For Time to drink! So for every feeling we create. Every sequence we make. Something feeds and takes. The run-off energy. Sum of the cost lent to you and me. Our life run is how Chaos assembles memories. Every soul written is just a experiment in sentence synergy. So if you've got stature to fly you keep the laughter inside. That's the truth about prose lobotomies! This was Loki of Literati, Spit First, Chapter 5. Still blossoming free.