deepundergroundpoetry.com
Untouchable
A lone tactical kestrel, in my zone I’m magical but no one’s invincible
No one’s untouchable. Still, playing for risks and never missing the thrill, set to spill with the clout distilled of mistakes and their burns. This rake took his turn. Every day I wake and my dues are burned. My blues are learned. I’ll never be through, not me on this journey.
Too much to discern so early. I yearn to get unfurled and free. Fast and tight like a satellite to watch the world turn under me. Daaaamn. To see the span of humanity that will stand well after my final scandal and patter. Handle what’s after?
Fuck it yo! This is now! No one’s untouchable. Gist of the Tao. So fun to gush though. I’m someone who’s often elated with much to show. Undone and intoxicated from the rush of flow!
Running my mouth, my reams spun out, like a machine gun shout, to jape and pop what’s under the table. Like Aesop’s fables, I crave to drop shots from the cradle. No slave, no way to stop! For a knave so self-enabled I remain unstable!
But self-made, dark Knights spark bright and parked their steeds right where horse thieves can be more believed to use for their own needs. Yeeeah, every warrior bleeds. No dark Knight and no thief but my marks are tight like a joint entirely of kief! A man of my beliefs, honest in every stand, on it in every land, rocking ganj and dropping bombs like comets from my hands! Without disguise or shrill cries my cowl is hope, like Howling Wolf!
So no foul rope will tighten my throat to stop what I wrote. Splinter my spine and you’ll only administer the divine. Release my beast on every station within weeks of my assassination is what every unpardoned artist should be placing in their living wills! Then be giving still, with hidden fortune to score some so future gens can build! Suture what ends extend! Women and men, don’t let the future be lent to the 1% percent!
After you, will yours last? The war gets ghastly. That’s not me being crass. I’m vastly diplomatic on this track. Survive the flack pouring fast? Ride by hijacking Doc Brown’s DeLorean to the past? Even then… … whenever you were sent you still couldn’t make sense of plutocratic asshats so bent!
Even Colonel Litivenko, earned his roll after he was spent yo! Enemy to the KGB who got away for a fray or three got played and sheared. Lessons to me when I play to spree my way to mirror without fear the casual drops of such ShadowOps… …inimitable education to shop, nearly invisible yet so near.
Somewhere above us all, some force saw it all, could’ve resolved the brawl, simply revolve… …but damn... …that Olympian wall is too tall, too high of a fall. Rolling eager for holy teachers, boldly featured… …Sheer cliffs I steer to riff, but it appears the diff is that the real mountain of knowledge isn’t a fountain to polish some round thing to abolish… …on appearance experience is the best teacher… …So I’m out to eat interference and grow! Seeping through every meal is the feel of keeping it real!
Like Prometheus I reach to flow… …meet those who would be seated so... …and bleed to go, as I need to blow, by eating the slow to defeat ALL foes… …like Magneto… …using Transformers as hand-warmers… …I understand the lore and change the stance some more as this dance explores… …onto the next scene to gleam I’m jumping in deep like Quantum Leap!
Bust a flow without a beat? Just know you called me out indiscrete, like a shout out on the street. I’m whole and complete in me. Between us it’s already trusted I stole the heat from Prometheus. Wouldn’t hold for injustice or do as I was told when all I could muster was that NONE of us are untouchable.
So I trusted to pay Charon’s toll to absolve my soul, revolve the tragic knowledge only God was supposed to know, solved the magic polish only outlaws show.
Listening without falling to hear the quickening calling of Lilith speaking beneath the sheets. A quick kitten from the tip of her wit, tricking me smitten with her whip, winding up bitten when we slipped.
Raise the heat, raise the heat on me until you’re sure of thermal waves blurring beneath your feet. The real sound of the underground is found sooo far beneath the street… …geological vectors are what’s expected to affect the perfection of Eden’s nectar so sweet!
A collection of irregular secular visions of combined chorus rhymes intertwined like Mayan Temple vines spoken into invoked explosions like molten meridian landmines. This provoking prose has been closing in what’s frozen in time and held within me like Walt Disney. (He’s dying to be free and spying with glee from cryo-freeze.)
So I’m getting ahead incrementally and eclectic while following frenetic magnetic force lines exposing what I was never supposed to find!
Put up a fight if you’d like to waste the night. At least do it right and put your vice on ice. Forget the enmity of glaring and the empty stare. Just declare terror before my eyes instead of deciding to hide behind righteous like the wiliest mistake of the mightiest. Hardly the wisest as I’m riding the tide without disguise.
Instead of hiding my jests behind PC and etiquette I’m just wresting what’s best and sharing my levels of cognitive dissonance. Like Daredevil’s assistant: Froggy Nelson. Off the fog I’m well-spun. Like that dog and log cartoon that ended simply, Ren and Stimpy. My zen is within me. It extends past the rage, that doesn’t end on the page. Too much of both though is in the truth of most of my flow… …the unplanned span of what uncrams from my RAM like an undressed tranny is part of the insanity slamming free in mental vomit spree from unerring self-honesty.
I’ve tried to fight it, but it’s just no use so I’m here without excuse to cut loose like my truth was fueled by its OWN lust juice!
No one’s untouchable. Still, playing for risks and never missing the thrill, set to spill with the clout distilled of mistakes and their burns. This rake took his turn. Every day I wake and my dues are burned. My blues are learned. I’ll never be through, not me on this journey.
Too much to discern so early. I yearn to get unfurled and free. Fast and tight like a satellite to watch the world turn under me. Daaaamn. To see the span of humanity that will stand well after my final scandal and patter. Handle what’s after?
Fuck it yo! This is now! No one’s untouchable. Gist of the Tao. So fun to gush though. I’m someone who’s often elated with much to show. Undone and intoxicated from the rush of flow!
Running my mouth, my reams spun out, like a machine gun shout, to jape and pop what’s under the table. Like Aesop’s fables, I crave to drop shots from the cradle. No slave, no way to stop! For a knave so self-enabled I remain unstable!
But self-made, dark Knights spark bright and parked their steeds right where horse thieves can be more believed to use for their own needs. Yeeeah, every warrior bleeds. No dark Knight and no thief but my marks are tight like a joint entirely of kief! A man of my beliefs, honest in every stand, on it in every land, rocking ganj and dropping bombs like comets from my hands! Without disguise or shrill cries my cowl is hope, like Howling Wolf!
So no foul rope will tighten my throat to stop what I wrote. Splinter my spine and you’ll only administer the divine. Release my beast on every station within weeks of my assassination is what every unpardoned artist should be placing in their living wills! Then be giving still, with hidden fortune to score some so future gens can build! Suture what ends extend! Women and men, don’t let the future be lent to the 1% percent!
After you, will yours last? The war gets ghastly. That’s not me being crass. I’m vastly diplomatic on this track. Survive the flack pouring fast? Ride by hijacking Doc Brown’s DeLorean to the past? Even then… … whenever you were sent you still couldn’t make sense of plutocratic asshats so bent!
Even Colonel Litivenko, earned his roll after he was spent yo! Enemy to the KGB who got away for a fray or three got played and sheared. Lessons to me when I play to spree my way to mirror without fear the casual drops of such ShadowOps… …inimitable education to shop, nearly invisible yet so near.
Somewhere above us all, some force saw it all, could’ve resolved the brawl, simply revolve… …but damn... …that Olympian wall is too tall, too high of a fall. Rolling eager for holy teachers, boldly featured… …Sheer cliffs I steer to riff, but it appears the diff is that the real mountain of knowledge isn’t a fountain to polish some round thing to abolish… …on appearance experience is the best teacher… …So I’m out to eat interference and grow! Seeping through every meal is the feel of keeping it real!
Like Prometheus I reach to flow… …meet those who would be seated so... …and bleed to go, as I need to blow, by eating the slow to defeat ALL foes… …like Magneto… …using Transformers as hand-warmers… …I understand the lore and change the stance some more as this dance explores… …onto the next scene to gleam I’m jumping in deep like Quantum Leap!
Bust a flow without a beat? Just know you called me out indiscrete, like a shout out on the street. I’m whole and complete in me. Between us it’s already trusted I stole the heat from Prometheus. Wouldn’t hold for injustice or do as I was told when all I could muster was that NONE of us are untouchable.
So I trusted to pay Charon’s toll to absolve my soul, revolve the tragic knowledge only God was supposed to know, solved the magic polish only outlaws show.
Listening without falling to hear the quickening calling of Lilith speaking beneath the sheets. A quick kitten from the tip of her wit, tricking me smitten with her whip, winding up bitten when we slipped.
Raise the heat, raise the heat on me until you’re sure of thermal waves blurring beneath your feet. The real sound of the underground is found sooo far beneath the street… …geological vectors are what’s expected to affect the perfection of Eden’s nectar so sweet!
A collection of irregular secular visions of combined chorus rhymes intertwined like Mayan Temple vines spoken into invoked explosions like molten meridian landmines. This provoking prose has been closing in what’s frozen in time and held within me like Walt Disney. (He’s dying to be free and spying with glee from cryo-freeze.)
So I’m getting ahead incrementally and eclectic while following frenetic magnetic force lines exposing what I was never supposed to find!
Put up a fight if you’d like to waste the night. At least do it right and put your vice on ice. Forget the enmity of glaring and the empty stare. Just declare terror before my eyes instead of deciding to hide behind righteous like the wiliest mistake of the mightiest. Hardly the wisest as I’m riding the tide without disguise.
Instead of hiding my jests behind PC and etiquette I’m just wresting what’s best and sharing my levels of cognitive dissonance. Like Daredevil’s assistant: Froggy Nelson. Off the fog I’m well-spun. Like that dog and log cartoon that ended simply, Ren and Stimpy. My zen is within me. It extends past the rage, that doesn’t end on the page. Too much of both though is in the truth of most of my flow… …the unplanned span of what uncrams from my RAM like an undressed tranny is part of the insanity slamming free in mental vomit spree from unerring self-honesty.
I’ve tried to fight it, but it’s just no use so I’m here without excuse to cut loose like my truth was fueled by its OWN lust juice!
Published 5th Nov 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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well done bravo vary intense.War politics religion corruption injustice all have its hold it's griping hands strangling the throats of all that is good in humanity if ever there was any in this world conceded dirty scumbags all play a roll to flow and prosper to be out for what all scumbags are out for themselves and a true vigilante thinks and knows it like you do your wise to their ass hat act I see what you see injustice and wanting to bring justice to those who relish in sin and breed hate well said well done I love your work your so intense and your flow so complex brilliant
7th Nov 2012 7:06am
Thank you Comrade. Mercenary Minstrel. That's what we are.
A loooooong time ago Civil War soldiers were hanged. Now... on the surface? Okay, that's an act of war. Fine. Well, not so fine if you've ever watched a hanging. Neck snaps. Eyes pop. Body releases. If done well. If not? It's a choking. That's what lynch mobs did, with black soldiers. Badly done nooses. I'm bringing this up for a reason. Stay with me, alright comrade?
Historically, in the South, when a gang of fuckers decided to hang a former black soldier, the idea was to strip him of his glory, his namesake. They didn't want him being proud that he served... a country that kidnapped his ass and chained him up. They didn't want him being self-reliant, ambitious, fully capable, a man of his own means because he SURVIVED HELL. So, alot of the time they'd take away ALL accoutrements towards totemic positions. In other words, uniformed soldiers when captured by the KKK WELL AFTER THE FUCKING WAR WAS OVER... would often times be dressed up as clowns before being beaten, tarred, castrated, and hanged. Crowds would form. Families with picnic baskets, streamers. It was a celebration. Entertainment.
If you turn the clock far enough back, the same thing happened alot with the Vatican. Missionaries were mercenaries. Show up to a village. Grab a beautiful girl. Someone sooooo gorgeous that tons of women hated her and most of the men plotted on securing her for marriage. Like cattle. Or chattel, depending on the regional laws. Equally sick shit. It wasn't just an assassination. It wasn't beauty erasing or racism. It was stay-in-your-place-ism. Humans love watching their stars burn.
That's why I don't read the tabloids and don't give a fuck what celebutards are doing, despite originally being from L.A., where the entertainment facade is so prevalent we just call it "The Industry." (As if nothing else would produce revenue.)
So for the longest time it was a common tactic, to destroy what was threatening in order that everyone gets their gore-gasm out, nobody feels threatened by the new race, the new idea, the beautiful whomever down the street.
I'd known about this kind of thing since I was 9 and first discovered microfiche at the library. (1988, no internet. Microfiche made it possible to scan newspapers back to the turn of the century and archive, backtrack, investigate ANYTHING). BUUUUUt.... until I was 19 I didn't know about a certain, special breed of vigilante.
Turns out there were journalists in the south who would investigate and expose lynchings and such. Okay, this is a good way to receive a petrol bomb delivered to your car, free of charge. But then there were... outlaws. Those who would show up to lynchings, set up a camera stand and take photos of alllllll the happy families with kids and balloons celebrating the kidnapping, torture, murder of innocent people at the hands of bloodthirsty jackals. The photographer would pretend like he was there to take souvenir pictures and families would happily pose with the hanging cadaver. These pictures would be promised to the families, once they paid a nominal fee, and gave their names and addresses, to receive the photos when developed in the mail.
Do the math on what's next. I was 19 when I discovered these vigilantes existed, but by then I'd already had a decade of nightmares in which I was in their shoes, running from the crowd when someone figured out what I was up to. There's alot of evil that needs to be exposed in this world. My city, my personal life, my area, my nightmares, my ears, my everything reflects back a wealth of experience and datum that everyday I truly wish were just truly fictional. Until the day that all of my work ceases to be relevant, it's firespray everyday or go crazy.
Hence, certain recurring motifs. The war. The crusade. Thanks for giving my work a chance, comrade. It's true believers that keep me alive.
A loooooong time ago Civil War soldiers were hanged. Now... on the surface? Okay, that's an act of war. Fine. Well, not so fine if you've ever watched a hanging. Neck snaps. Eyes pop. Body releases. If done well. If not? It's a choking. That's what lynch mobs did, with black soldiers. Badly done nooses. I'm bringing this up for a reason. Stay with me, alright comrade?
Historically, in the South, when a gang of fuckers decided to hang a former black soldier, the idea was to strip him of his glory, his namesake. They didn't want him being proud that he served... a country that kidnapped his ass and chained him up. They didn't want him being self-reliant, ambitious, fully capable, a man of his own means because he SURVIVED HELL. So, alot of the time they'd take away ALL accoutrements towards totemic positions. In other words, uniformed soldiers when captured by the KKK WELL AFTER THE FUCKING WAR WAS OVER... would often times be dressed up as clowns before being beaten, tarred, castrated, and hanged. Crowds would form. Families with picnic baskets, streamers. It was a celebration. Entertainment.
If you turn the clock far enough back, the same thing happened alot with the Vatican. Missionaries were mercenaries. Show up to a village. Grab a beautiful girl. Someone sooooo gorgeous that tons of women hated her and most of the men plotted on securing her for marriage. Like cattle. Or chattel, depending on the regional laws. Equally sick shit. It wasn't just an assassination. It wasn't beauty erasing or racism. It was stay-in-your-place-ism. Humans love watching their stars burn.
That's why I don't read the tabloids and don't give a fuck what celebutards are doing, despite originally being from L.A., where the entertainment facade is so prevalent we just call it "The Industry." (As if nothing else would produce revenue.)
So for the longest time it was a common tactic, to destroy what was threatening in order that everyone gets their gore-gasm out, nobody feels threatened by the new race, the new idea, the beautiful whomever down the street.
I'd known about this kind of thing since I was 9 and first discovered microfiche at the library. (1988, no internet. Microfiche made it possible to scan newspapers back to the turn of the century and archive, backtrack, investigate ANYTHING). BUUUUUt.... until I was 19 I didn't know about a certain, special breed of vigilante.
Turns out there were journalists in the south who would investigate and expose lynchings and such. Okay, this is a good way to receive a petrol bomb delivered to your car, free of charge. But then there were... outlaws. Those who would show up to lynchings, set up a camera stand and take photos of alllllll the happy families with kids and balloons celebrating the kidnapping, torture, murder of innocent people at the hands of bloodthirsty jackals. The photographer would pretend like he was there to take souvenir pictures and families would happily pose with the hanging cadaver. These pictures would be promised to the families, once they paid a nominal fee, and gave their names and addresses, to receive the photos when developed in the mail.
Do the math on what's next. I was 19 when I discovered these vigilantes existed, but by then I'd already had a decade of nightmares in which I was in their shoes, running from the crowd when someone figured out what I was up to. There's alot of evil that needs to be exposed in this world. My city, my personal life, my area, my nightmares, my ears, my everything reflects back a wealth of experience and datum that everyday I truly wish were just truly fictional. Until the day that all of my work ceases to be relevant, it's firespray everyday or go crazy.
Hence, certain recurring motifs. The war. The crusade. Thanks for giving my work a chance, comrade. It's true believers that keep me alive.
6th Jun 2015 11:52pm
Enjoyed this thoroughly Loki, particularly the reference to Lilith. She's always a charmer. This has flow with a beat!
10th Jun 2015 3:53am
Seems we all come to similar themes, travelling through similar ravines and that name keeps cropping up when artists are ready to open up. It's a powerful symbol as an avatar but also a vulnerability key. Thanks for the support comrade crowfly!
