TH3 1NV3NT10N 0F PSYCH1C...

the invention of psychic 
hamster wheels in digital 
realm ruined reality 

TH1S P13C3 0F TH1S VN1V3RS3...

the piece of this universe 
I stumble round might seem small, 
but it's my everything 

"L1F3 1S 4 C4RN1V4L" 41N'T...

"life is a carnival" ain't 
meant as justification 
for hustling other people 

34CH H0M3 B0X FVLL 0F B0D13S...

each home box full of bodies, 
each minding own universe 
of infinite potential 

1 F1ND CR4ZY S0 S3XY...

I find crazy so sexy 
because sanity seems 
an impossible red flag 

L1F3'S 3SS3NT14L F0VND4T10NS...

life's essential foundations 
concealed within even most 
clusterfucked environments 

HVM4NS S33M T0 C0MPL1C4T3 TH31R...

humans seem to complicate their 
simplicity with shame, fear, 
and unreal expectations 

TH3 TRVLY B34VT1FVL D0N'T...

the truly beautiful don't 
bother realizing it, as 
it's their innate existence 

L0V3 T0 ST1CK MY T0NGV3 PL4C3S...

love to stick my tongue places 
I probably shouldn't, but 
I can't seem to help myself 

N0 CR34T10N 1S GR34T3R...

no creation is greater 
than its creator; and with 
all things, alhamdulillah 

1 4M N0T 4 PR0DVCT 0F...

I am not a product of 
my environment, so much as 
compound accumulation 

SONG OF THE DAY: Smooth Operator (kudzu'd)

Ravishing Rick Rude often used “Smooth Operator” as his entrance music.
Briefly, Rick Rude had his sister, performing as Raven, be his valet. She (by her own admission) couldn’t handle the pro wrestling on the road lifestyle.
I am, in fact, named Raven, and have been since the day I was born.
Rick Rude is dead (may his memory be a blessing).
Thus, I am the Smooth Operator now.
I will be ironing silver letters onto a dark grey shirt which say so. Anybody who dares challenge the proclamation ironed onto my shirt will be in for a rude awakening.
(That was Rick Rude's finisher, which was a reverse neckbreaker style DDT of sorts.)
(My "rude awakening will instead be a fireball, like they used to use in wrestling way more than they do nowadays.)
(Please note, my "fireball" will be a Molotov cocktail, even though I don't drink.)

PR4Y1NG F0R B3TT3R FVTVR3...

praying for better future 
outcomes, while acknowledging 
some past failures were blessings 

T3LL1NG TH3 D3V1LS T0 G3T...

telling the devils to get 
the fuck outta here today, 
I got better things to do 

M1NDS C4N B3C0M3 P0CKM4RK3D BY...

minds can become pockmarked by 
negative experience, 
so it's best to let shit go 

SONG OF THE DAY: I Need Some Money (kudzu'd)

Everything feels a bit untenable currently, in terms of economics. But even beyond the fact the news doesn’t really seem to address this, neither does our popular culture. As a kid, there were multiple struggle ass shows my broke ass family loved and related to, even though Good Times and Sanford & Son were “black” shows. At one point when me and my dad lived in a trailer, there was a UHF station out of Richmond that showed syndicated reruns of Gomer Pyle and Sanford & Son back to back. That was like the most powerful and perfect hour of television ever devised for my pops, scratched both sides of his personality. We don’t seem to have shit like that now. I don’t hear music coming from the economic struggle or see TV shows or movies like that either. They definitely got them fog machines that Chief Bromden knew about in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest cranked the fuck up. And that’s something that concerns me… The nitwits currently in power have certainly become privy to whatever actual electronic and unacknowledged psyops programs there are out there at a democratic demigod’s disposal. And I know these fucks got no real sense of thinking things through. So you know they got ‘em turned all the way up to 11. That can’t be healthy for us, and probably means them machines will break down faster. But I guess that’s ultimately a good thing, when they do break, although will we all wake up when the fog machine dies? Or will we feel lost and disoriented once the fog is gone? And it might not be a constant fog anyways, so much as a deterioration of cognitive abilities, so the fog might be coming from inside the house by now.
All I know is I actually get paid more than ever in my life, and I’m still somehow feeling tight as fuck, and actually cutting a bunch of shit out of my life. How is that possible? It makes no sense. But all the media sources I see and hear, even pop culture music and movies and shit, is just cruising along like all is normal. Them commercialized emails definitely ain’t slowing down from the place I bought a pair of flannel pajamas from once like 5 years ago. In fact, as I struggled with how much it was costing to fill my hybrid sedan gas tank yesterday, with the gas credit card getting close to maxed out, I had the commercial coming out the gas pump, which I instinctively muted, only to realize another commercials was beaming over a radio even higher in the air. Plus the normal billboards and store signs both permanent and temporary, and man, we sure built a fuckin’ clusterfuck of commercialization to navigate. Imagine if all that was gone, how serene the scenery would be, even like pumping gas across the four-lane from a strip mall. I don’t know what America was supposed to do in terms of human civilization, but it sure feels like we fucked up our chance pretty badly. Like, you can’t even reform this shit at this point.

B4RR1C4D1NG S3LF W1TH1N...

barricading self within 
our owned madnesses, hoarding 
curvatures of brief escape 

SONG OF THE DAY: I'm Coming Out (kudzu'd)

You ever see that picture of the two cholo dudes cuddled in the bathtub, looking street hard but gay? I know the guy that took that picture. This song, slowed down, was what they were bumping.

G1V3N 4N 1NDVSTR14L...

given an industrial 
purpose to "make a living", 
but it all feels alien 

SONG OF THE DAY: Something (kudzu'd)

Practicing junkyard mind frame kung fu against the rising tide of societal failures, which are nipping at the edge of most all our rugged individual sand castles right now. I slap away each momentary emergency of an economic nature, and attempt to catch my breath between waves. Every now and then, I notice someone who had been standing around me for a long time is gone. Sometimes, I am even able to see them washing out to sea, and I skip a few of my cowry shells out towards them, hoping it helps prevent the drowning. Our human lungs were not meant to tolerate these types of conditions, but somehow the people standing on the third story deck of the palatial houses beyond the sand dunes yell down to us all that it’s never been better, and we should be happy. We’d love to go argue with them about it, debate them on the merits of their comfortable proclamations, but we’re too busy fighting for our lives, metaphorically until it becomes literal due to one slip on a seismic wave from an unguarded direction. God dam this bullshit. O' giant force of creative energy which swirled this Universe and whatever's might be beyond, please do something.

C0P13S 0F 4 C0PY 0F...

copies of a copy of 
copy of original, 
which we forget how to see 

3MPTY 4BVND4NC3 T34S3S...

empty abundance teases 
our heart with false happiness; 
la ilaha illallah 

N3V3R L0S3 S1GHT TH4T TH1S W0RLD...

never lose sight that this world 
hides hopeful redirections 
along even most doomed paths 

D1G1T4L VT0P14S...

digital utopias 
miss real life's strange nuances, 
where good's bad, and vice versa