Doublethink and Extra Weird - 2 Experimental Poetry/Hip Hop tracks

diogenesofdm

Hello everyone. I'm a writer, poet, and hip hop artist. Read my poetry, or listen to it on YouTube, and let me know what you think.


Doublethink

Dirty duckspeak, doublethink for the bleak bucketed bigots reluctant to give up their rugged opinions like this bare-footed son of a bitch did. Too timid to challenge big brother. Vivid in my bifocal vision is jive local quilted with nonfiltered cigarette smoke, a joke for the timed chokehold. Like I'm a rhyme bloke who sold his soul for the ballad of lips puckered. My diaphram bellows whatever wind is mellow enough to settle pedestal placement of irrelevant post hoc ergo propter hoc poppycock nonsense, boxspring it to Zimbabwe in a coffee pot. We're a sloppy lot, humanity, with lower-case 'h' to stow away face for later use when my cynical exposé could use gatorjuice-lyricade hybrid fathered on mountain peaks to peek a greater view. But see I trust in mother nature's grand episodic adventure whether or not I match the melodic intentions. Now how's that for dapper? Couch potato grouch, slacker, 'bout face turned innocent wack rapper. (It might be the mic!) But at least I'm constructive. When the feast is abducted by the Shyamalan village ogre where those plebians gonna run to? Raised in the 'mic check, one two' generation facing child labor wages cuz I'm too stubborn in principal, or too damn lazy to finish collegiate education slave to the new school beatnik revelation. Step outside, I spy butterflies and little wormholes, sunken sky studded with Starlings that flutter by. What if I'd been a different person. Well the void accepts Buddhists, Hindus, atheists, and absurdists...Ha, nah, that's abusive to believers, and too exclusive a logic for illusory nature.

[Hook 2x]
I believe individuality and personal freedoms are sacred.
Ya, but that fragmentation breeds conflict, I like communism.
I hold that ritual balderdash is useless.
But still I start my day with Bausch & Lomb eyedrops and a toothbrush.
I think pink is the new green, and green is the new headache medicine.
Trouble is I'm disposed to reticence, doublethink.
Come to think of it I choose longwinded speeches when I preach wit.
Pacifist willing to backhand a couple of key slips when I see fit.

I spy sediments disintegrate from the lead of the pencil like Tweety Bird-sized meteor strikes across sketch paper to catch vapors. Patch labor units with plans to legitimize anarchy and wake up to reuptake inhibitors thrown in with upstate prisoners. Now if I stumble in to towncenter with a dope garment and a parched kisser would it be fair if I wanted to spark speech and wet whistles? Small talk turned colossal. Fossil fuel predicament, taxes, urban city kidnappings in Winnebagos to winter lake homes. Breathe deep in a dream dot Indian teen steamshop, I'll show those tyrant soccerball giants to recognize sage boss with dharma kicks from Bodhisattva's stage play docket, line up your change pockets empty even the yarn and lint. Barter flint for fireside chatter phenomenon, calling on Diogenes, hark! Bust that vintage psychology. I'm so broke that I shop at Wal-mart; I steal from Target. I could use a suzie-q housewife with a physique that'll tarp wit, bar none and, martyrdom ain't my thing, but it beats stardom, pardon my lack of need for the profane. Damn my weak bladder. Miller light, my friend? I don't drink that nigga piss. Oh, I'll just go slam both on my lonesome then, and reminisce on my pivotal switch to the half-baked crowd. Haha! Don't tell jokes, I can't muster up a laugh right now. With my flag half-mast, I'm riddled with insecurities. I know, it's nurtured aversion to the plight of the busy worker bee. But frankly, I feel for all the poverty stricken kids even amidst my minimalist philosophies, with intermittent memory jogs of novelty spitting simply for the epic destiny pick variety vibe I get when I touch lips to the mic windscreen. Calamity Jane. Canopy plated with banana leaf armor as if to shade dated caper gambits from sanity's guard. Flawed logic. Caught sawdust up in my clammy Carney hands for making obnoxious newspeak thoughts a hot topic. This dripping, floppy puzzle rattles magic in a way that only Harry Potter and a daring brothel of nymphos could ever legitimately conceive a scheme devious to a degree that raises my little heartbeat and freezes my free speech leader lymph nodes. It's like that.


Extra Weird

Typewriter tragedy saddens me. Handful of quarter spots just in time to charge the battery. Petty pinball penny arcade live T.G.I. Friday's. Dissonant drifter colonies collide on malign highways. I'll sling my little stone in sing-along fashion just to raise eyebrows with the highbrows. OK? So, from point a to point b, I typically hitchhike. Mimicking this counter-cultural epitome. Found a vulture picking at my chest cavity but it's capital he's after. Be gone. Rationally I'm tilted a bit now, but I stay steady in my illuminato posture due to ripen any minute into full bloomed, star-spangled deliverance. Like tinted glimpses into Hollywood A-list gatherings at hot tamale barbecues where they all flock to marvel at you. It's hard to believe. Bard of the leaf and grass impulse. I'm more curious about here and now than past kinfolk. But I collaborate occasionally with Abe Lincoln and Plato just to dabble in faded flashbacks and debate at clay tables. Fated to fable slander. Yes your eminence I've completed a stable banter but it wreaks havoc on my conscience. Settle down. Meddling marplot stupid. These wage makers lack the tenacity for revolution. I'm nestled between a bum and a vagabond wandering sand castle cities turned glass, and still have enough class to respect you, kid. But not for long. Ya right, these days my patience idles at a virtuous standard so when the candorless crowds are loud and outlandish I leave my pound of flesh by the davenport for scavenger favor, fat Rattatas, and tag-along fakers. Snitch. Stitching a magnificent plot with a twist double lemon juice please sir, with a pump of the fist. Be passionate you little bastards. I'm practically handing out candy on Halloween to little kid mask-fitted rappers. Snickers. Slid tongue and lip once over the whiskers. Noticed my hands metamorphed to innocent paws with little blister pads and ultimate urge to run wild. Stayed contained in my warm-blooded old soul style. But soon hunger and bloodlust creep into my demeanor quicker than Speedy Gonzales so I caught him. Mmm, mouse meat. Sprout feet and walk off if you're a lingerer. I can tolerate most stress, but to be safe don't test.

classic eclipse

:Do BROTHER amen ...keep it up!!!!! wont you i loved it:DIm reading 1984 at this moment or as close to it as is possable the books gr8 this is all i like 1984 and your work:D reminds me of segments of mine when id find myself wanting to write.The vastness of the marvelousness`;) i enjoyed that.Next post o hostess i cant wait.