SONG OF THE DAY: What Am I Afraid Of

BlackLiq’s been dropping a mixtape from his archives of freestyles every month this year. He just dropped Volume 10 last night. I ain’t even processed all the earlier ones. This track is off the one from all the way back in May. I love crazy prolific creative types, that ain’t even fucking around with waiting on you to catch up. It’s very inspirational. BlackLiq’s actually inspiring me to try and fuck around and make more music in 2020. But seriously, check out his fuckin bandcamp – it’s full of great shit.

SONG OF THE DAY: Top Billin' (instrumental)

No more freestyle-able beat in all of history. Just put it on loop and do it yourself, right now. Unlock your thinking mind and let your subconscious take the driver's seat. The cool thing is about halfway through this journey, even your subconscious will eventually look out the window, see something that it freaks out about, and start to climb out the window to get at it. Then your unconscious slides into the driver's seat underneath of them, so that y'all don't wreck, and begins steering the way. That's when you're really "free" styling, when your unconscious is in control, your subconscious is halfway out the window, and your thinking brain got left four exits back, and none of y'all are answering texts from them because y'all all know they're full of shit most of the time anyways.

SONG OF THE DAY: ブート

Started vaping a few months back but that just means freestyling chaos southern gothic futuristic styles out loud while driving back and forth from the old home place in rural Fluvanny County, USA, while bumping vaporwave tracks. You see, a guy gave me a 2002 Honda Civic, which is an amazing gift, but even more so because it has a sunroof which of course has to be open at all times it’s not pouring rain, and then when you have that open mind metaphor as your vehicle for transport, and then you trigger this with retrofitted vaporwave tracks which scratch not only at memories from your early degeneracy but also at your current mind which is not nearly as self-destructive, then true ionic treatises start to pour forth from your unconscious flow zones, which you can never truly control because it is more of a tapping into that universally magnetic flow of things than you controlling anything. All of this is why I think intellectual property is bullshit because it’s just capitalist bullshit applied to the pure beauty of creation. Anyways I don’t live out there in Fluvanny no more, living in the small ol’ city, and don’t vape as much because ride the bus instead of driving, and there’s no sunroof on the bus, and also I refuse to wear headphones at this point because I’m trying to stay attuned to the world around me, not separated, but hopefully I’ll find space to vape again, soon.

3SC4P3 T0 TH3 C4MP3R...

escape to the camper,

freestyling southern gothic

futuristic oral myths

1NSTRVM3NT4LS 1N B4CKGR0VND...

instrumentals in background

of backyard, rock solid junk

store speakers squat on milk crates

"the freedom to exist without

fences" I wrote on birch bark

for a nice lady in Maine

freestyle sonnet #042: YOUR FREE VERSE POTENTIALLY IS WACK AF

Oh hai! Another free verse masturbation by
MFA candidate thinking themselves offbeat
despite being stereotype of white girl/guy
liberal-raised, liberal born-and-bred to complete

self-serving progressive cycle of "creative",
cultured within sheltered confines, using same tricks
workshopped into poetic mix, imitative
bullshit masquerading as innovative fix.

Oh hai! Another pdf publication
"curated" (edited) by best friend as advance
forward against backwards lit world, elevation
of the truly great (people they know), with finance

from further up family tree's rich tradition.
Oh hai! Same free verse crap but from *fresh!* position.

Whiteboy X

sniffs of the morning commute’s

exhaust fumes of progress

chasing dreams planted inside a wild mind

that could care less

but was trained how

and now concern warps to worry

morphs into paralysis

trapped between abstract numbers

that fence in my every action

threatening barbs poking at my brain

to recognize the boundaries

of domestication

the industrial plumes of progress flower along the river

progress manufactured

by any means

progress hydraulically fractured if

necessary

progress lifelong tenure tractored by

fine-tailored grandfathers who were painted not drafted

my born destiny is

as a mineral resource at best

avoiding white trashing, recycled

harvested and marketed as skilled

and compliant, never defiant

by any means

necessary