launchpad
Making music for a change.
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WP 170 (Scared China-man): They tell me, “You’ll go far, Danny boy, you’re a star, man.” But don’t stars burn out, and all you see is the remnants? I’ve been this paranoid, since I was a nervous kid, man. Overweight, Chinese spectacle, trying to get through adolescence. And now here I am, trying to get through the present, my spectacles still slipping, and I’m a show for your senses. I might be a good fella, but am I here for your amusement? I’m used to it, usually, it’s become an institution. I start me off my days with a boost and my two steps, solitary me, three’s company, so do step. I’m trying to be courteous so please carry on lest we lose it. Alright, I mean me, I’m like a bomb without the fuse lit. I’ll be honest until the day I go, I’ll try to be translucent. It’s just hard when you’re on your toes and eggshells guide your movements. You think it’s easy being me? Let’s take a walk, you must be new to this. It’s called empathy, and mentally I take a bruising. I think more than I oughta, and they tell me to please loosen. Up is where we need to look but not so much that you’re useless. No earthly good, a weirdo that’s aloof to the music. In his own world, wishing for a girl that could soothe it. The aching, the breaking, the masterpiece theater that’s a nuisance. You call me critical, I call it simply my two cents.
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Wordplay number 164. So tired but so refreshed it’s a paradox. A breath of fresh air, wear and tear but it’s not enough. I’m bottled up, waiting for my very own Mazel Tov, to celebrate like Saturdays that life ain’t just a table talk. Life ain’t just to catch us up, like some donkey chasing carrot stubs, tied onto a string dangling right above his shoulder shrug. Should I get it? should I stand up and reach for this bit of grub? Is destiny worth the best of me or am I just specially built for messing up? Everything happens for a reason as they say, I’m a platitude away from getting absolutely nothing done, sayings are amazing but I’m finding they’re pretty useless stuff. So power to the people here among all of us, the diehards, John McClanes, the ones who are afraid of none. Fearlessly they model and we follow for the same outcome. Or even better, like a sweater, to keep us warm cause we’re cooling off. And one day, just like talks, all our “oughts” will be far and gone. But will we be the foreigners or right back where we started from?
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Loop this. Play it until it reaches a million views. Please no more about babies that talk or pandas in shoes. The interview begins but you can’t see her face, she’s scandalous, locked in, for fear of more rape. But they replay that loud footage of her dragged through the streets, a victim of arrogance and then apathy. Yelling, screaming, I can hear her pain. Scratched up her soul, she solemnly wanes, between fearful and angry, whatever refuge she finds, she loses it to sleep, no release from her mind. She can’t step out; it’s been 2 days since she’s sighed, a breath of fresh air, touched by sunlight. She trembles, resembling a leaf in a wind, rooted in rumors that hope might just win, we will not forget, he says, we will check up on you soon. Iman al-Obeidi, this Wordplay is for you.
Wordplay Entry 96
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the pics were what i was feeling at that time i was writing em 0_o
88. I will not be denied this, no I won’t, I won’t go, I won’t be denied this. This is mine here, I’ll be the killer at the crime scene, murdering my passive, aggression then conniving. Plans so brilliant, you mistake them for some diamonds. This ain’t no simulation, I’m running outta time here. Another kind of kid, kinda caring, but could careless. So please step aside miss. There’s method to this madness, you think it’s just a hat trick, but hardly. I’m like Atlas. Holding the golden, the globe, no surpassing. Everything is in this thing, and in this, I inhabit. I’ve packaged my heart, body and my soul, yeah I’m drastic. But, oh no you haven’t, no you can’t even imagine, the action that goes into being this kind of maverick.
89. I kinda miss San Fran, the days when the telephone and the tv were off, no outside world, no text, no calls. Like dancing can-can’s, we were united, kicking out our comfort zones, walking side by side, with the homeless, the slighted. There was no prerequisite, we were not on “top of it,” no way to prepare us, we had to take our vitamins. You were gonna need it, the days were like centipedes, longer than we’d thought it be, legwork we provided. But it was a heart and soul, that different kind of beat, that palpitating aftermath of life found on the streets. We were more than a youth mob, felt like it was Pentecost, lighted, excited, sonic like the hedgehog. Kingdom come, will be done, was no shame in what we’d become.
