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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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WP 152: Talk, am I worth being spoken to? I’m all crazy but this mind’s got its needs too. My insides are a sign of how I’m Pikachu. Electrifying, yes, but a pretty shy dude. I don’t like to scream, I don’t like to talk over you. It’s just a habit of mine that I’ve developed from the womb. The FJs in the house and we’re bombastic to the root, hand motions in the air like the world’s ending soon. Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar, I need a break cause this pace is taking tolls on my car, and I mean that metaphorically, I means it from the heart, I don’t mind this gig but the cost is pretty hard. Who am I? Once again this question comes across. Manic, he’s depressive, bi-polar like a boss. If I were majoring in mentally challenging the odds, I tell you what, wait a bit, this whole stage is mine to rock. Give me a sec, let me suit up head down to my toes, Second Timothy said we’re more than they oppose. I got power, I got love, a sound mind good to go, let it flow, with no cut backs, “Onward, ho!”
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I just wish that I could spit it like a minute-win-it debtor, but I’m less bass in yer face and more falsetto ghetto tenor.
WP 144: Am I back? Am I bad? Am I better than ever? You can have the shirt on my back, but you’ll prolly need a sweater. Cause I can bring it when I sing it, not to be some arrogant competitor, but I know what I can does, and I’m colder than the weather. And sometimes I needs to be, cause the heat is more than temperature, it’s the tension, it’s the tongue-lash, and I how I can’t keep it together. I’m a rag doll, tossed between the doggone whatever’s, passive Asian male and completely off-center. I’m completely incomplete, and my wordplay’s like letters, in an alphabet soup for grown bed-wetter. I just wish that I could spit it like a minute-win-it debtor, but I’m less bass in yer face and more falsetto ghetto tenor. What does that even mean Dan? That my “better” hasn’t entered. I’m just a go-getter chasing dreams, and by any means, I will get her.
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Here’s something to write about. How my failures are paramount. Yeah I could hold back, refrain as I own that, but the truth is the music, small value from a big mouth. I hear that I’m a talker. And I’ve heard that from a packed house. The audience knows the bill, I have no hiding and no backing out. My words are like a clumsy man falling down the stairs, tripping over tippy toes, afraid that no one’s there. But I’m alright if no one’s there. I run the lone-star dare. You can be the Russian Roulette but I’m gambling how I care. And in the end, there’s the kicker, no one saw it but it flickered, like a moth to a flame, I’m burning up in my knickers. I’m a liar, I’m a big fat jerk-face liar. You can take that to the bank and save it for the choir. As they sing for the moment and I get my just desserts. From the verse to the chorus, I’ll walk the bridge to where it hurts.
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I’m more nosy than Pinokie, just a wannabe but dangerous. And I lie way enough you can call me Snuffaluffagus.
WP: 125 Everyday I wander off and wonder how I write this, talking to myself, is it really worth the migraines? Staring at my phone, or the screen, or papyrus, Ha! who says “papyrus?” But hey I know you liked it. Benched for a reason, I’m batting both my eyelids, trying to stay awake, my batting’s in the minus. I’m the swing, I’m the miss, Kong strikes out like he likes it. But the lose is elusive if he don’t know what he’s tryna hit. Sometimes I’m feeling torn between a tie and where my talent is. As if an A - Z - N could count his way into the top ten. Can I count my way into the Billboard’s biggest hits? Can I count on words to work a jook sing out of “worthless?” But I’m not working well enough to even wake me out of it. This engine’s gone cold, let alone warm enough to rev. I’m more nosy than Pinokie, just a wannabe but dangerous. And I lie way enough you can call me Snuffaluffagus. Who am I? I’d like to know, I’m not trying to be anonymous. I know I’m no anomaly, but ordinary isn’t this.
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Yeah I can see it, as I scream it, and I’ll beam it til my throat is dry. I’m crying out my deepest sounds, you think unfound, but I’m fine. Heck, I’m more than fine, I’m fully flown, you think I’ve blown it, wasting time. I’m chasing wind, light’s gone dim, like I’ve lost my mind to rhymes. But go ahead and lay it out, Monopoly I’m playing fire, courteous to all contenders, this is my Boardwalk Empire. I’m all in fits, but not yet tired, I’m pushing like Jerry Maguire, football field, I’m going deep, no back to turn, this one way street. These feet were meant for greater feats, off the beaten path at least, for who the Lord wants me to be and has in mind for me to meet.
