More doodles in 2660

Doodles in 2660

See Spot

SEE SPOT
Midfall Drive, 2007
Lyrics by: Air-Stan

Verse 1

See Spot
See Spot Run
See Spot lyrically rampage puns
See Jane
See Jane greet me
See Jane moan as I pleasure her completely
See Jack
See Jack acting hardcore
but See Jack Freeze when I ask him what his hearts for
And While he's fucking up our artform
We tell it like it is
Cuz you should only act thug if thug is how you live
You better Sit Back....

I heard your single, yeah you wild a bit
Its like sprinkling sugar on a pile of shit
When your style is bit
You go from gentleman to feminine
Verbally placebo with irrelivent medicine
And can't touch this original
Fresh individual
Destined to give my all, blessed with the lyrical
Skills to kick it funky with minimal hastle
Im grippin microphones like soccer moms and ritalin capsules
All while your sound lags daily as you clowns brag
Acting more ghetto than a 40 bottle and a brown bag
We know your secret...dumbed down and sugar coated
Like any half decent chump around could have wrote it
A simple motive to a sound without a lesson plan:
Turn up the beat to turn down our attention spans
With every breath I can manage from my wind pipe
I'm itching to kill mics with knowledge and the insight
Proving in unison, legitement flows
Circle in your ears like cinnamon rolls
As you serve the back, what you drop won't apply
In a world full of Jacks I'm a spot till I die


Chorus:
Go
Go Spot Go
Go
Go Spot Go


Verse 2

See Spot
See Spot Run
See Spot verbally explode like a shotgun
See Jane
See Jane leave me
She caught me red handed cuz pimpin aint easy
See Jack
Hey jacks getting paid full
But two weeks later Jacks dropped from his label
No bitter and ungrateful
He's had it with this biz
Cuz you can only stay Fresh if Fresh is how you live
You better sit back

At the pivitol time
The most rivetting rhyme
Tickles your spine
While imprisoned minds get released
in these visions of mine
The blank face nemesis fists clinched but effortless
Upon the microphone I leave kids expressionless
Thats why I'm dropping these
Lyrical prophecies
One in a million like lottery
Taking over like monopoly
I've been known to make you weak in the knees and your head sore
A funky little kid with the style that you sent for
So ya'll copy like 10-4
I drop rhymes like your moms titties on my headboard


Chorus 2
Go
Go Spot Go
Go
Go Spot Go

Sit back
Sit back
Sit back
Sit back

Punch-Out Challenge

Can you find these names hidden in the rhyme below?

Glass Joe
Von Kaiser
Piston Honda

Don Flamenco
King Hippo
Great Tiger

Bald Bull

Soda Popinsky
Mr. Sandman
Super Macho Man
Mike Tyson

Main character: Little Mac
Mac's manager: Doc

Referee: Mario

Secret Code to get to Mike Tyson: 007 373 5963




Punch-Out

Dan Altano

When it first began, bell rang, back of class
Tapping on the glass, Joe and Dabs had the rap
My fresh mouth blew up..knockin sense out their head
A 10-count had them placing bets down instead
I was on a roll like beef-on-Kaiser
Sparring with the Doc flowin sweet on cifer
Driving round town, smokin L's, swishin vodka
Couldnt hold my blatter one time, I pissed in Honda
Back on the scene now ya can't stop the lingo
Stubborn Don Flamencos only wanted a poppy jingle
But when I drop my single, I'll be King Hippo
Sittin on thrown with chrome and tinted windows
Only giving props to spots that pay nicer
While half-ass cats claiming Great Tiger
Fake like a late nighter champ with a hidden Tyson Code
From super punch to slightest blow, meet a writer's flow
This mic I'll hold till I'm bald, bullshittin and fat
Looking back, just a little mac sippin that
Soda Pop-in-scheme to fill seats of grandstands
Up so late I'd Miss-the-Sandman's hand stamp
I'm no Super Macho Man, I flex mental muscle
Moves across the land, my clock set to hustle
Dial Double O-Seven, three seven three
Five-nine-six three....to catch a beat
Skyline overhead while I'm sprinting these tracks
Call it my victory lap........
Yo Mario bring it back!

How am I doing?

February 2008

A friend of mine e-mailed me to ask how I was doing........

I've been writing songs, poems and prose
Sprinkle some genius on boredom, throw in some flows
In the spring I've got shows like Gonzo's got nose
Since my band's stock rose all the girls drop clothes

My girls body is heaven, she visits on weekends
no drama or yellin, no fits out of sequence
And we're pretty content, I should knock on some wood
I'm hesitating to admit that we've got it so good

At work I write articles, researching and googling
Between the rhymes and the stories, blown speakers and doodling
I'm broke but I'm livin, don't smoke but i'm drinkin
they moved my cubicle to a window now i'm focussed and chillin

I've been meandering through calm perceptions and positive vibes
Ever since I found perfection in a pot hole of lies
And when I pulled it out and realized it didnt exist
I brought my insanity in closer for an intimate kiss

Am I saving the world? no but I'm changing it
Adding quotes in the hopes of helping people stay sane in it

Uneventful Happiness

Lately I've begun to wonder
Why I think so much about being
Connecting dots for cyclical meaning
No one else would understand

Sometimes I wish that I could chill
And be distracted by the little thrills
When prehistoric failures sting
I find it hard to be okay

Their identities intertwined
Laughing to themselves and I
can't figure out how one of them
Doesn't wanna find the door

You can't tell me he's satisfied
With never knowing chance at all
I don't get how he's sleeping in
With all his chips cashed away

Maybe I just haven't found it
Or maybe I'm not deserving of a
Night where nothing matters
but a tiny hole in her jeans

She'll be waking soon to find her
uneventful happiness
Reminding her that nothings missed
Roll over and start the day

It's funny how we fight to reach
An old man's wisdom with a childs peace
Fully aware when we arrive
It won't do us any good

You and I will have our moments
Somewhere between the dust and madness
When we're there we'll stand above them
And count those seconds down

Splish Splash Suds

Baby,
I'm so tired at work,
I didn't shave,
Or iron my shirt,
And what’s worse,
My tie doesn't go,
"No blue with black"
How should I fuckin know?,
Old pants from discount stock,
Searched my hamper,
for mismatched socks,
Big hole in the front
For my big toe,
Late again,
I snuck in on tip toe.
Two voicemails,
Urgent messages,
Bosses voice says:
"You're requested in,
Three meetings,
No exceptions,
Or leaving,
For refreshments,"
Proofreading,
At my desk with,
Eyes bleeding,
Getting restless,
Heart beating,
Now I'm breathless,
I keep repeating,
I should let this...

Go

I just don't fit in
Underneath these stars
In between these walls
I just don't belong


Baby,
I'm so lazy at work,
In this box,
I'm faking these smirks,
And what’s worse ,
My rent is here,
Crossing my fingers,
For that check to clear,
Doing everything to stay in budget,
It gets me down,
But in some way I love it,
Its like I'm living in,
My prequel,
Like every little thing,
I achieve will,
Trace them to,
Where I am now,
When I met you,
It'll stand out,
And I cherish,
When we're fed well,
And we're wrapped up,
In my bed till,
The bubble bath up-
stairs gets filled,
Sp lish splash suds,
let the rest spill,
All laughs cuz,
We can just chill,
Year and a half, but
You're the best still,
And if it lasts us,
To the end, we'll
Put our past up
On a pedestal,
Baby that’s love,
And my chest feels,
Like I shouldn't let this........


Go

I think we fit in
Underneath these stars
In between these walls
I know we belong

Short Story: Welcome

August 2, 2007

The door swung open slowly and slammed against the adjacent wall; We were officially New Yorkers. The heat hit us almost instantly, a powerful gust of humidity smashing against us, but that couldn't stop us from pressing in. The walls still smelled of fresh paint, the hardwood floors gleamed in their vacancy. The powerful lights illuminated from across the street and glowed through the windows. Reflections of "Joe's Pizza" and the ever so dominant "Red Curry Restaurant" sign painted the back wall. I was free. Free from the small town blues, free from being a helpless casualty of public transit, free from the late night tiptoes into bed with my girlfriend praying that the dogs didn't bark, free to conquer the city I grew up just a sling shot away from. In those brief moments I felt a little wiser, as if I had just aged twenty years walking up that flight of stairs. I knew right then and there that if I took one solitary, echoing step, one stride forward, it would be the first of a new chapter, the opening scene, the night it all began.

I stood holding my box fan, TJ had a Cosco economy size pack of flavored Icees tucked under his arm (absolute necessities during the dead of summer in New York.) We didn't speak, nor cheer nor even slap five. We didn't hurry downstairs to grab the rest of our belongings just yet either. Nope, instead, I calmly rested the fan down on the floor as did TJ with his icees. Without a word I went into one corner of the apartment and got as far away from my new roommate as was physically possible (about 20 feet.) Maybe it was the rhythm of the loud jack hammers drilling the street below, or maybe it was the Spanish music being blasted from one of the construction trucks, I'm not quite sure, but almost uncontrollably and without any coherent thought, the only thing I could think of doing, the only thing that made complete sense to me amidst the vast amount of inner turmoil and overwhelming excitement .....was to break dance.

I started with a little two-step arm shake, then my legs followed. The next thing I knew I was gliding across one of the empty bedrooms like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, sneakers squeaking against the freshly shined floor, pulling out moves I didn't even know I had in me! I did a little robot, a little bit of the wheelchair hustle, the funky rufy, the invisible basketball, 'crazy legs', pretty much everything in a sober white kid's grab bag of dance that has ever been attempted. This lasted a good three minutes without pause. My t-shirt was soaked almost instantly. When I caught myself and subsequently caught my breath, (which had barely survived in the sweltering heat,) I emerged from the bedroom a little embarrassed, ready to collect my thoughts and continue moving the rest of my items in, when I noticed something in the other bedroom. I peered in, wiping the sweat from around my eyes that blurred my surroundings, and there was TJ, also not speaking or making a sound, busting out a near flawless imitation of a Michael Jackson dance. I never knew he could moonwalk until that evening. Mid-arm raise, crotch grab and Jackson-esque "Eeeh!" he saw me and instantly stopped. He pretended to be saying "eeeeh, I spilled something." He quickly straightened his posture, and began pretending that he was just dusting off his pants. I withheld my laughter and shot him a reassuring look to suggest that in any other circumstances in the world this would be an all-time great piece of dirt to hold above him, however tonight, I completely understood.

We had to be moved in by 10 pm before the other tenants could legally report us for noise violation, so time was of the essence. I struck this rule as a bit odd considering the countless number of trucks and machines that littered our street that night. Workers spoke loudly with boisterous laughter as they drudged up the street with child-like delight. Weeks before a manhole had exploded through the gravel on 41st and Lex, devouring half the block in its wake, leaving one dead and twelve injured in the process. After the city declared the stretch of Lexington between 41st and 38th a disaster site, they were given the go-ahead to take as much time as they needed to assess the problem. They were also given the okay to work at any time of day, at any level of volume, using any type of machinery to do the job. My father, the storyteller, suggested that I look at the whole ordeal as a metaphor for the repairs and new starts of my own life. I on the other hand, merely chalked it up as my best pal: bums luck.

When you know a moment will be memorable even before it passes, and that you will probably be telling that story when you're old and grey and down to one joke, two teeth and three blurry but legendary tales, like the afternoon Lieutenant Seidenberg came home from work early to find his eldest daughter and yours truly losing our respective virginities on his $3,000 leather sofa, you tend to want to take in the scenery before its gone. Walking towards the east wing bedroom window however, (I like to refer to the bedrooms as wings to create the illusion of an apartment bigger than what it truly was: a glorified shoebox with a sink,) I couldn't help but think about that fucking Red Curry sign across the street. When I had signed the lease a month before, it wasn't there. If it were, I would have never stepped foot into the apartment. Two weeks after I signed I was scoping out the neighborhood on my lunch break when I saw them putting up the sign. They put the huge red blocks up one by one. "Maybe it will be an Italian Restaurant!" "Maybe even Mexican!" I thought to myself. I read the letters aloud like an episode of Sesame Street as they raised them on the cranes.

R-E....

Regenals Pizza? No, Rezarrios Restaurante! Ready Set Mexican?

R-E-D

Red O'Neals Irish pub?? Red Pepper? Red Fish Blue Fish 1 Fish 2 Fish?

The word Curry came on one solitary block of text. When they raised it into place beside the accompanying letters, my heart sank, my throat dried and I swallowed hard. It may as well have been spelling "Go back to Jersey fuck face!" The sign dwarfed the street. It wasn't like some small little Bodega, no, it was more like the main attraction of our small little world, like the Hollywood sign over the hills in California. And it stayed lit, 24 hours a day, without fail. I pictured people for generations to come giving directions to my street. "Hey Joey, I'll meet you on 38th and Red Curry!"

Two beautiful blondes stood outside our apartment building smoking cigarettes as we flew down the steps to grab the rest of our belongings. I flashed them a suave smile, a "hey what up neighbors?" type smile. They turned their heads away quickly, as if they had just walked in on a sibling changing. Shrugging off the rejection, I went into TJs truck and grabbed my night table. Before I headed back upstairs, I paused for a second. Something struck me as a bit odd. The jack hammers had stopped, the construction trucks weren’t running, the bright lights had been turned off. For a brief moment, there was silence in the big city. We could hear our footsteps hit the dim lit street below and our heavy breathing became a soundtrack for the block. I started looking around some of the trucks to see where the workers had gone, but there was no one to be found. It was like a ghost town.

Heading back up the stairs for the second time, the excitement continued to build. The staircases smelled of garbage from the Chinese restaurant below us. The banister and front doors were painted a grotesque shade of yellow, dim and lifeless. Tenants left umbrellas outside of every apartment. A dog barked loudly from one of the rooms upstairs. It all was beginning to feel like home. Our place, Apartment 1F was on the second floor, a prime spot for carrying heavy furniture. A few minutes later, TJ and I would embark on one of the most epic games of Rocks Papers Scissors ever played to decide which bedrooms we would take. I lost, by a landslide, but ended up getting the room that suited me much better. It may have been smaller with one less window, may not have shared the same French door entrance as his, and may have been defined by the giant pole awkwardly placed in the back right corner by the window, but I felt a euphoric sense of calmness when I first stepped foot into it, and that was enough to justify my loss.

Looking out my window once again, I was now able to take a second to breathe it all in. I started thinking about growing up. I thought about how easily change can fall under the radar. You go to bed one night in feet pajamas and wake up late for a meeting with the VP of Marketing. Your voice is deeper, your chest hairier, your father's bald spot wider. And suddenly it hit me as hard as that heat when that door first creaked open: as long as the ball was rolling I never had the clarity to draw lines between those changes, like an endless chapter in desperate need of some closure. In that brief moment though, standing before the dominant Red Curry Restaurant, I could for the first time see myself waving back in the rear view mirror.

How do I begin? I thought. Should I go grab some beer and commemorate this evening with some drunken nostalgia? Should I go hit the town and check out the neighborhood bars? Maybe just stay in and plan out where to put the couch and TV? Life has a funny way of deciding things for you sometimes, because before I could make the appropriate choice of action, the giant spotlight in the street that oversaw construction shot back on, the truck engines roared once and the jack hammers returned to their rhythm. When I looked down I saw eight construction workers right below me in an equal line gazing up at me through the window. Could they see me up here? I wondered. I looked down a bit puzzled and gave a slight little wave. When “Just Beat It” began to blast from one of the trucks I should have known what was going on, but it wasn’t until they collectively broke out into all too familiar break dance moves:: The robot, The wheelchair hustle, The funky roofy, the robot and “crazy legs,” that I realized what was going on. When their laughter subsided a good 43 minutes later, I turned from the window ashamed and took a single solitary step forward towards the common area, took a deep breath, and began my new chapter, my new journey, my new life, the night it all began.

Bring back the record store....

Doodles in 2660

Stay Weird

I'm just writing to remind you to stay weird.
Your awkward smile was the best of your faces.
I don't think I could take it if you were,
Normal, happy, rested and patient.

I need a friend who’s in tune with distraction.
I need a call from a girl who’s alive.
The kind of living that only can happen,
Stepping away from the world for a time.

Looking down from our hilltop laughing.
Making fun of this infinite circus.
We could take what they give us and stay calm,
Or lose our minds looking into the purpose.

I'd come over tonight if you let me.
We'll start with simple discussion.
And in the midst of our classic progression,
We'll remember that simple solves nothing.

I'm just writing to see if you're still weird.
I think we're due for some hidden affection.
We are the last of a dying team now,
And I’m in love with your twisted perception.

GSC back together

Discarded Pages

I’m writing you on a cardboard box with dulling pencil
I have no time to think about location
In my new apartment feeling lost between these temples
I’m hoping I can muster up the patience

If I could just calm my head I’d tell you where I’ve been
What I’ve seen and if I’ve learned a thing
Lately it’s all seemed so real inside my phony grin
Waiting for my chance to settle in

I said goodbye to ghosts I was once convinced were lovers
No dramatic endings or heroics
Once she was my heartbeat but now she’s joined the others
Sweet discarded pages from a poet

Whenever two days look the same I make the evening sleepless
Anything to shake away routine
Crawl inside the darkest little corners of my weakness
Lose myself in how it used to be

1,000 words of self

1,000 words of self
Written September 4, 2007

My pen name is Air-Stan, I'm a Capricorn, but that doesn't matter to me. I enjoy Redbull Vodkas when I'm too tired to start the night off with beer, my middle name is Mark, and I once had a cork collection. I love cheeseburgers and I hate curry. If I could sum up my childhood in eight seconds, I'd tell you about rollerblading home at sunset after playing a long game of hockey two blocks away and how I could smell dinner as I cruised up our driveway. The first day I learned how to ride a bike and went down my first hill I hit my first telephone pole and received my first set of stitches on my mouth. My first real kiss was with a girl named Katie Wisnewski in 9th grade. Two days later I'd learn that she was on Ecstasy and that I was one of five kids she kissed that night. It isn't my proudest memory. I used to wear Ninja Turtles feet pajamas. I wish I still had them. Quite often, when I tell a girl that I worked as a pre-school teacher for three summers, she wants to make out with me. I day dream a lot about being in my own music video. I get sick a lot, but tell people that I hardly ever do. I still take baths. One time I got my cat, Jinx, high when my parents were on vacation. I was smoking a blunt and blew a few hits in his face. When he died a few months later I blamed myself. One of my most embarrassing moments was when Matt Handy panced me in 3rd grade in front of all my friends. I was wearing bright orange boxer shorts and ran out of the room so no one could see me cry. My favorite thing about women is how they can make you feel like there isn't a care in the world, even if it's only for a brief moment. My least favorite thing about women is that they're all as crazy as I am, and crazy people crave something sane, and two crazies combined make for painfully beautiful confusion. I guess though, since confusion is much more exciting than knowing where and who you are, it is why I am commonly attracted to women who others would label clinically insane. I use to look down at fallen pennies convinced that if the first penny I'd seen that day was heads up I'd have a good day and if it was tales it'd be a shitty day. It was a good lesson in perception, because it always came true. I still catch myself doing it sometimes. I have a 1,000 word article due for work at 1 pm this afternoon and have barely started it. My favorite sound in the world is when two bowling balls hit one another. July 23rd is a date I look forward to every year, although I have no idea why. Sometimes I like to picture my life as a movie poster. The poster changes constantly and features all the main characters in my life at that period of time posing beside me. I used to touch the bottoms of pools on the last day of every vacation so they would remember me. I broke my arm on a bunny slope in Vermont. I wish I could tell you a helicopter picked me up off the snow in dramatic fashion, but in reality I was put on a sled and guided 10 feet to the health center. I am having a lot of trouble believing in God lately, I have been leaning more towards life being the brain child of a group of writers. They are constantly adding new characters, twists and turns, ups and downs and always keep it interesting, at least interesting to me. Too many of the right things work out too well, and too many of the wrong things don't, so I just can't find a reason why I am wrong on the matter. Among all of my out of the box type beliefs, my "writers instead of God" theory gets the most disgruntled reactions. I like to think that people aren't ready for such a theory, which makes me feel original. I don't want to let go of the notion that there is no heaven though. I'd like to believe that if there is a heaven you receive one day to paint the sky. You don't get to paint it right away though, you have to be ready. What you do is you watch your own life over and over again until you find the perfect colors and shades to match your life's vibe. Clouds are the obstacles you had to overcome, blue is for all the good times. When you see a crazy vibrant sunset or sunrise, those are for the moments, people and memories that can't be summed up as good or bad or obstacles, or explained in just a few words, but are too important and to be left uncaptured. I am undecided on what rain means. The common answer would be that it's a bad thing, but I think maybe it's a statement by the painters that they just want to touch enough people as possible before they are forgotten. I think, even if your canvas looks a bit bland, the process of defining yourself through artistic reflection once your life is over is the only definition of the word closure I can ever wrap my head around. I always wonder how other people would choose to paint theirs? I think I know how I'd do mine but it's much too early to tell at this point. So far though, there'd be a lot of blue and a whole lot of purple red and yellow. If I write this tomorrow it will be completely different. I write because I have always believed you are only as good as what you leave behind.

XOXO and Tick Tack Toe

XOXO and Tick Tack Toe: A crack pot theory

I've always wondered where X's and O's came from. Growing up, X's and O's to me always meant one thing: "Tick Tack Toe!" and in that sense their meaning was simple: the X's and O's were enemies. The X's battled the O's for superiority, with each party controlling the letters trying to be the first to fill their spots in a row without interruption or disorder. The game was fun to play because we were young and not nearly as occupied with the bigger things of life, plus who could argue with some good old fashion childhood competition? Then as I was growing older, people started writing "XOXO" to me. Suddenly and without explanation, X's and O's lived together in unison, the gesture serving as a sign of affection. Needless to say, I was confused. Then I started wondering, if it is in our overall interest to combine the letters, then is "Tic Tack Toe," that innocent and most of the time anti-climactic game that helped define our youth, symbolism for the quest to find true love and harmony? If so, using this theory, lets say for example men represent the X's and women the O's. Maybe, just maybe, we aren't enemies at all, but perhaps the game is as basic as men and women working together just to comfortably fit inside an organized structure.

Problems of course arise once the game begins. Game experience and subtle tricks become key factors. Then it seems that one letter always wants to go first; they're impatient or maybe just over eager to get started right away. Then there are the letters who always want the last word, and if that isn't permissible by the opposing letter, all hell breaks loose as they do anything in their power to block that possibility. And more than often, as the game rolls on, one letter gets the upper hand and puts the other in a challenging position. The opposing letter now becomes cornered without any options left, their impending doom staring them in the face and ready to be ceiled by a quick swirl or mark of the pencil. At the point in the 12th round of the bout when it seems that there is just no hope for the letter on the ropes, it is left with two options: Either stick it out and reluctantly accept defeat by continuing to fill in unnecessary boxes thus prolonging the humiliation for an unsaid period of time due to blind pride or lack of will power, or instead realize the inevitable truth that the game just seems to be unbalanced and have the foresight to give up right before the winner can circle its three letters in a row and then proceed to jump around on the desk top in celebration. If the losing letter decides to flee first it is free to move on to the next game, while the winner remains on top of the world until the next opponent comes along and brings it back down to earth. That is in a sense the most straight forward, black and white scenario of Tic Tack Toe. Both realize that the see-saw affair is no longer level and they both go about life wearing the failures and victories like yellow belts in karate: Not nearly making the imprint of a black belt, but at the same time, hey at least they took the preliminary classes, bought the white robe, and kicked at the air a few times right?

But then there are the scenarios where there is no clear winner. We all remember that sour taste in our mouths from an uneventful tie. As a kid, what could be more lame than matching wits with your friend just to find out you're both as dumb as the other. But perhaps we weren't paying attention to the social significance the tie was telling us. Both opponents battle for that spot. There is push and pull. Hopes are raised and never clearly or decisively diminished. After a long and seemingly endless struggle, the game doesn't end, but simply stops due to lack of need for competition. The X's and O's fit together beautifully in those boxes, equally and without force, left with no room to complicate the matter. Both have had their turn and given their best, and somehow both were just good enough. There are no balloons or victory dances for one, at least not on this day, and the X's and O's sit together intertwined. And that, based on this idea, is what makes a successful relationship. Both opponents realize that there really is no point to the game, or any game at all in that matter.

Maybe over time new games are started and the X's and O's try their hands again, I mean I'm not saying that those boxes stay filled forever. Sometimes they are erased off of the chalk board, squeegeed off of the windshield angrily by a friend or parent, interrupted by the interest of a new opponent, or one day forgotten somewhere in the back of a notebook with the doodles and notes on the Pythagorean theorem. But even if this is so and the games continue elsewhere, the X's and O's should always remember that even for a brief moment, if only for a little while, on that memorable day, everything was right with the world.

And here I thought I just played that game just to pass the time in the back of math class with the other slackers that whole time. Guess I was wrong.

xoxo,

Air-Stan

SMOOTHLY UNDER

My mind is like a blue print sketched out in pencil
What you call a day dream I think of as potential
But if it's the thought that counts I've lost track of the number
Some like to ride the wave, I choose to cruise smoothly under

Alone I
Sit in my room
Sipping a brew
Writing rhymes to one day be as sick as the flew
Until the ink withers through

And I’m thinking of you

About how you told me that I’m lazy because I spend all day relaxing

How I’m deep in thought but weak in action

How I’m filled with words but only mean a fraction

And how I say a lot but I don’t speak with passion

Well today, hopes of tomorrow we might share

While reality is right there

To turn our wet dreams into a 9-5 nightmare

So if your world is real consider me an illusionist

I think your drama is about as useful as bling on a crucifix

I’m not a revolutionist, I just find peace in doubting

Because if ignorance is bliss I’d much rather be drowning

And that’s why I overanalyze

And verbalize more of what I fantasize

Writing drunken rhymes through slanted eyes

Because I don’t want to be a picky in a hand of lies

Because I quest to be the greatest man alive

You ask why?

Cause I’m a Fucking Writer!

And so what if I only go to half of my classes?

Write my papers last minute, half ass ‘em and pass ‘em in?

I don’t really need a desk to truly grasp what’s happening

Just like to love hip hop, you don’t have to be African

It’s all just a pad to a pen

And it makes you laugh until you have to grab your abdomen

And lose your breath until you have to gasp just to catch it in!....

To ask the most significant question

Are you placebo minded or a lethal injection

You tell me that I can’t sit still or pay attention

When I’ll tell you that I think A.D.D. really stands for A Different Direction

Because I know that when I spit to perfection

I can twist this world like Florida Governors can twist an election

So would you like me to justify why I’d much rather write scripts in reflection?

You know

Its cause I’m a Fucking Writer!

I’ll be that struggling journalist making minimal cash flow

Clinging to life like soccer moms and Ritalin capsules

I may be a belligerent asshole with a withering backbone

But I’ll still be as fulfilled as an afro

Because my style is like a hot tamale rinsed and dipped in Tobasco

And when I open up my pen cap

And write until that pen snaps

I see my best friend, my own therapy

My own words, my own clarity

All real, no parody

And at that pivotal time

That riveting rhyme will tickle your spine

As imprisoned minds get released in these visions of mine

You’ll be that blank faced nemesis

You’re clinched fisted, I’m effortless

And my swift bliss scented sentences

Will leave you expressionless

But for now….

My wisdom is like a broken down car with no headlights

Which is probably why you can’t recall a single thing I just said, right?

But if it’s the thought that counts I’ve lost track of the number

Some like to ride the wave, I choose to cruise smoothly under

So whether you lose those battles or you’re like Rocky

Whether you’re labeled humble, modest or cocky

Whether wander alone or you sweat with a posse

Whether you flip burgers and McDonalds or you’re Emeril Agassi

Try and stop me!

Try and stop me!

Cause I’m a Fucking Writer!

Midfall Drive at BB Kings, NYC 5/3/09

Midfall Drive at Terminal 5, NYC

Porcelain Doll

Your picture face was a porcelain doll

Empty as the room that remains

You’ve lost the memory to accompany the flash

But it’s painfully frozen in the box I just found

Check out my expression, an arm’s length away

It’s laughable now to see how hard I was trying

Standing upright, like a pillar in a storm

Helplessly numb to the wreckage around me

You’ve got this shot now, black and white from a distance

On a dock in the summer somewhere by the woods

Silhouettes joined with no clue it was taken

Forever its breathing heavily, framed only by your eyes

You put a little frame around it

Answering the skeptics who think that love can’t last

With a song in mind, slant rhyme the meaning

Singing “etch my place in you, I was there.”

You’re alive,

Both of you holding a reason

Or at least it appears to be something worth keeping

And somewhere between regret and letting go

If there is such a place

I felt whole

Terminal 5 Flyer by Agent B

Acapella 2

Performed at Terminal 5, NYC December 23, 2008

Welcome to the land where true music’s living

Where a business man will rip out his blue tooth to listen

Where all the emo punks stop crying so loud

When I pick up a mic, they put their collars down

And listen to the sound, when I spell trouble making

My style so tight I feel my belt buckle breaking

The lyrics that we’re hearing on our radio stations

Are like Cinnemax late night: no penetration…….

Best believe we’ve got no tricks up our sleeve

We go together like the 20^th of April and Weed

I provide the flow and my band blows amps

And we do this on our own like “look maa, no hands!”

You cats are so worthless, you lack a soul purpose!

You’re only hurting yourself like Plaxico Buress

Blowing through your windows like your neighborhood ghosts

It’s the number one contenders with your favorite quotes

We’re funky with the lingo plus the flavor to boast

And we’re breaking out the butter cuz you haters are toast!

Gold rhythm, fuck gold chains

We won’t stop till we own the game

I know you heard a lot of groups and the shows the same

But this is Midfall Drive..get to know the name

Acapella 1

Performed on December 22, 2007 at Nokia Theatre

Here's the clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1u77kiwetw


I'm a son on rage putting pun on page
They got me for 40 a week and I get one on stage

When we get down to flow, we shake the ground below

Echoing the essence of the sounds of old

They say that hip hop is knocked and theyve been counting slow

Without an ounce of sole 5 hundred thousand sold

The same cats who once made me a head

Now proclaiming its dead

Turning their backs like failed mothers blaming the meds

But hip hop is alive, we're just sick to our stomachs

Its like two thousand fat kids on the last chicken nugget

Bust it

You clear the room like my uncles dirty jokes

Hardly floatin, while I come to rock your coast surfin these notes

I'm certainly dope when I'm serving you folks

While there styles are played like Ron Burghondy quotes
Air-Stan, I've always said it fresh
If you don't believe me check the tape like Bill Belicheck
but I know
I should hide my feelings just to say that I'm the man
I should get three piercings just to say I'm in a band
I'll get a tattoo with a Chinese symbol, so
Even when I turn my back you'll know I'm unoriginal
There's no creation if you leave with what you came with
You're just a hater if you do nothing to change it
Thats the reason why I picked up this pen
I've come to do it now, like they did it back then...

A Writer's Story

December 2007



(Teacher: Okay class its time for the test. Clear your desks! eyes on your own papers! I hope you all studied........)


The little dreamer with the backwards hat and train track braces,
Hand me down sweatpants, and shoes with fat laces,
Sat there at his desk, an empty page before 'em,
When the test equations left him in a heavy daze of boredom.....

He thought about a blue sky,
a summer afternoon,
Lounging up inside his room,
With a Saturday cartoon...
Fishing off the corner of the bridge where he lived at,
Sipping from the hose,
Kissing Lindsay by the swing set….
He let Imagination take him to places,
Where disapproving faces in his class couldn't break him.
A Knack for escape in the back getting worse
He tapped a beat on his lap
Trading
Math for a verse

With his red magic marker in a spark he saw purpose,
All his friends would laugh it off, in the halls they'd call him worthless,
But his heart was all but bursting when he fell into a song,
And ever since its always felt like home
And now he's growing
up....


(Father's voice: Ya know what son I'm proud of you, you're about to go off to college! Before you go I just want to make sure you remember to not get dis tracted by drugs or alcohol or unhealthy relati onships. These are the best years of your life..............)


She had to be the cutest girl that he'd ever seen,
He had his head up in the clouds, his eyes on her jeans,
He's older now but still got his sites on the dream
Despite the alcohol, the drama and the lies in between.

The college cynic with the hoodie and the chin strap beard
Baggy pants and old sneakers he's been in since last year
Sleeping through the morning fully clothed all alone
With an empty 40 bottle and a notebook full of poems

Sitting there.. picturing her side getting colder
Where she used to lie listening to rhymes that he wrote her
The girl who got away and the hopeless romantic
Whose hope was abandoned when their rollercoaster landed

Heading straight for a pen whenever the kegs were kicked
He'd flip..over to the page he left off with
In a crazy rush, he let his new found jaded touch
Inspire words that became his crutch
When days were tough


(Boss: Listen, this is the third time this week you've come in late.... You aren't wearing a tie and your shirt is wrinkled! We really need you to shape up. I want that article on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Are we clear?? I said are we clear????)


Long walks, deep breathes, sleep loss, press on
Small talk, regrets, lunch break, head headphones
New day, same steps, storyline, closure
Beautiful, crazy, out of time, older

The 20 something worker with the crappy tie,
A Dayquil buzz and a caffeine high
Time passin him by, confined to his desk
Depriving him rest, overtime assignments and stress

In his mind he's obsessed with flows on busy beats,
New poems and witty speech, honed on city streets,
His goals within his reach, his lab a tiny studio
apartment, his weeks spent trapped inside a cubicle.

But deep down the truth is his job is just a decoy,
Underneath the suit's the definition of a b-boy,
And he could feel it grow with every stage of his life,
Until tonight when he trades his briefcase for a mic....

(Roar of a crowd)

Beautiful Complication

October 2006

Misery loves creativity
Creativity loves misery
Misery loves creativity
They’re good friends
You just need to understand the history…

Being in love
Is like having a song stuck in your head every single day

And its “Electric Relaxation” from A tribe Called Quest
It’s the perfect mix tape
Its that soulful catchy rhythm that brings you back to a better day
Its that cane swinging, birds chirping, blue sky melody
Its that funky beat that even sober kids feel like dancing to
Its the live version of your favorite hit
Its an instant classic the first time you hear it
Its that song on the radio you blast with the windows closed and no ones looking..........

Yeah, I’ve been in love
That mesmerizing, awe inspiring, perfect timing kind of love
That beautiful connection, constant affection, blinding kind of love
That late night movie watching, up all night talking, bottle of wine kind of love
That “baby close the blinds, close your eyes, this is about to blow your mind” kind of love
Its that beauty you can taste now
when life is good like a slow fade out...
When she gives one smile and wink and you’re suddenly walking tall
That “bro, pause this game I gotta take this call”
Straight from the heart with no need for games or lies
That wake up just to write 8 poems about her eyes
That feeling like your home the second you hear her voice kind of love
And screw bringing my A game she respects all of the above
That rainy day classic, relaxing drinking rum for breakfast
That “I’m a broke college student so please appreciate this Cracker Jack necklace”
Cuz I was thinking of her at the ball game when I got em
Feeling like life’s a cereal box and her love is the prize at the bottom

And I guess love is selfish in its essence
But that doesn’t change the way I melted in her presence
Hold your breath, I’ll hold you close
We’re dreaming like we’re comatose
But why does it feel like I’m just hugging the air?
Cuz when I awoke it appeared that nothing was there
Her scent on my pillow and a few strands of her hair
In the empty spot getting cold in the bed that we shared

And alls well it ended with 6 unanswered calls
A twitch in my neck and redecorated walls
Up all night just singing the song
Called where did I go wrong?

Having your heart broken
Is like having a song stuck in your head every single day

And its “who let the dogs out?”
Its an emo punk and techno mix tape
Its Now Thats Music volumes 1 through 534
Its "boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room"
It’s a Sher marathon on all over the radio
It’s the shittiest cover song that ruins the classic
It’s a tone def karaoke version of "Dream On"
It’s another country hit about a truck or a daughter

Yeah I’ve had my heart broken

That up all night wondering who she’s with kind of heart break
That loss of control suddenly losing grip kind of heart break
Unshaven putting holes in the walls, hold all my calls, I’m just restless
Growing compulsive and obsessive, jealous and possessive in my heartbreak
Sitting down sobbing on my lunch break
Feeling lost like a mob boss with no trunk space
Waking up next to a drunken mistake
I brought her to bed by 4, she was out the door by 8
Wishing that this dismal state won’t be around long
All day feeling like a shot gone down wrong kind of heartbreak
When times are getting tough, like a meathead liquored up
You vent to your best friends, but hell they don’t give a fuck
They say “She’s gone bro, its over, erase it, face it”
Yeah that’s easy for them to say, they’re still getting laid on a daily basis
When I was with her I would have crossed an ocean
But I guess awkward pauses often cause lost emotion

And as our fairy tale died, I felt hopeless ever after
So I turned to the page and closed another chapter
I guess destiny rang and I missed the call
Like quiet footsteps in the hall
and somehow I fit better in my shoes
when the world falls apart and I sing the blues
I think a smiling man doesn't have any wisdom,
That's why I keep the socks with the holes in em
If beautiful complication gives my inevitable train wreck speed
I think I'll just enjoy the ride, through dark clouds and squandered dreams
Cuz in the middle of my pain and loss of hope
I wrote the greatest thing that I ever wrote.

It went..
Misery loves creativity
Creativity loves misery
Misery loves creativity
Thanks for the inspiration baby
The rest is just history

The Call

October 2, 2007

Girl: (6:04 a.m):
I know you're probably sleeping baby,
cuz tomorrow you've got shit to do
a new job maybe?
or another bullshit interview?
but i figured I'd just call to say that I really miss you,
and i'm sick of all these tears that are soaking and drowning all my tissues
umm...are you hearing this dude?
did I even get through?

Guy:
Sorry if I'm not saying much,
I was dead asleep
it's been another stressed out,
crazy, high pressured week
and sorry if I sound surprised,
out of touch, or out of reach
but lately with you and I, its like we never speak
you know i'd be calling you all night if it was ever up to me

Girl:
Well every time I go to call,
I pause and second guess it
I pace around the room,
over analyze, fret and stress it
then I lose my breath and have to lay down just to catch it
I even wrote you a letter, b
ut never had the guts to send it

Guy:
What u doing up, I thought you only had Mondays off?

Girl:
Yeah my schedules all screwed cuz of my fucking boss
he treats us like shit, with screaming fits, and cutting costs
I work 3 shifts, for measly tips, and spilled dumpling sauce
so I finally called in sick to get drunk up in my buddies loft

Guy:
Oh yeah what buddy? Gary, Rick, Fred?
or is it another metro sexual, over dressed meathead?
the ones that find out about our past and want me dead?
What is he there now? is he next to you drunk in your bed?
Put him on the phone, I'll put that bitch in his place!
I knew you've been drinking,
you only call when you're shitfaced!

Girl:
Woah calm down, this isnt the time or place to start shit
I only had a few glasses of wine,
and it was my girlfriends apartment
don't get all jealous and crazy till I wonder where your heart went
Plus I do what I want

Guy:
Yeah you sound like fucking Cartmen

Girl:
Well I don't ask you about those skanky sluts,
or that last loser bitch
That you took to our restaurant
and saw that movie Hitch with
All your girls are a bunch of horney, shallow, makeup infested hooters chicks
So get off my back, I don't give a shit who you're screwing, dick!

Guy:
Well my bad for acting all angry, jealous and possessive
Or compulsive and obsessive,
I just always grow so restless
when I hear your voice for breakfast

Girl:
Well I'm still wearing your necklace,
and no one else is catching my eye
And its still you I think of when I'm in bed with a guy
I just can't commit right now, and forever I tried
But if you can't be a friend, well then, I guess its goodbye......

Guy:
Look, i'm just sick of us lying like suave villains
Just please make up your mind and I'm chillin,
I just wanna relax and get stoned like Bob Dylan
instead of watching the cons fill in the blanks,
while the pros come once in an odd million

Girl:
Woah why is the room spinning?
I think I'll make some coffee

Guy:
Oh go ahead and change the subject
you drunk fucking cock tease!

Girl:
What was that? I'm losing service, baby? were you talking?

Guy:
Umm no, I didn't say anything, I think you heard me coughing

Girl:
Oh, well I wish you were here, relaxing, drinking a beer
we may not be together now, but maybe it'll be different in years.....

Guy:
Its been too long baby, too many rejections
Too many lonely nights, and unanswered questions
Too many heartbreaks, loss of sleep and indigestion
I can't just wait around,
I eventually have to learn my lesson
So what I'm saying is, I really think this is all for the best then
Baby hello? hello? Fuck! I think I lost connection

Call ended: 6:13

Let Me Know

April 23, 2009

Let me Know

This isn't fill in the blanks,
These are words in the appropriate order,
No propaganda from your local reporter,
No this is for the,
feeling that’s been chasing you down,
Forcing you to create,
Since you first put weight on the ground...
The nervous grip and jaded smile,
The expression on your face
like,"this is gonna take a while."
The sun reaching through the blinds,
Restoring color where faded pages used to shine,
And I
Used to think you lost your mind,
And that’s the greatest compliment I could find,
I told you all the time:
You belong spending days in the dark,
Putting dangerous thoughts
On paper,
then claiming its art.
Born with a front row ticket,
A choice to rebel or to just go with it,
An option to buy into truths predetermined..
Or just leave 'em uncertain..

Let me know
Let me know
I'll be there right outside your door
If you want just a little more
Let me know

Crazy is a term for original,
Heard when the words don’t concern what the typical,
Crowd deems appropriate,
And in that boat,
The whole point of common sense is a joke.
So I’m letting you know,
You belong where the nights never end ,
Living life by the pen,
Breaking every cycle that spins.
The abstract cat not ashamed to,
Put a question mark on what they claim true.
Lost in some curious,
Hunger for some options,
Breaking down doors in the shelter you've been locked in.
Picture perfect in the mess you made,
So one day when your ending credits fade,
They'll celebrate your craft and the time it involved
In all
I like you better when you're climbing the walls,
Staring at the canvas not scared to wet it,
Off the chest like
"There I said it"

Let me Know
Let me Know
I'll be there right outside your door
If you want just a little more.
Let me know

We were the ones who came to that show,
When the first and last row were the same exact row,
Before you had the women and you claimed cash flow,
We were making noise for your lame ass flow,
Then your style developed and you blew up quick,
A hundred cats yelling out "do that shit!"
Bro, you were Superman to us kids,
Till you dissed everyone that you grew up with,
Confusing best friends for crews of yes men,
Who whispered in your ear telling you you're destined...
To be something bigger than the shoes you stepped in
Choose you r weapon, lose the rep and
tell these multi-millionares
you're multi-syllobic,
They're popping shots in the air,
you're popping holes in their logic,
Or you can tell the old man version you promised,
That you tried to sell your soul but the devil didn't want it....

Let me know

Bigger Outside

May 13, 2009

The football star ran the halls in the fall, back
In the day
Carried the ball, he was all that
Used to be the star back
Now he’s working bar-back
And I guess you call that
Hurt without a fall back
Now he’s bald, fat
Looking back on thatLife W
hen everything looked so bright
"And I thought coke made ya thinner?
And I thought coach made us winners?"
But now he’s got bills like the rest of us
No longer the center ofattention cuz
Life aint the breakfast club
Used to measure up
With the prom queen
Now she's got three kids
And some mom jeans
Doin laundry
On her third husband
See the crown and the gown
Weren't worth nothing
Cuz it keeps going
Once the credits roll
And you never know how the next episode
Will unfold.....

You may not see it right now
But it gets bigger outside
A whole lot bigger outside
A whole lot bigger


The geek used to read out his window
Sneak out his window
Leaning on his pillow
He’d dream out his window
The world was only as big as he could
Reach out his window
TV or Nintendo
Or he would pretend those
People who act so
Evil would let go
of speaking to him
like a freak in a side show
"Maybe I’d blow
Up like a pyro
Lock ‘em all in my truck with the blind folds
Apologize or duck for survival
Teach ‘em all you don't fuck with a
Psycho"
Or maybe he could just leap out his window
Bleed out his window,
scream out his window
Till he felt a little breeze out his window
Reminding him he was free out his window
All the things he could be out his window
Suddenly made him see, it was simple….


You may not see it right now
But it gets bigger outside
A whole lot bigger outside
A whole lot bigger