free thread

so mark told me to be constructive so here goes. mods i kno this should probably be in generaL but plz leave it in here so we can keep this in the crew:


a free thread. write something creative. haiku? kool. do a poem or a frigging sonnet. lyrics or a short story. make a rant or tell us something interesting. i figure we all spend enough time talking about other ppl, and half of it is bullshit anyway, so make up something and make us laugh.

i have some short stories for you guys on the way in a couple of days when i get to type up some stuff from my notes. i have been getting into mad street poetry and stuff and i know alot of you guys are creative folks so lets get a real thread going!

dear mrs murray does your ***** smell of curry
gis a sniff *sniff sniff*
of your miff *sniff sniff*
does it smell *sniff sniff*
****ing hell *sniff sniff*

heres a great poem by che guevara

Let's go,
Fiery prophet of the dawn,
Down winding secret paths.,
To free the green land that you love.

Let's go,
To avenge many wrongs,
Our foreheads full of rebel stars,
Swearing to win or die.

When the first shot is heard and the land wakes up,
Like a girl startled out of sleep,
We'll be there by your side, calm warriors,
We'll be there.

When your voice proclaims to the four winds
Land reform, justice, bread and freedom,
We'll be there to echo your words,
We'll be there.

The day the wild beast is wounded in its side
by our liberating aim,
We'll be with you, hears full of pride,
We'll be there.

Don't think that they can make us tremble,
Armed with gifts and decorations,
We want a rifle, bullets, a stick,
Nothing more.

And if their rifles mow us down,
We only ask for Cuban tears
As winding sheets for fighters
Washed away by the flow of history,
Nothing more.


http://irelandsown.net/CHEFIDE2.JPG

very good.



here is a poem:





"CLA$H"


nice spikes

shit for brains

does the metal

in your punctured


face


hang about to set you


apart?


big boys playing

the big game

overjoyed in your


"choice"


to wear your art

on your sleeve

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by deafmosaic

very good.



here is a poem:





"CLA$H"


nice spikes

shit for brains

does the metal

in your punctured


face


hang about to set you


apart?


big boys playing

the big game

overjoyed in your


"choice"


to wear your art

on your sleeve

---

is that mad street poetry?

genius

i dont do poems but here's a pretty long word for ya.

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

fvck knows how to pronounce it, but its cool innit :lol:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by fatcollective

i dont do poems but here's a pretty long word for ya.

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

fvck knows how to pronounce it, but its cool innit :lol:

---

sorry forgot to say....its a phobia of friday 13th :doh:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by fatcollective

i dont do poems but here's a pretty long word for ya.

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

fvck knows how to pronounce it, but its cool innit :lol:

---

what kind of phobia dat then?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by conflict

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by deafmosaic

very good.



here is a poem:





"CLA$H"


nice spikes

shit for brains

does the metal

in your punctured


face


hang about to set you


apart?


big boys playing

the big game

overjoyed in your


"choice"


to wear your art

on your sleeve

---

is that mad street poetry?

genius

---

well anyway it is a poem. are you being sarcastic bro? sarcasm comes through a twisted filter to reach us americans over the web...

i was just generally taking the piss

maybe it'd sound better if you said it rapping like a badboy

:lol:

words to live by, by the man himself, snoop doggy dog

When I met you last night baby
Before you opened up your gap
I had respect for ya lady
But now I take it all back
Cause you gave me all your pussy
And ya even licked my balls
Leave your number on the cabinet
And I promise baby, I'll give ya a call
Next time I'm feelin kinda horny
You can come on over, and I'll break you off
And if you can't ****, that day, baby
Just lay back, and open your mouth
Cause I have never
met a girl
That I love
in the whole wide world

Well, if Kurupt gave a **** about a bitch I'd always be broke
I'd never have no mother****in indo to smoke
I gets loced and looney, bitch you can't Do Me
Do we like BBD, you hoochie groupie?
I have no love for hoes
That's somethin I learned in the pound
so how the **** am I supposed
to pay this hoe, just to lay this hoe
I know the pussy's mines, I'ma **** a couple more times
And then I'm through with it, there's nothing else to do with it
Pass it to the homie, now you hit it
Cause she ain't nuthin but a bitch to me
And y'all know, that bitches ain't shit to me
i gives a ****, why don't y'all pay attention
Approach it with a different proposition, I'm Kurupt
Hoe you'll never be my only one, trick ass beeeitch!


It ain't no fun, if the homies can't have none
It ain't no fun, if the homies can't have none
It ain't no fun, if the homies can't have none
It ain't no fun, if the homies can't have none

Guess who back in the mother****in house
With a fat dick for your mother****in mouth
Hoes recognize, niggaz do too
Cuz when bitches get skanless and pull a voodoo
What you gon do? You really don't know
So I'd advise you not to trust that hoe
Silly of me to fall in love with a bitch
Knowin damn well, I'm too caught up with my grip
Now as the sun rotates and my game grows bigger
How many bitches wanna **** this nigga named Snoop
Doggy, I'm all the above
I'm too swift on my toes to get caught up with you hoes
But see, it ain't no fun, if my homies can't get a taste of it
Cause you know I don't love em

Whoa!
Hey, now ya know, inhale, exhale with my flow
One for the money, two for the btiches
Three to get ready, and four to hit the switches
In my Chevy, six-fo' Rad to be exact
With bitches on my side, and bitches on back
So back up bitch cuz i'm strugglin, so get
off your knees and then start jugglin
these mother****in nuts in your mouth
It's me, Warren G the nigga with the clout
Whoo!






hehe, songs been stuck in my head for ages....

s**t happens ;)

Here is an extract that comes from the mini book that will be part of the Voidloss Album.
Some of the grammer may seem odd, but it`s based on the cut up writing
of Burroughs, and the stream of concious and wordplay of early Becket.
-
-
-
-


Time is now to arrive again, once more, never that, I’ll have some whiskey, keep it coming till it burns all down, all fire, vapour ****er take me away, losing the real, out of phase, nearly there I can see black.
Sidetracked meander, didn’t go any place, back to the mirror, see Satan every time, at the edge, mist-like phantom behind the face I thought was real, blistering dirt of evil, always just there. The blind butcher, hacking indiscriminate flesh, can’t stop him eating myself away, pieces of my mind fracturing, rotting, rusting, I watch them go, stand at the station, a tear on my cheek, wave them goodbye, I don’t know who I am…..
To the top of the world, that’s where she took me, well it seemed that high at the time, nirvana sunrise, we stand together her eyes so deep the world just disappear, walk to the edge of the land, the world behind her.
Below.
She turn to me, say with her heart.
-Have you ever seen the end of the world?-
No, I say, misunderstanding the question. She smile like never before, whole sky light up, nuclear furnace, everyone dies burning, she just smile at the end of the world. On my knees, my teeth melted like marshmallow, I crawl to her feet, my flesh burning hotter than hell, look up to see her smile. The world. All gone but for little grains of crystalline dust lighting up the sky. She just turn around and walk away into infinity as I choke on the world.

Dead.
I am Dead.
I am.
Quiet here, no sound, just words. Surrounded by a million corpses, I can’t see for their words, all beauty, all grace, I feel beyond thought, beyond God. I am atom electron quark, the energy in between that binds and is One.
We are One.
I am we.
I am.
Alive.
Forced back, I don’t want to return, look like death, breathing again, amniotic fluid dribbles down my face, the heavy taste of air, breathing is just one more little annoyance to the return of fleshy reality.
Constraint of molecular form.
Memory loss, still out of phase, take me back, talk talk, please do not relate to me, I just need to go back.
Bang.
Life shoved down my throat with fluorescent flicker and ambulance colour. Coffee and stitches, here we go again.
So what to do, what to do, alone now, more than ever, full of knowledge I just don’t want, unable to tell anything I know, current forms of conventional communication inadequate translation devices.
I know.
I know.
I KNOW…………EVERYTHING.

Who am I?

old mother hubbard went to the cupboard to fetch poor rover a bone but when she bent over poor little rover slipped her a bone of his own

FACT, I saw it :shock:

http://www.logarhythms.co.uk/bigmouthman.jpg

"Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider,
Sat down beside her,
And said, "Hey, what's in the bowl, bitch?"

"Jack and Jill went up the hill
Both with a buck and a quarter
Jill came down with two-fifty
That ****in' Hoar"

- andrew dice clay

regime gifted
i stand on the ave with a mean pivot
say what i mean
mean what i say
and i mean business

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Jay Pace

http://www.logarhythms.co.uk/bigmouthman.jpg

---

indeed.

They found james ambrose dead in his cell,
A gaping gash in his arm had drained him down to hell.
No one knew for sure if ambrose was his name.
They called him yankee sullivan in early days of fame.
He’d known the game of fisticuffs had always treated him right .
But no one knew the men who came and took his life that night

He’d spent some time in botany bay atoning for his sins.
He fought a bout with hammer lane and took a tainted win.
He was the hero of the bowery, a prince of lawless times.
Then was battered by the butcherman in 1849.
He knew the game of fisticuffs, he knew the game of might.
But no one knew the men who came and took his life one night.
He knew the game of fisticuffs.

Lilly and mccoy were shy of a hundred and forty pounds.
In 1842 they went a hundred and eighteen rounds.
They begged mccoy to cash it in, he said that he would not.
Got up and fought one more round then died right on the spot.
He knew the game of fisticuffs, he knew the game of fight.
But no one knew the game would come and take his life that night.