I'm not a poet

His vulgarity is covered with earth toned textiles
With the dusty sandals and ashy heels to match

So it begins, your eyes fixed

The sound from the djembe hypnotises
As the voice of the figure standing transports you
To a place where flies hover above big bellied babies
Women are discoloured blue and black
Where the system runs you 
And exercise a veto for thoughts
Africanism, Black power



No

I'm not a poet

I do not recite poems


It's just words!
Perhaps you might look up to view the images drawn by my thoughts
As metaphors and similes weave stanzas which can only be read with closed eyes
The brain will decipher messages from your skin
Subliminal messages of expiration
The nightmares that touch my face
About an incomplete thought of death sitting on my tastebud
The thoughts I live when I rest after dusk


I fuck around with words

I write like a poet

I'm not a poet

I am

Aftersmile

There is no hanging mass of radiation to hurt my eyes when I wake

Only the echoes of silence can be heard bouncing off the rocky surroundings

The umbilical cord of entrapment had been severed 

The star topology points towards the land mentioned by Moses

The heinous deeds of my doing are my boarding pass

The only passenger as I fly from the cliff of cataclysm

We met at Hell’s bridges

At a quarter past six

My body torn and battered up

My spirit, now fluid, had oozed out of its casing and previous life form

She said my soul was beautiful

We hugged

My soul was assimilated into her

Together, we rode centaurs and kissed rainbows

With sparkles floating whilst we made fairy dust angels

We played as children would

The equinox still far

Our night was still aplenty

They doused me with flame retardant

Cut the noose and pumped my stomach

A shot of adrenaline to the heart

And a force of a hundred dead men purged me out of her, into world above ground

I woke to find that I’m living my favorite bad dream

Tonight I’m going back to sleep

To see…

My AfterSmile

Flight ASW400

this is your pilot(aka brain) speaking. we are now at cruising altitude so i'm going to put this baby on cruise control and visit that club in the sky. so sit back, relax and enjoy the smooth ride. its going to be long one.   

WRITERS BLOCK!!                                                                                                                         

London Riot

So i've been in a total media blackout(it was supposed to be part of my "process" in writing the sequel), and i heard the blokes in London are properly pissed because some bobby made this oke brown bread. Or something like that. I decided to find out on the interweb what in the bollocks is going on. I searched for images (because black people dont read) and cor blimey! this is what i found:  

 

THIS IS A RIOT!!!!! #Boss 

what grinds my balls.

3. Contractions are like nanoseconds apart now. The closer you get to the door with the man sign(/woman sign/disabled sign) the shorter the interval between contractions. Disgusting as it may be, you are "prairie dogging"(thats when you it goes in and out repeatedly like a prairie dog). You open the door, lock it after yourself, do a mental check of everything you need. Now its decision time. To s(h)it or not s(h)it, that is the question[Hamlet in the bog]. I don't know about you but i prefer to be seated when i duece. I think it makes the peristalsis much more efficient but when in public toilets....Ok, you are seated after nervously (because you could swear your knickers were "too warm" )putting a thick layer of toilet paper as a barrier of infection. Its scramble for the bowl as you open up the trap door and let those brown babies out(sometimes they are caramel/or they are liquid). You push hard til you rectum is empty. You wait for while just to be certain all those little bastards are. You clean up(that means wiping more than 3x), pull up your pants and boy are they tight.
Before you make it to the door, you could swear David Cooperfield just materialised in your rectum. Rush back to the toilet, quickly get out of your pants and let it all out. I said "LET IT ALL OUT". Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes out. Yep. Your ass is playing tricks on you. Goddamn asshole!!

Before you smile...

She doused her body with accelerant before taking a large gulp of the liquid. 
Fumes brought thoughts of childhood memories of merriment with fairies and unicorns. 
The scratch of the matchhead sent flames to gently embrace her frail frame. 
The symphony of her crackling skin was theme music of her demise. 
Although charred to the bone the singe sort of added panache to an already magnificent felo-de-se.


See? 
She had lured me in by manipulating my emotions so she could rape my soul and give it AIDS. 
A flip of a coin could not decide who she was. 
She always landed on her edge.


I loved a girl once.
She now lives happily ever after(LIFE).

Samurai Honor

Armor worn out and rusty
Limbs heavy and sore
Every inch of my body aching
Washed out blood stains no longer inconspicuous
Years of battling fire breathing monsters has taken its toll on my face
Eyes erupting with self hate and repressed anger of days past
I stand still and clasp the handle of my katana 
Stare into the pool of tears accumulated
And study demons and shadow dwellers which held the puppet strings to my life

The stubborn itch did not go away
It found a niche inside to rot the flesh from within
A suitable host ensured mass replication 
The insurgency/immune system brewed up a storm
To swiftly erode the humanoids in power
A ripe and mature cancer sore ready to break out
A parasite with host ambitions


Still i stand there, looking and calculating
With a lil fight left in my body
I scream, "Its the last time."  
No more!
Without hesitation, i plunge the katana into my stomach
Rip out the insides for microorganisms
I drift between free fall and consciousness
Lay in the warm, rouge coloured liquid carpeting the floor 

Accidentally on purpose

"WTF did you do that for? He said 'TEQUILA!' not 'TO KILL HER!'"
You stand there looking at the being you said you loved. Lifeless. You
wonder where it all went wrong. Then it hits you (like that one time
in Math class you figured out how to solve for x). "Why in the world
does the evil angel on your shoulder speak in a Nigerian accent?"

What grinds my balls

This is a first of hopefully many rants about what grinds my balls. 
there are some things/people/things people do that get on my nerves/are not 'sexy'. What grind my balls:


1. So you are at a party(usually a house party), chilling, having yourself a good time. The food is great, the people are cool and there is that tits looking girl wearing that lil number who you got an eye on and she keeps glancing at you. All of a sudden, your stomach starts acting up. "What the fuck did you eat"?, you ask yourself. Now you got to stop partying and listen to your stomach rumble. UNCOOL!! So you cower into a secluded corner, let out a couple of silent farts. Out of nowhere, PEOPLE! There are on their way to "your corner" only to halt because of the toxic stench from your anus."What did they want in the frikkin corner? Oh, thats were the tub full of booze is." So you carry on doing what you were doing not giving a hoot if you violated the partiers olfactory systems. You get too comfortable breaking wind that you relax and actually SHART(shart: is when you accidentally let a lil crap out when you fart. ke raya o itshintse!). SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!! You swear it is running down your leg by now. "Got to make a dash for the exit quickfast", you tell yourself. AND  thats the time the tits looking girl walks over and wants to talk to you. NOT SEXXY!!


 2.You and your new(ish) lady friend are practically in the belly of a fire breathing monster. its hot and its  steamy in whatever room/car/loo/park/etc you are in. There is a lot a heavy petting, kinda like when you were a teenager and your parents were not home. You(in this case the guy) be thinking  "This is it. She is going to let me into her garden". Since you are a responsible guy like i know you are (AIDS KILLS. Not really, but it makes you easier to kill), you brought prophylactics. You whip out that Contempo Bareback Ultra Thin. (The record scratches out. As in hold the phone. Stop the music). "Jaanong mo ke eng?", she asks. You give her that stupid look you make when you are dumbfounded. "What are you going to use that for!?", she demands. "Well, when you unzipped my jeans, you let in some draught and my penis was getting kinda cold so i thought i would dress 'him' up warmly", you reply.       

Long bath

The tranquility of hot water kissing my skin feeds my soul
Holds me close and gives me my mother's hug
Storms open my nostrils with warm air
To be stroked by a scent i've known all my existence

I lay still and stare at the fluorescent light above
Absolute beatitude

The nemesis of bliss, time, seductively whispers in my ear
I drift in and out of consciousness
I can hardly stay afloat
I get drawn into the now beautiful crimson red water
The tightening grip around my heart has been loosened by the broken skin around my wrist

I escape with a smile because the barricade will make sure i dont eat hospital food again

3 kinds of people

There are 3 kinds of people in the world. Dicks,pussies and assholes.Pussies think everyone can get along and dicks think they can fuck all the time without thinking it through. But then you have your assholes. Assholes just want to shit all over everything. So pussies might get mad at dicks once in a while because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes. And if they didn’t fuck assholes, do you know what you’d get? You’d get your dick and your pussy all covered in shit.(drunk at the bar voiced by trey parker in "team america: world police" )

ghetto word for the day: July

AfricanAmericanGal1: u iz not gon' bliv who was all up in my grill 'bout hangin' out
wit Junebug?
AfricanAmericanGal2: Who?
AfricanAmericanGal 1: Tameeka from down z street
AfricanAmericanGal 2: July!!!
AfricanAmericanGal 1: true story

The metaphysical between makes her open up another dimension
   of space to womb her from the influence of morality conjured by 
   sheep soaking in social ills. Details of the not so earthly blueprint 
  are fine tuned to the last millimetre.

Tears lick her cheeks as she gags.

With a nervous tight grip on the paintbrush which will stroke
  into life her last thoughts. 

Spit runs down the barrel.
Her big toe lets the hammer pound and the ceiling be the 
  canvas of her piece.

A piece simply titled: "Scattered Thoughts"

tsunami clouds

if a tsunami were to hit gabs, this is how it would probably look like( the clouds as the waves of couse). i took this on way into gabs coming from kgale hill. 2012 come duze.

SMILE MY LOVE :-)

She sticks a needle in my chest to release the epinephrine to my heart, a spectre organ inside my head which uses holographic feel good emotions which disperse a spectra of light so my eyes see colors dancing to a rhythm of my heart zat only she n I can hear.

She sweet talks the sands of time to sift through quasi-staticly as she strokes the skin around my neck with a flower of imagination picked from a garden of 'forever happiness'.

She blindfolds me so the flavours of her love burst in my mouth and I taste all her sweet innocence with just hint of eroticism and just a splash of bitterness from the her unsavoury world.

She takes my hand and jumps from a cliff of cataclysm to float on the clouds of eternal bliss that carry us on the express lane to heaven.

She is not who you make her out to be, she is my beautiful DEATH!! Smile my love:-)