.&o

art//war//العليا انتفاضة

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macklemore

cant wait for the reflective, indulgent ass verse from that clown "while back i tried to wear a disguise and do some rap but the interwebbin twitternet wasnt havin that. cant a man wear a big witch nose without offending someone out thurr, without hurting someones feelings, who sees a caricature? and people couldnt see that i helped by starting dialogue instead they called me racist in all their little blogs. but they dont know i live my rhymes, they called me hypocrite they dont even know i bought that nose shopping at the thrift-- i texted larry david and put the picture up on IG, but 0 likes i dont expect hes accepting my apology. i miss when people thought i came politically correct, and only a minority thought my raps were really suspect, but now that everyones caught on to me ill just go it alone, wander 40 days and 40 nights, my exodus, shalom"

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none born in a snow storm, their hearts racing negation,

like riff raff tallied at the line for their food stamp

generations alive or just dying slower than ever

in clever jibes and headlines

everyone's a hipstar

down rocking on the sidewalk for pennies in the tip jar

dreams they had made get dashed like old spaces

winning past wins for the sake of old races

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only mornings with their hint of mist can publish that refrain you breathe when you speak and say nothing to me

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i blew a rose from its sour petals and felt the fold of its velvet lips, encircling close around my sight, smother me with its endless kiss i felt it go when my hands held on and muttered wishes against my goodbyes it slipped like maps from parapets and fluttered down to the ground from high i keep the rain in mason jars and tap its sides on arid days, counting droplets down its walls in my wish that all the passed would stay.

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that no one ever wants to fall in love, despite the deadly call of siren's falls from across the murky silent depths offending bridges and seeking lives to claim with the driving sighs that rend our minds and upset the carts that would have held our precious fruits and grains, all of which goes let off, soaking in the river's walls, down the mountain path and carving ruts along my back

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now permanent frost, tomorrow i can smile wide and radiate like shoots of the sun breathing through the cracks in the clouds sluggishly lugging across the ovoid firmament, swarming the crowd with puffs and struggles that bring them from day to day and back again

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(via Flight of the RoboBee: Tiny hovering robot creates buzz - CSMonitor.com)

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i am just so nicely stained and relaxed in fit against some grain by shepherds' flocks they slow maintain the shearing wind their fleece enflame in curls and knots, some miles high the clouds whirled by mills touch errant sky, propriety reflect upon my generic eyes jeremiad sought in so few lines

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(via The Biggest Price-Fixing Scandal Ever | Politics News | Rolling Stone)

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"Our priorities are tilted by marketplace imperatives," he said. "The malaria vaccine in humanist terms is the biggest need. But it gets virtually no funding. But if you are working on male baldness or other things you get an order of magnitude more research funding because of the voice in the marketplace than something like malaria."

Bill Gates: capitalism means male baldness research gets more funding than malaria (Wired UK)

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come get the new remove clean like shadows, from wall to wall, in made-up eyes and glib lips proved the next year's echoes from down the hall.

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SWEET RAGE sustains me, crisp from the lick of silent flames that drip black from sieves of steel and flesh and renew the force of my contempt. for the piddling price of a quiet corner are Prometheuses finally free, gleefully indulging their lust for fantasy and violent visions chiefly wherein more miserable rubes fall from and under the crumbling towers of their own ruin.

sleep lightly by your lies to spend on days where loose tongues betray their whims, flaunting vice and all your sins before they find their refuse bins as fuel for future retribution.

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a vague, swirling depiction of slow motion dying in a smile crooked so beautifully, all tucked into the corner of its cheeks snugly, wonderfully wrapped up and all in saddest commercial ever, which almost whispered the colors it loomed around the shadows of the room to sink the walls with differing rays and bless us all with natural eyes to blink and simply drink it in for days curling misery, i steep the slow synch of my sleeping brain in curves and words that wrap my feet and bind my sides in splitting refrains, like toothy laughter conjured up with fences and shrubs, dimly lighting, spreading on these sheets and streets like rusted cargo trains in heat, so i can feel the back of my teeth and slowly go insane.

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who knew? that you, she said, can get sick  /w me to kill too the rainy sat.s i watch run by in puddle drips till things get dry-- or sick to die. tonight, besides, in shallow waters and lights-- i'll have flashbacks in front of these weekday dreams, from when we hit-the-bars-in-style like quick flips through shiny magazines.

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golly touched my consumption mister weakly leaves and falls off the branch  to quote leather vests the devil's dance cold movements the sheets beneath the seeded green-- red paper flags, the devil's dream