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Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Collusion


I want you to, wrap your hands around my body
Take me to another place let's get away from here
I want you to, let me know exactly how you feel
No holding back, no strings attached
Wanna touch your body

Let me show you something brand new
When we're through, we'll talk
All night, what's on your mind
Let me show you something brand new
When we're through, we'll talk
All night, what's on your mind
"Brand New", Keyshia Cole, ALBUM: A Different Me



CHAINING OF HEARTS
A careless whisper
Into a sleeping temple
Sweet curve of listening
Twitches ever so
As lips tickle
And soft suggestion escapes
To merely say
“You know…”
And she smiles
Something small but still
Rivalry to a Cheshire sort
Because she does
Before her Adonis did
It occurred to in unconscious hours
Since becoming solitaire
In the only sense two can
The instance singular that matters
“I do know…”
Aphrodite let the words fall away
Just like vestiges and pretenses had
And in harlequin reminiscence
That pauper made king smiles
For in just three words
With three returned syllables
There was given a crown
Immortal metal
Of a man
By virtue, proof of mettle
Goddess took chance to speak softly
Bless his hearing with dulcet tone
Whispering
“No one…”
Lingering contentment
Plays about the next pronouncement
“Yeah…”
Solo in simplicity
Yet to mean more
Than any arias
Or great opera
It contents when it tumbles from the lips
At it she fits herself
That much closer
Her soft curve lost in Adonis
As their closeness increases
In intensity
Enough to light suns ablaze
And in volumes
As the wordless
And the simplistic
Yell quietly to make
A beautifully awful din
Alive with his words
Shedies again
Eternal in his arms
In this bed, shared
Their marvelous machine
For stopping this world
And for
Chaining these hearts
Together
For as long as God loves
And one day longer
Evermore


And two shall chain themselves together with the one thing that is more fragile than fine china and so much stronger than steel-love." -Lucius Black

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Transcendence




16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven. -Matthew 5:16 (New King James Version)


We all hope to find someone...

The Adams among us want to find the Eve of their own lonely existence, the one who fits...

...the rib of Adam.




Conversely—



Our lovely goddesses....

Our Eves seek just as fervently their own completions...

...the lover of Eve.



Often—



We find that soul and love them, not for physical alone or an other smaller aspect, but because we see...

**This would be the moment where you look over at the person you love...FYI.**


God in you






God In You



Jesus
A miracle
To be blind once
And now see
A Sarah so beautiful in her
Laughter
Smiles and so much more
In you I saw Him
Perfect Him
In exquisite imperfections
God in you
It lit me
At the top
Of my Mount Carmel
A pillar of fire
Her passion fell
Upon this altar
Swallowed whole
All doubts
Any fears
I swear, Father
In her I keep glancing
New Jerusalem
Yeah…
Heaven, in her
Yes, you
The God in you
So palpable
Touched it once
Addicted
To her
My Mary Magdalene
One who anoints feet
With priceless oils
To wipe them with her hair
And to fix disquiets
With her tears
Something of a...
Woman at the well
In reverse
Because
She
Gave me

Living water
Being her love
And such was never to thirst
Again
Dear Lord
There it is again
Your throne flashes
In her eyes
In her soul
Wow, her soul
God in you
Maybe you were even
My pure Delilah
That which vexes
Instead of
Stealing away my might
You are my strength
Could I call you birthright?
Stolen away from those Esau types
The one of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob
Be my Queen Esther
Save
Deliver me

As that queen saved
Jehovah, there again
Was the glimpse
Of Alpha and Omega
Beginning
And end

Truly, beloved
There’s that God in you
Because above all else
You are
This broken Joseph’s
Virgin Mary
And you gave me a gift
Of no manger
But a purest love
And every time
I see you smile
That smile that parts Red Sea
Moses gifted of mine
I always see
The
God in you

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Shhhh!!!


Piece Title: “Wordlessly”
Theme: It wasn’t the fact that these two had waited so long before they had made love, it wasn’t even the fact that they touched each other deeply and shared the ultimate display of love because in the broad scheme none of these things matter. What seems to matter is this: the fact that both lie there with the curves of their bodies fitting each other perfectly and without words they understand each other better than if they had spoken.




There are days that need no explanation. This is one...



So long the wait it seemed
But then…
Sigh, satisfied
Slow intimate
Quiet stirs at the ending
Perfection abounds, galloping
No bounds to it
Wildly amazing
Freedom of simplicity
When curves complete
Curves in infinite circle
Infinity
Where no words need be spoken
Our silences converse
In quiet whispers
So soft that they take natures
Of inaudible speech
The mere kissing
That proximity that skin has
With another is glorious
Glorious
Glorious!!
Quietly…
Glory of us
Lying, talking
Lying, really
For there is none syllable
Not a phrase
Just
Strong arms holding
A soft frame
In the still of the midnight
The dawn
The moment
When the fluid warmth
Of the bare skin
Can be felt
Heard to speak volumes
From under fingertips
Without ever
Speaking volumes
Mind are open books
Ripe for reading
Understanding
Knowing
Sweet comfort in caress
Of thigh, bosom
Fingers find home in your hair
Slowly running through
Of all things this
Seemed something greater than words
Because there are no
Words
Wordlessly
So loud
Deafening
Between touching
Feeling slow breaths
On necks
In ear
On your face
There is a communication
More glorious
Glorious!!
Quietly…
More glorious
Than just to say it
Our collusions
The grand collaborations
Of skin
At the solace
Of just lying here
Draped in each other
With nothing more holding
Two souls to this place
But tight grips
And
And
Nothing spoken
Only here
Hear only
Wordlessly

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Snippets ,Shit, Ramblings...or something of the sort


Of Your Memory
(Lucian Darkcrowft sits in his study reading a book, not really paying much attention to the words that the author had so painstakingly combined amid covers. He is saved from further feigned reading by the entrance of his butler. He looks up and addresses the entry.)

Darkcrowft-Yes, Reed?

Reed-Sir, a Miss Black is waiting in the foray.

Darkcrowft-Really? Bring her here.

(The butler departs the company of his employer for a moment, returning a few seconds later with Deborah Black. She is an older woman who seemed to have aged very gracefully with very few lines countenancing her chocolate coated skin. Her dark hair is long with the occasional touch of gray. At first glance she would give anyone the impression of great looks in younger days. Her eyes reflect those of her sons, brown and filled with a depth that seems beyond words. She smiles slightly, causing him to smile as if he were a schoolboy. He hides it quickly, not quickly enough to unseen by the woman herself. She smiles wider at seeing this and she speaks.)

Deborah-(smiles) Hello Lucian. It’s good to see that in your old age you still do something as sweet as smile.

Darkcrowft-You’ve never accused me of being sweet in all the time you’ve known me. Except…

Deborah-…when I loved you.

Darkcrowft-I was gonna say when we were young…(shrugs, smiles slightly) but that’s true too. (offers a chair) Have a seat.

Deborah-OK.

(He seats himself on a couch just as Deborah sits close to him. His arm rests on the back of the chair just as Deborah rests dubiously close to being under it. All the same this is disregarded as he speaks to her in a conversational tone.)

Darkcrowft-So…what brings you here?

Deborah-It’s just that I haven’t seen you in a month or two. I asked T.J. had he seen you and he was vague…as always.

Darkcrowft-(laughs) That’s T.J. for you…he’s vague but brilliant…wise…loyal. Why didn’t you just come to Dirtyfoot’s. I’m usually there…or to the house. If I recall correctly you never had a problem finding it before. (winks)

Deborah-(smiles, blushes) Yeah…I could never forget that. But I didn’t come look for you because I have two sons to look out for…you do remember I have children, right?

Darkcrowft-(quietly) I do. The lyricist and the criminal…how are they?

Deborah-(snorts, smirks) The lyricist is fine. He’s a little…confused albeit weak under pressure but he has a good heart and is loyal to a fault.

Darkcrowft-A good heart, huh? He must have gotten it from his mother.

Deborah-(blushes again) Yeah. Joseph is…different. He’s passionate to a point of obsession and I often wonder if it will be his undoing…but he’s strong, calm, and something of a clown. (looks sideways at Darkcrowft) Kinda reminds me of his father, really.

Darkcrowft-Oh.

(Darkcrowft stands and leans against the mantelpiece, his back to Deborah. She stands and in a few strides she is at his back, her arms draped lovingly around him as she places her head on his shoulder, her cheek to his. She prepares to speak but he cuts her off before the words can escape.)

Darkcrowft-Don’t speak it, Deborah…please. Not again…

Deborah-Why not? You love me as much as love you…maybe more.

Darkcrowft-There is no question of that….(turns, hold her waist, looks in her eyes) I have loved you since I first met but I’m not the same person, Deborah…

Deborah-You sound the same…you feel the same…you even smell the same.

Darkcrowft-I could say the same of you…but…

Deborah-But what, Lucian?

Darkcrowft-You know why it can’t be…

Deborah-(as Darkcrowft) Your blood keeps our love from ever being…(in normal voice) I know, I know.

Darkcrowft-Just let me remain of your memory, my love…it’s for the best.




NOTE:If you haven't realized by now, I'm something of a storyteller.



I try not ramble, to go on and on...
Sometimes it's unavoidable if you're trying to get a point across, to convey that golden ideal to an audience. Most would argue that it's minutia and just to get to the point. A smaller contingent would...



Damn.
I'm rambling...



The snippet above deals with remembering someone important to you as they were, as they cannot rightly remember themselves given what they have become. A lot of people change for the better but another contingent of people change to something unrecognizable. I'm too afraid to be honest enough with myself to ponder which way I have gone in the grand scheme of things. All I ask is that whatever way this soul has gone I pray that I remain the same person...



in your memory

Friday, August 14, 2009

BLACK SPOTLIGHT: Eddierob, The Truth Scribe


Main Entry: truth
Pronunciation: \ˈtrüth\
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural truths \ˈtrüthz, ˈtrüths\
Etymology: Middle English trewthe, from Old English trēowth fidelity; akin to Old English trēowe faithful
Date: before 12th century

1.
a archaic : fidelity, constancy
b : sincerity in action, character, and utterance

2
a (1) : the state of being the case : fact (2) : the body of real things, events, and facts : actuality (3) often capitalized : a transcendent fundamental or spiritual reality
b : a judgment, proposition, or idea that is true or accepted as true
c : the body of true statements and propositions

3
a : the property (as of a statement) of being in accord with fact or reality b chiefly British : true 2 c : fidelity to an original or to a standard

4
Christian Science : God
— in truth : in accordance with fact : actually




It's very rare that I come across someone is consistently...well, great. Truly I have encountered a few but not as many as I would like. One such person is a friend of mine who goes by the name Eddierob (given name Edward Robinson).

In my own personal opinion, this man speaks and spits on truth at every given opportunity. I myself am a loyal subscriber to his YouTube channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/eddierob for those who wanna check it out) and I have to say, EVERYTIME I get a view into his truth in regards to our race and our role as Black men. I also her his verbal delivery skill as well as his views on love and other such topics. Check out a few of my favorite posts.








Friday, July 31, 2009

THE APPEAL



Main Entry: ap·peal
Pronunciation: \ə-ˈpēl\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English appel, from Anglo-French apel, from apeler
Date: 13th century

1. a legal proceeding by which a case is brought before a higher court for review of the decision of a lower court
2. a criminal accusation
3. a: an application (as to a recognized authority) for corroboration, vindication, or decision
b: an earnest plea : entreaty
c: an organized request for donations

4. the power of arousing a sympathetic response : attraction




I'm not asking any of money, peoples...just more of the first two.




As it currently stands, a grand idea and a grand undertaking has recently invaded my mind. This idea, something that I had never thought of doing before, is something that leaves me with no doubt in my mind that I will need help with. So at this moment, on this day, I call to those who I have considered compatriots upon this road of lyrical glory to assist me as much as it be within your ability to help me. The project, a spoken word ballet, can only be as wonderful as this mind’s eye sees it if I have the help of you talented souls. This is the appeal. Those who respond to it will get the synopsis of what this ballet is to be about.

Lyrically yours,
Lucius Black



ANY talented soul with a gift of poetry and words is advised to get on board...

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

**slight hiatus**

For a while I have been AWOL from the whole Lucius Black lyrical tip. It's not for the reason that I am out of ideas because I seem to have an abundance of those. The thing is that I am currently going through a period of reorganization and well as trying my hardest to get me back together.



Please bear with me...

Fans and friends, I miss y'all more than words can say. And please believe when I come back I'll have something new and original for you all. In the meantime, here's a previw of something brand new:



Big booty Betty/ Givin' out all her spaghetti



It'll make more sense later...trust me.


Wednesday, June 24, 2009

for a lavender...rose


Past Out

Verse One
Lilac roses look at lingered scars, past out
Cast away the remnants of what seemed a crippling doubt
Since there was nothing there to make leaves grow
Rooted here and deciding to purposefully let go
All that was molding the future of waiting possibility
What was will stay so chose to leave lived lives be


Chorus
Rose was healed and loved still
Living beyond her past days, no one else will


Verse Two
Lavender rose noticed old decisions collecting dust, past out
Stronger now to see what those choices were truly about
Part of the plan to make a flower exist in thrive
Harsh seasons meant to weather leaves, keep bloom alive
So mighty survivor took rough lesson and unsure breeze
All for the moment to come when a mind would be at ease


Chorus

Bridge
So in the blooming days rose became glorious
Something for any to behold with proud eyes
Far beyond the past things
So much stronger still


Interlude plays

Bridge

Verse Three
Pale purple rose, thankfully you fail to past out
Through every sadness setback, every yell and shout
Most others may have fallen in the lights of what went before
Yet a tattered rose held strong and so much more
To finally see the sunshine after the rain
Finding a smile in futures after pasts of pain


Chorus

There are many nicknames that I have for the people close to me...



Guerrero

Smidget

Cam Ski Ro

Howlett

Colossus

Olo


ONE FRIEND is called by me a lavender rose. I call her that because she is beautiful, different than a lot of likewise beauties. Through three songs I have told her story...here's hopinmg the next one allows me to continue it to a happy ending.

ANALYSIS- "Angie Baby"

"Angie Baby" is a popular song that was a number-one U.S. hit for Australian singer Helen Reddy. It hit #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart at the end of December of 1974 and became one of Reddy's biggest-selling singles. The song also topped the U.S. adult contemporary chart, the singer's fifth #1 on this chart and was also her first and only UK hit, where it peaked at #5.

The song's cryptic lyrics have inspired a number of listener theories as to what the song is really about, and Reddy has refused to comment on what the true storyline of the song is, partly because she has said she enjoys hearing other listeners' interpretations. Reddy has also said that "Angie Baby" was the one song she never had to push radio stations into playing.

Singer/songwriter Alan O'Day finally revealed in 1998 that the "crazy" heroine in the song had "magic power" and "special abilities", and that he had deliberately blurred the lines between fantasy and reality. However, he still declined to give a detailed explanation of what happened to the boy in the song. Reddy herself had joked that the boy had become "a sound wave", an explanation that O'Day later refuted.


**LYRICS**
You live your life in the songs you hear
On the rock and roll radio
And when a young girl doesn't have any friends
That's a really nice place to go
Folks hoping you'd turn out cool
But they had to take you out of school.
You're a little touched you know, Angie Baby

Lovers appear in your room each night
And they whirl you across the floor
But they always seem to fade away
When your daddy taps on your door
Angie girl, are you all right
Tell the radio good-night
All alone once more, Angie Baby

(CHORUS)
Angie Baby, you're a special lady
Living in a world of make-believe
Well, maybe

Stopping at her house is a neighbor boy
With evil on his mind
'Cause he's been peeking in Angie's room
At night through the window blind
I see your folks have gone away
Would you dance with me today
I'll show you how to have a good time, Angie Baby

When he walks in the room, he feels confused
Like he's walked into a play
And the music's so loud it spins him around
'Til his soul has lost it's way
And as she turns the volume down
He's getting smaller with the sound
It seems to pull him off the ground
Toward the radio he's bound
Never to be found

The headlines read that a boy disappeared
And everyone thinks he died
'Cept a crazy girl with a secret lover who
Keeps her satisfied
It's so nice to be insane
No one asks you to explain
Radio by your side, Angie Baby

(CHORUS)

The Twilight Verses, Entry I: Bad Taste

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The State Of Things...


Okay...



BE HONEST



Of the two albums, which do you prefer?


T.I.-I'm Serious or T.I. vs T.I.P.
50 Cent-Get Rich Or Die Tryin' or The Massacre
**I could go on FOREVER but I'm trying to make the point...**


Taking nothing away from the albums that follow the debut but sometimes it seems that the second or any preceeding album lack some of the fire that that debut seemed to have. It is sometimes an ugly truth that the same artists you loved from their first album doesn't usually stay the same. They mostly become commercial caricatures of themselves or don't put the same energy into the next. This is just me speaking on that.



That made among flashing lights and crimson carpet sold origins years ago to be drone in the machine
True art appreciations from the beginning fans call screams and pleading for the returns to the green
When words were real and not rehearsed verses in the acts and scenes of the dumb down recited almost stalely
Back then when that beat was lacerated cut raw and played by the masses on the daily
The street strung sounds got the notices of the gamed musical and he heeded their siren call, to fanatics promising
That this beast snake that sculpted so many into model lies would not force he into compromising
So the verbal stayed same for long enough to pacify the loyalist masses
Later when the gripping monster finally squeezed the thirst from his heart, the loyal were made in braying asses
Betrayals it seemed as the hero of the hometowns turned into the solo thing he promised never to be
Here and now the baton that was dropped harder than hard so I guess it's up to me
We differ but similar selves strive now I do this thing so that my name is remembered as if hieroglyphics carving
Different because he sits plumped full at the King's table almost done, I am ready and willing as I walk among the living zombie starving
Plan be fed but eat small portions so that the slenderer contender stay the same ravenous hungered soul
But sooner or later even the hungriest get fed to the point where they lose control
I could get fat and complacent, regarding promises and supporters as not part of the plan
And sooner rather than later this alike almost will be the verse of the new neighborhood savior man





PS: Chck out my YouTube channel at http://www.youtube.com/user/luciusblack. Good stuff...

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Lu/Eternity


Another friend of mine that I often collaborate with on my songs is a guy called Eternity!, The thing I like most about Eternity! (as well as the QZA) is the fact that they push my style to be better as far as my lyricism goes. When I collaborate with either I know damn well to bring my A-game. Here is an example of that. This is a piece by Eternity! called Pumpin' Grace featuring me. Tell me what you think.


Pumpin' Grace


(Eternity)
Caution, dangerous curves ahead
Your sultry sashay and swishing hips
Lulling me back from divinity
And right into your arms, where you want me to be
You got a gentle glide of femininity
That clouds my morals, fades the path
I'd follow that ass to hell and back
Screaming the whole while
Because it feels like so much ecstasy
You're gaping, kitten, wide open and ready
The armor piercing rocket
Shot straight up your midsection
Devouring your soul, cuddling together
You are a life form of merry notion
And I'm your god, rigid and stiff
Your peculiar swooshes, your seductive poses
Those hills that climb, and the valleys
Oh, those valleys, so ready for exploring
So I'm the spelunker, digging your caves
Working my way around inside
And causing you to come, screaming to the stars
Your vagina is a watergun
That sprays me dead in the eye
I lap your fragrant juices, it tastes sweet
I cocked the magnum, ready to shoot
But you gotta catch it all, baby
You gotta swallow me down, and love it
We were made for each other
These bodies chose this rhythmic entanglement
So we bump and grind, stick and move
Sway in the wind, or attune to heaven
Our selves and souls, dwindling in higher planes
Through sheer ingenuity, perfect connectivity
I collide with you, crashing against your shores
Feeling your waves vibrate my ocean
As we fuck like animals
Or make love, like angels...

(Lucius)
So you a cunning linguist, right?
My cunnilingus got you gripping me vice like Miami
Tubbs and Crockkett while I cock it...
Did I say cock? Shit, I'm more about deep sea diving
Driving Latin lings below surface like Cousteau
Stop? Never, she say go until until the story climaxes
To the Mighty Max like maybe she do
Paralyze your arm, slur your speech in my stroke
No joke, Joker...watch me make my pencil disappear
In here...pink palaces longing for mattress mumbo jumbo
Get 'em hot like gumbo, baby...don't forget my crawdads
Strong bad, give pure ecstasy, no pill thrill
But maybe the greatest ever you had
Guarantee a lifetime of your lips calling me second dad
Blow a horn later, Sanz...are you a Horatio maybe?
Fellatio flutes ain't give her no choice but to play me
Make him cum to the point since he tapped your well
Struck gold in her perfect caves amid the yells
"I'm about to come", she said...meet me there sooner rather than later
So I did...not a building but call 'em facilitator
Of fuck fantasy
And love land litany
The best was her desire...but instead you're getting me
A speed demon tongue faster than Cort been Quick and Dead
Split legs like banana tricks and give good....instead?
Or when strong shoulders got legs propped like piece of the set
No Rushen to forget-me-nots since you never may forget
Me giving long strong lovin' by the minute, second, even hours
For the hope that your Middle Earth can stand against the Dark Tower

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

The Q + L Sessions: 2nd Entry


If I'm not mistaken, the first time that myself and Quinton collaborated was when I was working on one of my first albums (LIVE @ Dirtyfoot's) and I needed something different for a song I was working on-"The Lion And The Warrior". He contributed a stellar verse. Here it is:



Where’s your artistic skin?
Got sonnets to mend the hearts of men
And women, I'm tripping on intimate sin again
Zen swimming in yin
Reunited with Lu to ignite a truth, it seems
From snot-nosed seeds, we rose above the trees
With souls to the loose-leaf, now men seeking the solace
Paw-prints on knowledge, sharpening my thoughts to abolish unpolished so-called MCs and scholars
None equal to my lethal pauses, my peoples and I leading and teaching on the crest of the arrested conscience
Confetti crews steady peddling and looping the petty poop
I shoot my heady to Betty Boops and machete swoop the brethren not on my wisdom tooth
I'm too feathery to cope with the coop
I got a group that's betting on me to renew the sky's blue
Eternity ahead of me, I'm ready to rewrite history, spread the message to unlock genius's mystery and spark a better breed than we could dream
Plethora of cranium electric, feed off my essence
Strive to be the best man, if they never notice, it’s a blessing
The stride of a silent sage, he lived his days his way



At first reading, the wordplay blew me away (and still does to this day. So whenever I have a verse or when he has an idea, we bounce it around as awritten freestyle that usually comes out pretty well. Like this:



(QZA)
He's Helter,
I'm Red Skelter
Let’s help 'em
Like 2 Red Skulls
Young bucks get Bucky'd
Welcome to pirate radio
Like Pyrex we bake these flows funky
Girl, go on my diet
Try my bacon loaf love meat
She tastes lovely
I'm a granola Goya,
Hippie Hillary with the hips on my Thoia Thoia,
"Boy oh Boy! Boink me"
Politely ask is cosplay your kind of kinky math
She preceded to exceed my dreams in a Barney mask
Darn, he's crass,
Don't cross my orny path
You ducks, I'm the Don Donald
Daffy as (Uncle) Scrooge's laugh

(Lucius)
Trimmed trick off a trio of Huey, Dewey, and Louie
Truly more ducks than dodging
Curtis capers number nine with bullets
Captain Black Sparrow, savvy?
Aboard a broad, more dame than bitch
A switch of the tongue
Neither French nor cunnilingus, mere spit
Still making the rounds
Doc Feelgood Black, DeLorean daddy cousin got ‘em cumming
Nah…rather running, bowed down knee to forehead
Again said? Again said, lost in the freaky arithmetic
Spread, maybe Andre or almost peanut butter to slick say her role
STD envy to infect the masses, the Q & L session over…end of classes

(QZA)
2 QB's shooting for cuties
Don't care if you got 2 D's
Or if you're flat like 2D
We stay humble
Swingers with stingers, these bees bumble
I need a girl to coach me and drop it easy like a fumble
Share your fungi with a fun guy
Its cool
I'm geeky, you're cheeky and a lil' cunt shy
Crosseyed Cyclops in hightops,
A lonely pupil waiting for a dot to top me like one I
Lucius and Q spew ill game like Bruce Bruce and Lil' Wayne

Monday, May 25, 2009

The Q + L Sessions: 1st Entry


In any friendship, it is important that those people involved in it do their absolute best to not only support that friend but make them a better person by association. I think a lot of my friends do that. The friend I speak on now is a friend I have know since elementary-my boy Quinton (more commonly called The QZA). We both are blessed with lyrical skills and on occasion we bounce our words off of each other. The following is an example of that. Enjoy.




(Lucius)
Call 'em straight like they was Gibraltar
No F- fails at the graded range falter
Artist make eardrum canvases to lyricist art them boys say
So if Q be the Rembrandt...do that make me Monet?
Or Moet splashing folk in bubbly bastard spit shit... Read More
Quality, no qualms make 'em quietly quick quit
Plantation pimps the Southern boys make slave of the beat
Muthafuckas on weak rap, I can't get jiggy with that sheet
Blast ballads on you mallards, duck quick when I mic check
Cook not Raekwon chef but I'll Inspectah your tape deck
Get to root of the lesser lines against the greater
So can emulate my Maino to shoot salutations to hater
Dig down deep to throw diamonds Delta at our dynasty
Alpha kids take Beta bitch blasters to take out every B
Chuckles on the red nosed, not Rudolph but them clowns
Nines, ones, and two take verses and lay all stunts down

(QZA)
Okay, Lu's Monet, on the leaning tower of Pisa
With a piece of clay
I'm downstairs spitting game to Lisa Bonet,
Thats US, I'm eating her A
Sounds like a stretch, I'm Treach, A Hip-Hop Hooray
They say we're some fake rappers
Get their heads deflated, renamed MC Souffle

(Lucius)
The seventeenth letter boy Q be a clever Cleaver
Cool enough to Ward off Junes and any eager Beavers
If he Bonet, give Black that some Gilbert chick
VA born bourgeoisie met a Southern Joker’s pencil trick
Disappear, bone deep similar to how tandem offense cuts ya
Sluts ya, corner stalking looking Berry to feel good
Fake? We? Kill boy, Killroy on our domo
After massacre new masquerade caped and shaded like Proto (…man!!!)

(QZA)
My Gotham broham drop bows on Scarecrows
Bleeding straw out their stitches
Lyrics leave these lemurs leaking and twitching
Like Trey Lynah, the old Geechie homie
We eat golden ravioli off gray China plate
Peachy poems to screech the Terrordome, blueprint paper planes
Caught in my weather veins
Sever lanes to destruction with tethered domes
And electric dame forever doting
Ever the texture's tame, that's the aim, quote me
White pepper soldier
Stay grungy taking baking soda baths
Chicks out here hard as fuck, the boulder graspers, A rhythmic tick
Miss Fingerwood of the Hood, do the math

Sunday, March 22, 2009

1 message received...



IMAGINE...

The furrowed brow be almost perfections to me
Her thoughts focused aphrodisiac potent more than poisons ingested
She is elegance among the elocutions, sensual sexy shown through concentrations
On this or any task set before that beautiful mind
Numbers ensnare her visage but do not lessen
That part that contributes to the complete set
Of all things that make me desire the skin
And the mind and spirit bound to them
(whispering)
You look so beautiful right now



(A cell phone buzzes, an a text message appears, taking her away from the mundane studies and making her...smile.)

Girl- My escape...such a beloved whisper.



My Escape (Beloved Whisper)

Intro
Take away tired days, sunset in simply said things
Idle minds refrain to seek flight amid wings
Silently pensive in a ponder of elsewhere land
Where a heaven behind sight counts forever in the sands
Off to distance too distant to measure or tape
Away and yonder is the pure greatest, my escape

Verse One
Random among tedious
Gallop about the moment
One thought stays constant
Perfect, dangerous
To linger on you
Dancing wild, adrift in smiles
An amazing thrill
My moment, my escape

Chorus
My moment, child of a dream
My getaway, beloved whisper
My moment, child of a fantasy
My escape, beloved whisper

Repeat once

Verse Two
Lost now in living boredom
Staring off into distant
Thinking it again
Fantasy, kingdom
All within you
Living amid this heaven
Heavenly dreaming
A second for escape

Chorus 2xs

Verse Three
Once upon a thought of you
Burning bright in a mundane place
Consuming the real
Transcending this, true
Beautiful ever
Waiting when eyes close tight
There in a daydream
My moment, my escape

Chorus 2xs

Intro

Chorus 2xs

What would it mean to you to...ESCAPE ?


"You act just like your daddy..."
"That reminds me of something your momma did when she grew up..."



Most people take these words and smile...but not all do that. There are times when we want nothing more to escape from what people have said about our family memebers gone and tread out own path...

...sometimes that path is one leading to fame and fortune...

...other times it leads to INFAMY.


Desires Of Infamy (Intro)
(Sprawled out among the flashing lights he was, caught up in the electric thrill of another year of life...everything seems sharper, more new than it had been before. The city waits patiently to be taken and he plans to take it, fast and willingly almost as if a hungry wolf seeking to devour every pleasure in one night. Only one thing stops him…)

Kingston-I can’t say I’m following what you’re saying, Robert…

Robert-Don’t you read? I’m talking about the greatest criminals this city has ever seen…

Kingston-(annoyed) I do read…and if I read correctly there are a lot of infamous factors of the ‘criminal element’ that have been noted since this city’s inception. You need to be more specific, Bobby.

Robert-(sighing) Fine, Stony…three people in particular are who I’m speaking on…a learned man as you claim to be must have heard of Douglas McCloud, Darin Black, and David Jericho, right?

Kingston-I have.

Robert-So what can you tell me about them?

Kingston-I know that McCloud was a monster, Black was a madman, and Jericho, if at all possible, was worse. (confused) What the hell are we talking them for?

Robert-Absolutely correct. (silence). Have you ever wanted to live beyond your name, Stony?

Kingston-I’m going to assume you mean to climb from behind the shadow of your surname and to make your mark in this world.

Robert-Yeah…that’s what I’m talking about.

Kingston-What’s so wrong with being a Riley?

Robert-I hate it…son of Maxwell Riley and Veronica Slade-Riley, grandson of celebrated detective Sterling Riley and businessman R. Tobias Slade, Sr. It’s a legacy I want no part of.

Kingston-Be glad you have one…I never knew my father and my mother is one of the most unassuming sorts you’ll ever meet.

Robert-I want infamy so badly I can taste it…and I will.

(This statement is spoken more to himself as Robert paces, almost as if he forgot Kingston was there. Kingston seems to see this and speaks, jarring him away from his mental solitude.)

Kingston-Infamy, huh? Well if you do what I think you’re about to do, I would like to hope you’re more original than quoting Greek mythology, stealing money from families, or trying to rule this insignificant city…they had no vision in my opinion.

Robert-(smirks) I believe you’re wrong but I’ll allow you your opinion. So will you go in on this with me?

Kingston-Absolutely.

Robert-And what about you?

(This statement is posed to a figure standing in the background of the scene. Standing in the shadows is Douglas Riley, Robert’s older brother. He had been eerily quiet throughout the entire conversation, merely hanging back listening. He speaks few words which is almost as insubstantial as his silence.)

Douglas-Can I have her?

Kingston-(shakes his head) Nothing changes…

Robert-Doug, I don’t give a damn what you do with her…just don’t call me if you make a mess, okay?

Douglas-Agreed.

Robert-Well, gentlemen, let us prepare to take our place in history…oh, before I forget…Kingston, I know how you love a good puzzle. (hands him a book) I found this notebook in the library. Look through it and see what you can find.

Kingston-Will do… (to both) later on, boys.

(The three disperse to their cars and drive away into the night that stretches on before them. Once again, after almost twenty years, we return to Hollyville; with that reurn is the likely and almost necessary return to Dirtyfoot’s. We, as always, begin with the ending in mind. So now we begin again for the last time.)

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

the absolute...FACTS


STATEMENT:When you lie to yourself, it's infinitely worse than when you lie to others...

FACT: I am NOT a gangsta...

I say that as an intro to this next piece...

During younger days, I saw my cousins out in the streets. Sufice to say they were a part of a lifestyle that is so often praised in the public eye-the drug culture. I was curious about but to them I was just 'little cuz', the brains. Once my cousin made a remark that I spent a lot of time in the house; it was said with a funny little smirk, almost a smug thing. It wasn't until now that I see that their silent refusal tolet me get caught up in that, their keeping me in the realm of 'little cuz' was their way of keeping me away from some of the things and choices they dealt with on a daily. That inspired me to write this song, dubbed "House Nigga"...enjoy.

House Nigga

Verse One
No wide eyed innocent hanging from these sharp corners
Blowing rolled altitudes to upper breezes to make contact
Slight sags and gangbang aspirations viewed from a windowed place
Just out of reach despite having some subtle knowledge of that
The comings and goings flash past often, seen through an almost sight
Never desire to be another facsimile of that but curiosity lives
An intelligence in those wondering eyes, nothing made to be streetwise
Not a gangsta goon nor a hoodlum heir, more elegant gentleman quality here
Attractive seductress of the streets call to silent urges to emulate ’em
But with a unspoken thing motions are made for the status quo remainder
So that a untouchable might remain virgin, clear of the dirt hands frequent
Can’t have the one hope become another dream deferred to feed Langston
For a reason hidden eyes watch the steps taken
Covert hands push the longing for shadows to the back of the bus
A smirk played about the mouth to mock the often domesticated boy
Just a front, praying on verges for a house nigga to stay out of the killing fields

Chorus
House nigga serenades sang against the wind
No place for favored ones amid the fields
Curious to see the world of modern slaves
Who try to keep the promised in the house

Repeat once

Verse Two
Not another greenhorn kiddo chasing pavements to meet addicted plays
Slick sneaky strolls pushing colors, white and green shades to any wanting
Lengthy garments dwindle low, dope boy straps tightened to fit the hustle
A seductive lure to the stone deaf, a sheltered one looking on
Quick calls and whispers the standard, nearly heard by waiting ears
Wanting tastes of forbidden constant theirs yet not wanting assimilations
Beautiful mind the child truth’s aura, not of one with hustler swaggers
No gangland and no underworld, Elysian reminisce in all things
Siren women and vehicles hypnotize ’em with haunting repetitions
So without ever saying the promise is set out upon to stay gold
Insomuch that a diamond cannot be confused for another coal
Couldn’t lose the pulse of the morning to disappoint or sadden Maya
Then whispered words give thuggish angels charge over one
Cloaked footsteps follow well enough to keep chosen in line
Simpering spoken out clowning over homebound natures
Mere façade, alms cast at edges for a house nigga to know rightful place

Chorus 2xs

Thursday, February 19, 2009

The BEGINNING of my CLOSE



The amazing thing about a story or anything that you do is the fact that it so often reflects the people, the places, and the experiences that so mold us into who we are. This is no exception...

For the last two to three years I have created an album series that pumps, breathes, and exists among all the things I just named. It's called Dirtyfoot's. The albums in the series are as follows:


  • LIVE @ Dirtyfoot's

  • Dirtyfoot's @fter dark

  • Dirtyfoot's @ last

  • Dirtyfoot's: FIN@LE



As you can most undoubtedly see, Dirtyfoot's: FIN@LE will be the last one in the series. And like always, the people I know provide the influence for the songs, the stories, and the characters. Some of the people represented in verses in this album include my friends (Santos, Che), family (Mom, Clerona), and anyone else I so deem. Thank you all those who inspired what is to come.

Now on to business...


It can always be noticed that we as someone eles's child inherit or get certain similarities from our parents, whether it be personality or physical attributes; this song really deals with that.

A father looks at his daughter and sees too much of her mother in her, a woman he loved and thought her had gotten over. The result is this..."Nearly Mirrors"


Nearly Mirrors
Vegas-Nadra? Nadra? Nadi, we need to talk…

Nadra-What could we possibly have to talk about?

Vegas-Our relationship…we should be closer than this…we used to be closer than this…what happened?

Nadra-(looks at him) Please don’t act like you don’t know…

Vegas-(sighs, looks at her) I don’t…so please tell me, Nadra…

(In the throws of her explanation to her father she thinks back some years earlier when she had heard her parents in the heat of an argument. Their arguments and disagreements were nothing to get excited over in her thinking, it happened so often after all. But one particular exchange had caused the rift between father and daughter.)

Tara-Vegas, I’m not gonna be gone forever…a few years and I get breaks to come home in between. What more do you want?

Vegas-I want you to stay and be a mother to your child and stop chasing some model fantasies….that’s what I want.

Tara-(wrinkles face in disgust) Be a mother?!? You have the balls to tell me about being a parent when the most time YOU spend with Nadi is at meals? That’s funny. You act like you don’t want her…

Vegas-Like I said at the outset of this, I didn’t want you to keep her but you were so adamant about having my child that I caved…and in any case I’m forbidding you to leave.

Tara-Whatever…you feel how you want to feel. And as far as you telling, or forbidding, me from going, that’s not even a concern. I only asked to be polite…I told Nadi, Dana and Jonathan promised to help, along with my parents and E.J. You can continue looking past our daughter. I mean, that’s what you’re really mad about, right? (turns, walks away)

Vegas-Fine…leave.

Tara-Oh…one more thing. (takes off ring, throws it) I believe that is yours.

(Vegas was stricken silent in the past just as the Vegas of the present was at Nadra’s words; only in this instant did he realize exactly how much his daughter actually looked like Tara. When he finds his words again, they are shakily said but said all the same.)

Vegas-Nadi, when I said that, I…

Nadra-I know…you meant it. It’s okay. Auntie Dana, Uncle Jon, E.J., even Mommy has been here for me more than you have. And now, I’m a grown woman and you’re concerned about salvaging a relationship. (chuckles). A little late in the game for that, don’t you think? (turns, walks away)

Vegas-Where are you going?

Nadra-To Mr. Black’s house…Lucian’s coming home today.

(She exits her father’s house and leaves him alone with his thoughts. Foremost among
those thoughts is one that he had been thinking watching his child grow up into a
woman.)

Vegas-Another Tara Kelly if ever there was one… (sits down)

Verse One
Beloved eyes burn twice, hers like yours
Filled with disgust at life’s grandest fool
They emerald seem to pierce and do the same
The very likewise of ones once called beloved
In hatred oculars paint this into corners
Apologies seem worthless here in everything
Looking at progeny, trick of lights almost swear
That mother reflects, daughter nearly mirrors

Chorus
It's like looking in a mirror... but not

Repeat three times

Verse Two
Infatuated shapes boomerang so, built in same mold
Abused just the same by imbecilic motions
Each curve an homage to their genesis
That place is and evermore will be past betrothed
Such anger held in bodily perfection
Enough to quell any words put out to console
A child of mine looks to be illusion when eyes hang low
Almost looks like maternity maker, seed nearly mirrors

Chorus 4xs

Verse Three
Long desired fire burns again, ignite similar inferno
Set aside after a past stupidity returning to haunt
That something about her lives string in another
Born of us but beyond whatever contribution given
Disgust comes now from the passionate things
Love may have all but evaporated now
This daughter born from our becoming one confuses
Every time eyes glance, she nearly mirrors

Chorus 4xs

(Because he had no more energy, whether it be from thinking of Tara or arguing with Nadra, Vegas sits in the chair trying to numb pain with alcohol; after a while it works until he sees a picture of both Tara and Nadra standing with him on a nearby table. At that glance words, or one word, returns to him.)

Vegas-Damn. (throws glass)

Sound FX Sound of shattering glass

A Prophet?...maybe


Be honest...


Would you EVER take spiritual advice from a crack head? How about a heroin addict? A meth user?



Despite knowing within myself that God can work through anyone...


NOTE:...so far, it's been a stuttering murderer (Moses), a shepherd boy with slingshot (David), a rich man with terrible luck (Job), a Hebrew girl made queen (Esther), a tax collecter of all things (Matthew), and a fisherman, I believe (Peter)...


...I kinda doubt it sometimes. In all honesty it would be hard for me to have the Ten Commandments quoted at me by someone who may be coming down from high...I would imagine it would be that much harder for an atheist to readily hear that.


This is my attempt to explore that particular scenario.


Listen closely to the... Street Corner Prophet



Street Corner Prophet (Interlude)

Verse One
No God here to judge these pawns living
Not a chance at some redemption, at some forgiving
Live and die sans interference from a big brother being
Look into common senses as reference for seeing

(One God here, testament to life and death of age
Slide Genesis under eyes and gave servant page
Without a faith, foolish more than imbibing poisons as did
A joke told in outburst whispers, jester, as only one kids)

Verse Two
There be singular chuckle here-belief in absentee landlord
Fairy tales in elder tomes cannot work if there’s no faith to be restored
Poison pusher victims no prophet or no priest
Nothing more than a nuisance to say the least

(Absentee wording? Bow low and hope for bless
Cross sacrifice cost is humble service, no less
Condemned for the former man in face of alms heaven sent
Clock ticks away for the chance to repent)

Verse Three
A chance is taken in thinking upstairs neighbor cares for all and addicts
Dollars and gold against immortal soul that He is just a Benedict
So when ready to concede in nonexistent trinity, to live in reality
Drop supposed angelic study guide and take hold of destiny

(Lead horses to living waters even if those fail to quench thirst
No failure in this diatribe because hand fellowship reached out first
One day if the answers so sure give no solace but merely quit
Seek out a previous strung-out, a modern street corner prophet

Addict-No talking to some people, I guess… (looks around) well, I tried. (walks off)

(The reformed addict walks down the road and is nearly knocked over by the sheer speed of a elderly woman rolling by in her automobile. As fast as she is moving it is hard to notice things and she doesn’t notice anything until a dull but loud thud from the front of her car causes her to stop.)

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Far Beyond Decent...INCEST!!


What would you consider a good reason to write?

A man always has two reasons for doing anything--a good reason and the real reason. -JP Morgan


Everything has a reason, no matter how intelligent it may be or however idiotic it may seem. For instance, I write and share a lot of my lyrics for the simple reason that a lot of the things I write are based in the reality that I live in. The events, the emotions, the thoughts, the people are major influences in my writing. If ever I have spoken to you about my writing, I am sure that I have told you this particualr statement:

If I've known you long enough or if I've talked to you for a second I can base a song on you. -Lucius Black


A few examples:
(NOTE: there are a lot more but I'm trying to get to a point here...)

CAM: "Infinite Gentleman" (ALBUM: Live @ Dirtyfoot's)
SANTOS: "Hustle For It" (ALBUM: Proving Ground)
MIYA: "Calypso His" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @ last)
DRE: "Search Home" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @fter dark)
LIS "This Called Healing" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @fter dark)

All of that of that was said to say this-there are four main reasons I write:


  • To comfort people

  • To honor a friend, family member, etc.

  • To get out emotions and/or thoughts

  • To push the envelope, making people think



This particular is the last reason. Before you go any further, I want to warn you...


WARNING:

This song will make you rather uncomfortable, I say that having written it and being so uncomfortable that I wanted to stop writing. But I ask you to look past that to the manner in which the subject matter is covered and the eloquence of it. Enjoy...

Kiss, Never Tell

Verse One
Young longing, viewed pleasures
The sinful fantasy
Quake slightly in passion
Over incest standing broad
Once lips kiss forbidden
Turn back, not an option left
Feel pounding deep within
Wrong nothing if it feels right

Verse Two
(All conscience scream stopping
Other regions play continue themes
Her touch, known for so long
Takes on a different flame
Beloved for other reasons
A lover unexpected here
Sweet sweat comes to ease nerves now
Because caress offers no console)

Verse Three
Quick paces punctuate this
Fantastic chance to know the pain
Of loving someone who
Loves you but not in lusting realm
Taste necks now, feel heartbeat
Nervous of hands that do not belong
Just one hit of the new drug
Please them as addiction of skin

Verse Four
(Threshold carries of willing
To imperfect euphoric momentary
Yield likely to quell a sin burning
Thrusts and strokes again then again
Yells continue until all blurs
As walls perspire written in our adultery
Climax comes to end motions
Until the moment repeats again)

Mother-(breathless) You are soooo good at this…

Son-(breathless) Thank you, I guess…so are you. Well…I gotta go. (kisses her).

(Whether he was ashamed of what has become a regular practice or whether his words were true no one will truly know. Mother dearest lies spent, sleeping for an hour or two after which she will try to shower away the sin and change sheets as if that might help. Father, conspicuous by his absence, sits discussing religion with the most unlikely sort-a recovering meth addict. One can only wonder if the reformed can change the heart of an atheist.)

Monday, February 9, 2009

Who the FUCK thinks about bums pissing on muffins?


What would you consider a good reason to write?

A man always has two reasons for doing anything--a good reason and the real reason. -JP Morgan

Everything has a reason, no matter how intelligent it may be or however idiotic it may seem. For instance, I write and share a lot of my lyrics for the simple reason that a lot of the things I write are based in the reality that I live in. The events, the emotions, the thoughts, the people are major influences in my writing. If ever I have spoken to you about my writing, I am sure that I have told you this particualr statement:

If I've known you long enough or if I've talked to you for a second I can base a song on you. -Lucius Black

A few examples: (NOTE: there are a lot more but I'm trying to get to a point here...)

JASMINE: "Condemned By Excellence" (ALBUM: Proving Ground)
LA'MON: "Game Set" (ALBUM:Dirtyfoot's @ last )
CLERONA: "Long For The Storm" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @ last)
TIARA: "Choosing The One" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @ last)
VANESSA "Everlasting Smile" (ALBUM: Dirtyfoot's @ last)

All of that of that was said to say this-there are four main reasons I write:
  • To comfort people
  • To honor a friend, family member, etc.
  • To get out emotions and/or thoughts
  • To push the envelope, making people think

  • This is more geared towards the third reason. In this I use a discarded food item as a metaphor for something larger...

    So are you to my thoughts as food to life
    Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground
    And for the peace of you I hold such strife
    As twix't a miser and his wealth is foun
    `Now proud as an enjoyer, and ano
    `Doubting the filching age will his treasure
    Now counting best to be with you alone
    Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure
    Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
    And by and by clean starved for a look
    Possessing or pursuing no delight
    Save what is had or must from you be took
    Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day
    Or gluttoning on all, or all away
    Sonnet 75, William Shakespeare

    Food For Thoughts

    Verse One
    Infinitesimal blink, discarded just the same as baked confections
    What was vital was taken and left raw in no latex protections
    Picked over and cast off into gutters, raggedy vagrant one
    None valued seen in this noble vagabond but wayward son
    Blinked and shook it off, disgusted by the similar fates
    Golden rivers urinate, release streams to douse the hate

    Chorus
    Munch madnessIngest emotions caught
    Take this in
    A little food for thoughts

    Repeat once

    Male VO1
    Who the fuck thinks about bums pissing on muffins?

    Verse Two
    Close behind was the victim of jeering taunts
    Morose wonders as the ghosts of tears still haunts
    Sees the treat treated like same pasts not yet gone
    A kindred spirit in inanimate, pissed off and pissed on
    Came back from the reverie, an tears cannot quit
    Form mouth into ugly kisses and commenced to spit

    Chorus 2xs

    Male VO2
    Who the fuck thinks about victims spitting on muffins?

    Verse Three
    Finally there was a nameless rabble running blindly against the wind
    Group of disregarded if ever known hoping to merely transcend
    We are the masses teeming to be heard above roar
    Better yet the multitude screaming in unison for something more
    Pushing on after pauses to run reckless in the sample
    Underfoot is the solitaire pastry, lost in the trample

    Chorus 2xs

    Male VO3
    Who the fuck thinks about masses trampling on muffins?

    (And the breakfast treat is abandoned, much as people are in this life; as the time and the world passes by, it seems that attention is drawn to a woman riding home in her car. Upon her arrival she heads upstairs; passing the open bathroom, she sees her eighteen year old son standing in a towel. For reasons unbeknownst to herself strange and altogether new thoughts enter her mind...thoughts that many would consider terrible.)

    Aria Autistic, Artistic

    A thought...



    The smaller things we do in this life...

    ...tend to become so great and something...

    ...BEAUTIFUL.

    Examples of that include:


    • Encouraging someone

    • Offering help when possible

    • Comforting someone in a time of need

    • Standing strong in the face of a difficult road


    A young father doing just that is a simple thing but if that includes the difficulty of rearing an autistic child, it may just be almost insurmountable. I guess in the end it all comes down to his ability to stand and do what no one else can do for him-be a father. I touch on that in the next piece your eyes are going to read..."The Stand"


    The Stand

    Verse One
    Dealt hands too much for too young as such child
    Runs against standard grain almost, nearly wild
    Repeated actions, an art of the stand off born boy
    Not some habit time can simple plan destroy
    Hard road to build strength in youth
    A spray of destiny and the power of truth
    Disorder not a problem, mere measure of a man
    Fall on bended knees and continue to stand

    Chorus
    Stand, man; love a miracle born
    Be not the masses, be not torn
    One life needs yours to be more than you
    Stand now for it is the only thing to do

    Verse Two
    Woman left amid the stress of the caring arms
    Failed reckless to see the miracle charms
    The child with no words perfect but no worse
    Mother saw not blessings in what all call curses
    Fell to daddy dearest to shoulder the years
    To push back the society of night bound in fears
    A final back cannot turn but offer a hand
    So that son and father together can stand

    Chorus

    Verse Three
    Grew up because God makes no mistake
    About the testing, trying path feet must take
    Son slightly askew but more character to share
    With someone made of frights but obliged to care
    Naysayer belief in the failure of novice pitch
    Refusing to falter, refusing to switch
    Difficult though it may be, father is in demand
    To be the only one able, willing to stand

    Chorus

    (They pass the father, smiling at his attention despite being so young. In the face of this scene a homeless vagrant passes and sees a half-eaten muffin. He lingers over it and…)

    Friday, January 30, 2009

    MIRROR, mirror



    I'm going to whisper to you...softly in your ear...allow the words to ensnare your soul, capture the very breathing living in your chest....



    Are you ready? I hope so...



    Close your eyes...close them right now.



    (Her eyes are closed and her entirety is focused on what is to come. Somewhere off in the backdrop of this scene a soft and familiar song plays, her clue as to what is to come next; the verse is lost on her but the chorus is what makes her lips form a slight, seductive smile.)



    Baby I love making love in front of the mirror (In front of the mirror)


    So that I can watch you enjoying me (Baby tonight)


    Baby tonight let's try in front of the mirror (In front of the mirror)


    Watching ourselves make love


    Girl why don't we


    Ne-Yo, "Mirror", album: "In My Own Words" (2006)



    Imagine it...



    Think on it...



    See it...



    Could you imagine being turned on by your naked reflection in the mirror?


    Can you think on seeing your body and wanting to share it with your lover?


    Could you see yourself making love in a mirror?




    Based off what I can only assume was my homegirl's personal FANTASY, this one is a take on that very subject. It is my supreme pleasure to present to you..."Doubled, She". Enjoy.





    Doubled, She
    (She leaves the basement and, feeling a little unclean about the whole thing, decides to take a shower. It isn’t until she exits the shower that she notices her beautiful caramel skin in the mirror; like Narcissus she falls in love with her reflection. But instead of disappearing after pining away for that reflection, she finds herself thoroughly aroused, wanting nothing more than for someone to share it with her.)

    Verse One
    Modern waterfall caressed the soft caramels draped upon her outside
    Moisture clinging to curves effortless as the skin and waters collide
    Unclothed body perfect infinite display as looking glass takes in every aspect
    Eyes and mirrors in tandem delight in the sensual felt respect
    Bosom slowly rises and falls, quickening at excitement of reflection
    Touches against pert nipples in anticipation, the adrenaline injection
    Midriff bared and the hourglasses made of epidermis tingles just so
    In turns the hips sway and willing hands refuse to release or let go
    Fingers desire to tickle lower extremities, clitoris on verges of explosion
    Inhibitions seem fleeting in temptations of self-stimulation bring boundaries corrosion
    Lips lick in hunger, ravenous to be taken in full on intercourse ballet
    Dance within temples longing for worship all night and well into day
    Cellular dials connect to willing phallus able to quell infernos in design
    Words exchange and confirmations abound, calls end to interrupt the line
    Waiting patiently, the bathroom mirror waits alongside to play part in ecstasy
    Reflect if it will illuminate being so deep inside of doubled she

    Chorus
    Reflect this motion in tandem climax
    Caramel arousal as skin reacts
    In the looking glass as moans abound free
    Enjoying the strokes as mirrors the same see

    Repeat once

    Verse Two
    Adonis modern lost in the peaceful resolve of repast without thought
    Merely dreams, aspirations are the snare in which all conscious is caught
    Pillow topped thrones for rests encircle the broad nature of shoulders to caress
    Tight and steel in resolved, the body is more than description, more the bless
    Chocolate dropped, melted over frame to drape perfectly without seam
    More than near to endless fantasy is this god formed, an ebony dream
    Vibrations and music interrupt the peaceful slumbers of wonderful myth
    No motions to cease the alarms until maybe fourth or even fifth
    That number on display is the digits counting the passion of a soul
    Caramel recollections tantalize, regress the tendency to take control
    Right now needed is the fix, the foreplay, afterwards, and satisfied conclude
    Backwards longing for invasion and for one to forcefully intrude
    Clothes simply a foolish necessity despite a disappearance upon arrival
    Amid fumbling, strokes in positive positions, angles take desire’s survival
    Speeding over to the place where time will mean nothing as passing hour be
    Take her to the brink with looking glass watching from other sides, doubled she

    Chorus 2xs

    Verse Three
    Mirror, mirror on the wall mimicking animalistic actions satisfying inherent desires
    Lady love looks with eyes as wide as her parted legs embracing the moment and sights seen, perspires
    Coitus between the two, igniting parallels of penetration and producing love dew
    Refracted images of clenched teeth, scratched back and curled toes is in viewWith each time the length of he presses deeper between her thighs, levels rise
    And watching body chemistries combine through a participant’s eyes
    Has got miss so turned on by glass representations that muscular tendons are sore
    Yielding mutually intensified experience of bliss, comparable to none before
    For none before had satisfied this sole solicitors sensual sighs for instant gratification
    Consequently, concurring that cute quickies are better than masturbation
    Looking glass self sharing facial expression of pain and pressure and pleasure
    Squeezing walls tight, inside and out, getting hers by any measure
    Hesitant to blink, not wanting to miss a single instant
    She tries to hold her climax but seems she can no longer resist it
    He plows inside her like the last harvest of the year
    Surrendering to climatic peaks she whispers in his ear…“Thank you”

    Chorus 2xs

    (The two reach climax together, their breathing ragged but pleased. Nine months pass to a grand gift, the greatest gift God could bestow. For six years this boy grew, living with the disorder. Mother couldn’t take it…but father had no choice but made the right one.)

    Thursday, January 29, 2009

    The Jackque Handy Touche...


    "...the all natural opiate."


    Self love, the all natural opiate. -John Milton (played by Al Pacino), FILM: The Devil's Advocate, 1997


    STOP!!

    Admittedly, what you read next is not a reflection of what that quote meant...

    Narcissism
    Pride
    Arrogant

    A more apropos quote (or blurb rather) would be this:

    Sexual stimulation, especially of one's own genitals (self masturbation), often to the point of orgasm


    Self-improvement is masturbation. -Tyler Durden (played by Brad Pitt), FILM: Fight Club, 1999



    When first asked to write this, I wanted to approach the subject of masturbation from a different perspective. Usually you hear ill of it in the religious sectors...

    ...some people are ashamed of it. The shame is a part I wanted to add to it for a contrast. In writing it I wanted to exalt it a little bit, almost like it was a nearly blessed ritual...



    In the end it turned out rather well and here is the result..."Greatest Ever"...


    Greatest Ever

    Verse One
    Tightly held, gripping the pulse of the moment in cuffed hand
    Labored breathing drawn upon satisfaction easel as quietly planned
    Smooth fluid motion, a focus on conclusions so right
    Alone amongst the future mess amid the dimmed light
    Sensitive the touch is, almost as if everything done is correct
    Inspiration seems the photographs perused, upon which do movements reflect
    Never felt this type of feeling present in the silences of solitaire
    Perfect knowledge of how to do this, place the gripping there
    Master of the tantric teasing, head and shoulders above all in this endeavor
    Do it once more in the hidden repetition, absolutely the greatest ever

    Verse Two
    Viselike holding on to the completions with four and one unified
    Give the focus almost indestructible that nothing else ever supplied
    Euphoric recitation without words spoken, more guttural noise than anything
    Patient to wait for the surprising that persistence will bring
    So right it feels it feels just by being so wrong, wrong the opiate of the masses
    The feeling of necessity will come but afterwards it passes
    So does the man, spent, tired, longing to lay a body down rest
    Gotten the desires off minds and the yelling off the chest
    Kama sutra nearly, a mere sense of grasp is too clever
    Close eyes and recollect the sounding joy; that was the greatest ever

    Verse Three
    Focuses upon nothing else, dare not look away from the unity here
    Waiting for the overwhelming quench of a mouthless thirst to appear
    Called happiness, called the quickest fix, called the time killer
    All names true but now call this a Jackson similar as a thriller
    Concentrations on nothing else, no notice for the opening of doors
    Just a little longer, just a little bit more
    Steps creak from the domiciled heavens as one such descends
    Worry later about that, we have almost reached the ends
    Eruptions cover and eyes roll back to the whites of forever
    Caught in the act, ashamed; still…it was the greatest ever

    Mother-What the hell are you doing down here? (looks, disgusted) Are you jacking off?

    Son-Mom…it’s not what it looks like…

    Mother-You’re down here playing with yourself? That is sick…

    Son-(cries, ashamed) Get out of here, Mom…get out.

    Mother-(walks back upstairs) Nasty bastard…


    Until the next...
    -Lucius Black, LBK

    Porno Pauses...ok, PDA Pausings (better)


    Public displays of affection run rampant...it's an everyday thing seen in EVERY place you could go, be, or exist...

    ...as always with anything there is ALWAYS one person or groups of persons willing to stretch the boundaries of a definition...

    IMAGINE...

    ...making love on the steps of a public place, your passions on display for any and all to see.

    The concept of this song is basically that; two LOVERS caught in the moment, admonish each other with lusting praises and sultry rhythms. These words, theirs and those of the shocked onlookers, are spoken in passionate Spanish dialects...put all this together and you have the first song off The Illest Alive..."Steps To Passion"...enjoy.


    Steps To Passion
    Female VO-Eso se siente tan bueno, Papi

    Verse One
    On the pulse of the corridors two bodies intertwine adultery
    Hungry, nearly ravenous; the sensual chocolate violent to unwrap candy
    Knowledge surrounds the feverish in the passionate fumbling
    Skins slick with sweat as the motions create rhythms and repetition
    Steps have duty to hold the sensual affairs of intercourses steady
    Strong here amid the splayed masses reaching peaks unclimbed


    Old Woman-¿Qué hacen ellos?


    Old Man-Se parece a ellos hacen el amor.


    Old Woman-¿Delante de la biblioteca? ¿No tienen ellos vergüenza?


    Verse Two
    Male collaborator to the grand sinning continues to push
    Depths and heights with willing sorceress to complete spells mystic
    Breathing in sharp intakes, yells to heavenward comes with frequency
    Claws in humanity forms dig ditches in the place behind the king, exposed to all
    Eyes close, focus ensues, every nerve tensed for the approach ending fantastic
    All around mere nothing for what is to come


    Female VO-Mantenga ir...


    Male VO-Permita que los vecinos oigan...


    Female VO-Soy casi allí...


    Verse Three
    Trivial surroundings of noise interrupt not the proceedings
    Barks and sounds of the daily routine cease not stroking
    Close, closer to making the ending just right
    Just like anything she had ever felt before in this living
    The tensing of muscles, the shaking, gripping shoulders
    Finished perfectly before everyone willing to look out of a window


    (The remote control is picked up and the fingers rewind back to the favorite scene. The other hand seems immersed in its own pleasuring…the greatest ever.)

    Until the next...
    -Lucius Black, LBK

    I am the...ILLEST Alive-Explanation

    As defined by urbandictionary.com, the word 'ILLEST' means about FIVE different things...allow me to eludicate a little further...


    1. Nothing better than

    2. The maddest, sickest, best shit

    3. The tightest, the best, the most gutta, the sickest

    4. The sickest,meanest, bad ass rhymes or mind

    5. The most ill

    So to call oneself or anything associated with the 'Illest Alive' is to imply that you are one or all of the aforementioned things...



    Wait a moment.



    Let me give you the genesis of this whole thing before I go any farther.



    It all started one day when I was walking near my cousin's apartment who I was living with at the time. I had always been enthralled by the graffiti that I seen living in Atlanta, this day being no exception. While on my homeward trek I noticed a electrical box emblazoned with three words written in graffiti art style-The Illest Alive. Having a camera phone I took a picture of it and after I did ideas for an album started coming to me. Being how I am about things I wanted to approach this concept a little differently; in my thinking anyone can write an album about a concept or a set theme but to write an album based upon stringing random ideas together would be, for lack of a better term, ILL. One of my friends had already given a random song idea involving a male being caught masturbating by his mother and upon completing that song (yea, I wrote it...) I fugured any ideas that she could come up with would be random enough for what I was trying to do...

    She rose to the occasion magnificently and here is what I got:

    Random topics from the mind of a miracle…

    1. Create a song about a young single father raising an autistic child

    2.Do one on facebook spring break pictures

    3.Describe an old woman driving and accidently hitting and killing a young woman and her 3 month old child

    4.Create a song about a woman falling in love with her 18 year old son and cheating on her husband by having an affair with her child

    5.American being kidnapped in Mexico

    6.Love at first fight… interpret however you want

    7.Atheist being converted into a believer by a former meth addict

    8.Being hunger but not eating a muffing sitting outside of the train station because you are afraid a homeless man has pissed on it

    9.Someone trying to make a relationship work when one person is asexual and the other is hypersexual

    10.Describe a situation when someone smokes weed, gets drunk, takes x pills, and snorts cocain to prove how much of a friend she was only to end up a prostitute for a parttime pimp/police officer

    11.A woman being so turned on by her own naked appearance in the mirror that she calls her boo for a quickie right in the bathroom in the mirror so that she can enjoy watching herself enjoy him

    12.Delve into the mind of a baby and explore what he/she is thinking as the understand the world

    13.Aliens and anal probing

    14.Feeding a dog weed brownies and watching him get high

    Suffice to say I was impressed with the topics and even more impressed with how I was so readily able to connect these random ideas in one flowing stream of action...

    With that being said, may I present to you....THE ILLEST ALIVE