Black, White, indifferent

In our lives at one time or another we all wear two mantles, one being good and the other evil. So in essence we are both kindness and cruelty. Often times we try to discard one when it gets too overwhelming not truly realizing a balance of the two is what defines us. -Lucius Black

And I figure it's true because even the nicest folks have moments of less than stellar moments. Conversely even the cruelest of us has a heart and a conscience. The balance here is important. Without it, you are in an internal struggle to find it.


Graymalkin

Verse One
By the rules of a thumb I don’t often wear white
And it might be simply because it dirties up too easily
A quiet reason however measly
Past Labor Day isn’t the matter of real discussion
So it’s no fussing, no cussing
Then again it could be that connotation
Of things I paint
Colored a little eggshell off
Since I ain’t a grand saint
There’s always an attempt to do right by everyone
Try as the big heart might to accommodate
Facilitate every direction pulled, every expectation
It tends to end, bend into devastation
Cracked hearts and broken perceptions
Fucked up without an ounce of protection
In recollection intent was questioned, confused a few
The things I do, maybe odd
God, I try to make it right for those who
For lovers, brothers, and sisters
And sometimes I resent her
For questioning mother of pearl colors here
When at night I always lent the ear
In the face of the flaws
Disregarded laws I pause
Thinking that the tint of Jesus robes don’t fit
Then I quit believing that goodness is in me
Even if it was put on repeat and repeat
More deceit bonded to my fleet feats
Mere feet from a pure T-shirt, looks nice and right
But I remember why I don’t wear white

Chorus
Neither black nor white
I’m the graymalkin, killer
The balances to the checks
A calm in the thriller
Neither white nor black
Just a graymalkin, brother
The good, the bad
Tend to offset one another

Verse Two
It was a surname that was acquired and draped
No real escape from its warmth and its cold
For a number of years it counted me in the hold
It was clutching so unyielding
Stealing every feeling
And the stigma made me wonder over
A type of decision
In the ebony remains of the day
Then too willing to be just another villain
It felt right there at the heights of wrongdoing
No one to worry about but solo son
Undone was all the belief, all the hype
Broken into shatters of no matters with one swipe
But then the kindness kills, the heart breathes
From the place it was threaded upon my sleeve
Just in a second I reconsider being a bastard
Even if mastered, struck a chord
Dear Lord, black wallpaper’s been plastered
Over friend and foe alike
It was disgusting for the conscience to strike
Or to even feel reticent enough over the night
When it had that much easier to curse the light
Other shoes drop
Than I stop at the top
To really examine the shroud of eternal nightfall
Then I stall to reinvent the evil in me
Second coming as it appears and appears
And I fear what I came to hear here
Many tears stain the mantle covering the frame
As I transcend the bad guy and the surname

Chorus

Verse Three
Then there was grayscale attire there in the middle
It was a third fiddle that was never considered notice
Drawn dead magnetic to this
The attraction was something so absolute
Couldn’t dilute, couldn’t refute
It exudes a little scent of both former lovers
This is what body trusts
The mundane midway still
Had enough of the evil to excite lusts
Still there was that goodness that bound me
The same from the first verse and second mentions
Intentions mingled to maybe build, imperfectly create
Pygmalion chisels art, a start towards level plates
Taking on the both easier than being just one single
Allowing the goods and the evils to mingle
There’s a tingle of honesty, lies too as well
Heavens and hells, finally at peace
For them, they, and us
Safety and the same so dangerous
In complete color of unassuming sort
A peaceful word, a retort
Flaws and the perfect flex
No pretext, merely context
Content that the collaborations is just right
The day is night with both aspects alive
So finally after over and over
I wear grays after the genes of Jean
I mean Phoenix and Marvel Girl again
Grayscale attire on a lane of Graymalkin

Chorus





Graymalkin
Attack of the Plastics
Lucius Black
L. Powell

The Death Of Ken

All you really hear about nowadays is dudes, especially African-American males, worried about their manhood being questioned. Too afraid to cry because of the childhood programming that a man isn't supposed to cry because that makes you a punk. Don't even get me started on that 'no homo' and 'pause' garbage. If you're not of the homosexual persuasion, there's no need to really clarify. But I digress...

I have ALWAYS believed that a man's experiences and the lessons he learns define his manhood as opposed to the facade of being a tough guy and not saying things that can be construed or flipped in something less than heterosexual. As far as men go, one man (although inanimate) is the true measure of a man-Ken.





I've always found a measure of strength in the way Ken is quietly contented in being little more than a set piece to the woman in his life. Granted, this isn't me bashing those go getters amongst the female constituency. Nope. This is just me in my overactive imagination just imagining that Ken grows tired of being brow beaten by all of Barbie's accomplishments with nothing to show for it but a gay ass cowboy outfit and a pink sweater. This is an extended metaphor for dudes who are like this. Hopefully I pulled it off well. Enjoy.


The Ken Dreads

Verse One
Coolest Kenny
I bet it’s torture
The anatomical lacking
When rather piranhas are snacking
On shafts to tops of the elevator
But no, it was a ruthless
Chop shop diva made the man a eunuch
Emasculated by the picture perfect dollhouse
And some pink Corvette waiting restlessly
But wait…that’s sold separately
No glory, no nuts
No Skipper, no sluts
Took the consonant at the end
Makes you woman dearest mommy, friend
Less of a total, constantly what friends said
More than anything, the thing that Ken dreads

Chorus
Broke dick dolls and dogs
In for a slow slog
The loss of manhood makes kindred
And what Ken dreads

Repeat once

Verse Two
The killer K
Tantamount to doom down
Missing the members
Three minus leaving cold Decembers
To the skin grafts where towers rested
Cut off Samson after Delilah
No remaining power is survivor
That beach house bullshit was taxing
Hoping to escape thumbs of the girl
So sick until upchuck of a Barbie world
Without teeth, without balls
A prisoner, trapped in walls
Silent because of what the other side shows
Opinions and will held back by brothers, GI Joes
Going after phallus, a fallacy many said
More than everything, the thing that Ken dreads

Chorus 2xs

Verse Three
It was Ken
Alone within the hurt
Of being raped, robbed of the wood
Yelled for the return, as if it could
A trophy taken from the nagging wars
And those danger brothers contribute guard
Leaving the plastered smiles scarred
Tennis sweaters and khaki short uniformed disgust
So when Barbie came home it was to a different tone
As broken Ken picked one last bone
Take care, take stones
Perfect dolly, left alone
Three GI Joes stand at attention, wordlessly
As the blonde haired icon stares helplessly
Seems balls and words resurrect, base to head
Now there is nothing that Ken really dreads

Chorus 2xs



The Ken Dreads
Attack of the Plastics
Lucius Black
L. Powell

The Connect, Pt. 3

The friend of a friend...

The term seems to be seen often, in dating circles or when in social situations of casual associations. There are times when you meet this "friend of a friend" and they are cast aside in memory almost as soon as you meet them. Other times that secondary friendship becomes something more substantial. For example, I met three or four people (there are more but we're focusing on a small number) through my partner Cam. At first thought the people that come to mind as enduring souls are Santos, Vanessa, Lauren, and Lieu. This installment of "The Connect" is about the last named Lieu Fatale.

I KNOW!! She's been a discussion point before.

By way of a disclaimer, this IS NOT me being a suck-up or pole jocking. It has always been a policy of mine to speak well of those who I see talent and greatness in. She happens to one of them. Period.






For a LONG time Lucius Black and Lieu Fatale have been threatening a collaboration. It's been discussed but somehow, given our own individual drives an/or hustles, it hasn't come into fruition as planned. Very recently it did. When asked to scribble a hook to one of my latest songs, milady Fatale rose to the challenge and then some. She has told me of three to four possibe hooks. THREE TO FOUR!! What you will be reading is the song supplemented with one of those hooks. As always, your opinion matters. Yerp.


Letters Home

Verse One
The lead to the paper when the number twos were nubs
“Are you ready”, a simple question with answers of shrugs
So unsure of the first steps when the words came
But there was the given name
Caught up in the list of progression all the same
Heavy worlds on the Atlas in the brand new scenario
Excitement and a fear a masked man will barely show
It was a thrill, nothing or but eclectic
Despite the nerves and the presses being hectic
The freedom of breathing was damn near electric
The boy was a prodigal after a million doting days
A three twice guy, three thrice girl making sixty-nine ways
Young and wild making nights louder in their coming of two meaning
A sin city for the new secrets and the bad hands leaning
It was well hidden from home and mother’s gleaning
(But still you’re lost in the limelight, right?)

Chorus
The strumpets and panderers whispering in the night
Hustling for souls promising riches & a good time
Everything to be wished for granted with one breath
The spoil of the streets nurturing on an ambitious breast
When the wells run dry and the young suffer a slow death
There is nothing left but smiles caged within rotting flesh

Verse Two
Ballpoint’s turn to trace the pages until the ink dries
Long ago the kid as formerly seen up and lies down, dies
Leaving an animal with the same face and less ambition
Unless the word counts for putting pretty lambs in position
For rounds of pounding without either looking to intermission
Libations became the new water, tipped with fire and change
Making Jekyll no longer Hyde if only to rearrange
Suffer the purpose in the face of weekly drunken KOs
Trading cunning linguists for a little fellatio
“Blow this horn, girl, like you were Horatio”
Embracing the prodigal tighter than lovers true
When being straight laced is the last thing to do
Only in the slow evenings without drink or joint
As the lines with the words anoint
Unafraid now of who the stories might disappoint
(But still a young illusion…who are you fooling?)

Chorus

Verse Three
Twelve pointed font when the format is right
Something so tired of the endless nights
Came about the time when fun got far too crazy
Right after the blood proved no ifs, ands, or maybe
When little Miss, that three thrice had that baby
Kicked the bad habits off to the waiting curb
Left behind the libations and no seasonings of the herb
Still the income got unfamiliar, fast money slows
And every previous looks a lot like plural no
Rolled highs once, now prepare for the lows
Here alone with nothing remaining of old design
Hard than new arithmetic to say it’s all fine
The three folds in the paper, perfectly clear
Except for a smudge that looks like tears
“Momma, I’m in hell here…”
(But still you’re learning …ain’t that right, burner)

Chorus

Verse Four
Mercifully back to the point pencil two
A little help is the remedy to see blind through
It was the planning once believed a curse
Keeping the wolves circling from making it worse
The only reason for the final verse
Some things once seen as done badly
Change here when the little girl calls boy Daddy
Amazing how decisions make boys grow up quick
Finally seeing a woman instead of some trick
Even in the despise on this child thoughts click
There was once a prodigal, once lost at the brink
Simple Peter, a savior cannot let beloved sink
A disjointed happy ending to a story
As a fable to guide and teach if only
“If you need my help, here I’ll be)
(But still we close the tome and finish these letters home)

Chorus



Letters Home
Lieu Fatale; Lucius Black
"Three Coke" Charles: The Dawn
C. Lamon; L. Powell

The Connect, Pt. 2

I am going to tell you something you should know already: Savannah, GA is a talented city. Now bear in mind I'm NOT saying that Savannah is the new Atlanta or anything like that. What I'm saying is that talent in Georgia is not strictly limited to the Atlanta area. Case in point, me. Another of the city's beacons of light...this guy.



I've known this man, J.L. Manning (or J.Laurent), since elementary school. A long time, really. We've gone to the same school since graduation. It struck me as odd that we both being engrossed in different aspects of music (in addition to our pursuits of higher education) that we hadn't worked on something together in that realm before. Here now we're doing just that. As we've discussed, he's producing my first mixtape (YERP!) and I'm really excited. There is also the plan to put out a track by the beginning of September so stay tuned. Our FIRST official collaboration is a song I penned recently from one of his beats. A wonderful track called "I'm Movin' On".

SHAMELESS PLUG: If you want to check out the production of J. Laurent, please stop whatever you're doing and hit up http://www.reverbnation.com/JLaurent. Yerp.

Here's a snippet of the lyrics:

Alleviate me from your thoughts so easily
Like the love days was sickness, coughs and measly
Mind games pushed up to a new mind frame
Of ascensions past you and the tensions of the same
Sort of nonsense, the explanation was like gibberish
Later on your body’s gonna scream for mine as last wish
For the way the curves met, lost within the deep sets
All you got for company now-bitter regret
Bets on the double down that I was still the willing clown
Dancing in the three rings sing
Stars falling down
Where your words left shards
Queen of the discards
This card was foolish enough
Threw in the trump card
I was thinking of a paradigm
Epiphany to the crime
Losing lust after your taste and your design
Maybe all the nights are gone
Maybe it’s a better dawn
Whatever the case may be, I’m moving on

The Connect, Pt. 1

Now you all know my close association with Lieu Fatale. I say close in the sense that I consider her something of a genius and a good friend. Recently one of her friends added me here on the Book of Faces. Young lady by the name of Rachael "Rai" Gethers.





Suffice to say, after a few conversations and a reading of some fire she wrote I came to a conclusion: This girl is mad talented. The other night while in the midsts of one of those exchanges, we started scribbling. It's usually what happens when you put two writers together. She had already posted it on her page so I thought I should do the same. **NOTE:** If you read my notes consistently, you know that the italics represent the female voice whereas the bold is the representation of the male speaker. The same is true here. May I present...



COMPLETE

Let’s go away to space so we can witness
Thirty-two sunrises
And thirty-two sunsets every day
Who's flying, you or I?
We both are
Sounds like a worthwhile trip
What's next after our two thirty-twos?
Return the earth and live life
Just me and you
In the places where nightfall
And the day tumble down, peacefully complete
Space was just an assessment
Passed with flying comets and shooting stars.
Welcome to Mars
Nightfall and day tumble down, in sync
Complete
Almost like it both were compliments to the other
Twisted sweetly around in symbiotic existence
Amongst falling stars
All ours
Endlessly touching
Suns, galaxies, each other
She’s sunbeams
He's thunder
On earth they're made for one another
His sound is for her light
Her blaze intensifies his timbre
Deafening
Blinding
Great and terrible all the same
Terrible that something like this had never existed
Great
So great because now it does
Now more than ever, before this collision of power
One can see a great work of love
An act of kindness so bizarre that...
...that words fail
Those syllables so powerful
Falter
At the altar
That alters them, makes them power
Energy immortal
Amaranthine
Three words
Three syllables that never fail.
That live as immortal as they
Gasoline
Propane
They fuel their power, their desire
Blooming like a flower
A flower born of her sun
Cooled in his starlit shad
Perfectly
A true symbol of the three
Words
Syllables
Unfailing, enduring
And more beautiful than the word itself
So in sync
Nightfall and day tumble down as one
Complete
Just
So
Complete



Complete
The Equal Opposites
Lucius Black; RaiGee
R. Gethers; L. Powell

A cunning linguist...

Often times I strive to say things in a way that is both clever as well as tasteful. I am proud to say that most of the time that has worked. Through a considerable degree of eloquence and skill I have been able to talk on subjects that normally are taboo or not really spoken out loud too often. By way of an example:

• For my first mixtape The Illest Alive I wrote two songs on two albeit intersting subjects. "Greatest Ever" was a song about a young man being caught in the act of masturbation. The other "Kiss, Never Tell" spoke of a physical affair between mother and son.


• My last album Dirtyfoot's :FIN@LE had a song tainted with the incestous (i.e "Sin For The Lavender"). I also delved into homosexuality among females ever so slightly as well with the song "None Understanding"

I have also been pretty prolific on the subject of SEX. Some of those creations have been quite possibly brilliant and are favorites. Again, by way of an example:

• "Tripping Wet"


• "Naomi"


• "Dancing Flame"


• "Almost And Maybe"

All this is said to make a point or rather a segue. This segue...

For a while people in general were (for lack of a better word) ashamed of giving oral sex, particularly cunnilingus. You'd hear that garbage, dudes talking some such shit about "I don't eat..." or whatever hackneyed line was popular. Oddly enough females went through a similar thing, most times with fellatio being equated with being a whore. Nowadays given the climate of media (i.e. television, movies, and music) it has suddenly become more blasé and vocal about the subject. Between neighbors being well versed in what your name is to putting things on sideburns and soda cans disappearing in mouths, it's become a lot more acceptable. It's with that in mind that I submit my latest work.






A female friend of mine once told me that in order to tell that you're satisfying your lover, one should pay attention to the body as opposed to the sounds (although they are wonderful). So if her back is curving, yielding that loving arch YOU MUST be doing the right thing. Hence the song.


Loving Arches

Sound FX1
Approaching climax, moans, grunts, squeals, etc.

Verse One
It was enough
A distraction, even
To a point when thoughts were irrelevant
And nothing mattered but the feeling
Every destination from temple to toes was reeling
Ten close gripped soft cotton to hold back screams
Eyes tight shut daring to awake from dreams
No prayers still His name was constant
At increased rates and frequency
Muscles tense not from pain but pleasure
Pausing is the last thing on either mind
Only continuation, nothing else
The scene crescendos, the stage grows dark
When she gives him her loving arch

Sound FX1

Verse Two
It was enough
A distraction, even
Into territories where all else was minutia
Superseded by the sensation
And the arrival at that destination
Raven crowns seek a soft place to fall
Inhales and exhales falter and stall
Of the same years yet Daddy is the name
Between moments of uttered noises and sounds
Music like no other made, perfect in hearing
Encouragement to keep up the actions
Without cease for it no longer exists
The scene crescendos, two hit the mark
Then she gives him her loving arch

Sound FX1

Verse Three
It was enough
A distraction, even
Here where the wildest things are
Where there is merely the consciousness
And the pair, one giving the other bless
Aorta pieces pound louder than percussion
Tongues across lips offer no discussions
Disregard better and insisting upon the best
As the tricks and moves prove the point
Beyond happiness, beyond ecstasy
Maybe euphoria or aphrodisia
Whatever the case it made no efforts to slow
The scene crescendos, the places explodes from spark
Again she gives him her loving arch

Sound FX2
Woman climaxes



Loving Arches
Lucius Black
"Three Coke" Charles: The Dawn
L. Powell

SLAVE

Gustav Graves: You see, I have a gift. An instinct for sensing people's weaknesses. Yours is women. Hers and mine are winning, whatever the cost. So when I arranged for that fatal overdose for the true victor at Sydney, I won myself my very own MI6 agent, using everthing at my disposal - her brains, her talent, even her sex.

James Bond: The coldest weapon of all.

ANYTHING can be a weapon or a method of control if you know what you're doing. Your words, for example, could break someone's spirit and in some cases that kind of emotional distress can manifest itself in physical maladies. Obviously physical abuse is a self-explanatory method of controlling a person, keeping them afraid and in line. But one that is just as dangerous can be sex. In your view of things you could be having that Drake type intercourse ("Best I Ever Had"), unaware that your significant other is using that insanely pleasurable act to keep you in the place where they want you. This particular post is about just that.



Hurdy-Gurdy Lilting

Male VO
We deal in power. We deal in perception. We cannot prosper nor long endure if we are perceived to be…dancing to the music of a hurdy-gurdy.

Hurdy-gurdy music plays

Verse One
Wind the crank, skank
I’m the turn key you’re robbing
Rather robin red breast in cages
For the subtle rages
Blake broken when fingers turn pages
To the chapter written
Openly smitten by seductive wares
That took faculties with no class
Crass to even consider being bitter
When hands grip an ass
A fool making donkeys of stranded, Circe
Curse be the lack of focus in I
When eyes blink then shudder
Heart minus syllables stutter
Murmur and mutter at the change
When it’s strange
There is no drive since there’s no pedal
Nothing left to steel since you took my medal
And my metal and the mettle of men
Who knew honor to the first sound
Before a switch and a bitch, a complaint
Bozo men and left boys clowned
Tapped out submission after double downs
Only to remain the way she left
Bereft of the struggle so beautiful, right?
The plight of the phoenix, remixed
Worst the second time around again
Then shallow scars made my Shalamar
Get ready…tonight, since I remember your touch
Not Midas, I paid mine, probably go dutch
Or Dutch to break beats or even dikes
Finger left in it, only words are damn and dam, if you like

Male VO

Hurdy-gurdy music plays

Verse Two
Flip the switch, bitch
Turn off lights for teddy bears and Pendergrass
In the grass snake sort of lady
Constant warring like Beatty
Lumberjack the pirate when shiver timbers, matey
Cap’n crunch me down low
Past praying ho to the bottom
Masters bait, feeling themselves much
Touch life with a wilting finger
Bittersweet like some Cranberries
When you make me linger
Rest in you lap where no light escapes
She rapes attention, leaving deficit
Deaf is this when your sound is only heard
In love and to hate with the absurd
When your loving drains the seed
In your greed
Nothing left to shoot off, dear
The guttural fuck whispers are only here
And all the trained drums are made to hear
They’re over there, bodies making out
Then in again with a life threatening stroke
Only doom in the room, rude intruder
Pharaoh whips and makes Moses of boys
Broken backed Jake of no Gomorrah sister
In puddles on the floor, dripping
Slipping into control so vodka and Absolut, right?
The call of max pain, another refrain
Hurting in those mean old Harlem Blues
She was my sinner, my Cynda
Clark bent on this Benecourt
No Occam, didn’t shave, she’s the razor
Or raiser who raises my tower
With her flower, sniff, high off papi and poppy