running across the streets of infinity
painting on the walls with melted make up

Running Gun Blues

David Bowie counted corpses and used a black pen
there was enough red

a letter to those who wander for therapy

Word to the Meat Puppets...

My name is Messy

Made for TV Movie

a cliche in a red dress
i can't resist it's perfume
corny allure apathy is reasonable

let me deposit the check you issued
even if it bounces i'll still become a man of wealth
write the highest number possible
sign on the dotted line
but don't fill in any name

free me from the sound of my own voice
but is it okay if i remain anonymous
i don't want you to see my cards when i'm not around
i'm a queen away from a full house
i don't want you to know how close i am to winning
i still want you to think i need your help

if i tell you the stories about my scars 

can you promise i'll be able to sleep easy
my pockets are empty 

          and no ones answering their phone at this hour

i'm being followed by ghosts 

everytime i try to run away
my hands aren't big enough 

to hold every inch of my sanity

let it fall by the waist side 

     and i'll have a cigarette ready 

for the first person that picks it up
with every gun fully loaded for those 

who just don't like litter on the ground

just let the wind carry me to proof of a wish granted
then all i'll need is a pocket full of dandelions and a rabbits foot


...since these ghosts don't get the hint
i'm most likely praying in the wrong language

Dark Wine and Things

low on sleep because i'm afraid 

of you hiding in the closet of 

my most entertaining nightmares

I know you've been spying on my fears,
I want you there but you've got to promise 

to wake me if you're not going to 

save me when they come

do me a favor…

and let me watch you 

run away so i can finally 

witness your enthusiasm

so even if they finally catch me 

               i'll have the fond memory of the first time, 

you found something to believe in

For A Few Dollars More

a sergio leone close up of foxy brown painting with clouds of jazz exhaled
help me with my math homework because it's starting to the fuck up the shading in my book of sketches
i've drawn your shadows with a beauty that wasn't intentional and i don't know if it's something to be proud of
does this mean I can only fall in love when it's dark?
i started to cry when i shot you with my toy rifle because the way you dropped to the ground made me think i really killed you
i'm not that good at telling when we're still pretending anymore


...and i kind of like it

My perfect ending has been written. Promise you'll read it.

Cooley High

pretty tony fears woman who still look beautiful after they make him cum
lose track of time because the strength of his legs is nothing to worry about when the music is composed correct for the moment
slow dance into his dreams get drunk and hysterical in his nightmares and 2 step with his demons
her song couldn't have been cued any more precisely destiny wants him to win this game of Russian Roulette
tear flow from divine loners because Jesus hasn't been written to in a while and how s/he looks in a sinners eyes can make the most worshipped kings feel like a peasant shamelessly begging to be on the other end of a stare from Foxy Brown
a crown doesn't always find itself framing the scent of a queens hair slut's are more clever than you think
the erect penis often gets mistaken for the loving heart even though he can only be hard if oxygen can flow and he can only love when someone causes him to forget to breathe
the difference is hard to familiarize and at times he just doesn't know what he's looking for during nights when insomnia motivates him to be anywhere than alone in his bed
his favorite piano solo urging him to grab the breasts of the rhythm he feels because what can't be seen but felt undeniably doesn't feel violated when he does as he please
identity is not on the agenda tonight being the best he can be isn't something to give a fuck about because love has a higher exchange rate when the best has been felt throws away the checklist and places his pen where it can easily be found the bliss of not knowing what to write is more satisfying than having a cigarette when s/he falls asleep and he has a moment to himself
no words to describe because the proper letters run away when they're not needed the passion in her moans clearly signaled that it's one of those things where you just have to be
not there, not where, not on time, not in english, just be
the logic may sound crazy but perfect only comes after insanity has been conquered under what's considered brilliant in the art of war
black or white when he's hungry he has no sight only the comfort of whatever is there despite how they killed papa for reading him a story a beautiful picture tragedy and triumph surrealist artist of war grabbing guns to paint someone red to give to his valentine

Pretty Tony (remastered, in B Minor)

why are some people only good at long good bye's from far proximities?

perhaps it's due to the candy in my pocket 

and I know that potential broken hearts have sweet tooths and butterscotch is a good enough reason to hold on a little longer

can someone come along 

and resurrect what's been left to rest

in the depths of my chest

it's hard to come up with good art 

that isn't pulled from the sickest parts 

of your mind

trying to find the closest ways to paint the rainiest days 

under the closest thing that resembles shelter at the time 

memories of the coldest winds remind me of the fear i felt and the prayers i knelt hoping someone would come offer me a sweater

the clock strikes 12 and it's how funny how you don't feel any different
i fell in love with too many girls 

who knew how to take more hits than me

funny moments where we try to forge falling in love

roaming through college campuses denying the books in your backpack

the sun sets early around this time of year 

there are more hours to appreciate the hard reality 

that there's no one around to help you take your clothes off

waking up to the window closed 

and no known name yet for her,

the panties she left on my bathroom floor when she decided

she wouldn't pretend to be on her period anymore 

open more doors for me to walk through 

try to figure what may have been foxy brown's favorite chair to sit and contemplate the perfect murder

she knows she can smell

it everytime someone gives her chocolate 

and it makes her vomit

bleach and amnesia can't seem to get the stains out

i wasn't afraid when she told her i reminded her of someone

that could write her name well

Jazz Takes a Break

it hurts me when lines are drawn in gold and separation has value 
envy for the color blind because they can love everyone without having to discriminate

my dear,
the air between our distance is still too liveable i want to reduce it till they suffocate and you and i
are cross eyed face to face and all of them are blue in between us lacking oxygen because there's nothing separating us the world is beneath us not in the middle of us everything is around us and only you and I are on center stage

listen to my music dance even if you don't know how to 
introduce me to your mother i promised her i'd cry with you at the death of your father

do i look like someone you'd want to fuck when i have this gun in my hand? 

why do i always try to seduce lunatics? how many questions can I ask myself to finally feel like I've traveled long enough to stop

I keep having to tell myself it'll all be worth it in the end and I'm starting to resent how clear it is to me why she left

constant repetitions of dishonesty and it's starting to sound less and less like a song that i want to sing 

but they'll…
shoot if i stop and i'm trying to find ways to do things that they won't notice

Mystery Train

late buses early morning people we meet in a space too safe for comfort
or is it not safe when it's too comfortable it's hard to decide when you don't know whether or not they'll laugh at the sight of your naked body wandering lost hoping somone will drop a quarter in an empty coffee cup or at least the little strip of paper from a fortune cookies they end up throwing away anyway but some choose to keep the good ones funny because those are the people i hope fall in love with me which i know is a fantasy but i can't help what i imagine when the jazz gets good to me and the scent of a singers hair seldom travels close enough for me to decipher what makes her cry and mean it but i know she only bleeds for tattoos never for his insecurities or tendencies towards never saving up more than $10 because it's hard to come up with good art that isn't pulled from the sickest part of your mind insanity ensures that they'll listen for a minute

it's getting kind of 70's pattern and I live in the past 7 years before that I discovered Jazz at a moment when my mom & pop haven't met yet so I seem older than says on my birth certificate maybe there's a slight disillusion as I contemplate what I just said seduce me to clarity because I'm grown up now and to watch a rose decompose inspires me to ask why I needed to learn how to drive in the first place because I didn't pick this road and the rhythm is slightly out of sync but this is my time to decide the bassline and where the trumpets go and the perfect arrangment leading up to my guitar solo to show her what San Francisco taught me


Peace to travelers trying to find Elvis...

… Will you still care?

“i know traveling musicians who slap their one night stands because”

… most artists can only fall in love when there’s a sprinkle of blissful agony in a hitchhiker’s voice when they scream they’re about to cum

Does it scare you how much your pussy gets wet 

when you watch someone tattoo their wrists 

and you can see the scar tissue underneath the hand style?

I can’t dance for the audience unless 

we decorate the stage with bones taken from the 

pile of skeletons in my closet

My secrets no longer want to remain anonymous, 

and want to be gold plated around my neck when 

I sneak in through the window.hopefullyitmatchesthisjapanesewhitetee

Can I still sport your marks around 

my neck if I put cracks in my innocent facade 

A million expressions of remorse my dear, 

I hope you still find me attractive when you 

learn to fall in love with my messy truth 

Can I live?

looking down from the highest rise 

contemplating rebirth catching concrete 

imbedded eyes as they glance 

at the new runaway drawn in faded paint 

    

   with enough baggage for exploitation’s  

to have a pretty face resolution

no don't take your panties off for 

the illusion - only the hallucination 

     confusion steering you in opposite directions

           streetlights don't guide pedestrians 

to heaven 

     listen to the ghost whispering 

over your shoulder reminding you 

that you still have that pretty red dress 

that thursday jazz cats have yet to use 

for inspiration for their next attempt 

to define blue notes

do you remember the first time someone 

bought you a drink sip whiskey shot 

as 

    he crept away to pray in the bathroom 

that you'd fall for his best attempts

it was the first time you undressed without 

guns drawn because he fooled you into 

thinking that you two wanted the same thing 

for Christmas

asked yourself what is this and 

how should it feel like

 is it real life?! 

why have i been drawn to this appeal 

(sigh?) 

because mama and papa 

weren’t there…

they were way over 

where?

too busy to teach you that 

everyone swears the age of innocence 

is short,

     and there's little time to be taught about 

men, women, snakes & apples

Song Books

citizens & children of the night surrender to the guilty motion evoked
by slave train freedom runners soon to reveal what they've been missing
out on if only they would of just introduced themselves when they first came
home forced them in the middle of seducing the moon to leave where they
play cool notes because from the other side that the sun visits mansions need
ghosts to haunt them and lost papa's to make jeans for thieves waiting to steal
rock & roll but they were blind to the soul of jazz ever since it led them to where
they can begin their renaissance and compose for jones to play so Ella could
sing and remind Madonna's you don't have to be a slut and wear red heels for him
to make love to you

Branded to Kill

mayor black in a thrift store suit spending tuesdays beer money to buy picked roses
for jazz queens sitting in window sills commending foolish acts it's the hottest day of
the summer shaved ice coconut insanity heatwaves dilusion block color sight making
it difficult to know who to be racist to children running in front of cars because they teach
them at an early to not give a fuck if it could kill you what the hell tina takes her clothes
off ignoring nonsense of unzipping striped indications of caged hearts cool ice cube solutions
for foxy browns playing hard to let the corner for lovers access it feels good cold especially in
the midst of thanking god for soft necks and what s/he likes


L O V E H A T E

Harvey Keitel

what kind of guns do midnight cowboys carry during june summer heat
high horse guitar strings to entrance theatrics kept away from the sights of rebels
liberated blues on it's way to inception after the night black played song to know which road rebels walk composing jazz for the first time they taste wine and want to show how love spoke in the silence of no books to read murder if caught sight of what darling nikki was writing in her journal because she couldn't tell daddy can i only be brave if i know i won't have a problem trying to hide when it's not something i feel appeal or if jesus can groove to it or try to find someone with the kind of rhythm that helps with the fear of ghosts and offer old cigarettes because there's not enough money to be as friendly as visible enough to see when broken hearts pretend the drama doesn't make them want to fuck



"You want to know something he won't tell ya, cut off one of his fingers, the little one. Then tell him the thumbs next. After that, he'll tell you if wears lady's underwear... I'm hungry, let's get a taco. " - Mr. White

Peace to gods and good tacos.

Erudite Eyes

sometimes i don't even have anything to apologize for but an understanding of what happens
when you take a little too much of whatever the jazz inspires you to has led me down roads
where i can go shopping for my greatest fears my dear please be there to open the doors
on time for me so i know i don't have to steal anything just because no ones there to witness
what i buy with my $10 anything seven sins are only for angels who've managed to not get
seduced by year round ornaments of many colors slight stutter when mother cries because
she wants to be young again and she doesn't think anyone notices the way she saves the world
from hitler scriptures legacy carries on realize that the devil lived on earth for a while too
timelines of moments when we build houses for our ghost to live in once we finally pass the light
pardon me if i wear a hat during my initiation to salvation do i not have to worry anymore about
money when we get there i swear i've had too many plates that were never used the way they
were supposed to giving new meaning to collecting dust white that you can't help but smell
up close and move farther away from putting more than an oz. to regretful thoughts and nose bleeds

please is something i use beggingly in a sublte motion illusion is my vibrant energy everything is in black and white within my sight and i'm not color blind it's just what's in style too kind homeless lucy holds on to how her mama raised her maniacs raped her but she still sings and doesn't hide how they made it difficult for her to walk like a femme fattale honesty seems like something that isn't put in the pot when we reach 1st intention sexual rebellion enslaved to imbalance because lust can't always be solved with masturbation cause in the end there's no one to share the silence with unless you take another hit will it ever be time to quit personality wit saves lives but it's unfashionable to come as you are and leave as you learn why all intellects smoke cigarettes


Peace to Sweden, much love fam.

The Main Ingredient

crowded streets of fashionable maniacs with cups filled up to the top anything foul smell
color blinds can still define how blue makes them feel no need for technicolor proper lighting
just talk about jazz until we don't have to pretend anymore admit paintless faces are always easier to kiss

take off your red lipstick because it's not time for that now my greatest fears are open for interpretation and your attempts at trying to be a slut terrify me
i noticed jesus only comes out when my drugs are almost gone too fast and there isn't anyone around to give me the round of applause i need to carry on after my best apologies
collections of textbooks defaced with runaway scriptures trails to follow for darling nikki when she finally decides not to care journeys hallucination smudged "fuck you's" make the page easier to look at
high school rendezvous down to the nearest place with cheap food times logic seduced by a need to experience passion in the dirtiest places that can be found
thursday love supreme grooves nights of malfunctioning street lights adding details to chaos

This is Why You're Overweight

i'm running a little too much after the highs begin to go away
all of a sudden i'm getting in touch with a part of me that doesn't have to worry about being the nice guy and feel what it's like to have a dick without having make sure I've got extra bullets in pocket
the radio isn't playing anything to redignify my aura after i dropped the ace i was hiding up my sleeve reaching for the next glass with something foul smelling in it i don't understand the logic sometimes but maybe that's why i do it because after a while i don't give a fuck about logic or anything other than pretending long enough so that they'll leave me and whoever falls for it alone for about 8 hrs so we could take the time to see what happens when it's time to explore the jazz again

Peace to wanderers who've heard the echo,
much love

Bleek Gilliam

seldom i find the time to pull out the pen anymore
i don't know why and i don't have some profound reason
to present to you that's just how it is and how it's been

i'm still trying to figure out when it happened and whether
or not i was trying to chase an orgasm to feel better about
sitting in my bed and not having anything to do

an awkward situation of an older brother finding out her
sister is a slut and now i can't look at darling nikki the same
anymore because her vulnerability hits a little too close to home

i wonder how it is for first time killers who didn't have a choice
watch your mother go hungry and a person's capable of doing
anything 

especially when you're the one who's supposed to be
comforted to sleep not the one doing the comforting.yourhandsjustaren'tsoftenough

2 a.m. (B Minor)

it's been more than ten days and a new year has passed and it's one of those things that just isn't usually done by someone so addicted to having some type fine powder to sniff when there's nothing on tv to watch

no need to worry i come with expressions of goodwill and whiskey just in case you need a promise that you won't have to remember what we did or how much fun we had when we see each other at the same coffee shop by coincidence and you haven't been able to forgive me yet

maybe i'm a little vague with how i show my feelings to you but it just isn't as exciting as to when you've got a knife in your hand and a tight red dress with heels on i thrive in the confusion of not knowing whether or not i should keep my hands up or pull my pants down

don't tell anybody else if it's that obvious i'm just trying to have it like it was in high school where i wasn't making fun of people still knowing how to have fun in innocent ways that doesn't put me in situations where i'm short two quarters to my next pack of cigarettes and the comfort of knowing that all i have to do is strike a match

that isn't how it should be but my ego fears you not appreciating how i can still enjoy a bowl of cereal and a trip to the grocery store without having to seem like i intend on cooking dinner later that night

maybe i just like the jazz that plays in the back of my head watching you put things in the cart because i love everything you pick and all the things you intend on doing with those things of course you'll never know or i'll never be able to make you feel just the slightest bit of insecurity to ensure that everytime our favorite groove plays the first thing you'll be doing is seeing how i react