‘I Keep Studying’ - On Waterloo (2011, CircleIntoSquare)

Countries continue to bring us down.

You see the menu, take your pick, and then poke fun at the clown.

Everybody in their ‘Party’ is feeling better,

No frowns.

When your mayor acts like Gotti,

And the neighbor is never around.

You always hear the dogs barking,

There’s no food food around.

Feel the friction in the air,

The clouds are gathering around,

And when the crowds get together,

You’d better get ready to weather the storm.

I was born out of breath,

So don’t expect me to be normal,

I’ve practiced the steps, and walked the walk,

Only to be left out on the chain, with a kink in my sock.

But, I continue to talk…and talk.

You’ll likely never hear me stop until the tape’s play button clicks…

That’s all I’ve got.

My voice relies on the energy, solar or not.

Never depended on a melody.

Social onslaughts, the craziest century on memory,

I’m skeptic, so what?

So where are my headphones at?

Stuck in the cut.

…….

Keep it going with a conversation, taking place in the background,

We don’t see the moves that are going down.

Without a trace the frame shakes,

It isn’t stable.

A three-legged table, where the weight continually…shifts…

I’m consistently drifting up in the mix.

And by mix, I’m meaning the day the days in which I exist.

If you aren’t, then you’re stable.

Stable and stiff.

Either way, we’re here together, able, both stuck in the mix.

Call me crazy, but, that plot exists.

And, I don’t know about solutions?

Too scared to live, been taught this way since I was six.

Now I’m too scared to see the shift.

I’ve paid to learn about the consequences,

It’s explained in my tax slips.

But, I keep studying!

Flicker of a candle,

And glares from the faces, in pictures, on mantles.

Addicted to death.

It’s killing my mental, flipping through the pages of The History of Man.

Trying to silence the critics who live in my mental,

My pen pal is me, and we communicate through code.

My pen pal is me, and he’s been around the globe.

So, I keep on studying.

I keep studying.

…….

Call out your community!

Putting feet to concrete.

Active is positive.

Action = Reaction.

Currency withdrawn…

Your last transaction is the trigger of a gun.

A reaction of passion, hunger, and dissatisfaction.

You can’t mask the masses.

The voice of the passive is absent.

Their calendar is far from any aspect of truth.

And, the day he was born brought death to the truth.

Once death is the truth we belong in a casket.

Alone in this booth, I’m half way there,

Been weathered through the years,

System wear and tear, and a face full of tear gas.

Put it in the air…Put it in the air…Put it in the air……

But, I’ll keep studying

Flicker of a candle,

And glares from the faces, in pictures, on mantles.

Addicted to death.

It’s killing my mental, flipping through the pages of The History of Man.

Trying to silence the critics who live in my mental,

My pen pal is me, and we communicate through code.

My pen pal is me, and he’s been around the globe.

So, I keep on studying.

I keep studying.

-K

‘P.O.M.’

Rise and shine…

I’m not even living in your country and I can’t stand myself,

All I hear about, all I read about, and see around,

Is mystery and fear of everybody else.

Wag the dog, Mr. Hollywood, manipulate my heart,

Scared to speak during the day, or step foot out after dark.

I’m gloomy, I’m always consuming, culture confused,

When I’m sad I spend, collective collecting debt.

This ain’t my money so I might as well use it,

Shop until you’re soothed and the whole world is shooting,

Shooting criticisms at you for a lack of movement,

Content with the life that I have, with no improvements?

Fuck that!!

…

All I see is $$$$

All I see is checkout lines full of people holding The Financial Times,

While the bank has got us hanging from ropes,

The modern necktie.

…

I’m not even born in your country and I can’t stand myself,

All I hear about, all I read about, and see around,

Is mystery and fear of everybody else.

Wag the dog, Mr. Mcnamara,

Swimming in a pool full of tears,

Collected around the globe over the years,

Stunting in the era of terror, agendas clear,

Resistance is kissed with a fist and passed to its peers.

Now they’re sinking ships on Korean waters,

Blind the senses with Patriotism, incubate the struggle,

Calculate through the coup with calculated slaughter,

I ought to buy a gun,

The only way they’ll hear me talking is by shooting some-motha’fucking-one.

…

All I hear is gunshots,

All I see is discount gun-shops with people standing in lines,

Putting hope in their bullets,

The banana-clip necktie.

…

Strangely I’m tied to your country,

From the streets, to the screen, to the active people I meet.

But, I couldn’t give a fuck about a White House,

Or Parliament, or Pentagon, or the crooks rolling Wall Street.

Wag the dog, Mr. President!…

I am not an inanimate object, contrary to the mold you’d like to see.

I talk, I think, manipulating concepts,

I walk, and I speak my mind, and develop projects.

Give up your theories and contribute to the process,

Read some Chomsky!

Fuck your CNN broadcast!

Just lend your soles to the concrete,

‘Cause when we’re walking in sync there’s no defeat of the psyche.

…

All I see is $$$$

But, all I need is some Peace of Mind.

-K

‘The Challenger’

Some days the pillow feels like it’s a window,

With a view to the vacancy in a head space of complacency,

Dissolving all of my energy,

Dependency is finalized,

Free from the ties of all the vices that I’ve idolized,

Commercialized through criminals,

The people who they’ve criminalized,

The countries penitentiary,

A prison placed inside my mind,

‘Smoke away the pain’ was the mantra that I stood behind,

Melting away the days while erasing my reflection,

Infection of the lungs was the only allowance of reflections,

Recollections come when you’re laying on your death bed,

My hotel…the bathroom floor, I’m out of breath,

I don’t want to die by myself, at least not yet,

That’s what you get when you’re living in the cosmos,

Next stop, Jupiter!

Spacesuit and bomb smoke.

Ease my maneuvers to increase the brain’s tempo,

Wherever the wind blew smoke…That’s where I’d go,

Every penny I’ve had was burnt for these words that I’ve wrote,

I’ve burned the candle enough to flicker light on the world,

Don’t ask me why,

There’s something in my soul, that haunts my mind,

And makes me want to run away from everybody I know..

…..

One for the body…

Two for the soul…

Three for the feeling…

One for the body…

Two for the soul…

Three to make the stars on my ceiling seem more appealing.

…..

One for the body,

Two for this song,

Three should ignore the complications of the core.

This core has contusions, battered and broken,

Sore like the shore when the waves break in the morning,

Jagged like the reef floor,

Purple Vietnam styles,

Whitecap from up North…

My smile is model, the laughter is the actor,

There’s fizz inside this bottle,

The throttle was set at 200km,

Odometer is red-lined,

In space when I’m reclined,

FUCK YOU!!..It’s my time,

Lightfoot from Waist Deep…

I’m delaying the inevitable, just like the sunshine,

Behind the rest of the world..snagged like a fishing line.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

‘Surviving?’

‘In due time.’

Trying to build that picket fence around my mind,

So I can finally be content,

I’d rather be bent out of shape than on success,

Because I don’t give a fuck about the rest…

-K

‘Flux of the Forms’

Everyone has got that little something extra in store,

Tucked away in the darkest little corner of the drawer.

There are no questions asked,

For there’s no one of us in the know,

And therefore the lie lays,

In the minds of none…but your soul.

All the days drift away,

Just like tide from the shore,

Only to return again at night,

When there’s nobody around to hear this roar.

The droplets all attract, and altogether we crash,

In the midst of this glorified depiction of trash.

These memories must die,

Reanalyze the past,

Minimizing dependence on designer life masks.

And as tedious of a task it is to break down the fence,

That exposes why we hide,

To let the right people in,

It’s a necessary move to accompany Earth’s spin.

The constant flux of the form,

Is much deeper than the skin.

Now the universe has changed in the time since you’ve read,

The first line that was penned,

The old you is now dead,

Because everything just begins,

And those memories don’t end,

Until your face fades away from that picture book within,

Coercing my blood to follow suit of what’s said,

In my head I’m long gone,

While my body still stands,

Under the commands of my mind,

But, my soul understands.

Try to blend in with the suns,

Yet the night is my friend.

-K

‘The Big City’

The more I think about it, the less I know now….

I remember inking up the walls,

In the villa, creatures crawled with a name and a body full of blood.

Growing up I grazed the gravel,

The days before people traveled,

Handle my business,

I’d maverick before I’d head out of town.

The operations were kept a secret,

And only the footprints were street lit.

The lighting heightened tensions while the dialogue was writ.

Memories of occupation,

Erased with the succession of the people who are passionate enough not to let it slide,

Or ever tarnish the present.

An endless log of collections,

Adding up to one thing…

The countdown to celebration.

While the whispers now have captions,

And birthing new relations is taught in every grade,

With every cell of inspiration.

Because the teachers truly care about the students.

That’s just the way it is Mr. Minister,

This isn’t just a movement of the gods,

We’re fucking humans,

Full of flaws,

Even suited you’re a slob,

Reveal the real with open arms,

And celebrate you’re life..

The less I think about it, the more I know now.

——-

This is the big city living,

We’re thinking it’s necessary to do everything bigger than we are used to.

Living it up as soon as it’s going down,

We’re living it up as soon as it’s going down…

——-

Double-step into the room,

Be the centre of the Ball,

Mr. Epicenter spinning around up off the wall.

Limitations?

Washed them all.

Criteria confirmation,

Intel of assassination is creating a common call.

Little Betties on the floor,

Cinderella sees a star shooting down from the heavens…

What the fuck are you talking about?

A change in the reign of rivers,

And movement from parents litter,

The pups are growing up now to take a bite out of your system,

Like….RAH!!!

The less I think about it, the more I know now.

-K

‘A Dedication to my Dear Friend, Hermann’

Every word that my soul has said,

Was a demonstration of reverence for the illustrious dead.

For those who fell.  For those who’ve fled,

They are the tombstones and footprints outlined in my head.

Not by choice.  Not by chance.

Their energy spins through the cycles within.

This is not my voice, Or it is not my stance,

Only decisions that have been made many moons in advance.

But not by me. They are made by the dead,

Who’ve came to life, and in time life went,

Yet still survive in energy’s spin,

And organize in thoughts within.

So, while my soul manifests understanding in this matter,

This is where the responsibility begins,

To stitch the torn, and mend the tattered,

Pushing yourself, at no expense to him.

For, He is I, Alive in my head,

Interpreting energies recycled and shared.

Together we swim.  Together we sink.

And only exist in thoughts, in heads.

Despite what I think, I’ve said what I’ve said,

My demonstrations of reverence for the illustrious dead.

-K

A letter from good ‘ole Uncle Sam

Alphabet soup again?!?

I don’t need somebody’s hand to feed me.

I’m working, I’m living, I’m lovin’.

My little baby’s got a baby in the oven.

I’ve got a gun underneath my pillow.

The little lady down the street is a widow.

I caught her man trying to sneak through my window,

Or that’s the story that I tell all the kinfolk.

I’m a murderer. I don’t like you.

I pull the trigger, motherf*cker!

It’s my right to.

Read a history book,

We’re the Red, White, and Blue.

We’ve been killing for years,

This ain’t nothing new.

Sincerely,

Unkie.

-K

‘Could I Have This Dance?’

Every time, in recent months, I close my eyes that vision comes.  A fire burning in a field, where people have flocked, in the hopes of prayers for a good harvest’s yield.  Altogether they begin to dance without a second’s thought, or a skeptic glance.  Open hearts for the soul’s of old, who’ve never strayed too far from home.  They lay in hush, and wait to dance when the people have summoned for their blessing of lands.  A celebration of culture and life, in which burns as bright as the day would at night.  Forgetting the tribe, the town, and the state, their dance will will rage until the embers fade.  But, I foresee, that for all my days, that the blaze will continue to burn away.  With that being said, I now hear my song that has been beckoning me for years with it’s powerful drums.  My turn to dance, my time to dream, and celebrate the loss of me.

-K

‘Stay RIGHT, or Step Forward’

When you end up at a fork in the road,

Undeniably there are options with destinations unknown.

You could stand still,

Stay right,

Or opt to move forward,

For if you choose to think “LEFT”,

You take yourself out of the “RIGHT”.

With the “LEFT” there’s progress,

When we hold life to rights.

Try to learn from the dreams,

Don’t neglect what they teach.

Stay in tune with the walk,

Bring some life to the streets.

‘Save the soles of your feet!’

Is the suggest from the herd,

Who emphasize the hype of the speach,

Without understanding the words.

So stride along with your head high,

And air in your chest.

Keeping yourself in the world,

And not the world for yourself…

For if you focus on rights,

Then you’re sure to step to the left.

This universe isn’t yours,

Our energy just exists.

-K

‘The Big Gamble’

Who appoints the underdog?

The history? The weak at heart?

The one’s without the battle scars,

Who’ve never live the world abroad?

The one’s who wait, and never change,

With soured views, entitled hearts,

Baby cribs with golden bars,

And golden bars in bank deposits,

Exploitation, cotton harvests,

Railways from Asian losses?

Dig a grave and pave a highway,

Buy a bomb and blow it up.

Across the globe with penny jars,

To pinch resources near and far.

Photographs make terrorists,

Of those who fight for freedom’s cost.

So toss a penny into a jar,

To save for days when bullets fly.

Not for worth, but kept to melt,

When ammo is dry, the advances are met.

By then it might just be too late,

For tomorrow is changed,

By taking chances today.

A history to be proud of in heart,

Will be written by the underdog.

-k