Thursday, July 30, 2009

Recent Freestyles! - 7/30/09

"I've had people ask me why I dream, I simply reply that all is not how it seems, reality is but the result of perception, while a dream is the manifest of conception, so what I see is the blueprint for reality, while what you see could be but an omnipresent fallacy, a veil over the eyes of your mind, free yourself from it as it is the demise of your time."

Juicy Freestyle

We've come a long way from Yo MTV/We now have whites watching BET/BIG said he sipped champagne to quench his thirst/Now we buy Nuvo to see who's balling first/Juicy, is how I'm trying to live/Giving this college thing all I can give/Once I get that paper at the end/My quest for paper can really begin/Got a lot of friends on whom I can depend/But trying to keep up with them getting rich may drive me off the deep end/But hey, I do what I gotta do/Shouts out to Wale but I don't do the Nike boots/Give me some Rockports and I'm straight in the winter/My rhymes will get under your skin something like a splinter.

November 18th Freestyle

Coming with a Houston flow, had to slow it down/That's how they do it, chop and screw it in the H-Town/But there's no syrup here, just cocaine/lines that'll get you so far gone like Kurt Cobain/shouts out to Drizzy Drake, yeah he killed this one/but I gotta resurrect so you can feel this one/flow smoother than silk right about now/talk so slick I could sell milk to a cow/but I'm no hustler, just a lyricist/and even in 3-D your rhymes won't be as real as this.

Throw It In The Bag (Remix) Freestyle

On the remix with Loso and Drizzy/Caught cramps in the store, my arm was so busy/My girl and I felt like robbers we threw so much in the bag/We got to checkout and made the register lag/Then I pulled the card out, similar to the joker/It has no equal and is the same color as the lungs of a smoker/And although I like her, I never Ciara(see error)/Like my relationships like my caps, 50/50 call em New Era.

-A. Lewis

Recent Quotes! - 7/30/09

"When absence makes the heart grow fonder, presence makes the heart go wander."

"A trustworthy man is he that can get you to believe anything he wants; an honest man is he that doesn't have to get you to believe a thing."

"How I would thoroughly enjoy taxing the lexicon of my mind to describe a female whose physical appearance is the consummate paragon of aesthetics, only to be matched by an intellect so complex that her nerve receptors form a beautiful and intricate lattice design."

"I open my cranium so that the halcyon maelstrom of superfluous, precocious profundity may manifest its fervor in prose."

"A true man is he that accepts the masculinity that he is given, and cultivates it for the benefit of self and that of mankind."

"To love someone is to give them the power to hurt you, yet instill trust in them that they won't."

"I'm not perfect, and I'm the first to admit it; a lot of people now are just imperfections represented."

"Excuses are merely the corroboration of failure to lack of discipline, attempts to justify not seeing something through to success and or completion."

"There is no necessity for war, only a necessity for peace; yet in the quest for peace we quest for war."

"Law is but the brother of culture, how culture is the sister of law. The two are inextricably bound, one always supporting the other. Wisdom isn't involved in lawmaking, as it once was. Laws are made to keep culture intact, while culture keeps laws in check. Consequences of new laws are based off preexisting consequences of other and similar laws, and opinions on the severity of the offense."

"Some women these days are like an oasis; they are nice to look at, and appeal to your desire, but when it comes to reality they're just not there, as though they live in a fantasy. Many guys are like tattoos; they're nice to see, even nicer when you first get them; but after a while, they fade and their true colors begin to show. Point being, know what you're getting into before you get hurt."

"He that can accomplish all on his own is not strong, he is merely capable. He that asks for help at times strong; strong enough to accept his limitations, and humble himself for the completion of a goal."

-A. Lewis

Sunday, July 26, 2009

My P.O.V....Point of View, or Personally Organized Verisimilitude? - 7/26/09

Nostradamus was the first,
followed by such men as Buddha,
Confucious, Gandhi, and even the great Dr. King.
These men all had a gift...
The sagacious understanding of human behavior.
They knew and understood things that most could not grasp,
They could quantify actions that would mystify even the greatest psychologists...
Two of those men went on to spur religions,
One is a legend in the struggle for equality in America,
And one predicted the end of the world.
It is from these men, that my intellect is derived.
There is no subject that my brain computer cannot transcribe,
Synthesize, or philosophize.
It is a black hole, a vacuum for information and input,
On the other side of which is an area of vast knowledge,
An infinite lea of blossoms of concepts, ideas, thoughts, facts, opinions, everything.
Oh what a beautiful mind I was afforded,
But how the weather once was.
There was not always sunshine and blossoms;
There was once only darkness and despair,
Tumult and trepidation,
Unlikely cohorts in an overall feeling of self-hatred.
Rather than the current halcyon maelstrom,
The black hole was a supernova...
A beautiful, dying star.
The brilliance I displayed was simply the converse manifestation of the absolute darkness that strove to consume me...
I could win Spelling Bees and ace tests, but could not look in the mirror without disgust,
The darkness began to seep through my fibrous tissues with every brain pulse.
As time progressed, so did it; I thought less and less of myself...
My intellect was in its infancy, I had not tapped into its potential yet,
But as it grew, it was also dying...this paradoxical maturation was beyond stressful,
And began to align itself with the darkness...
I became a cruel boy, demeaning and traducing others for my own twisted enjoyment.
The darkness knew of the power...it knew of the expressive powers of my mind, how I could use language as a tool or, as it preferred, as a weapon.
I made people cry on demand, but only to paradox the tears within me,
As I became further and further disillusioned with the idea of acceptance.
My peers, my Black brothers and sisters, could not appreciate me...
My intellect needed to latch on to something, before the course of its self-destruction was done;
Those peers of mine only used me...used me for the gift that I had been cursed with,
But in that was yet another paradox: in being used, I saw the light...this stunning brilliance.
I sought to cultivate this effulgence, but before progress was made, the darkness consumed all hope...
I had reached the point where I was interested in females...and I began to judge my luck with them by the luck of others.
This was my darkest moment.....there was nothing left for my intellect.
No acceptance, no females, no self-appreciation...the darkness had consumed all.
My intellect led me to believe that its self-destruction behooved a concomitant physical self-destruction...suicide.
I wrote a poem about the relinquishing of one's own life, and at that moment, I saw a glimmer...
A glimmer of hope, a glimmer of the positivity and light of poetry, literature in general.
This glimmer would remain present from 2006, until 2009.
It was in this year, this 18th year of life, that I focused all other brain powers to the cessation of the darkness.
Paradoxically, to defeat the darkness darkness had to be the weapon..and so, I walked to a bridge and peered over, much like the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon.
It was at that moment, this moment of indulging in the darkness, this moment of logical illogicality, that the darkness cracked.
The supernova that once was began to fall apart, giving way to a black hole...
A vacuum that has been cultivated into that which is before you today.
Never could I have imagined that such a grand and sublime expanse was concealed by the darkness.
But, the darkness was necessary; it played an integral role in the matriculation of my intellect through the bevy of faculties that were pieces to the puzzle of relinquishing one's mind from secular faculties.
This had been ordained by the Universe, She that cradles all life, She that strokes all dreams.
She that foresaw the Gods. This was her plan, as enacted by God himself.
The two cohorts instilled in me the virtues, morals, and beliefs of many different men,
So that I may struggle with finding a medium between them all,
While developing an intellect that craved all it could handle, that got insatiable at times.
Their plan has culminated in the young man before you.
Ever confused, overly self-effacing, honest to a fault, accidentally quasi-ascetic.
I challenge even the simplest concepts, while making light of the most complex,
I see things from all angles, taking factors into account in seconds that would take some days.
The scope of my intellect is immeasurable, as nothing is to preposterous to attempt to extrapolate into reality, or vice versa for that matter.
My mind grasps the concepts of mono and polytheism, creating a new and avant-garde theistic belief that even leaves me in awe at times,
For the amount of thought that goes into my everyday is simply mind-boggling,
Yet it seems to have an aura of normalcy to it.
My mind will never be at ease, for there will always be something in store for it...
Whether it advice, theology, philosophy, or whatever.
I am troubled by the lack of explanation for my existence,
Yet revel in it as well, for most exist out of logic.
I stand on the cusp of greatness, and on the shoulders of giants.
I am meant to do something here...something far beyond my dreams.
And in the process, I am to touch and change lives.
Or, and here's a profound thought:
I am one totally deranged, insane, and simply lost motherf*cker with an overly active imagination.
I'll leave that one up to you.

-A. Lewis

Friday, July 24, 2009

Mud, In Retrospect - 7/25/09

My cheeks were sore.
I stood at that window on my toes until my Achilles felt like worn out trusses.
In my pain, I would run to the TV and turn on the news station.
My stomach had that light, airy, tingling feeling,
As though I'd digested a bevy of butterflies.
The anticipation manifested itself in my legs,
They became restless...shaking like I was sitting on a jackhammer.
Then, the news broke in, "This is a special weather report."
Despite my cheeks feeling like overstretched rubber bands,
I was able to grin.
"There is a severe thunderstorm warning for all counties in the metro Atlanta area,
please take cover now. There have been reported funnel clouds, and hail as well."
Before the weatherman could get another sentence out,
I ran back to the window.
Ominous clouds, large dark grey puffs of havoc,
Were headed straight for us.
Mom was already headed downstairs, apprehensive as usual.
Dad on the other hand, was trying to find a flashlight.
The sound of him rumbling through the cabinets was interjected upon,
boom-BOOOOM boom tap. Thunder ripped through the house,
Leaving a noise similar to that of 1000 pennies coming to rest after being spun.
Most kids would've been terrified, but not I.
I just wanted the result of the rain.
As if Mother Nature was making her own alphabet,
Lighting was streaking across the sky, her protean manuscript.
I felt like a basketball player, with the lightning as my camera flashes.
Dad implored me to join him and Mom downstairs, but he knew it was to no avail,
And just told me he'd come get me if he felt it was that bad.
No sooner than he said that,
Rain in sheets thick enough to mystify a man with cataracts began to fall.
We had a fairly large house, so the resulting sound was tranquil,
As though I were a child in a womb while my mother was showering.
The thunder and lightning continued, and I just stood in the window.
Between us having the lights off and the cloud cover,
The house had been saturated gray.
I always did enjoy that particular color of sunlight that was given during storms.
Soon, hail began to fall, which sounded like marbles being poured out of a glass bowl.
It was ephemeral though, with the entire storm passing 15 minutes after that.
With the alacrity and determination of an archaeologist running to see a newly excavated fossil,
I slipped on shoes and ran outside.
The front yard was soaked, and before I took two good steps my legs were drenched from the calf down.
I had to go see it though...this is what I was smiling about.
There was a slight drizzle, like a falling mist greeting and cooling my face that was warm with glee
The humidity was extreme, causing me to gasp for breath though only running a few feet
I was wet, warm, and refreshed, but this was not what I wanted from nature;
I only wanted to see the mud.
When I looked down and saw it, the excitement in me boiled over,
My eyes began to water and I jumped up and down, only furthering how wet I was.
Mud was always so amazing to me...
Water and dirt, two totally different elements,
Came together seamlessly.
It was a concept that I wished applied to life.
I wished that Whites, who were always flowing in some direction towards betterment,
And Blacks, who were strong and solid,
Could come together and make a peaceful mud.
I wished that America, with its fluid motives and desires,
And North Korea, with its staunch stance
Could meet in the middle and make some mud.
I wanted more mud in the world....
Water and dirt are ok, but sometimes you have to come together.
Mud was strong too, as ants used it to build their homes.
Just think if the mud I had imagined was that strong...
Strong bonds between opposing factions in the world...that would mean peace!
Mud does turn back to dirt though, which could mean the deterioration of relations,
But the rain of diplomacy could build it back.
What a novel concept...
Or maybe, just maybe,
I was simply a kid that used to love mud for one reason, and one reason only:
I loved being a dirty little boy, trying to be a 'manly man.'
My thoughts are a bit muddy...
So who knows?

-A. Lewis

Thursday, July 23, 2009

A Poem: Breakfast - 7/23/09

Oh how I loved breakfast.
It was the only time we were together.
Mama, Papa, and me
All gathered around a table happily,
Enjoying bacon, eggs, and flapjacks.
Papa would update us on his work,
That steel stuff was dangerous and kept him on his toes.
It paid awfully well,
Considering what Papa said he made in the South.
All that work in those searing, unforgiving fields
Work designed to forsake human life,
In the name of profit.
But we had escaped that now,
A once destitute family strained by meager wages
That was able to migrate north and begin anew.
What was our first tradition?
Breakfast.
We were so close to each other.
I always hugged my parents before they left;
Mama would clutch me so tightly that
I thought osmosis would take place between her breast milk and my cheek.
Papa would always pat me on the head when I hugged him,
A 'manly' show of affection.
Both left early in the morning,
Papa to the steel mill
And Mama to go clean up houses.
I went to school shortly after,
And always enjoyed going to school full.
Breakfast prepared me for learning,
Something I was good at.
I was the best in my class, though we were all Black.
Mama and Papa saved all they could,
They wanted me to go to some White school in the future.
We would discuss that kind of stuff at supper,
Though that was rough at times...
Mama and Papa dealt with a lot of racism,
Papa especially.
Some White men felt Papa was intruding,
Taking up a job that another White could have.
He'd come home perturbed,
But would be all better by breakfast.
Papa was a strong man though, not backing down.
He was polite to those mean Whites, and refused to quit his job.
Mama was always worried something would happen to Papa,
But he would allay her fears every morning at breakfast.
There was one morning though, where it was different...
He had a look of trepidation on his face,
The wrinkles on his forehead resembling stacks of pressure mounting on him.
He told us that a man wanted his job,
And that he felt his coworkers were plotting against him.
Mama was scared for Papa...and he told her he'd be fine.
Well, Mama got home that evening,
She was still worried. I told her that I hadn't seen him,
And figured he was working late.
Then there was banging on the door,
Loud pounding.
Mama opened the door,
And then it began.

The white men burst in,
At least 7 or 8 of them.
They were carrying my father
Who looked a complete mess...
They had beaten him senseless
His clothing soiled and bloody.
They tossed him on the floor,
And blood immediately began pooling beneath him...
I wanted to scream, but the sound escaped me...
I hid in the kitchen, while Mama dropped down next to him in tears.
She moaned in such deep sorrow that my own tears began to fall,
The man she fell in love with
The man she worked in those fields with,
The man who helped her get to freedom
The father of her child, lay strewn out in his own blood.
The men in sanguine-tinged clothing yelled and cussed at her,
Telling her that she better not tell anyone about this
But my mother, being the strong Black woman she was,
Got up and cussed right back at them.
Not to be content with trading expletives,
A young one bent down and dipped his fingers in my father's blood.
After rubbing his fingers, he slapped Mama so hard, she couldn't help but fall.
And then....they all raped her.
This woman, a descendant of a beautiful civilization,
Had been reduced to being raped while partially immersed in her husband's blood.
My heart had been broken...all my love had been taken from me.
My father, the pillar of strength and my role model, was nothing but a ragdoll,
While my mother, the paragon by which I judged other women and the nurturer of my life,
Was but one ravaged orifice.
My world was....well it wasn't.
Those men left seeds of hatred in my mother...
And once they finished, they proceeded to bludgeon her, until her skull was but a crescent.
Then they departed.
All I could do was stand over them...looking down at my life, a puddle of blood.
Two people that meant so much to me, were but carcasses.
By now it was dark, and only twilight gleamed through the window
Such an appropriately somber setting...
Their deaths would lay in the dark just as their bodies
While it would shine in my head as the moonlight made it so in my eyes.
And so I sat, staring at the remains
Wondering what remained for me.
When love is taken, what is left for thee?
I could not scorn, for that would make me as dark as the Whites
I could not complain, for Negros had no rights
I could not love, for I had no relatives anywhere near
I could not forget, for I would never see hatred so sheer
So I did all I could do...which was drop on my knees and pray
Pray to the Lord that I could live to see the day
My heart was in Satan's clasp and needed extrication
I begged my mighty Savior for peace and salvation
When my knees got tired I layed a few feet away
The last I saw of my parents would be the next day.
For the first time in years, I didn't wake up to breakfast.
I awoke to the putrid odor of death, and the shine of the sun on my mother's necklace
I went to the closet and retrieved what was supposed to be my college fund
After counting it up, I appraised what needed to be done
With my face ablaze, trying to hold back tears
I blew a kiss goodbye to each of my dears
When I closed the door to our home, what happened became the checkered past
It was time to make a future; so to pay homage, I decided to break fast.

-A. Lewis

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Pyromaniacal - 7/22/09

First and foremost,
I'm no pyromaniac.
However, I've been playing with fire.
How hot it is...
Mm, mm, mm.
Such a curvaceous flame
Brilliant and warm,
It's heat both deterrent and inviting.
This was no ordinary fire though,
The ashes scattered about it
Were clear indication of it being fed
And the core was flashing, nearly pulsating,
As though it was constantly growing.
Such calescence should worry a man...
But the allure was just too much,
Playing on my doubts
By leading me to believe it's warmth was worth the risk of burns.
I could not deny this possibility...
I had never fed a fire before, I had only been burned.
And so I devoted myself,
Finding anything I could to feed this fire.
Be it sage, time, roses, or whatever I could muster
The fire consumed it all,
But without emitting any heat.
It was effulgent yes,
But it didn't nothing to satisfy me
Which caused me to grow languid...
The symbiotic relationship had grown parasitic.
Whenever I thought of walking away,
The flame would flash blue,
A spectacle that left me in pure flabbergast.
The conflagration struck chords in me,
Featuring a bluish-purple tinge, appealing to aesthetic senses of my brain
And such heat that could only be matched by the fervor I have for life.
But, this became the typical rigamarole.
Every time I was fed up with the situation,
The flame showed another side.
And so, now, I am at an impasse.
This flame, this shining beacon of nature's beauty
Uses me because I am convenient,
And am willing to do what most men would not,
Yet I hold out hope that this flame will simply reciprocate.
If I stay, I'll never have the warmth I seek;
If I leave, I may not find a flame as spectacular.
Until I issue a quietus,
I guess I'm just playing with fire.
...Guess I'm a bit of a Pyro after all.

-A. Lewis

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Sunrise Posting - 7/19/09

"He that can accomplish all on his own is not strong, he is merely capable. He that asks for help at times is strong; strong enough to accept his limitations, and humble himself for the completion of a goal."

"Some women these days are like an oasis; they are nice to look at, and appeal to your desire, but when it comes to reality they're just not there, as though they live in a fantasy. Many guys are like tattoos; they're nice to see, even nicer when you first get them; but after a while, they fade and their true colors begin to show. Point being, know what you're getting into before you get hurt."

-A. Lewis

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Just One This Time - 7/16/09

"Fear is the threshold of love; it is up to you to choose whether you cross it, or yield to it."

-A. Lewis

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Titillating Tidbits! - 7/12/09

The things we understand least in life help us to understand the most; however, this is only through the prismatic lens of retrospect, which diffracts our once singular view so that we may see the same occurrences in different lights, allowing for deeper understanding and more mental clarity.

Logic is but a path, a set of thoroughfares built to lead you to an answer or a conclusion. However, understanding is a never-ending archipelago, surrounded by a sea of questions, answers, conundrums and such, to be traversed by free thought. And so I ask: are you an explorer? Or do you simply drive the streets everyday as though life is a 9 to 5.

If you were poetry in motion, I think you'd probably consist of elaborate metaphors and elevated diction, apropo of your eloquent beauty.

She made me feel like sand, coarse, because she was so fine and of course, she was so very fly, but when I came at her she didn't hit me with an attitude, this elicited my gratitude, her altitude made me want to change my latitude, told me she didn't have a dude, knew I had to move, so I invited her to my place, told her I was a poet and would spit a few bars, took her to the balcony for a night amongst the stars.

-A. Lewis

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

An Interesting Piece - 7/7/09

Our heartbeats form the metronome of the path we take, paved by the coalescence of our differences under the premise that we complete each other. I can only gaze at you as such for I have never seen a light so bright and complete, and full light that is my sun yet my north star, leading me with warmth. How novel it is, and as I move closer to this light, I begin to lose myself, as love begins its dilapidation; we are being stripped down, you become a light, as I become the night, the body in which you find comfort, solace, and rest. The conjoining of two such bodies creates eternity, as my moon and your sun, your day and my night, melt seamlessly and effortlessly into one condition, that of unconditional love and endless affection, bonded by immeasurable pleasures of both the mind and flesh...with needs met and wants satisfied, we are one.

-A. Lewis

Monday, July 6, 2009

A Freestyle - 7/6/09

Who am I? Known by what I do instead of who I am, plenty want to be my friends but I can find my fam, people say I'm on top but I feel so low, I'm invited to every place but there's nowhere to go, I have more than I could want but my needs go unmet, they say I haven't reached my peak but any misstep could be my sunset, everywhere I go people are all on me, I've never been alone but always feel lonely...I'm a celeb.

-A. Lewis

A Thought - 7/6/09

Has anyone else realized that celebrity sounds like a societal noun derived from the word celebrate? That it may have started as celebritee, with the suffix 'ee' to denote that the individual is receiving celebration? It would make sense, since celebrities are celebrated individuals in our culture, receiving praise, attention, and money to do things that we deem either amazing or entertaining. Just a thought.

-A. Lewis

Saturday, July 4, 2009

A Quote For That Special Someone - 7/4/09

You're as beautiful as a summer's evening, no gradient Mother Nature paints could match your radiant smile as it sets upon the grandeur of your natural beauty; and like the motion of the clouds rolling by, your allure is effortless. How I am thankful to be blessed with such grace, only Mother Nature could blossom such splendor as yourself, and I will marvel at you as I do her creations; you are that exceptional.

* Happy 4th all!

-A. Lewis

New Quotes and New Freestyles - 7/4/09

"There is no such thing as temptation; there are only times where repressed desires meet opportunity. And it is at those moments where you show your discipline, be it or strong or weak."

"The moment you become generally understood is the moment in which you become understood to be general."

A mass of positive energy, effulgent, with the capability to brighten anything in its path...I don't speak of the sun, I speak of you...you never cease your radiance, always shining; whether it be your smile, your skin, your intellect, you brighten this world...but more importantly you illuminate my world, shining down a love so immense it can't be directly seen, though I feel its warmth always encompassing my heart.

I'm not out here rapping to be famous, a lot of guys out here are johns like Amos, doing nothing but philandering while aimless, making females believe all men are faithless, I am but the messenger so don't shoot me as I say this, most of you will never make anyone's playlist, your hackneyed rhymes are barely suitable for a black disc, while mine are like what's shared between a john and an anus.

-A. Lewis

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Some New Stuff - 7/2/09

What is the clock but metronome to life, some say it's the heartbeat but that isn't right, for once the heart stops the clock keeps ticking, and you can't make up for any time you've been missing, intangible it is but it holds you down, when you think you're invincible it'll hose you down, take one of your dear friends to the grave, only time can make you behave, make you thankful for the day, but give you no leeway.

Gotta flow so smooth you could sail on it, yet I grind on the beat like there's a rail on it, balanced my subject matter so I never fell on it, something like a pro since I never had to bail on it, but enough of the skateboard rhetoric, most of these rappers out here couldn't even land a trick, out here talking about guns and boobs, wanna be Crips but still can't find clues, they might as well be spitting the Blues.

-A. Lewis

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Pot Of Gold - 7/1/09

You...
You read my mind
Time after time.
I used to sit and sip my orange juice
Hoping no one warned you
About the impending crush I was catching,
Fetching a trey for you whenever you walked in
You somehow knew what was going on.
Going along with it,
You played clueless
While I figured since I was a yellow fellow,
Liking you would be useless,
As I would never be able to walk up to you.
Other guys would try to talk stuff to you
And you would shut them down quickly,
They had me green with envy,
'Til one day you sat down with me.
It blew my mind that you would do such,
And you had to have known it would mean so much,
Because you sat with a smile, and I smiled as well,
With that of a child.
Your hair was colored with streaks of indigo,
With a bright shirt, pastel skirt,
And Chucks that seemed to glow.
You made simple look so elegant
Violet peace sign hanging from your neck
Was just so relevant,
As you asked if I wanted to talk about Iran
Saying that I appeared to be an intelligent young man.
In a state of flabbergast, I almost had to ask,
Why are you talking to me?
But I held it together,
And said "sure, and thanks for commenting on what you see."
We conversed until our food got cold;
It didn't matter...I had found my pot of gold.

-A. Lewis