“Idiot” Journal

Something I should have started months ago. I write this

from work [The Righteous Room], it's 4:45 [P.M.] on the dot. I
have an hour and forty five minutes left on my shift. I'm
listening to the sounds of Atlanta filtered over running
refrigerators and ice machines. I'm not paying much
attention to either. My stomach rumbles slightly, I'm tired of
the food here. I think I'll have a smoke.
-INTRO

And so begins my “Idiot's Journal”, a record of my fleeting thoughts from late 2003 to the tail
end of 2004. I was working two jobs at the time. Alternating between a tiny bar call The Righteous
Room in the day and a neo-soul club called Apache Café, during the night. My days spent at Righteous
were fueled by alcohol pilfered once the owner had left me and the bartender alone. My nights at
Apache were filled with weed smoking and more stolen booze. After Hours were spent with my home-
boy D-Nasty running the streets of Atlanta getting even more wasted. It's amazing I found the time to
write anything. In fact this scant journal was almost all I collected of my inner thoughts for the entire
five years I lived in Atlanta. The actual journal is mostly filled with band stickers and doodles, I wrote
mainly on the bus in between jobs. It was a hectic time that culminated in a trip to New Orleans before
it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. To think I almost left the safety of Atlanta for the booze frenzy
of The Big Easy. Thank God, that was just a fleeting fantasy. I had a great time during all of this, with
the exception of the fights between me and my LAV1 (Amber), my infidelity and late night carousing
was just too much. This is a snapshot of a man on the edge, I had stopped fighting my demons and
taken to sleeping with them.

Something about this feels strange, like it's all a dream

and one day I will wake up in a padded cell, my arms
strapped to a bed for the rest of my life.
“Idiot” Journal

The price of crime is

punishment.....
2 many months lost in the Drag Underworld

Face paint for the masses

....punishment is a
life of crime!

“Your stereo is your idol

life lessons that be vital”

Sitting in a (faux) Mexican Cantina, eating beef enchiladas listening to R-O-C-K in

the USA by Johnny Cougar. Waiting to meet OutKast1 at a record signing.

1 OutKast, was a popular hip-hop duo who had recorded some really ground breaking records that inspired me and much
of the South throughout the nineties. I saw them at a record signing for what would be come there biggest mainstream
success. It was dissapointing to hear them courting the other side.
“Idiot” Journal
War is ragin'
everythang's changin'
And muthafuka's wanna make pop records
I betcha
Whole music industry's been payed off
While my hommies out at Hanes been laid off
Fuck that shit
You don't need another hit
What the world needs now is another pop singer
Aw, Hum dingier
you only a ringer
call it Love Box or Speaker Below
I call it losing your flow
I'm that Ras Clot Niggard steppping on yo toes
go ahead you punk ass ho
speak back
I'm true dat
My visions clear
where I be in a year
Met Outkast, they were small and didn't even look at me as they signed my
album. Pissed me off, and the new album sucks. My favorite group ain't coming
with it.

Fucked Up
Music
“Idiot” Journal

4
Fucked Up
™
People

™ I came up with the title Fucked Up Music For Fucked Up People while in prison. It was intended to be a blanket title for
all the music I hoped to one day produce. Of course I got as far as a receiving a banjo and never learning how to play it.
It's sad actually I wasted a lot of time in Atlanta getting drunk and high, when it was the perfect place for me to explore
my musical side.
“Idiot” Journal
“The day Amber fell in the hole, or, One Night At The
Star Bar”

Now I have to get a new Social Security Card, a new ID., and stay away from
holes.

God's divine vengeance, or Jess's new sitcom? You decide.

The night was surreal, it plays over in my mind like a vicious episode of Americas
Funniest Home Videos, or Max-X. By all rights and mean we should have died. But
somehow we survived to fight another day. Yet we continue to fight each other.
You think that if you save someones life they let you slide on not washing the
dishes-but no! That's up in ATL. The story so far has been one of bitter retribution
from Amber and the cosmos at large.

(True Story)
After a night of drinking and having a fabulous time with Amber and our deer friend “Little
Matt”, late one October night in 2003. The three of us made our way back to Mine and Ambers shared
apartment. The bar we had visited that evening was on Moreland Ave. It was only a ten minute walk
from our home a walk we had allmade countless times by this point. The funny thing was as we made
our way back we noticed that part of the street was flooded (which it hadn't been hours before). It had
been raining and in our drunkenness we thought little of it. A backed up sewer main was our best guess
if that. In all likely hood we were far to wasted to even care. As we got closer to the source of the
flooding I began to notice a geyser of brown water surfacing from where there should have been a
sidewalk. Amber however-stubborn as always-decide to ignore my warning and walk right up to it.
Later she admitted to being to drunk to even pay attention to what I was screaming. As it turned out a
water main had burst and created not only a massive hole in the ground but on the opposite side of the
geyser there was a powerful suction coming from the other end of the broken pipe. This of course tried
to pull Amber into it. I dove in immediately to pull her out only to find myself being pulled down as
well. Thanks to Matt for being with us. He managed to grab hold of my arm and pull us both to safety.
The force of the suction was so powerful it completely stripped ambers skirt off and ripped the
jewelery from her ears and face. We would have lost her that night if not for Matt. It was traumatizing
for a while and we spent a few weeks telling each other how much we loved on another but of course
things denigrated to more fights and arguments, due in part to my drinking and neglect. I don't make
“Idiot” Journal
time for regrets I feel everything (good or bad), happens for some reason. Even if we can't see it at the
time.

Notes on God: “Ron Jeremy-The Legend

of”*

-Defies convention
-proof that we are all God
-Lives amongst the stars
-multi dimensional
-charismatic
-family is doctors, lawyers, ambassadors

History
-Masters in Special Ed. At Queens College
-Degree in acting
-taught for two years childhood
schizophrenics
-student taught at AABRP (Association for
the the Advancement of Blind and Retarded
People)

* From the movie; “Pornstar: The Legend of Ron Jeremy”. Much like my brief obsessions with Jerry Springer and Don
King, I took on Ron Jeremy as my Part-Time Personal Savior. A technique gleamed from The Church of the Subgenius. I
fully intended to write out a dissertation on the merits of Ron Jeremy and exalt him as the True King of Bad Taste and
extol his virtues as a God even. Yet, like most things from this period of my life remain unfinished and rightfully so.
After my obsession with him faded he was taken up by the mainstream media and attempted to turn himself into a reality
T.V. Star. He appeared all over the small screen for a few years eve before returning to his porn roots. It would seem the
rest of the country was also becoming hip to the Subgenius philosopies.
“Idiot” Journal
#'s
-14 women in 4hours
-2500 girls in film 25000 in private

Quote- “There's got to be something

better than this?”

Thanksgiving shopping@

Turkey
Sweet Potatoes
Spinach
pinto beans
Corn on the cob
eggs
cornbread
milk
alcohol

MEXICAN TURKEY
@ Thanksgiving of 2003, we invited some friends over and I whipped up my now infamous Mexican Turkey. A big bird
stuffed with Habenero Peppers, Habenero Stuffing, and covered in a Whiskey/Honey/Habenero glaze. It's quite delicious
going in but it's murder coming out. I first made it in 2001 after I was released from prison. Yet another sick idea
formulated behind the wall.
“Idiot” Journal

Habeneros, Jalapeños

CO D A S
1
A RMA D A S
to be a training manual
-Fling Poo for a living-i.e.; talk shit
-Monkee's always have tails/tales
-So many things I want to say

1. A historical guide to how the Monkee Armada came to be

2. The history as written by me
3. Symbols (fist and F.M.F.H.)2

Green Crimson and Gold 3

Canaries of the Sea

Tar heel Terrorist

God Bless This Mess

1 More on this later
2 Flying Monkees From Hell
3 The colors of the Hindu Monkey God, Hanuman
“Idiot” Journal

2.Monkees are friends to both Ninja and Pirate's but

loyal to none.
3.Try to picture the life of a creature with a tail/tale,
who lives in the trees above man. Yet can be
closer to God
4.The Armada is those of us who have left the
kingdom to travel the world hipping others to the
philosophy and freeing other monkees who we
meet along the way.

Open the door and let in

the big bad Wolf is cold
and hungry not so bad just
more or less trying to
survive. But the blood red
killa lurks inside I got ice
cold water in my veins I
got murder on my brains
“Idiot” Journal

an I com'n for you through

Hell and High water I'm the
one that's gonna fuck your
daughter! One Night I'll
Fuck You Too!!!
BE GONE DEMON
BACK TO HELL
One monkey will stop the show!!!

The armada is somehow in your face, under your skin, and in

your hair all at once

The Monkee Revolution will take place

on your Face

Shadows crawl across the wall As you inch your way to me

tiny noises fill the room and I wonder what they could be
Over and Over, and Over, and Over-
“Idiot” Journal

Don't you think by now you would have gotten

away with it?

Don't ever
Listen
To a damn word any man says

Viva La Armada!

Somewhere out there......

I imagine a day twenty/twenty-five years down

the road. I'm fat and old, my bones ache
constantly. I break into coughing fits over dust.
Yet live like a pig in heat. Off on my own in the
hills of North Carolina. My business failed
scraping by on the skin of my teeth. But I have
my dog, my bike and my rickety old pick-up. I
“Idiot” Journal
don't go into town much once a week to check
my P.O. Box and get some groceries. My face
chiseled from a life time of hard living. I imagine
my ex-wife and son off in some far away country.
Europe or Africa, I don't even know. They don't
talk to me much anymore. My drinking and
gambling drove them away. I sit alone, well I got
he dog, but you know. Mainly it's just me, and
the bottle. Out there somewhere on the edge of
the world waiting for the good Lord to come and
take me away.
What to say about my tenure at the Apache Café Not to mention the daily
grind of the Righteous Room.

I'm on a train now, headed for New Orleans. Six days away from
listening to anymore shitty poetry or self righteous black
empowerment bullshit. Six days my hands won't stink of onions. The
Apache was good for what it was. A place to work but, not work. I
seem to luck into jobs like those. Now it just feels time to move on.
I've made some friends, a few that will out last the job, a few that
won't. The grueling nature of my jobs came from the fact that I was;
prep, grill, saute, expo, and dish boy simultaneously. One man
kitchens eat dick. What ever made me want to tackle two of them at
the same time.

It never ceases to amaze me the sheer depths people will go to

get laid. 90% of the “poets” who jump on stage do it because
they have nothing else to offer a woman.
“Idiot” Journal

BEWARE THE
WERE-WOLF
FOUNDATION
This is the long strange trip to Mardi Gras. Watching the
country side deteriorate admist the drunken ramblings of aging
southern alcoholics on their pilgrimage to the American Mecca. This
is the furthest west I've travelled and so far it all looks like
North Carolina. I can't help but notice the unfathomable amount of
dilapidated houses, run down churches and abandoned where houses
which line the railway. The rural south is often a sad sight to see.
The abject poverty and decimated state of the notion. The broken down
cars and metal yards broken only by Army Depots and National Guard
Armories. If I had a van and a camera I'd drive around documenting it
all. No amount of words can say. Filthy little white kids chasing
theses three-legged dogs through the Mississippi mud. Trees torn up
and tossed in swamps. Dusty back roads populated by lonely old pick-
ups long abandoned by their drivers.

It's been raining a lot lately, every state we speed through is

filled with giant mud holes and th sky is a constant gray. Winter
must have hit hard this year all the grass is still dead and the
trees seem bent. It'd be depressing if it weren't all so fucking
beautiful. Well, beautiful in a Tim Burton/Sleepy Hallow type way.

I'm three and a half hours away from New Orleans, somewhere in
the Delta and the sun finally breaks. The houses are further from the
“Idiot” Journal
tracks now. I've seen nothing but swamps and cemeteries for a while.
The alcohols flowing quickly through my veins. I have to be careful
though I'm on a strict budget due to my continuous drinking back
home. Luckily the bar is three cars ahead of mine, making laziness a
fator more than anything else. I've been reading the Stone Cold
Biography Amber got me.

MARDI GRAS WORLD

-take ferry across river
-clown head

ICF
4-LIFE
Drunk and disorderly in New Orleans, the
gods laugh with me through the winding
streets. The sound of inhibitions hitting wet
pavement make a thunderous boom. Voodoo
is in the air, it's hard to think straight with
the sound of the damned howling in my
ears. Is it the drink or armageddon which
has called me here. Will I ever be the same
“Idiot” Journal
again. My eyes are burnt out from so many
new and colorful sights. The devil tempted
me to Louisiana for the flesh, but rewarded
me with booze. This is not a den of sin I had
hoped, but at least I'm drunk
Bacchus must be my God now for this
time in between times. I felt Mardi Gras
would be a turning point. Though where this
shall lead but I hope the road is wet with
bourbon. For God so loved the world, that he
gave his only begotten son-a drink! Ha!
Praise be to the most high for what we are
about to receive. For in the fellowship of
friends old and new. There before the grace
of Jack go I!!!

“
What shall we name our first son?”
“Well call Him Tobias” She answered.
“No Tobias is too weak, you don't want the first
Emperor of the Moon to be called Tobey!”
“No, you're right.”, she laughed, “We'll call him
“Idiot” Journal
Xander!”
“I like that Xander first Emperor of the Moon.”
“Who was killed by his younger brother Tobias.”
And they laughed and stared at the moon as the E
took hold of them and their lips were the fist to
intertwine, then their legs, soon they were one
creature dreaming one dream.

1. old broken shack platform on the water, use boat to reach

2. On a rock near the old shacks, use boat

The words of a meaningless whore trapped between

greed and desire she is lost to her lust and knows not
the true path of divinity I pity none.
6 x 8 ¼ r/6 + 8.101 ≠ 196/2000

5...4...3...2...1
Forever isn't such a long time, it depends on how
you measure time in years or experience. It's
been forever since I seen my friends yet it's been
only such a short while. It's been forever since I
held the hand of the one I love, yet it was just
“Idiot” Journal
the other day. Time only has the meaning we
give it from moment to moment, day to day. I
am old yet I am young. Fuck you nigga tell that
shit to my knees! You yellow belly fuck!

SOMEWHERE
BEYOND THE
LIGHTS
LIES MY
BABY
somewhere in the dark lies my mother

5
I come from the Red planet

Dirtiest Playa in the Game

Supa herb/Golden Grain
villainous atrocities my claim to fame
Rotten mutha-fucka born to hang

I am that grime corps

“Idiot” Journal

original
Twin engines of despair, the motors running
and I don't care. Life is happening
everywhere, but you're still in my hair.

It was in this parlor where I first laid eyes on you.

Poor girl in such tattered rags. I knew we would
shag. There's nothing to it.

Kids are dining in the

snow,
Please don't eat the yellow
though.
In the pines it smells like
Christmas
Was that planned I missed
it
“Idiot” Journal

August 2004

At some point in the game you have to hit pause and check the command list or you're
going to keep losing. This is the lesson of six months of zombifiying myself with this blessed
Play Station. I don't know if it's the drinking, the weed or the video games that's rotting my
brain for real. My money's on the combination of all three. Not to mention the stress from my
job, my girl, and the endless hours of mind-numbing television. I need a break! I'm annoyed
by the sorry state of my own existence. I return home in two weeks for a short visit, and
already I know it's going to be hell. All my old pals are either wasted or parents and the one
person I really want to see isn't een going to be there. My body is a wreck and isn't going to
have anytime to recoup. The only upside is that I won't have to go to work or be anywhere on
time.

Home Coming

Coming Home NO Home Coming for the

K.I.D
I return home in August of 2004 for a four or five day trip (four nights, five
days). I arrived late Thursday night to no fan fare, no party, not even a trip
to the bar. It's not that I expected a hero's welcome, but I did not expect to
slink in like an ousted dictator slipping through the back door. It's funny
how in Winston nothing will change for five or six years, then all of a
sudden you can't even recognize the place. New Buildings, ne faces, and all
my old friends no where to be found. Those that were seen where looking
“Idiot” Journal
beaten and broken by the years. The only exception, my oldest friend
Jeremiah. He has become my avatar. The reigning king of the small
Winston goth scene. While visiting home I got a chance to see him play. I
applaud his new direction and envy his status. Most of the fucking kids
there never even heard of me.
There is no sin greater han regret. Never look back in anger only joy over
your past. What you went through made you who you are today.

Laughing at bald headed kids I play a game

with myself. I see you but you don't see me.
I 'm not hiding, I just don't care, not a wave
or a nod, just a passer on the promenade.
Smell of smoke fills my nose it's already in
my clothes, you won't even notice me. I'm
the very air you breathe. Cigarettes and a
crowded room one of these spells your
doom.

Running in Circles
Dejected and rejected
by Life and by Love
Adrift on a Sea of your Unholy Blood
I'll be dead by morning,
I'll be gone by noon
“Idiot” Journal
You'll be alone again
the way you like it soon
What is this viscous cycle
What is this vicious cycle
Why do we do this to ourselves
It's time for this to stop
Sorrow + Sadness =
Torture + Madness
I've seen this sort of thing before
I've been to this part of town before
There's a Church's Chicken and a liquor store
Some crack-heads on the corner
Where they've been before
Not much else over here
A place to get fat and drink beer
The grass grows but no one goe in it
Except the rats and snakes that live in it
The sun shines but hurts our eyes
This is your life-surprise
I've seen this sort of thing before
I've been to this part of town before
“Idiot” Journal

There's shit on my breathe because

I've been talking too long
There's blood on my hands because
somethings gone horribly wrong
If there was some way to fix this
I wish you'd tell me
If there's a way out of this
I wish you would show me
How could you let me get behind the wheel
You know I can't drive
You ask me who's drunker
I ask you who's alive
There's shit on my breathe because
I've been talking too long
There's blood everywhere because
something has gone horribly wrong
Where are you taking me?
Where are you taking me?
Where are you taking me?
“Idiot” Journal
“I'm just too busy to stop and smell any
roses besides my allergies might act up and
I have an important meeting with the boss. I
don't want my nose to run and have him
looking at me wondering why. He's not
dumb; How do you think he got to be the
boss? I hear the guys sniffing in the
bathroom, you think I'm the only one who
noticed?”

For a monkee everyday is a Holy day, no one

moment ranks above the next to be
eternally free is to be removed from
judgment of time, all time is special in it's
own way.

Liberation is it's own celebration!

The howl of the monkee will signify his lust for sex, violence, or both!

The vengeance of the Armada is the dreaded Flying Monkees

From Hell! The airborne legion of the Kingdom. Fierce warriors
whom personal safety is forgone, for the good of our cause.

The bond between a monkee and his parentage is dual (much like
the life of a monkee). The mother is nuturing and loving, though
“Idiot” Journal
she may be raped when the time is right. The father is dominant
and distant, but will be challenged when the time is right.
Barbarous is gentile by comparison.

Every good mother will carry her child upon her back
until the day when he can attack!

MONKEE ARMADA
manojavam māruta-tulya-vegam
jitendriyam buddhimatām varişţham
vātātmajam vānara-yūtha mukhyam
śrī-rāma-dūtam śirasā-namāmi

Hanuman the monkey King

The Armada stands for physical strength, fighting ability, and the
capacity to preservere. Armada fighters display superhuman powers to
accomplish acts of service and the ability to increase one's attitude of
love in preforming selfless service.

Armada fighters must be full of grace. Even if it appears to be an

awkward grace (filled with stumbles and near misses), EVENTUALLY ALL
monkees will fall. It is to their strength, they do not stay down. The
trees are our home we will not be denied them for very long. The skies
belong to the birds, the ground to other beast. To the monkees, the
Kingdom lies in the trees.

Rabid Wolverines, can't compare to a Ragin' Rhino, and that

horned Hippo don't touch the power of a Mad Baboon-Capitan
of the world!
The Codas Armadas:
“Idiot” Journal
The foundation of the Armada as we know it. Beginning with the earliest
tales of Monkee Power

The fables, legends and beliefs of humans in the power of the paw, and the
tail.

-the religious writings of Hinduism reached their peak of historical development

with two great epic sagas, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, both of which
have been described as the Collective Unconscious of India sending their own
idiosyncratic yet universal message to humankind.۞‫۞۩۝‬

I am that golden monkee who stole the keys to heaven I was sent to find
the secret parchments and bring them back home. But, I kept a few for
myself. I fought along side Rama against the armies of Sri Lanka. I have
made love with the earth and gave birth to the whole human race. I have
stole from the gods and laughed as they fell from grace. I see the end of
time and my bastards blast into space. I came from the golden egg to
bring Chaos and hilarity to the universe.

Thee 3 Precepts: as laid out by the Codas Armadas our law in word
1. Stay in thee trees; for the ground is not good enough for a monkee. We are the lords
of the skyway. The kingdom lies not below but above it is us who stand between
heaven and earth, just as the tree reaches upward so shall we
2. See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil, Woe; for there are no evil between us the
first primates. The first children of the earth knows not the vile wickedness that lives in
the hearts of man and ape. Our existence is pure and no malice forms our actions.
What men see inside us is beyond the confinement of words like evil. Violence is for
survival, action is our lives.
3. Monkee See Monkee Do; yet we do not do as man nor ape, we do only as we see fit.
Our will is divine, our hearts are pure. No man or ape shall ever influence us to betray
our true nature. Even dressed as men and living amongst the beast,ours is our own.

Dance, Little Monkey

۞‫ ۞۩۝‬Micheal Jordan, Eastern Wisdom: The philosophies and rituals of the East
“Idiot” Journal
Go and be free
Dance, Little Monkey
For you and for me
No need to be afraid now
the world is in you and me
So spring and jump
from each little tree
Dance, Little Monkey
for you and for me

Life exist as a torrent of bad decisions one wrong turn

and you're off the board. Occasionally you get to return and
play again, but the same notion is you get harder and harder
turns. God is not above you as you're told. He surrounds you
placing obstacles in your path to him. God does not want to
be found. For when you find hi (by the rules of the game), he
must reward you. That reward may be for you worse than the
consolation. Knowledge is a tricky thing, it seems the more
you have the more you have the worse things seem.
Remember things were never better than when two people
hung out in a arden. Once they knew what clothes were they
were fucked. I don't know about you but, I'd hang out naked
“Idiot” Journal
with some chick forever, in a place where nothing grows old.

Finding yourself doing the same old thing again, and again?
Longing for a change? You need to get out of your rut but, you don't
know how. You're scared, let's face it. You don't know if you're ready to
pick up and leave your things behind but, the road is calling you. You
should just go you'll have a great time. Or, you won't but, you won't
know until you go. So just quit worrying and do it!
Don't be so selfish really! Do you really need all these things.
Don't let desire drive you to ruin. There are more important things
than stuff. There are also less important things. The goal is to find a
balance between what you need and what you want. The trick is
having enough of each.

It pays to embellish.......
.......All by my lonesome....
....It's for my own good......
.......Without whom we would not exist.....
.....Just leave it to me.......
.......You'll never last....
....Got an ape that can dance....
.......Beneath our own roof......
....Monsters Lurk in Closets......
...The time has finally come....
......Departed desert air?
“Idiot” Journal

There will be plenty of time to sleep when you're dead

or in jail. This I tell you because there can be no other
alternative, other than a complete retirement from the
game. Don't act surprised. I'm telling you the truth.
There is only one way out of the life we lead.

VICTORY GARDEN
SNAKES!

STOLEN RECIPES (the mini-series of a lifetime)

Guacamole
5 Avocados
1 tsp garlic salt
1 tsp cumin
4 Serrano Peppers (dice)
3 Jalapeños (dice)
½ yellow onion (dice)
• drag knife through container, then stir
“Idiot” Journal

Radical displacement through time and through space. The ground gives way
beneath you, now as you lose your face. You say, “Is this it-am I tripping”. Then
the music kicks in. You're on your way, now don't lose your place.

3
4
“Idiot” Journal
So your father is and ogre and your
mother is a fair maiden?”
Do you truly think that you're alone
Do you truly think that I'm not here
Do you think none of it matters
Can you smell me next to you
Can you see me in this seat
Can you feel my cold cold touch
I'm not your father,
I'm not your lover
I'm just the boy next door
watching you discover
Discover the only thing that you really need
is right by your side the whole time
This night, this knife,
we'll make it right
This night, this knife,
we'll make it right

“I don't want to live in a loveless relationship”

(Chorus)
I don't want to live in a loveless Relationship (x4)

(Lyrics)
We've been down this road before
We've seen this a hundred times
The echo of your tears rips through my mind
You notice the sound of my teeth when they grind
I'm sick of you running in circles
“Idiot” Journal
saying the same shit over and over
the way you smile when you're nervous
just makes me so damn furious
I'm ripping out my hair with my hands
I will not give in to your demands
This time is it I've had enough of this shit

(Chorus)
You know I'm the true raw digga, the ultimate face dealer. I got grime from crime, I put on
jump-fuck standing on the corner selling that bunk. I'm the man to beat, got the shotty in
the trunk. Drink any man under the table, it's horror time! Fuck Necrophiliacs, and fake
Doom sayers. Ain't none of you as vicious as the real rhyme slayer. Tongue like knives,
fight to stay alive. If you feeling froggy jump, I'll give you a dime. The Mind, of a master,
beat moving faster, pick up the pace or you'll lose the race!

I don't come from anywhere in particular,

But, I've lied every place you've ever been
I don't come from anywhere in particular,
But, I've lived every place you'll ever be
I'm a ghost walking among you in a sea of people
My resting place is not beneath your ivory steeple
I sleep in the sky and beneath the ground
When you look for me I can still be found
If you see me don't say a word
If you do it won't be heard
The rest of your life we will meet
In the trees or on the street
But we won't hang out
we won't hang out
I don't come from any where in particular,
“Idiot” Journal
but, I'm going where you're going,
I'm going where you're going,
And I'm going there with out you
with out you
“Idiot” Journal