<BGSOUND SRC="http://divsoffdeps.com/yellowlovesgreen/sounds/ralowesannoyingracistpreoccupationwasianboys.mp3">

I'm highly doubtful you'll get
what this is about
till the internment grounds
receives a mouthful
of my coward scout husk surrounded
by tarpullum formerly whole
being only bones
and gristle severed from soul
mists coldly adrift the dew on white grass-stalks.
He talks fast.
Trembling grey dehydrated maze of maxed-out ghetto credentials
swimming backward to suburbia in a one-dog
indulgence of fitting figurative athletic battle skivvy
bulge on the skull
as skill
willing to do whatever it takes
but that has been the unmaking of things as had by fate.
(7-17-2001: Hair bleached in badly done imitation of white trash.)
This is only acceptable by association.
I know you'd hate me in any other context.
She just said this beautiful all-seeing ever-radiant sundisk
refuses to initialize any further convos
until all energies comprise a perfectly democratic cosmos
and that's the end all ultimatum for the illuminati to
reject for the record.
Miserablist pseudo-superhumanism incentive
as he's into asian boys
but it isn't reciprocated and the day it is will nix the hating?
Nay, I say thee.
Continued exegesis leads to oh this person is the vocal equivalent of not
being able to look me in the eye
or being able to say hi.
Poisoned optimism.
Don't care.
Constant mantra amounts to a hundred count of.
Don't care.
What does ruin resemble?
Did the host neglect to mention
we're dealing in collected covert supercilium?
I'd never dare raise my voice out of the comfortable
figurant role thrown my decrepit way.
Calling me out for not conducting
myself in a manner more becoming a servant.
And there in the elevator!
Who's fault is it my eyes are
drawn to hegemonic make up?
So maniacal and sketchiness
I'm beside myself with pettiness
which manifests at the audience's subsequent
subjection to ketchup
blood splashes
of tragic wounded wretchedness.
Never felt so alive as when I stooped to contrive.
Pound the spikes to cross
to whoever I sound like at any cost
till we all understand the meaty metaphoric
and will no longer
need to persuade
the oblocratic to our thoughts
of magic's primacy over things of every size.
Conjurers ponder
the undiffused
illumination making hues
from the shaking
exciting progeny
of initial cosmic flinch
through every inch
of the monocular cockservice
of earthtone surface
mole bone
you all own in archetypal
exclusivity you juicy elusive lucifers
of putrefacted future majesty assured
through substructural
tucked under every other word
my gut stew.
I wanna fuck you.

2:57pm 7-19-2001 this was written and posted to the original gayhiphop.com drop a bomb lyrics board...
this was the concluding verse of a (cathartic?) eight-post-long epic

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