1. |
||||
honeymoon
vinegar son.
22 witnessing love disintegrate into pictures of stuff
interesting moments of visceral passion depicted in millimeters of yesteryear vintage threads
flare in the blistering sun
i wrote my thesis in blood
standing O at cannes
domestic canned laughter
just a reason to get in a tux
and leave in a limo
then remain in limbo
insignificant like bug brains on the window
ask the driver for a pharmacist
wrote a new script
said if he can get it made i’d get a part in it
gave him my
agent’s
assistant’s
email.
third building on the left, please
all i wanted was some recognition
not like this
this SUCKS
nowadays i take a compliment like
a bad joke
that i wrote
my accomplishments ripened way quicker than expected now they’re sitting on my counter all black and blue,
fruits of my labor in the trash
that contusion on my gratitude came from you
motherefucking cynical elitists
in the middle of a theater
throwing drinks at the screen like: "this should be deleted!"
never picked the camera up
never put the pen down
i’d rather die van gogh
not one guy with
shit crown who did that one thing one time
this ends now.
our protagonist thought it poetic to pen his suicide note in the form of a well crafted journalistic criticism
and lay it atop his stack of newspaper clippings of critiques of his modern adaptation of “The Invisible Man”
that *********** was sure a strange fella
i think he was a writer.
i used to hear him scream at thin air like his wife
his pessimism drove her away like nightrider
i kinda saw it comin
idle hands
turned him lipstick face
bumpin tiny tim
refer to genius for the reference
this what happens when your
idol hands
you a whiskey stained cocktail napkin
with a message of encouragement scribbled on it.
to his life:
******* was as delusional as he was ambitious
he never quite found his audience
a posthumous cult like following was his vision.
an obvious disciple of vincent.
i’d love to break it to him if i could
cliche, non effective
pseudo ground breaker
cheap skate only count on you to count paper
these days i don’t follow you to find greatness
each day a thousand yous can make you outdated
he freeze framed a moment of eminence
his dismay
a brief case, quarter of whatever she say, a jot, last shot, rotten review later and he was
dead.
|
||||
2. |
biopic
05:05
|
|||
who woulda thought
i’m used to loss
so when the rooster call proceeded showers of irises i was truly awed
offa jawin bout compulsions & accoutrement
happy to be audited with more than zeros and minuses to report
tight rope walkin between
cool and calm and
too involved with
who of y’all saw, and who
wrote it off
simultaneously juggling my love for you and art
& averting a past version of myself attempting to shoot me off
the tight rope
dancin' clown
barkin' carnie
burden
sideshow
bob
i blew opportunities like transmissions
when I knew i could be posin' a threat to this damn business
yeah right,
it’s funny how how the goals switch
maybe not switch
but adjust as you decode myth
indie rap renaissance
2012 ant’s basement
chase a buzz more ways than one like a gold snitch
tyler ate a roach,
king steelo wore a panda mask,
i’m the same age as joey bad
could you imagine that?
(Why not me?)
delusions of grandeur
sleepin' on justin’s couch
got a lil too used to my timbre and he then rushed me out
cold day in July
holey vans stickin' out the window of my '93
in the heat
i was out
splitting pennies
half cents
cranberries
raspberries
on my knees
i was tryna trace the source of the leak
almost scared straight like a quarter to 3
with no iota of a clue of what’s important to me.
swallow pride
where i’m at?
fear and loathing in ma’s basement
was peerin' back at a mirror image of non stable
another brick in a pyramid made of art failure
10,000 hours was masquerading as lost stasis
cross my t’s and dry my eyes.
i think that funny people are the saddest.
'cause i don’t wanna see you cry.
i just wanna see you laugh.
what i tell myself
i wrote that line when i was in hell myself
i was tryna
compel myself
to
propel myself
to the surface
when i felt the only options were
leave earth,
or be perfect,
be worthless,
or sell myself.
black and white like
a 2012 hood by air t-shirt
i couldn’t get my hands on but it it would stupid on me anyway
hated my body and the drape of any garment.
never be beautiful enough to ever be important
deifying stick figures on the wall of this cave
self hatred and doubt latched a ball and a chain
spendin' all my time neglectin'
all but bars to name.
with a speck of recognition
it would all go away.
framing arduous pain parables
targeting fame
as if i made it to the root,
all my art would be fake.
as if i’d lose some kinda edge and couldn’t sharpen the blade.
so I sharpened and I cut 'til I was raw as fillet
counting my days
in a constant malaise
my soundclouds are grey
1 like and a comment that’s fake.
mass consumption was my college i was studying greats
was impressed
and resentful
was in awe
and ashamed
everybody graduating
i was loading boxes and crates,
hangin' on by a thread and couldn’t hold a dollar to save
i was showing brett my songs
tav and daryl the same,
tellin' me i should be on
and I thought they were playin'
wasn’t concerned with being a good person.
rather be regarded as a good wordsmith.
i don’t get it.
i don't get it.
you could love me for me
but I need to know i’m not wasting my time.
you could love me for me,
but what about this sentence structure?
but still i’d write all the same.
but still i write all the same
but still i write all the same
but still i write.
i told myself no.
i told myself no,
not you
i told myself no.
my understanding of love is,
skewed
local liquor anesthetic
until a low balance warning
me and this last lonely toxin
that probably won’t last until the morning
in my car still.
|
||||
3. |
summer (context)
04:26
|
|||
4. |
||||
KILLVONGARD:
not for what i really am
just for an idea
not for every part of me
only the revered.
i want all the golden statues
thinkin back to
you were in the bathroom
i was bedridden
smitten
not new to you
but i got your attention
method acting
profession
performer
hat hung on these boisterous writtens
affection a side effect of
stringing words needlepointed image of a neo expressionist gifted
what he lack in aesthetics he make up in vision, brilliance, dimensions, shivers
you at the door consumed me
i remember your eyes and your lips
thighs and your hips
i was a friend.
there’s no turning back
tonight is the end or a win
probly for you on a whim
in my eyes it’s all or nothing never be here again
calling bluffs is my calling card
my calm is stuntin
and my overcompensation is flawless
this what it’s like to be wanted
you know what it’s like to be hunted
you wonder what it’s like to be loved for way more
while i strive to be worshipped
revenge plots play over and over
i told you what you want, i told myself it was solemn
unbuttoning blouses
only in the movies
never been touched
keep my shirt on
below the belt under covers
while i'm tracing the four marks lining your forearms in a moment that’ll eventually haunt me
i can’t believe that you want me
you can’t believe that it’s deeper
me and my crew present demeanor
of misogynistic
teenage misfits
but I show you soft spots
even the spots that’s not supposed to be soft
face all hot
caught up in an off color comment in the middle of reveal
ego all balled up
you got up and i laid,
with my face to ceiling
falling action of escapade
crescent lay in the frame above the bed like a claude lorrain,
jean mille
brain filling in the blanks of a nonverbal awkward exchange.
all i can hear is your pants now,
shaking out the wrinkles,
a sigh then your zipper,
shaky breath bleeds into a giggle,
the hum of disassociation
and then your friend in the kitchen.
the9ardenstate:
I guess I'm just addicted to attention
First I check my DMs and then I peep my mentions
I was acting out in class gave my ass detention
Flirting with the shorties talking shit sippin 40s
We should put it on film
Flow is so fire they could put it in a kiln
Story written based on true events that are real
And my love to be loved is like another blue pill
It's not enough to say that I did it
Like short term memory I thrive off recognition
Got a sore thumb from texting all these bitches
Knew I had a problem when I fucked her in the kitchen right in front of the window we was in the line of vision of my neighbor she didn't even care
Dropped my fuckin sandwich put her leg up in the air
Like how did we get in this position?
I admit it, I admit it
Distorting all the pictures trynna read the top line
When I get a new prescription in my eyes your so fine but it's not enough
Music nerd and a movie buff
Gone with the wind like an empty double cup
Chained to your love maybe that's why they call it cuffed
I'm tied to the love of the game
But you could go broke trynna pay the price of fame
Like a tag on a beat I just wanna hear my name
But I really need a crowd
Whispering my lyrics while she blowing on that loud
Man we should play this shit live
Haven't tweeted in a while you know I'm alive
Body is a stage and I'm finna take a dive
But who am I behind closed doors?
I'd rather feel ashamed than to ever be ignored
I don't do it for the masses do it for my core
But honestly I'm lying I don't mean to sound conceited
Life is a game and I'm praying that I beat it
Want the next level but the truth is that I cheated
I got the codes online
Doing promos for my show online
Dropping demos of my flows online
Posting thirst traps for my hoes online
|
||||
5. |
fall (redemption)
00:56
|
|||
ironically a biter's a albatross to a tiger shark
alcatraz
azkaban structure like the title card of birdman
halloween taliban
what a time to be around
i’m the plug you the outlet that explain the cheaper sound
liars often bargain buy in bulk to get it sooner i need that ultra rare mint 10 grade like you almost a junior
end game: i’m thanos making snap music put you and your friends in a circle
then I,
lean wit it rock with it when i wanna hurt you
only look like a curtsy i'm shitting on you
your knee joint served as a b point to a right angle that was intentional written on you was shame and despair the stare was flipping through pages of a [fumbled words]
rubber sheets
double d ugly luckily not my cup of tea
not so subtly skipping i double dutch a discography
not so [fumbled words]
|
||||
6. |
||||
7. |
||||
i’m no hobbyist
a specialist
who won a staring contest with the precipice
calmly lit path for the pessimist
in oddly written, polyrhythmic sentences
and was never for one second out my writ.
could never heavyweight bout my wit
my pouch of quips is bottomless
to think I thought this up mid episode
pacing about my kitchen
just grabbed a ginger beer from out my fridge
countless doubts i bitch slapped in the thousands
rich
with whatever the opposite of whatever you thought was it
paws get licked
my claws still in
the dead, the quick
i termination clause your shit
bit by bit
blood in the spit like i bit my lip
a autodidact
you should try to buy back
the time that you spent
under the watchful eye of a proctor
sweating bout assignments
awfulness
hiding behind that taut faux skin
what can’t be taught is thoughtfulness
what can’t be thought
is i’m boasting.
and just an exercise in a hop skip and a jump to the compost bin
you didn’t almost win.
i can identify a plant, i’m a botanist
i’m no fiddler
a finisher
i learned to stand straight & calm with thumb under philosopher’s chin
in chicago wind
screw your face up
i'm pablo picasso’in
i’m no hobbyist….
i’m no columnist
egotist
fake regalness
leaking from your feeble lips
expelling deceitful tricks
i’m
spelling while i'm spelling
my easel is
my tablet
as my brush is my chisel as
as hermes wielding caduceus
avada kedavra if i wanna
douche,
poof.
aloof as i wanna present
the mechanism proof
well oiled
& you thought i was lallygagging
the time it took
to tell these tribulations effortlessly smooth
was as long as it took for you to realize you been duped
..oops
i’m scheming schemes in my sleep
& as I’m staring at the clerk while he baggin my booze
i mean i’m lying i coulda said food
i don’t even drink no more i just that that this could use
a
lil hint of tortured painter
lil twist of norman mailer
lil bit of portrait hatred
torch it when your course a failure
believe me i get it
not really my business
but you was all up in my shit
& now i’m feeling omniscient it
looks as though you’re stealing my grimace
what's the matter trevor?
i thought you was succeeding in business,
as a young enterprising shark
not really god
not really god given
but i’m somewhere in the middle
and i’m feeding on images of your bleeding out
right next where my fin is
fin since nam
word to josue
KILL just fin in his prime
i’m really uknowho
don’t say the name
nagini my kitty
Potato kill these mother fuckers
if they try to get near me
enjoy that busy work you fuckin bum
i’m no publicist.
|
||||
8. |
dinner for schmucks
05:58
|
|||
wow
you really like me
you really like me
wow
you really like me
it’s like i’m not an addict today
anymore
you really like me?
you put a smile on my face
likes
to matter in a world barreling towards nihilism is….
nice
i forgot about my imbalances and behaved like an upstanding american housewife with the light of my life
this is me now
a gift for taking a quarter century beat down
from a damp, limp, sad, lipped, bad, fat, kid
mt. olympus is fantastic
what a relief my coming out party wasn’t fan4stic
and they’re proud of me
and I’m not losing touch with
reality
people i’ve never met told me good job
but not who i really needed to hear it from
good job
dork,
i don’t got time for life’s torment
i was at the edge of forfeit
now I’m at home toursick
i just googled boorish cause i thought you would say that
they was barkin orders i was tapping for tree sap
now my life is my life & i ain’t trying to recap rehash i remember where you told me i would be at
not in so many words but that’s the magic of over analytical hyper possibly narcissistic awareness of tones and context clues
that’s what i said in my head in the shower before i came here
ummmmm.. nice suit!
anyway how are you?
i couldn't imagine things being any better it's funny i happened to run into you
i been busy too
you know: important, important, groundbreaking stuff
between
changing the landscape of music and keeping up with the times i've just been
absolutely pooped.
oh
did you?
yeah
that was uh,
that was just a heightened dramatic piece to convey one's internal conflict with art and life,
you know
expectations and stuff i didn't realize you and i ever
[fades to room noise]
it’s never what you think,
the score that’s in my head right now is
uncharacteristically bleak
the way we see our tragedies & triumphs never sweep to swells
we piece our tales from low & high
the in-between most meaningful
a montage over best around
resentment like sleeper cells
since misinterpreting neitzsche
failed again
but kept the hopes despite
your knee-jerk need to reinvent
realistic
via beatin
dead writers
proof of concept
me and orson welles eat.
who knows what your summer context
is
don’t know what i was expecting
at this dinner for schmucks
like both of us are mad pathetic
but
i propose a toast to what we thought that life would eventually get to
because whoever the hell’s up there knows it’ll never be that but we're free to pretend to
act as if it’s gonna happen
or if it already has
ignorant as amateurs
half measures
half empty glass
speaking of which garçon-
no odoul’s
diet whatever then
it’s how you went from "o’doyle rules" to here’s a helping hand
but
yeah i know fake stuff is possibly worse than real sugar
but
there’s a caveat whose explanation i don’t have the energy to get to
and yes i know i'm thin.
but that’s another day.
maybe on an album that i know you’ll never play
but
even if you did,
close friends could only read a novel as a biopic
the same way an artist's only successful post
biotin & lipo &
filing down what makes them them & ironing out narratives with their agent & lost irony
so
how’s things without talkin about work?
i don't know.
how’s things without talkin about art?
i don't know
how’s thing without toxins à la carte?
or really how’s life?
i’m not really sure!
i got a
"fuck you, i made it" complex
my ego made this complex
a blank white painting contest
1st place in feigning complex
what else is goin on?
so and so’s gone
and maybe i’m next
if we didn’t stop calling
maybe this wouldn’t be a staring contest
with strangers
but that’s not true either
i'm staring at cutlery
staring at a bad painting
in unbearable space stuck between
sentences
to think we used to finish each other’s,
and take on mannerisms like they could really be brothers.
10,000 hours in a room of vibrations
80,000 dollars just to pay for time wasted
in 10,000 hours you grew and i replaced
a shameful whole it made for gold
became recluse
then i erased you
i love to make assumptions
and hold over heads shit i never brought up.
the credits too long to try to fit at the front
i got a funny feeling top billing really goes to no one
and we won’t fight over the tab
|
||||
9. |
caricature ft. Defcee
03:19
|
|||
KVG:
all of your heroes did ****
charlie parker pantomiming
pierrot pitiful
parroting prose
haunted pirouette
the artist merry go
track marks like marigolds
because the martyr said so
it’s parody
sad clown put the sax down before the last slouch on his dads couch
and got what he wanted
apparently
passed down from a long line of high death rate near do well stunt double hopefuls
that wrapped round the block
like a rubber band stretched around a bicep
low fi
hi def
low res
hi tech
high risk
high art
poisonous archetypes
that we tried to emulate
like who gon' wave goodbye next?
oscar wilde tutorial
made a norman mailer outta oil painter
you know how the story goes.
can you feel it in your bones?
the thought that you migh kill
if it wasn’t for your poems?
hyperbole.
or do you think you cracked the code?
pass it off as real
based on cancerous pseudo-romantic tragedy-stricken performances of a biopic
seek out suffering hopin to validate a song
take it from a carcass
whether black tar plugs or
tarred lungs
you're an artist
despite any darkness or fault
not because
and I’ll scream it til I’m blue like the hue of the ghost that I wish heard all this
Defcee:
Navigating unfamiliar terrain.
Tracked and mapped it. Bad habits had bills spinning in the drain.
Slideshows of harm I caused in purgatory. Mercy’s gone,
so I guess I’ll slip another clip into the frame.
Tragicomic–paralyzed flesh on the smiling half.
Idiot savant exhibit: writing behind the glass,
or dealing with diaper rash, cleaning cradle cap.
Told my daughter I loved her. She never has to say it back.
A time warp constantly opens and closes while I’m living
moment to moment and coping with loathing.
Logan’s broken blades appeared to sharpen in the bone scan.
Decoded the matrix before I’m absorbed in the program.
Think I’m past the point of praying to an oil painting.
Hopelessness roaming my head, and it’s been noisy lately.
Crescendos crumbling into downbeats.
Performing live between where the gods hide and the clouds sleep.
|
||||
10. |
||||
self portrait
how’d it happen?
tragic
long line of addicts?
no
baggage
passive aggression
made magic
in the form
of this is what you get sharp darts
art scum bag
how’s that work?
seems backwards.
but that’s standard.
he 98Jobs
you woz
that’s passion.
i don't think so.
cancelled.
how’d it happen?
habits?
yes, many
that’s average.
what else?
family?
messy!
how much?
plenty!
so is everybody else’s in some form or fashion
deplorable actions
valid
and not so
therapized language might fill in the plot holes
every day macguffin’in
suffering for the love of it.
it being art but
art’s not what it is
the "it’s not art"
it didn’t cause pain
in discount dark lord wardrobe change
& leave a trail of wreckage at your tendons
and expect the full attention & attendance of your friends
shortchanged
but I don’t even think I have friends
and any adversary’s only imagined
without one then I couldn’t be the protagonist
the thing is:
you had BE somebody in order to be a has-been
who in the fuck do you think you are?
who in the fuck do you think you are?
who in the fuck do you think you are?
okay
i was thinking bout the second verse while taking a piss
and thought if i include it i should change it to shit
'cause shit is more stark of an image to give
because this is the part where i’m supposed to get honest &
shit
okay i’ll try it again
i was thinking bout what it would be like to be dead
not like i wanna die
but who’d be crying and shit
who would post and r.i.p and who’d be silent and shit a
line out the door or
why wouldn’t x come and
y wouldn’t ignore
and i shoulda said something
i thought his friends would
or lying on the floor in a grief stricken fit
while buying out his discog
i used to wanna be tragic
& misunderstood
present as an addict
cause balance means normal
& normal means average
& average means wack & never wrote a classic
plastic
then it kinda happened
i clutched to my habits &
desperately masked it
time i’ll never have back
soaring and crashing
and honing the craft just wasn’t as important as purporting a passion
shit i was tyrna be abstract
droning in excess
just a way to get away from
having to explain those deplorable actions
i’m a people pleaser
I’m an evil genius
i can be deceitful
i can be your best friend
i can be cerebral
or a real piece of shit.
you know:
people
"temporary cast-members of a long running but little-seen production of a play called fleeting"
somethin like that.
|
||||
11. |
||||
whether i’m diving into the work or into you,
i ain’t got no balance.
whether i’m hangin by a talon or i’m pacing on a balcony
i be goin crazy sometimes.
too much passion maybe.
i’m probably just selfish.
i wasted someone’s years being difficult
and i know i took a toll on them.
i don't care how the house looks.
i just want a home.
it may not be a perfect picture,
but in the amateur strokes they found soul.
woke up and had a revelation
followed by 6 and a half days of militant method acting meditation
for your consideration
deadpool spread heavily unfavored my epiphanic temporary leaf turn in august
now my thoughts bounce to the cadence of autumn rain that’s flooded the stern
i bowed until the theatre was empty as my apologies
a stain we ousted for the most part
but it still set
on set:
best costar.
wrap party ends,
what’s left of friends,
or next to kin,
who settled for a shell of him
just him & what he makes
more mistakes than memories.
at best poor mozart.
woke up and had a revelation
my center stage is our living room
ben and jerry’s non dairy x-files and the cat screaming
admiration is temporary,
and love outlast opening weekend
you told me i’m not broken
fox mulder with the case file open
i want to believe.
what a beautiful frame and photograph in it.
from sonogram to modern day optic
glow in the dark stars on the ceiling
dark room brightener
a moment flashed and encased in a 4 by 6 made my pulse flutter
it surprised me actually.
i run from most cameras but i like the way you capture me.
one word not meant’s not totality
development from negative
sat crossed legged in the middle of a room
in a slumlord’s kingdom,
watched the energy zoom
like planetary rings
and let the love consume
the areas that sting
the bandages removed
and we revealed wings
with nothing left to prove.
i gotta let go.
i only need you.
& the life we’re creating everyday
together.
i’m glad you give a shit.
|
||||
12. |
crushr records Chicago, Illinois
indie rap label out of chicago specializing in agonizing boom-bap adjacent songs & occasionally dabbling with ambient muck
KILLVONGARD
Tomcantsleep
A Place Called Hell
Streaming and Download help
If you like Life Is a Masterpiece., you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp