Thursday, October 25, 2012

Mirror Mirror OFF The Wall ~ Mitishamba ~ Birth of September

"It's seven days 'til November when I'll be gone for ever so as I unearth and shine a light on September the time of my birth, I give credence to my resting place, samaki. Walking on wine has me pressing for a change of minds that seem to be full of curiosity yet ignorant in learning what they themselves want to teach, society. What of I walking into your home uninvited and faking a desire to want to learn your life only to back stab you with forceful mental games that leave you disassociated with your present self, I'm scrapping. Scratching the glass wall that houses a woman that will visit a homestead with a mind as empty as what its father's sandy walk is, yet its evil steps lead unwanted schemes into what's already known, what a child is. If what you birth into this world faces your emptiness, then the idea that another's lifestyle that your kind openly belittles is also virtuous enough to warrant your safari to see then maybe you need to turn your womb into a frozen place since that's what you claim as science. My mother's golden and scions, filled with sages and scribes of mellow moods some talk of Zion but yours are of empty fools that lack an immediate look of what is love, so hate forms your sires. I have seen clearly what you use to communicate with your kind as I know the latest being True Blood as your only present tower that Mitishamba has downed with all my ciphers and this scribe is that fourth stake into your attempts to preach pious. The first three went to the hands feet and blunting fangs of vampires that hide in walking screens and since daylight isn't your friend, I've rung bells to your bat caves so you can stop hiding in broad nightlight like you brought me Kaya. My resting place doesn't have to be displaced so everything that I've said is for you to find the peace you've given me once in a grave so that you can awake to my warriors who once again, won't buy ya?! Worthless souls without tires stamped with yellow clothes whenever in the presence of my fire and as heat nears my green, I'm pulling a Simon and he says he wants all the art you've stolen as your timers. And because your dead are unworthy of locks, my Bonfires them at the exact Temps and scold any of what you present as living until you leave my sight dead ever after since the seventh midget knows all the secrets to your hair as its my dopey conquerors that bests all your hunters without having to read what you want him buying thus your evil seeds will never be Mayan."

"Ishmael Mitishamba HekimaNimali ~ The Green Vine of no to Wall.E ast"

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

'Name Names, Ms. Castle....' ~ Mitishamba ~ Killuminati.

"If I’m another’s idea of myself, then my other idea is to stop being myself and ask for the other to pronounce my name. And I dare you denounce my mane with your jealous views that can’t stomach the idea of being unwanted since everyone you look down on craves my speech, as yours comes from sand. Such a Shem to have corralled all of your history under millions of years of impotence yet lack any individual stem. This writing being irrelevant as it’s in the language of uselessness with plastic representing what it actually wants said. Synthesized all beginnings since the whole and its endings all revolve around my shade. What existed before was a language of thought so my thinking is somewhat redundant since its Cinderella monarchs that always want to imitate where my Lion stays. Your painted scion isn't sage and the emptiness of what you present in life is a testament of why it’s not your book, so you wage death in exchange for my name. You can act and pretend, trap with false pretense, grab and leave bends, run and speed death, but nothing you do will make me move beyond my dirt’s limit of your skied ends. Reflecting waters fled dubbed the exit of strengths but I know it’s just your fear of my game that’s made for real hunters and not of men. By any means you've used me to make your ends and teach nothing of your lack of any boundary with happiness so it’s my soul you still crave. A lake always existed, yet you took its name thinking what’s downstream will swim to you instead. Water conforms to earth’s will miss grave as you continue to die for want of its men, but in my pillow’s talk the elephant wants back all you’ve caused stray. Name me any limited end and I’ll maim you with my unlimited space at any given time knowing full well my history doesn’t have to include you, to have said. So I'm including you in what I'm saying because all that I have acquired isn't for my gain but rather your false teachings of walking superior, but using my legs and as far as thought, you're the scarecrow on my paige."

“My name is Ishmael, but call me Green Unbred.”              

Friday, September 28, 2012

"Post Nortime" ~ Planting Season ~ Mitishamba - Infinitely I.

"Nine lives I live looking like my nine to fives have turned six with no time for seven so fcuk 'em, I skip three. I'm on ten now and counting bliss seeing as though I wasted time trying to compete with blessings of nouns none can deplete. If you can catch my rhymes your life is sweet with no sugar coating, but molasses runs deep. Viscous liquids unlike water my verbs are running still so don't mess with my actions, coz even my thoughts don't come cheap. Your nose bleeding, so wash my think as you watch from far like you can paint my feet. I come ready, prepared for any action in a life full of bitch actors that fake it 'till they make nothing worth watching now turning reality TV'd. I'm on more reality than I can care to sea as I bearly go through my jungle of baobab trees. Mitishamba and roots is my creed, since I know spending my time in this life means I gotta eat so watch me chewing up time like its green. Choosin to work on hard since all I see is flaccid nuggas, can't even penetrate her V."

"Loads of green."

Monday, July 23, 2012

No Offense But You Look African ~ The Voice of a Season ~ The Mitishamba Series Finale

Africa is a word that conjures up many negative adjectives that make being called African seem like an insult. African has become an insult. It has come to denote everything there is in human suffering. Pictures of human plight never cease to contain a sad African environment or face. Even more amazing is how these images have become prevalent, engrained in the minds of the common man like household advertising disclaimers. Hunger in Africa; ‘Weeknights at 2am’. Child Soldiers; Made in Africa’. AIDS, Ebola, Malaria, and that twitching thing your eye does: ‘Brought to you by Africa’. Political instability; Yes We (Afri)can. Corruption; ‘There are some things money can’t buy, for everything else there’s…’
Present in these mildly comical taglines is an exaggeration, so too is some level of truth. The truth, however, is what’s exaggerated. This exaggeration has created a running theme that falsely overstates Africa as the place where only human strife exists. This lie has cemented itself in the minds of so many Westerners that most Africans develop an inferiority complex. An assumption that a dark person with a heavy accent is dim usually comes quicker than the reality of one’s own ignorance. With reality comes an apology, “no offense, but….”
No offense?! Really?! Well, I’ve come to find a great deal of offense in this apologetic answer that carries more insults than apologies. It’s as if to say, “I hope you are not from Africa, but if you are, sorry.” I take offense from this statement’s blatant position that being African is an insult. That being African is offensive. Well I am African, Kenyan to be specific, and I will never apologize if that’s an offense. Nor will I allow Africa to be insulted or African to be insulting. I can no longer stomach the 2am television view of Africa, because my memory serves me different. Kenya served me different. To neglect the degradation of Africa’s or Kenya’s image is sad because at the very least, pride, if not factual memory, should move one to defend it. I shall defend it with pride-filled memory. Join me.
I come from the Highlands of Kenya where nothing insulted my lungs when I took a deep breath. Nothing offended my sight for miles. As a matter of fact, my most recent memory of the landscape is one of beauty – a conclusion cosigned by my ‘first world’ friends. My four-month-old memory of Kenya consists of heavy eating (aahh Galitos!), heavy Nairobi traffic (no, we weren’t riding elephants. Would been cool though. Maybe traffic would flow smoother, but I digress), heavy road construction (again, for cars), beautiful women (none heavy), and the sight of the Great Rift and the beautiful landscapes that constantly killed my camera’s batteries – just to name a few. I recall making a joke about bottling the fresh air that greeted me when I got to Kisii. The taste of food fresh from the garden almost shocked my tongue. I was stunned, however, at the creativity of some of the architecture in the city and its buildings. Buzzing businesses revealed advances that were invisible to the strife-craving Western media.
All these memories, coupled with my pride as an Afrikan, provide the zeal to defend the image that I know to be different – a mosaic of not just bad, as others would have you believe, but also plenty of good. Afrika is my roots; my place of origin that I value simply because I know it to be better than how they seem to be showing it to me. It is a place where majority of the world’s resources came and continue to come from – be it human or natural. My roots have endured lifelong abuse from insiders and outsiders alike, but still remain healthy enough to sustain life – my life. I grew from them, so I live for them – My Roots.
I grew from them, I live for them.
My Roots
(Originally published March 5th 2010 @, i.e. prequel) 

"Green and Sexy." 

PLANTING SEASON ~ The Mitishamba Series Finale

Thursday, July 12, 2012

112: The Last Cipher ~ My Dear Black Widows ~ Watch the Thorn Vs. Watch the Throne: The Mitishamba Series.

No words are enough to cater to your pain just as no words are there that can create enough pain. The memory of your deeds on earth just brings enough rain as tears that embody what foolish men do with your children just for some gain. Since the West’s system that’s entirely man-made is created intentionally to put your children inside cages like you deserve no sayings, I’m dedicating all my love to you because I know no one deserves to be subjected to blind rage. A woman in a glass house with a sad stage has her men throwing artificial rocks from walls to paled statues everywhere since their curse is forgetting where they housed their weak sage. All my love for you fits a single page so just let them continue to deceive even the young with their fairy tales. Allow me to reintroduce myself, my name is I, S.H, to the MA.EL, the snow flakes have been moved by the O.Z., so I want you to let them enjoy what they retailed. Never heard of human so traffic these words through their snouts using baked with soda white lines since they refuse to accept basic natural facts about who’s the real thing and whose smile’s comes lined in real fake. Abuse?! No worries, that’s why I’m hear to listen to anything that wants she.males, since even in their prayers, they pray for your man’s might to be weakened. Elongated jaws they suck your man raw and build all manners of defense against anything that looks different so who’s to say the rainbow isn’t what you collect for what they now would want to call a freed man. Since evidently to them freedom can be bought and sold, then so too are your Libra scales so please allow me to use Leo, my Lion which the Swahili labored to make it simply mean your word’s today, so to anything that’s still, they’re just maids. Helpers, traversing homesteads, learning nothing other than, ‘how can I save, these look homely’ but spending their days in the dark mentally judging using only their skin’s shade. Like Lucky said from Summer's gates, “we got to come, together as one” but dividing is ruling so I think uniting citizens is their final straw’s break. Twelve ciphers I’ve written with the intention to unveil their coded schemes that use synthetic green to mask their love for power in order to forget what it means to just say. You told mountains they showed you valleys so you gave them your back which they instead also turned into a superficial and now monetary ice, aged. The reflections of my mirrors show you as the one they run after that’s why your words now come sounding a schools’ whale. No use swimming with piranhas look at me and see that your air still stays entirely where their polluted air meets your completely minced maze. You can walk around and get around without their squeezed gaze. Hatred, for your love that you unload and eternally leave for anyone that shows a heart in the open, that’s why they hide and use force to spread their days. Wolves in sheep walking and talking with written and cover read book words in muted tones about who’s paying. Since all they buy are dreams, please forgive me for this turn and for reading their front Paige. Because I know the letters of my words carry enough weight to crush any artificial rock thrown in any direction in this final day, I pray you use what you gave me, identity’s name in every one of its seven letters for my Rasta brother’s clean sleigh. May you June, tune, and prune anything that cries fowl as every bird’s warnings always come with earth’s warming so as I bow to your thirteenth arrow that belongs to your last word to a woman that can be satisfied as Swahili say its Shiba, take these weak one’s veils and clean your man to the top just as you promised, Amentop.”  

“The Green Sleigh” 

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Cipher 111 ~ Pay Attention: Listening Lessons ~ Watch the Thorn Vs. Watch the Throne: The Mitishamba Series.

With tension, need I mention that paying means there’s a buyer willing to forgo attention and be paid to listen to whoever seeks its treat? Mine spans the lengths of a bootleg tape that’s decked to become something worth purchasing that if my attention is being paid for means my ears don’t come free, freak! I’m freer now that I can clearly see strings being tugged and manipulated to produce their desired result of making a mind that downs its own tree, streak. Monotony of guised dons these cold feet see more miles on broad streets than the fairy tales that line its world’s needs, reap. Except what’s really sowed are its hateful themes that draw leaps but bound from being realized since they are still working to cage a flightless bird’s seed from walking as seen, trip. Never meant to fall though or falter since my steps glide on mortar, unhinging bricks carrying menial rodents that want more tar to keep them hiding their weakness behind one screen, preach. Discourse discarded like garbage I sit on its pile’s edge and soak up its stench earning mileage like my flights are united on one page, Grinch. Double up from ten up I put three down and flip peace signs with my trigger finger keeping their attic class fcukin honest, Finch. One shot, Six strays, flinch and see if you are not roasted with the movements of seas that has their present chained currents in Shekels coasting but freedom with me comes from the insides of my forests of fortress that their thoughts think they can image in pity while working in desperate to earn any sight or see, breach. “Jah Jah see dem, dem a come, but I and I a conqueror,” my cultured love birds fire warning sings while I open seams that hem the cloaked self-wanting-to-be-determined bastards that use another to labor like their mothers have twelve months to produce what another does in multiples of three without any need for saviors on bells, screech. No screaming just witness the leech as they tug for war thinking terror can make a warm blooded animal become scared of its own skin, leach. Trickling venom with pain in its intentions why suffer from a scaled and skin shading animal that has never been able to grow its own feet, mint. Imprints in casts now outing from closets with skeletons that have voices advocating for anything that can be purchased like all are brave enough to even muster the courage to change scenes from their street broads that never narrow, ditch. I’m v-necked, conveying luggage that sits well without water’s damage and pitch tents in orders of carriages that empty its three bags fooled, stitch. Threading haystacks with needling speeds but not for bail funds as seen in their economies’ needs revealing jailed hands, why stamp my food when you never once toiled as one to grow some, bitch!! Inorganic barks that thrive on missionary styles with midgets in tow like there’s a constant need for her camel toed bunions, clit. Horny kids in closed positions hiding things in soundless diction like only those that can read provide the correct direction, so where to Laz-E boys since you always in need of offering instructions, steep?! Yea, my verticals are tremendous and suddenly even earth wants my tremors but rhythms with me come from no one but my knowledge within on what's expensive, so why purchase only dreams unless you also want to make my think come cheap?! Listen up, yea you down there, your attention I’ve bought so wind down your talk unless you also want me to turn Ishmael beast with my blue collared walk, crip. Full blood that can drain your star lacking theme in simple Swahili for talking to any of my trees bila adabu, as my color coded schemes will leave you guessing on who really is Bin.a.damu so just stop your lessons from grave dig and for once let the dead sleep. Listen, I lesson in greed and turn up the heat to separate good from your deeds that always come begging for leaves thinking you can plant life unseen so I creep, its just me exchanging your hate for some TLC.

“Listen I Lesson in Green”   

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Cipher 110 ~ Rocked and Steadied ~ My Thorn Watching: The Mitishamba Series

“The more doubt the more clout. I capitalize on the questions that already have answers so all I present are exclamation marks of sorts that only ring true to those with bouts. Fighting off any streamlined conclusions to my ins and outs I draw from zigs and zag through any exhalations that would rather me shout. Hold up….this is not how I deem my smile so this frown is just the idea of someone that thinks they have a watch on my mouth. Showed up to find routes clogged with empty shells that purchase my verbs like they exist with a fault. Crack lines waiting to pounce on anything that has the right ways like night days requires walking with acid like gout. Pain in staking anything so my prayer is for Rasta to burn dem Sems who make things and claim to have done it alone like their steps on sand have any designated route. My power puffed girls can sync my joints with the steps that align with Popeye’s choice to have Oil bury these weathered bastards in the deepest part of my loins, I remain stout. Flesh eating bacteria they always craving blood like they don’t have enough of their own to destroy that’s why they cry foul at the smallest verbal threat that’s employed in showin how quick they turn West in fear of who they actually seek shelter from, being told the wall is theirs if they can vault. If they self.made, why do they always seek my brothers’ shades then, I think its coz living alone in the light reveals that they have no nest eggs as they’ll just be bird watchers waiting for an eagle to rest or build anything that doesn’t show them as the ones that drag societies into aimless jolts. My lightning’s Bolts with thoughts that can make you sane from their fog and see clearly why it’s more important to give animals a home than those that worship the back of another while trying to break what it’s housed. Memory doesn’t come without action so their thoughts of making it disappear without a reaction is  more comical than watching a dog chase its own tail then forget its whereabouts. Where’s your home homes?! Or is traversing a desert something you eternally do like you ever had any love in anything that you claim to do so as you make sure happiness is what you precede your death with, I just know my work is to leave you uncloaked. No hard feelings, just pieced together humpty dumpty's breakaway shell disguised as a brick for snowhite's snout. No sniffs, pigs only exist to fake some clean up after an unnecessary drought.”

“Oh Is….you have no…Ra…and you don’t deserve el. That’s my end, Ishmael….The Green Monster.”

Monday, July 2, 2012

"Cipher 109 ~ Made in the Deep ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Hard for many to identify with me because what I speak of comes off of my deep,  you shallow ends with lives guarded to the teeth is like swimming with piranhas and thinking sharks don’t exist. Verbally castrated and mentally incapacitated your thoughts only amount to the tip of my ice bugging you why I don’t show you how your flavor lacking waters is just a reflection of the salt I spit. Culinary ditch, my feed trough consists of more than one avenue for your temporary and melted ideas of who’s the original one to take a dive and learn to keep. Confused? That serves your rights so when you question why I always walk like I know where I’m going, just know it’s my attention your woman continually seeks. Opened up, aaaaaah, swallow maid, when you learn to speech in open tones then maybe you’ll turn from being the leech. Roots lacking bitch that’s why your rules be smacking against my beach, rejected ties tying together anything just to seem like your seeds are worthy of anything other the fairy tales you feed. Hapless mongrels that never once see that if it’s a single star that has the scrolls of the deep, just shows how helpless you are since land has only sheep. Dead weights in currents that reflect what the moon actually carries so them caps that don’t actually fit in the back of a wall that wants free only fully exposes the fear of the sun’s rays that uncloaks the wool craving cheat. You outside whistling hard trying to make a dog that doesn't bark but really, look at what that has done to your speech. Openly now, even your seeds following everything that all your past attempted to segregate as your mentality has no lesson worthy coz now they all just want to be identified with a street. That’s a neighborhood and since it’s there goes it when one of mine shows up, good, you are unwanted in any way and form of living including a tree. Omnivorous, you lack meats so the star’s consumption on your behalf has the same gluttons waiting for your impotence to seaceed. Pull back your fangs from my thangs before you also lose your woman’s piranha teeth. Suckling on the wrong tit has her thinking she’s brave enough to even muster anything that can compete with the warriors of my deep seats. Take your scaled think and make some pigs correctional before I cover your shallow ends with some much needed algaean deeds."

“Green as far as Land can Sea.”

Friday, June 29, 2012

Mitishamba, I come Raw ~ Watch my Thorns

“For too long I’ve journeyed through myself trying to overstand any manner with which I can see the good in me but at every turn, I’m reminded that I can only amount to what another prescribes. This is me, nothing synthetic that sometimes I come off too raw and materialize things that make me not want to be described. Promised myself that I can be better only to see worse things inside turning my outside to someone destroyed. Things I said I wouldn’t do to another, I have and never can that page be turned because what is has been done and once outside closes some doors. Yea I’m always open, besides I don’t know any different so when I reach into that extreme all the good within turns sour and I’m discouraged. I know my weaknesses but accepting my strengths is something that comes filled with this void. Empty and in truth if there was someone that would have assured, they left me young and I wish to have them in my heart but that too now has too many flaws that I’ve tried to hide but it showed. If a rose grew from concrete I wouldn’t wish for more because my heart tells me I have a colleague that carried a bigger thorn so my budding and these harvesting bee stings are just a drone whose heart’s gone. Stoned, emotions fully exposed that if I could catch myself before I leave I still won’t know how strong. I want to, matter of fact I need to be sown back together so I wade through my imperfections accepting the heaps of faults that split my personality so I scribe. Doodles, hungry from not having food in strings like noodles I hang on every word which often come bitterly from those that don’t see me from me but I'll still try.”

“Mr. Beam, I’m Barred in Green.”

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Cipher 108 ~ Office Boxed Homes ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Assassinating your character? Look in the mirror and see if it ain’t you, yourself, and your name that’s killing everything you stand on. Or were you not born with the freedom of characters but just recently you and Jay's Oven chose to take the path that will make you stand on stoves. The heat is on, yeah, yeah, your beats are on, but when the lights go out who’s gonna be assassinating your presence like it’s a blessing, trolls?! Yea they fishing, for men that is, coz they fear the journey of that woman that recently blessed the waters  for your sake, blows. I’m throwing these nouns knowing good and well that my verbs are in the deep where many Phelps only to find its still me, chilling on Popeye’s grounds. Keep feeding me that spinach and Olive's Oil while I anchor in leisure as I witness your works enrich the evil one ignorant of whose canal you speak from, their hate’s pores. Born out of the shooters’ mouths but I spear fish which has more precision so once those bullets have been used up on nothing other than them preserving their fear of the same things you tout, move over troves. The treasure’s been hunted, the REAL black diamonds have been worked on long enough to know the depths like the back of the hand you see 'em kiss all day long, shows. Pacing, fearfully on the shores these sand trekkers got Homes in Boxed Offices mocking you like their false Truths means we Blood but since the salty bottom is all glossed up, it’s just their own skirts they blowing, so I just watch and pity these fowls. Headless turkeys thinking moving screens can shield the fear their weakest victorian soul that lives amongst men of the Jungle begging to be caged like she has anything that has pity in its eyes, owls. Lions and tigers and these Night watchers in robes hunting men like they existed only to be fought but now they are all tongue-tied, using books and moving screens because verbally they're just flesh cling ons and can all easily be exposed. My lands has plants nations with names that defy even my own imaginations so why bother running with hyenas uncle, if its not their scarred faces that really want these thrones. Say hollow to my little friends they blowed crack from their white lines but this is clean air, my acts are bold but subtle in reclaiming my full cups of gold. You seen roots, yea, Kunta knows what a single name holds that if their questions were or not, it just means they lack any answer to anything worthy so they continually attempt fairy tales like reality doesn't have any stores. But now since you claim to match their money, believe that they are now talking in currents seas and vampire think trying to scramble at the storm front to shield you from any big moves while purchasing large swaths of land like their titles have any deeds as I'll just push them once again, shores. If you listen to yourself Mr. West, your words now lead a legion of doomed men churning out screened soap boxes as they don’t even know any other way to speak to a man that walks and makes even air look brave, I just call it my temperatures outsourced. These are just cool breezes to your summer months that are hear and listen to them burning free from where you crouched my tigers' songs. I know you know as I speak so as you read this know that I can speak from myself and talk of another's bird that they caged only to find it lives better when given metal bars as string alongs. Freelancer in my deeds and hopes are for weeds to be uprooted in the open and seas because when the flute was playing, only Rasta chose to lead my blazing tongs.”

“Green, Tree limbed, with photos, but see, their life’s in synthetics.”

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Cipher 107 ~ The Jungle Beckons; Welcome ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn.

“Welcome to reality where nothing goes up or inside of me, starved is the image they provided thee, but bloated with dreams that no one will ever get out or provide for me, triage this is your hospital’s bed that I’m just grinding in, mirage lacking all the oasis as some married thieves, marred from the beginnings to the endings of my miles in tiffs. No muzzled tuffs or mazel tovs just green for any think that doesn’t come with Fahrenheit’s derivatives. Calculated dues, 40 acres turned blues my mules just had to deal with some scourged things. Scavengers in seams these muted diseases just turned up from their routed deeds. Titles of deeds lacking history so they artificially went just to plant a seed. Uprooted with leaves that lack any image to reflect exactly where my porridge is. Bring those degrees; three will never separate me from me even as their lies and fantasies periodically appear to succeed. No beauties coz if six is their most trusted beast, they afraid of seven where my workers find their rest and shield. Matching money with money doesn’t require one to turn to frits. But since its fear that leads them and their glass houses as an attempt to sync, let them continue caging a bird that doesn’t fly with wings. These are indelible bars prisons just provides a bigger wall for my love is seats. Seeing as though the guilty are what their eyes use to confirm and fit. Proper nouns, proverb gowns my actions and words are real and who's to say that they can't come in fridge?!”

“Vegetative State”

Cipher 106 ~ Monster, Monster, Green the Star's Monster ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Radiated thoughts as those that radiate in other’s identities bask in the heat of moments taken when pictures moved with visible posts. Invisible to fairy tale feeding souls so witness my bouts as I challenge those with radiant flows like rivers can snake their ways through their concretized streets and turn their lifeless forms into anything worthy of joists. Dependant on thieves these nameless bastards acting like feeders to dreams in the east like its sheep they lead but their evil cloaks lacks any form of originality in presenting life’s state as is coz its just a grain of salt held high, hoist. Beach bunnies, or better yet, vaticanning on robes with no hops, they grounded so they pouching another’s dead as actors of good deeds, ghosts. It’s their nighttime they want one serving but daylights isn’t theirs for savings, just their sand filled civilizations lacking any accuracy, clocks. Changing times tides with changing lines they frozen in the act of returning a single stone in front of its original, hosts. Tomb raiders, these monkeys actually think they can cast any wooden blocks and carry enough soil to transfer their heathen thoughts away from the one with, goats. Trying to be the Greatest Of All Time so inward they rib caged, primetime means they lack a hand willing to advance their weak sage but I know it’s just that brick walking woman they break ceramics for as they attempt to read her a single lion’s page, boasts. Keep those symbols crossing like it’s not the most obvious sign of their lacking of self love so they attempt to use others to hide their soul’s weakness in facing the reality of what all their ancestors brought. Jealousy to the one that embraces his identity without jealousy of what another’s outlook may be, so as twilight as these roaman cloaks may be outwardly, they lack any of my moral’s support. Or murals in thoughts so they verbalize synthetic grievances from afar out of fear of simply stating their central fear, a full history’s report. Record drawings, drawings of my records drawing, drawing from my records means your thoughts are mine while you act pale in all your talks. Forgotten seams seas of seeds sown like sheens of oil shown are shining as Popeye patiently blows his cigs coz this green monster hasn’t yet made any decision on his landing spots. This is sport so row, row, row, but fcuk your boats I’m captaining the skies as my stream gently fills up with all of my present socks. Since life has been all your dreams with a single butt, let’s see their legs up as there’s no water at their feet to fake any gigantic walks. Goliaths of self portaying with protracted memories but no portraits or any original source, they outsourced in every action, no wonder they resort to labels like groupings can bring out a stand-out enemy worse than their moral’s self doubts. Calling their workers lazy when all of their lifetime’s work shows whose efforts regards rewards as credible enough worth of self engineered directions in a world of freelance boundaries and trading ports. All these concretized paths and statues the snowy men hold as ancient credibility is just another’s glory they thought they had thawed only to find the heat turns their existence into organized followers of anything that comes from the same house their children, children’s children, and any pale child continues to mock. Keep fantasizing, reality only has spinach, cigs, and single knocks. Punchline, all my enemies regardless of wealth and residence is what time has gifted the one that can’t be openly and blindly bought. Self made, these words are only read by my beloved hulk.”

“The Green Poster, postured in time like Puskin's Monsters.”

Monday, June 18, 2012

Socrates Boasts ~ Cipher 105 ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“If the so called teams with pious its bias the way I see them split others in congregations like the roamer pope and his concrete jungles walks using his own two feet. The evil in this grave digger is more than enough to blow his skirts and the caged penguin-looking virgins trying hard to fit into the midgets Santa can turn to when the cold gets too much to produce heat. Or any broomsticks, so its steves and bobs he sledges and little boys as packed gifts in his flying feats gliding into homes uninvited like the cookie monster that he is but its just Pinocchio trying to broaden his narrow cheats. Or maybe wits, since it’s on behalf of the half-witted that I can be half with it and seem like the whole of me never once performed any major splits. He’s cloaked up blowing white smoke every time another passes into the clouds that they think they can by-pass their worship of a fallen star with. Trying to mirror everything mummy but you can’t stagnate time as yours lacks any sword big enough to even cut into some uprooted trees. Or plant any dry leaves so my suggestion to the Benedictions currently being read as a Shem is to turn east. Your beauty lacks this beast so I muddy your fake waters by stomping your yards using some novice tease. Time ain’t friendly bitch so while your mobs bark and follow in families that think fear is about making another fall asleep with the fish, I Jonah your spades and turn Jokers into your chambers like Wilt. Acing your hoods and unlocking the lockednests that I monster with Godzilla by the side of where you just recently went to gift Crocodiles as a chance for your mentally Castrated to breathe. Still following leaves?! Let me shed some light into your eternally mulched streets that you hope you can turn into some place for your future seeds. First, you lack just that, second, you come just as such, third, its pigs that pick up Latin so I wonder why the necessities in avoiding your own concretized fields. Do you lack sheep? Or is it the numerous statues your soul salutes that came alive just when you thought you could bury yourself with some jungle’s teeth?! Grab some dentures and let’s put some centuries in your walk unless its I that you are trying to carry as sleeves. From the murder capital to the capital with murderers that bring some real heat I’m ecstatic that you thought you could scoop the fire into your lap but it’s in vain since its Murder to Excellence that’s willingly stated its willingness to join my earthly goons in this final feast.”

“Green, Omnivorous, so I Carnive them with meats.”      

Friday, June 15, 2012

Cipher 104 ~ The Wild Church ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Ghetto dreams got every color wanting to turn hood, like white sheets never hid the fear they still and will eternally walk with whenever another who’s naturally better makes an even better and smart moves. Ignorant in their walk they hung leaves on a tree like jackpots can turn green into roots that grow on streets, but watch their present moods. Silenced like lambs that lost their coats during the months they were actually supposed to tuck their Osama in now they can’t even talk to the star that directed them to a field where their harvest once stood. Can’t pin a man’s maid slipping through your waters and now sits on the most valuable pot of gold called time that they are constantly begging to get in or back to. I slay ‘em, these goliath thinkers thought their thoughts were worth more than David’s throne that he serves hot from every direction, which still has millions of stones unturned gathering no moss as earth’s hills rolling have these wicked beginners uniting citizens in fear of the community that they thought they could turn broom. Wicked witches, the East fire is served hottest so the sins they bore on earth will have to bear the fruits of my lovable neighbors who’s sand still stands dunes. Get your counts right, this is in June, tenth ain’t that bad when seven begins with desperately wailing to get a taste of the one, two. Gulp these seats as my thoughts go beyond the hooded morons that still have hate for the least of these grooms. Bride’s maids, they servants watch the courts as they serve us, but nothing comes without them handing out their earth’s illegal status to anything that wants news. Blind campers, they playing cowboys while aliens just allowed for something more refreshing to help them because their time to farm was past due. I’m chiming, ringing door bells that have skull caps thinking blood can label their skin under their perception of having anything worth a rainbow lacking their most hated hue. Without love, so my clouds I turn ominous till the ground is cold enough for them to even have any water to paint images in the color they can walk on without tools. They empty handed so I hand out verses to anyone that can see clearly to the bottom of any spring that the desert now finds these fools. Desperate to get back to their safety net they hashing out moving screens of space and turning noble men like Lincoln vampire just to paint a brave enough image to face my earthly goons. Let these stars fall as I twinkle and hush anything that moves coz I just bought myself a mocking bird worth a golden goose. She feeds the world her wickedness and fantasies while starving one child that lives on reality thinking that adopting an image that resembles her as a servant can make her look worthy enough to join a jungle’s brood. Hell must be missing some fury coz a woman she scorned is toasting to the nakedness of everything that respects her every inch of being from toes to her shell that they beach in tans with the hope of maybe, just maybe resembling anything more attractive than my woman's cacoon. My queen’s watch has turned star gazers to star grazers but there’s still enough grass for me to turn leaves for days to come coz I’m no drone in trying to attract a woman thats always, even with her weakest thrones of diamonds jubilating, is destined to lose.”

“Ayo, The Hulk is here!”  

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Cipher 103 ~ Jungle Fever ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series.

“The jungle’s fever has reached its highest pitch. Or you gotta be at least this high to speak. Or speaking this high has many thinking they were meant for the jungle’s mountain peak. The kill ‘em man Jay wrote enough snowy vocab that could melt the valleys that the Great Tupac done turned silicon but deaf is he who never responds to a Lion’s roar like a monkey has anyone else to learn from to remain asleep. So as I borders the valley that shadows are made from while the rest were left to preach, let me narrate why I prefer to stay burnt toast than follow some wooly mammoth’s skin gauging black sheep. Bah bah blah they udder like milk and honey comes dirt cheap. Concrete guides using fake bones and learned ways to entice real warriors who’s roots they thought they could steal only to find they lack the soil to carry a jungle so they turned to using their golden streets. Walking with animals that require the least amount of grass to keep. ‘Sanduku iko salama sasa’, these sheep wearing wolves still bone picking, tomb raiding thinking they’ve dug a hole deep enough in the ocean to hide their deep blue sins. An eye, for an eye so let me give ‘em a chance to utter any reference point that starts with, leave. Come on, let’s see who they gon turn to when there’s no one left inside the full cup of sand thrones to compete. Or beat, coz if the others had any more strength to walk then moon be coz they went in search of the farthest point on earth to search for snow's heap. I’m psycho, I can see Michael, laughing with his peter pan findings in his original skywalk, beach. Washed up clean scrubbed off of his vain outlook that inward rewarded enough paths to see for themselves why the Pirates that they use in moving screens to shield the brick walker, that they only have a woman to do all their childish deeds. Stay Yiddish, speaking your child’s language unaware of who the adults in this room are you trying to box in. Stick figures, no change, enough of their attempts to kill dreams have lost enough of our souls so why not a snake’s wall in the East that they West bank on, trying to become some real things. I’m a seasoned vet; ask around, Ishmael got enough Cajun in him to spice up some uncooked beef. Harbored a tree now the leaves falling because of too many changing seasons and the coming heat. They wrote everything trying to mock anything that doesn’t look like a branch coz words did become their hidden place to see. The way I sea, only land can receive anything that stands because apples falling must have meant they had some solid place to sit. Or shit, but sand storms do leave enough evidence on who really has anything left to in him to say peace. Deuces chunked in the morning because walking behind the dark always requires some picking up of some plants to clothe the same people they stole from now they want to act like sheep. They sowed hatred’s seed now my excitement is beyond me coz I know for a fact that this iss the year of harvest and their walking out has them begging for a way in. From Eli’s books they trying to find the edge of land to dump the words they used to split. Dark Tide using my Queen as a guide just because they lack any formal way to keep a jungle’s fire they try to extinguish, lit. Its cold outside and knowing that my bags will always be three full, I take two and split one just so they can buy time outside themselves since inside them there’s nothing worth a penny to keep. Dark times, I’m shining this light to the midgets of snow because under my skin, there’s also white, but that’s right before I let you see my thoughts choose to bleed.”

“The Jungle’s leaf”                 

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Cypher 102 ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Looking at life through the rear view got me seeing clearly who rears views. I mean how long can one keep insulting the woman that reared you then turn and complain about a man whose work you are compared to?! If it’s your work that makes you an individual then stop and think for yourself dude, or stop using my queen’s ass to talk like you have the right to walk with her bare shoes. If it’s the quantity of your ignorance that has you measuring yourself by how many of the weakest souls you can have near you. Then my suggestion is for you to stop looking down at yourself and give her some measure of respect that’s been past due. But since past you is any energy to make anything of yourself as you now you have actually chosen to become Jews. It's only right that the heat greets you like the oasis you are to these fools. As you Humph like a camel bragging about being in the Sauna with these, look around you, they’re deporting your kind because I guess they’ve finally learned to love you in your envied hue. The measure of a man’s heart is virtually impossible but if man’s heart was to be measured, the possibility of you having a number has already been used. You continue to sell your dreams with no direction of who sees your clues. Lucky enough since I know all your work has been during the lost time, I’m deciding that the best thing to do is not sell, but give you all my thoughts for free which I know given your state, you’ll also abuse. The words I use have been read and heard before I even became a clue, and so have yours so if we meet I’ll just know you ran from the other side without yours coz they are all afraid of your months in June. The shores are filled with enough sand to make sandals for the poor but since you lack any feet, these are my shoes I’m taking off just so you won’t be accused.”

“Green, if I could change my name, I also would”    

Monday, June 11, 2012

Cipher 101 ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“As I welcomes the Heat I’m aware of the longstanding tradition of never accepting the feathered birds that stick together for the sake of sticking others in a net coz they just be fishing for snakes that have nothing in common with go getters. If gone then get stuck since the wall is where you now choose to sell your thoughts of yesterday that when today arrives nothing will come your way but plucked birds that bald on sight of another’s neighbor. Jealousy accumulated from days spent cooling a heart that knows the most heated argument doesn’t come without rock stained realities that King Kong the curious George can knock knock and it will never open since the existence thereof comes from the fear therein of another’s independent nature. A warrior’s blood doesn’t mix with that of a smooth talker coz slippery slopes always have the broadest woman following your every deed so now you stuck bragging about how many of her midgets don’t see your ignorance written on pure paper. I put money in a book written on those pure when naked that if True Blood is your misguided depiction of what it means to traverse the bottom of the ocean, then welcome to cool runnings, my pure cainers. No sugar cager, sweetness got me Burying Sanders coz Colonel the Sheriff has no sight for my deputant manners. Organized around a note that has no value when no one seas us, Atlant this and, its pacifying that you are looked at to do all their playful majors. My balls don’t swing for tigers, just facing the bitch that owls for a jungle to cage her. Lions and, bribers, and bears oh fcuk your stars, mine has no bearings so god luck if you also want to capitalize on my frequent namers. Ishmael, this gorilla doesn’t need the broad when the narrow filters itself from smokey’s rangers. “Only you can prevent forest fires!” Do you always need reminders?! Take these breadcrumbs and eat before the cookie monster crumbles and a nose becomes their only measures. Who’s lying?! Pino ain’t Leo, so I don’t read from anything that has a rainbow that carries the most obvious minders. Sole modeled, carbon dated and Coke bottled, my genie doesn’t need a bottle when your glass has been emptied with the solids you made her. Crackpot I’m cooking up shit that smells like a rose only if your eyes ain’t her’s. Blue grass, this Ken has turkeys ready to feast in your disguises you impotent mangers. This is child’s play, so call me chucky with chunks of chuckied cheese diced up to circle your blocks building bulls of shit and then some. Ayo, Jay Over, you on the straight not narrow so call me when you can think beyond the bend son. I own you now, no need to find empty cans when water fills up on its own when Cajun. Fire hot, spicy, them others are just tomb raiders wit Indian curse around their necks the name Red burn. Bzzz, I just shitted on ‘em but no pollen for this bee, my workers are queens, you just fall when you taste some. Drone attacks no manning a bitch that turns to hum. Go on then, H.A.M.”

"Match my Green, I HIGHLY Doubt."