END [BLOG]

A chapter has ended in my life and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

Nervous? Slightly, but that’s because I saw the murky light at the end of the corporate middle-management tunnel and there was a wheelbarrow half-full of money glowing in stink flies.

“All you have to do to get that money is shake the Devil’s calloused claw and sign on the dotted line; in blood, of course. Oh, and … just the tip, that’s all. Promise.”

Nothing is free. There’s a trade-off for everything.

It’s ignorant of the peasant to think he could impress the King enough to befriend him and even more sloppy to think his new friend would raise his wage to a comfortable level that’d allow him to escape the straw-hut drudgery his peasant name has cursed him with.

Once a peasant, always a peasant; there is no escape.

“Unless you stand on this footstool and become slightly elevated in stature from the rest of your brotherly herd …

Of course the wage will increase with the gained responsibility and promotion in title.

But, shh … the requirements will outstrip the benefit.

That’s what it takes to move up, kid.”

… zip …

Bend over and be sodomized. No squeaking. For ten hours, if thy Lord requests it at a whim. If you suggest lube, so God help you, you’ll be fed to the wolves on the floor that you’ve turned your back on during your ill-thought climb to the lower-middle slope of the corporate pyramid.

Take. Take. Take.

Slipping down the face of the pyramid, reach out a hand …

“Huh? Give? No thanks. We have these guys who will let us take from them some more, so fuck off, why don’t you?”

Some doors in life need to be opened, so that you can see why they need to be closed forever, dead-bolted and welded shut with a bookshelf secured in front for fail-safe security.

I’ve seen what’s beyond middle management.

And, yes …

It is a mountain of sweaty old ass cheeks with over-worked sphincters pulsating in anticipation to shit in a new mouth of some gullible jerk who thinks he can be for the people while managing a machine that has no heart.

Escape the cog before you spring a leak and all your life’s inspiration is slowly drained OUT to fuel a business model that requires bosses to view people as commodities, the boss’ only duty being to continuously refresh the Google browser every few minutes to watch keenly  for A.I.’s robot-workers to go on sale to the general public.

Then, “oh sweet mother Mary,” he can fire you, decrease paid wages, secure a padded bonus (paid for by your revoked paycheck), win a shiny pseudo-medal, get that promotion and FINALLY become on of those tickled sphincters twitching with a bullied giddy.

I’m full …

END.

bj draKe

There’s A War Going Online No Profile Is Safe From [BLOG]

Hunter S. Thompson feared the worst on January 20th, 2005. He countlessly warned against the re-election of the baby orangutan for president, George W. Bush Jr., as it would clearly mark the end of days. A societal breakdown at free-falling speeds. The end of hope.

Bang.

I dealt with the letdown by beginning a politically-charged blog surging with accusatory allegations, cocaine fueled conspiracy’s and the cursory language of a man who drank himself into a tormenting psychosis.

I became consumed. Obsessed. Thousands of words a night. Unfiltered, rarely edited free-thought. Kerouac’s alcoholic spirit stuttered my sentences longer than a rock tossed towards a stage at an Antifa disruption.

Outlandish allegation with no evidence, just raw guttural adolescent sureness.

A few weeks after my online political/passive activism began I logged onto the website to pleasure my narcissistic impulses by shuffling knuckles to what I’d written the night before.

I hesitated as I unclipped the last button, as I noticed the website was loading an unfamiliar graphic. An official American government crest with a seriously perched eagle slowly loaded onto my screen with a warning that the website had been shut down.

The eagle winked at me as I toweled off. I shut down the computer.

I was worried. I didn’t think people actually were censored in 2005. I thought free speech WAS alive and well. I wasn’t promoting violence, so what was so dangerous about my website ? They were just MY THOUGHTS, unfiltered. Did they add me to some CIA watch list ? Was I going to be abducted and used as a Manchurian Candidate to assassinate a political target and blackmailed with my blog ?

I was nervous. Paranoid. It didn’t help that when I was writing the blog I was dizzy drunk and in a self-destructive downward spiral, using dangerous potions of drugs to boost the gallons of black-market booze I would straight funnel into my stomach to stir up the handful of chewed-up sleeping pills during my headlong dash towards an accidental death.

WAS. I. RIGHT ?

I never logged on again. I hid through the remainder of President Bush Jr’s presidency. I hid during the Obama era. I haven’t even talked politics at the pub over beers with associates since that day.

You never know which friend has been compromised into wearing a wire.

But, it’s time to let out these grievances that YOU (society/mass media) have created.

And, I’m not saying that as some mountain top prophet who’s threatening to jump.

Nor, am I saying it like a virgin video-game nerd who’s shrunken libido is about to indiscriminately erupt.

And, I’m definitely not saying it as someone who ignorantly feels empowered now that Trump is producing his latest reality TV show spin-off.

I’m saying it as someone who’s spent nearly a decade being quiet. Thinking. Reflecting. Wandering dangerously deep into introspection. Analyzing beliefs and ideas of all sides; not just BOTH.

If there’s a fork in the road it’ll do you no good to flip a coin if you’re indecisive of which way to go.

Sometimes, unfortunately, there are more than TWO sides to a topic.

I’m saying it as someone who’s getting too old for THE bullshit, and I’ve hardly made it passed the cursed age of twenty-seven ! That being said …

I’m nervous to dip my nutsack into the snarling mouth of the internet, right now.
It’s no longer the censoring arm of the government that I fear, but the online vigilante justice from my peers.

Allegations spread with a few passive clicks of a button. Misquotations. Fabrications. Questions that are not able to be reputed without the accused coming off as weirdly defensive. A hidden and indiscriminate smearing of somebody’s life and meaning because someone DISAGREED with a fucking opinion, which in today’s climate means you’ve assaulted that person with your insensitive micro-aggression and …

YOU. SHALL. BE. PUNISHED.

There’s a growing online/campus narrative that uses juvenile destruction towards physical property and a person’s livelihood with tactics – both online and off – resembling the bottle kids of trailer parks; run in, smash bottles and run away.

The overly virtuous crusaders on the left have bred the pixelated wolves of the right, those cloaked in the smoky masks, the careless grimaces of Pepe the Frogs. Shit-disturbers who don’t see the big deal of shitting on someone’s sensitivities and posting a tasteless gif of the embarrassment afterwards. They stick their tongues out in the snow and keep balaclavas on to hide their acne.

There’s a war online no profile is safe from.

It feels like the first day of the penitentiary. Which side do you pick ? You’re not racist. You’re not a murderer’s sympathizer. You just don’t want to be confronted and gang-rapped in the shower on your first night in.

There’s an online culture of smash and burn. Hopefully YOUR sins are not flammable.
I feel like Hunter was right; society is in its last days. Maybe the Revelation will be fulfilled alas. But, more accurately, we’ll go on saying that FOREVER it (the end of days) is near. Until the Bible is no longer believed and destroyed. But, could it be that Trump is the Antichrist that every Christian has giddily been awaiting ?

Is America’s struggle a World’s struggle to concern ourselves with ?

Will his/their stupidity destroy us all ?

Is there such things as BORDERS in the age of the internet, or are they symbolic of the old-World we’re running away from online ?

It seems like we’re running away, scared and ignorant, from basic FACTS. Facts that are true, but uncomfortable.

And, strangely enough, the real terrorizers chasing us with fiery sticks, shooing away the witchcraft of Science, aren’t the toothless rednecks with trash-bag hoods covering their ugly motives, but instead it’s the universities and their fragile teachers of young draped in worn-out earth-toned cardigan sweaters with the shoulders patched and their weasley, malleable and frugal haired hipsters sipping diet soy milks.

It’s the shriveled lizards of televised news feeding the technologically stunted viewers of antiquity with biased conjecture.

It seems to be the OLD power structure luring the anxious youth to fight for their the survival on the streets, ironically.

“They’ve learned the old way, but now there is a new way they can’t learn unless they pay the university’s required fees, because it’s not public knowledge, yet -LET US TEACH YOU … ” shrieked in an maliciously evil tone.

In the age of the (free) internet, we don’t need THEM anymore to teach us the “hold my hand” curated, censored and select snippets of what is known and has been chosen to be shared.
Those silver-haired ivory tower gate keepers hate seeing slobs in jogging pants quoting Aristotle.

“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”

We don’t need THEM to graciously sway our opinions to their educated and enlightened views. We have the opportunity (the first time in (wy)mankind’s HIS/HERstory) to …

THINK. FOR. OURSELVES.

… darp …

Extreme Leftists want to abolish the capitalist system because Marxist socialism is again the cool. A “fair” level of poverty for ALL is the future ( don’t talk about the genocide, murder, or any of that though, shh ) …The Right (never mind the Far Right because any cunt preaching “Rule by Supremacy” that quotes quackery “science” based on studies of skin color is a deplorable moron) wants the government to stop leeching off their incomes with increased taxes to pay for the liberal cry-babies twisted Utopian dreams, and for the Democrats to stop trying to strip them of their Second Amendment rights, which was created to resist Tyrannical governments, much like some of the genocidal Marxist/Socialist regimes that took guns, like that cool-guy Mao’s dynasty.

“Shut up, NAZI !” curdled a defeated cry of a melting snowflake …

“No I’m not !” replied the guy just reading aloud with his finger following the words printed in the high school textbook.

Disagreement is targeted, destroyed and eradicated.

“We’re right, you’re wrong, admit it or perish.”

Simple debate, stripped of click-bait and scandals, has been CLOSED. The internet is CLOSING.
Men are scared to talk to women are scared to talk to transgenders are scared to talk to minorities are scared to talk to children.

Humans fear what they don’t understand, therefore the culture of silence is breeding fear. If you understand nothing, everything is terrifying.

IT MUST BE, must’nt it?

To further (wy)mankind we MUST talk, openly and honestly; no pussy-footing around (“sexist pig, he is !”).

Firstly, we have to erase the false paradigms. Left ? Right ? Republican ? Liberal ? Libertarian ?

How can you be “for the people” if you’ve pledged allegiance to only, say, the Left ? You’re leaving out the rest of society that doesn’t fall under your preferred pre-packaged label.

You’re creating, or at least encouraging, division.

You’re turning your back to those who breathe the same air as you …

Bleed the same blood as you …

YOU.

I think if YOU thought about it, you’d realize you have a bit of the youthful libertarian, a bit of your uncle’s right-wing conspirator and a bit of your grandpa’s conservative ways smeared across your identity.

The LEFT/RIGHT is a false-paradigm.

LET. GO. OF. IT.

Secondly, some people need to STOP assuming university credential’s empower them to speak for a group that they are NOT a part of. Just because you think some “disenfranchised” or “powerless” group needs the qualified expertise ( uh-hum, uh : white privilege ? ) from someone with a doctorate in a niche ( invisible ? ) subsection of society – they don’t want your help. Don’t. Don’t embarrass their culture, or your nieces and nephews. They’re not weak.
Just fucking admit that topic/major was a poor life choice and hand the resume of defeat off at the Starbucks down the road from your parents house (note to Universities: stop hiring these experts of nothingness as teachers, maybe, just to validate the useless credential that your university offers … )

It’s like our parents say, “you’re an idiot” [speaking to the 20-something you].

Stop pretending …

About EVERYTHING, goddamnit.

Love is love, right is right, knowledge is knowledge, truth is truth …

Relativity? Go fuck yourself and come back to the conversation in ten years after you’ve read a book your teacher hasn’t assigned, after you’ve acquired some responsibility, or after you’ve escaped the protective picket fences of the suburban cul-de-sac.

Step aside from GROUPTHINK.

Stop pretending that emotions trump the truth.

Stop being jolted/triggered by the word trump, associating it with Trump and whatever negative connotation it’s absorbed with you from it’s over-use in the media …

No one is perfect.

It is thru our errors that we improve.

It is by learning from the mistakes of others that we don’t repeat the same blunders.

We digress …

A curated existence on the internet isn’t real.

Stop persecuting a slip of the tongue and ruining someone’s career because you disagree.
Let the internet be a safe place of trial and error.

A safe place to grapple with the heavy seriousness of life’s most important questions.
If we keep on burning the village, people will leave.

Stop.

Where do you go once you’ve been shamed publicly for something THAT MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN TRUE or manipulated in an unfair way ?

You lose your job,  your family, your ability to make a steady income …

People run to the internet to escape the pains of real life.

Then the trolls attack in the CyberWorld and chase you away from anonymity.

Your safety.

So, where do you run after that ?

Where do you hide ?

There is a war online no profile is safe from.

By sharing thoughts and opinions you are walking onto a battlefield …

Strewn with pieces of exploded bodies.

Step out with careless disregard, waltzing atop the landmines.

Accept the loss of limbs and permanent disfigurement that could potentially fall upon this temporary vessel.

“agjha;jkgadg,” he mashed against the keyboard with his freshly blown-off stump, meaning to type, “this is life, now,” and failing, miserably.

bj draKe.

bobby, bitch [BLOG]

“I’ve finally had my Britney Spears (circa 2007) moment.”

Sort of, I guess.

“I had MY public meltdown running amok in Los Angeles.”

You’ve never been to L.A.
You’ve hardly left the house in two years.
And, you weren’t worried about THEM
Finding methamphetamine in your bangs.
You’ve never, directly, broke-down, either.

“I shaved my head.”

Well, it is really short.
One on a man’s beard trimmer.
Just a hair’s breath poking through the scalp.

“AND …
I’ve grown a beard, bro !”

[Both fists wave Satanic hand gestures in unison.]

Britney did NOT grow a beard, though.
Neither have you, yet.

“It’s only been a week, bro.”

[Winking, tongue-out emoticon in real life
As his hands wring in contemplation thru his … ]

Two, tops.

The friend said, gently
“You have to grow a beard
To have a beard.”

Touche, friend.
Tou- fucking – che.

[Culturally appropriated fist-pounds exchanged
Awkwardly, as both parties are exceptionally white.]

“It looks hella decent, brother.”

[Proudly puffed chest from belittling friend.]

“It’s getting there, as they’d say.”

Who the fuck is this goddamned THEY everyone talks about ?

[Smirk droops with chin-pubes from years of disingenuous compliments.]

 

But, TBH …
It looks like poorly transplanted hair from the anus
Sloppy glued-on ass hair taped across the jaw line
Waiting for the scrotum’s spring fuzz to poke through
To be used to patch over the blank spots; the future comb-overs.

“Not to sound uppity … ”

Right …

” … but, I’ve become a bit of a meditation master … “

Not at all uppity, sire, but TBH, you smoke
Weed and half-sleep cross-legged on a sofa
Zoned out to weirdo ambiance music on SoundClick.

“You know … ”

No, he doesn’t, so please tell the idiot.

” … spirituality … ”

… huh …

” … buddha … ”

the FUCK you doin’ …

” … like, eternal love for the universe and all it’s creatures … ”

What about bugs you eat for protein?

” .. and, I felt like, like, I couldn’t fully connect with the God-head.”

You want to what, now ?

[Laughs, rolls eyes, shrugs in aggreance with himself.]

“Yeah, like, I had an incomplete connection.”

Um, so, you only felt a tickle from his tip
As it poked and sifted thru your side-part?
You wanted, no you fucking NEEDED, to be …
Fully penetrated by the spirit of God?
That’s correct?

“So, I shaved my head.”

Tee-hee.

[Awkward laughter as you realize you’re talking to no one.
Just the reflective fucking mirror in a house you rarely leave.]

“Namaste.”

… fuck, no wonder …

“Shut up, you creep.”

bj draKe

applaud/d

mush worms in-between the fingers
sunshine funnel/d into the bloodstream
life’s presence felt in the warm pricK
nightmares of a cold sweat spun into contentment
adrenaline salivates w/animalistic pleasantries
n absorbs absolutely the limp/d n forgot/n soul
that isolates from the inquires of strangers
b/c being polite is a gateway drug

scramble the automaton of mill work milieu
w/a platter of powder/d passivity to participate
in the hellish rituals of the punch clocK

purchase the proverbial white paint
for the proverbial white picKet fence
w/a jam/d latch n a seized locK
n no escape from this
suburban cemetery

pills prescribed to eschew the pain of our
bluntly shit/d on dreams left lingering
from our adolescent naivety

the last of the school yard picKs
the unwant/d, the pity/d

delegated into
assimilation
opt/d out n
applaud/d
for both
giving n
growing
up.

bj draKe

#goodbye (ode to instagram)

as posted on Instagram, February 8th, 2018 by bj draKe.

this is bjdraKe.com ; mostly poetry.  it was down for a year after a brain injury n hasn’t fully been updated since relaunch, but it will serve as the only “official” glimpse into the window of my life.  i’m quitting instagram.  i quit facebooK long ago n instagram is starting to feel like when the relapsed junky says, “at least it’s not heroine.”  it’s become a meaningless exerciese of the thumb.  plus, the advertisements maKe it less punK.  i’m not quitting b/c i thinK the platform is involved in some grandiose experiment to manipulate/indoctrinate/distract the log/d on, but they more than liKely are.  the reason ; time is precious.  that’s it.  there’s more to life than scrolling thru curated peeKs into other people’s/stranger’s lives.  sure, the bathroom will dull, but i’ll picK up a good ol’ fashion/d booK when i shit.  liKe we used to.  #goodbye.

bj draKe.

enlighten/d brooding

sit ; cross your legs, open your palms, close your eyes n be quiet.

w/o hesitation, whirling thru the upper layers of consciousness is redundant n trivial thoughts, radio chatter n gossip that confuse the silence. the day’s blah-blah-blah. sport statistics, the weather, tv commercials. acKnowledge these distractions n let them go ; quicK taste of a silent mind

until the silence is broKen by more mundane confrontations/conversations of real/perceived images that attacK/validate your nine-to-five ego n question your self-worth. acKnowledge these distractions n let them go ; silence is lengthen/d as you go deeper …

the artist quips thru the quiet, reminds you who you are isn’t the real you. ridicules your worKing class accomplishments, your fear of success, your willingness to conform n reminds you of all your creative failures ; acKnowledge these distractions n let them go ; silence is increased as you go deeper, still.

in stomps all regrets, mistaKes, guilt. anything you wish to forget, but can’t b/c someone else alive Knows what happen/d. the growing list of people that you should apologize to before death ; acKnowledge these distractions n let them go ; then, as quicKly as these voices are silenced

trudges in the grudges, hatred, anger, betrayal, disloyalty. all of the hurt n repression that explains the evil in you ; acKnowledge these distractions n let them go.

n then, finally, complete quiet

forever,

as you wait in absolute silence
hoping to uproot the pleasantries
that laid the foundation of good
in you.

but,

shh.

bj draKe

billboard dreaming

a million dollars is a myth
foreclosed, dead-end suburbs
white or blue collar ; humbl/d
both a collar ; leash/d
gold chains n draped in logos ; fad
idolize mtv ; walKing billboards
cancerous advertisment
smoKing heavy ; lights tho
escape regularity by chance ; lotto
drunKen daydream about winning
violent whiplash ; home-sweet-home
“if you see a cloud sunshine comes after”
no fun quoting instagram proverbs, anymore
wait/d patiently for my turn, but
others Kept budging ; squander/d
speaK up n stand tall, pipsqueak
living allowance-to-allowance
worship magazine deitie’s glossy lies
praying to waKe up #bless/d

bj draKe

tomorrow

darK cabal sorcery
hexing positivist
conceptualized agendum
elitist hypothesis
of a better world.

georgia guidestones ;
language crumbles.

machetes n
grenade launchers
plagues
aids n
avian flu ;
necessary evil.

population mutates into
parasitic infestations.

high-art.

ivory tower.

no fresh ideas.

latest ideologies
written for radio.

technology confuses
idea of tomorrow.

free-Knowledge ;
anything is possible.

educated working-class revolts.

bj draKe

cannonball

the weaK inherit
democracy’s debt.

peace comes w/a price-tag.

boom.

refurbish/d landscape, discount/d.

hole fill/d w/garbage
from foreign lands of plenty ;
no clean drinking water
for a swimming pond.

cannonball !

children strangled in
plastic six-pacK rings.

bj draKe

in stuff we trust

war is for profit, but
money is man-made, so
man made money
violent by design.

on the other side
the sKy is falling
in a village whose name
you can’t pronounce.

it might not exist.

poor Kids die.
rich Kids live forever.
god bless/d ‘merica.

the war on terrorism is
a made for tv mini-series ;

commercial breaKs
advertised reminders of
what we’re fighting for.

“in stuff we trust.”

it is your patriotic duty
to support our troops n
buy stuff.

wipe the blood off the eyes
of benjamin franKlin
so he can see what he’s worth.

bj draKe

deflate

the recess bell clang/d n the hallways flood/d w/sneaKers n
bacKpacKs n granola bar wrappers, exit doors batter/d n
bulged n burst thru as grunts, puffers n butterfly fish
meander/d down poky streams that puddled
together to form festering mud pits.

i saunter/d w/my soccer ball clutch/d closely n noticed
Kids weren’t waiting for me the soccer ball , instead
tacKling n rolling gaily in the grass w/a football,
n they laugh/d at my “girl” ball n told me
what to do to come join them,
“no.”

i trudged to the desolate
tennis court n KicK/d
the soccer ball
flat.

bj draKe

blinK/d

two eyes ogle
at the glinting
of a candyfloss/d
wonderland,
transfix/d with
ersatz trinKets
n displays of
blips n blinKs of
conspicuous
nothingness,
impertinent
inter-
ruptions melt
sweet sugary
snowflaKes
that hang
on eyelids
liKe diabetes
of the THIRD
i.

bj draKe

hostage of celebrity (KANYE’S SAINT PABLO TOUR REVIEW)

a review of Kanye west’s saint pablo tour

merch booth lineup extends beyond sidewalK, traffic cops guide delay’d motorists thru troops of distract’d millennials, dazed & drooling over iphones, unKnowingly there to wait hours to purchase a $50 t-shirt, whatever isn’t sold out, suppress’d letdown at lack of aesthetic appeal attach’d to the price-tag, not the correct size but, who cares? just want to feel that cotton select’d by their icon, Kanye west, #saintpablo, instagram, snaps, igeneration logs on to flog off heavily edit’d photos of self-absorption, drap’d in future thrift rack rags of silK-screen’d disaster, lost generation trying to fit in w/a faKe sense of belongingness, a sold out arena draining wifi to share, w/accomplish’d pride, their spoil’d existence, entitled attendance, filling lost boredom w/fashion & hype, vicariously living thru pop-culture’s most covet’d logo, branding is hash-tag’d & post’d alongside the hipness of other cool Kid niche consumerist fundamentals like #supreme, #antisocialsocialclub, #BAPE, the rare #Kaws, #yeezyboosts, but minimal #airjordans worn; blacK rip’d sKinny jeans a requirement for entrance into the stadium

general admission #selfie models lipsticK’d w/Kylie’s millionaire-emo majesty blacK metal matte, balanced on blacK burberry checK print toe pump heels w/polish’d brass bucKles, dyed blacK licorice faux side cut, innocently drunK eyes goop’d w/heavy blacK mascara, a sinful matte blacK nail polish, in hands grip’d is a blacK saint-germain louis v clutch full of daddy’s blacK plastic, blacK rip’d fabric, wrap’d & tighten’d mini-sKirts, side rip’d w/ladder detail’d slits flashing glimpses of smooth blacK raw cut hiphuggers; girls too pretty for the ensuing mosh pit they’re unKnowingly about to join

pre-show atmosphere, dim’d lights, puffs of simulated smoke, incessant chatter mum’d by distort’d soundtracK of retro-hip sounds of ghoul off a dollar store halloween cassette tape, the chamber of horrors, that every Kid from the 90’s had, layer’d w/psychotically hi-pitch’d laughs, scratch’d cult vibrations of ere hypnotizing amass’d grove of general admission millennials; mesmeric swarm gathers, clings, grows, sit cross’d leg’d in a circle of unshaKable silence, creepily still, meditative trance of ghostly whooooo’s, worrisome, young bodies attach & mass together, expand like a parasitic epidemic, mellow’d by sedative lullaby bass lines; channeling energies as one to manifest the messiah…

but, a less of a Kush-inspired conspiracy theory & the truth would be that they’d lost interest, absolutely, in the wait, opt’d out, anticipation replaced w/boredom, sit, rest, lazy & dulling & buzz’d, tired, leaning against deafening speaKers, Kick into new-age automaton, routine, begin scrolling thru the nothingness of iphones, exit the present, search vicarious entertainment, upload photos of #Krayzy time w/all smiles & #lovelife hashtags, but behind the filters die bored, anxious & depress’d, keep scrolling to fill the void of deprived excitement & meaning by double-tapping on a miniature screen; refuse to acKnowledge the smallness of individual life & lacK of one’s control

w/o warning stadium lights deaden’d, blacK’d, as smoKe billow’d thicK from every floor corner, booms & mechanical clunKs & hisses of science-fiction spacecraft resonated, engine revving, pressurized air of pneumatics prepare for flight, flood lights spill, peaK thru heavy clouds of stage haze & cannabis, fanatical roaring, screaming, shrieKing, near-fainting as the stocKy shadow’d silhouette of Kanye struts on stage w/nerves of slush’d hennessy, he signals lift-off, spaceship platform climbs, rises slowly w/a hidden purpose, ascends crowd as it crawls across to the arena’s opposite end of rubber-matt’d floor, general admission hipsters & hooligans, well-dress’d lemmings, chase the reddish-orange beams of spotlight underneath ye to become part of the art, an extension of genius; those wishing to remain relevant must forever chase the light to be document’d as distort’d pixels thru-out stranger’s social feeds

nose bleed/box seats snacK’d on popcorn & watch’d jumbotron á la Kanye, live-feed music video w/menacing filters, grim’d & blur’d edges, transforming pablo into a threatening evil-doer, a comic book, bad guy, villain, captured & chain’d by fame for eternity, off-white baggy sweatshirt bled slowly from dirty yellow to orange to red, slowly soften’d into purer filters, morph’d into illumination, becomes yeezus, godly hazed dreamliKe aura, golden & glowing as edges soften, vibrate to sound, pleasantly, calmly, hypnotically, while overhead view is of a god point of view, peaKing thru clouds of heaven to look down on his followers, auto-tuned power mix’d w/greeK mythology & occult allure, a King, a living legacy live on tv, pop-culture’s messiah, chain’d, hostage of celebrity, runs in circles; pull’d bacK if he tries to go too far

Kneels to crowd, reaches out, signals them to come closer & closer still, freestyle 4 clamor’d thru speaKers, icon looKs front row thru their eyes & into the soul to ask, “what if we fucK’d right now?” with most convincing energy, accuracy & emotion of the night, every syllable emphasized, flawlessly, forcefully, liberal minded free-souls drunK on cans of apple cider, sold for $9.50, mesmerized by proximity of celebrity, starstrucK, herd mentality, agreeability, as distortion peaK’d lyrics misinterpret’d as request, one word could descend hipsters and #selfie models, that were barely wearing their easily shredd’d mini-sKirts & rip’d jeans, into a lustful trance of debauchery, rip off st. pablo merch & baggy sweatshirts, “what if everybody starts fucking?” slips his influential lips, crowd deforms, degrades, animialistic driven frenzy of impulse gratification, tongues connecting, hands groping, groins gyrating in a mosh pit of hidden perversion, advantageous creeps, waiting for signal to devour the emaciated flesh stuff’d w/silicone & soft lips of youthful regret, the monstrous musical ode to public fucKing end’d early, needle scratch’d off, figuratively; merely avoid’d witnessing virginal sacrifice by a spellbound cult of yeezy extremists, hood’d in baggy compliance, atop the rubber-cover’d hockey rink floor for the roc god’s deviant pleasure

as it usually will w/o ritalin, my attention began to wander, drift, began doubting how much longer a crowd w/a fleeting attention span would salivate the repetitiousness of one man, no matter how famous, on stage performing 60% of his lyrics over an imac playlist, then it shuffled to fade w/pre-record’d vocals sung by uncredit’d vocalists, a madison square garden déjá vu moment, but w/o cudi, only him w/o vocals to perform, shimmy shimmy ya, effortless hotline-bling swag attempted/fail’d to entertain, attention is lost, but the rock-god w/his finger-on-the-pulse was in tune w/the slow roaming engagement of general admission, who’d grown tired of chasing the spotlight & those seat’d in the balcony w/numb legs, as song picKs up he unexpectedly thrills & wows w/red laser beams of rocK-star grandiose, yet a hip-simplicity, that stretch from the stage to the end of the arena, blanKeting floor crowd, separating & hiding general admission from balcony attendees, economic apartheid, those below imprisoned, caged from above by beams of neon awe, Kanye hidden below, nosebleed fans resort’d to jumbotron w/pleasure & familiar sit-down comfort, then stage rose & his head broKe thru the vibrating rays of minimal excess; ye stretch’d his hands to disrupt laser beams & plucK’d at the bars like Keys of a futuristic piano

lasers turn’d off, crowd turn’d on, phones glow, giddy, choir gospel harmonize in hopes to calm the beast he’s created using the gospel of ultralight beam’s, hold hands & rejoice, c’mon together, now, spaceship maKes final voyage w/a slow, slight sway towards opposite end of arena that he’d enter’d from, as it approaches the landing pad security guards lift up long rope they’d strung across center-ice of arena while general admission crowd were looKing up, unKnowingly herded to one side of arena by the traveling stage they chased during laser beam show, two dozen security guards picK’d up rope in unison, holding bacK groupie pablites & their reaching clammy hands of delusional hope, choir Keeps singing of unity & love, pre-record’d hydraulic noises of simulated pressurization mimics readiness for spacecraft to land, begins descent to earth, landing on same rubber matt’d ground fans slip’d on chasing the spotlight mere minutes ago, a god walks among us, lands, mechanical noises park’d, airlines bleed & silenced, shut off, awaiting to be freed from his chain by a stage-hand who’s paid minimum wage, he’s freed by one of us, his heavy steps jump off stage & he disappear’d thru slit in blacK curtain; gone forever

lights go on & the show is over, w/o blessing vancouver w/a pop-culture rants; no poetic inspiration or genius explanations/clarifications, no corporate rivalry gossip, no artistic ambitions shared

just 90 minutes of uninterrupt’d & focus’d Kanye performing the saint pablo tour as he intend’d; legendary.

bj draKe