Going Out

A friend is trying to drag me out to some undisclosed location.  Part of me wants to go, and the rest wants more details.  I just don't want to end up somewhere that makes me wish I would have stayed home...lol.  But, then again, I could use an interesting evening.  Hopefully, I don't regret it.

I'm pretty sure we won't be here...lmao!!

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

For the Young Kings, Somehow Still Alive

Most Young Kings 

most young kings get their heads cut off,

dethroned, in these streets, where the blood runs off,

but the blind won't see, how the dead get drug off

it is hell, in these jungles where death is the cost,

a martyr if you die, surviving means souls get lost,

lose-lose situations, here where evil never sleeps,

eyes see much sorrow, so they barely notice peace,

and getting trapped is the thickness of the concrete deep, 

where darkness is a backdrop, and the vines steady creep,

they'll trip you, they'll grab you, they attempt to pull you in,

here where caged is a mind state and there ain't no fucking friends,

just fellow soldiers, understanding that to reach the other side

it'll kill a bit within you, you got to walk with steady eyes,

got to learn to see through constant lies, learn how to rehabilitate pride,

use the barbed wire to cut the chains,  and know everything broken ain't ready to die,

most young kings get their heads cut off,

once embedded with a pain that just won't wash off,

so now beheaded and stained, they die amongst the lost,

and those watching never think about

the cost, never think about

the tears their brothers cried, words of wisdom not applied,

we never shared them because we felt like they would fall on

deaf ears, but maybe he's listening, and maybe he's watching,

just as afraid as the others, that death will come knocking, 

and his windowless hope lies in the gun he keeps cocking,

because it's the only way out he's ever been shown,

all the other exits come equipped with a distraught mother's tears, 

body identifying, and a box shaped just like all her fears, 

liquor on the pavement from men who try not to cry, 

the broken spirit of a child too young to understand why,

most young kings get their heads cut off,

dethroned, in these streets, where the blood runs off,

red, we wonder why they seem so filled with anger,

because we watch them run with knives and never bother

explaining 

the danger

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Rare Groove, Jan. 21, 2011

The xx ---  Crystallized

Stumbled across this yesterday.  Love the way their voices sort of depend on each other.  Interesting group with a cool sound.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet