DubTak is Back, Jack!

MY PHONE HAS GONE INSANE AND I WILL FINISH THIS ON A REAL COMPUTER!!

After a few years of...we'll call it "hiatus"...I have decided to resume my writing on this most venerable of self-publication venues. I am older now, wiser and more sour, and thus my words are full

Double-Edged Coin

Am I afraid of failure, or turned on by failure? Am I in an eternal loop? Do I crave consistency, or am I repulsed by it? What is this all headed toward?

I am a seamless homogeneous mixture and a sloppy heterogeneous heap. I wish I could sleep on cue, don't you? Won't know 'till you try, better suffer than die. Death is a luxury I am not afforded. I will return whenever needed, no matter the hour, no matter the price. Righteousness's difficulty was understated when first related to me. I didn't know what I enlisted for, however more days they give me I'll take: desperation's a tainted take.

Can't it be both?

Two-Faced Joker

They...call...me...

VERSE 1
Two-faced joker
In a black-and-white deck
Got a red-hot poker
And a frail little neck
Wanna yin-yang cookie
Or a monochrome flag
Get some tangy nookie
Or an unfiltered fag

CHORUS
You want it good?
You want it bad?
You want the best you want the worst you ever had?
You want it all?
Then take a fall
Come to my two-toned, half-domed, zebra-stripe carnivale

VERSE 2
Two-faced joker
With black-and-blue thighs
Got an angel stoker
And The Devil's eyes
Wanna ebony bicycle
A iv'ry sedan
Get a red icicle
But no fatal plan

New Chapter

Herein begins my new chapter

I arise from years of darkened slumber.
My hand shakes slightly as I wake,
fearful of the morning's call.
On my lips, the promise of song trembles to the surface.

I have waited in this forge,
Ever hardened, ever tempered,
Until the fire convinced me that
Melting was my only choice.

From the anvil of avarice,
The hammer of humility has sharpened
The ore of my youth
To the blade of my hope.

From the red-hot shards of my fury
Has come the bellows,
Exhaling and carrying me ever forward.
From the cooling waters of patience
Has come the steam of righteousness.

Herein begins my new chapter.

As I burned my temples to blackened lumps,
It waited.
As I corroded my aqueducts with poison,
It waited.
As I wallowed in the undertow that drowned me,
It waited.

Until I no longer expected it,
No longer tracked its furtive movements.
In that moment, it pounced.
In that instant, it conquered.
In that flash, it revealed,
It Created.

Herein begins my new chapter.
Herein ends, I pray, my wretched sight.
Herein begins my beating heart.

Navajo Jeans

VERSE 1
Like a leaf from the tome
She talks with the cold
Grinning while her fingers roam
She rolls oh so bold

CHORUS
Navajo jeans
Come off at the seams
Black bottomed soul
I lose my control
And slip on my dreams

VERSE 2
Like a trumpeting band
Yo-yo like a queen
Loves to fall into my hand
With her fire filled beam

CHORUS

BRIDGE
Such a perilous stream to ford
Caulk the wagons, or pay the toll?
Cash out weapons I can't afford
Natural critical role
>>>too nerdy? Different song maybe? Tone seems too different<<<

SOLO(s)

VERSE 1
>>>variation? verse 3? Trade 4s (verse 1/solo, chorus/solo)?<<<

CHORUS

Dizzy

I feel dizzy again, unbalanced. I feel sick, useless, frail. I cannot bring myself to do what is necessary, despite it being in my own interest. At what point did I convince myself that I am not worth saving? At what point did I stop investing in my own well-being? At what point did I stop being the smart kid and started being the slacker? The new location feels no different, the meds feel no different, except for the occasional day that I don't feel like I can't keep myself upright. How can I be so far from success, when I had so much potential? What have I been reduced to? Why?
Why can't I get out of bed when I want to, when I need to, when I scream at myself in my head for hours and my muscles don't work. A few doctors have told me that I am a product of no routine, that I have fallen into bad habits and simply reinforced them. I feel, however, that I have never had a routine, never been able to cling to anything productive.
My mind is afloat, bloated with fairly useless information. Know what a Tardigrade is? I do. Know why a Dorian minor scale is implemented? I do. Know how to get anywhere on time? I don't. Know how to not screw up? I don't.

Ferngatz Lens

Words are not mere vessels of information; they are living, beating sixteenth notes, or maybe demisemiquavers on the grand staff of type-face. Every syllable rides a rowdy rhythm, every vowel a timbred pitch, every sentence an arpeggiated counterpoint, weaving against a melody of pronouns and predicates. Verbs should be believed, nouns need not kneel, adjectives objectify indirect objects. Paragraphs, perfect and pristine, quite rarely stand tall, unless viewing works exemplary yet zealous in their sweet, sweet music. The timpanist trusts his tuning in the way writers wish and want. Why just convey when with words you can play a symphony of syntax? Why simply state when you can relate the great songs of olden rhymes, cactus juice with ice and limes, breathing down from deep within refurbished pulp? Let literature live lest it lay, lazily lessening, love of living missing. Find sound, find song, find cantus firmis flying out from ink swashes. Make the mundane into music.