Robert - Wasp

It's time for class! I love my Creative Writing: Fiction class. My professor is really hot. He looks like a writer. All we do is write and talk about writing. Man, I can't wait. Oh, don't be sad. I wish I could stay, wasp flying next to me. But I need to get up. I have people's writing to read and talk about. No, seriously, stop flying up my shirt, I have to go. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Okay.

Don't move, me. Not in inch. Not a one. I'm sure he'll leave. You're leaving, right, wasp? You're not. That's fine. I can grow roots and absorb moisture and nutrients from the ground below me. It's possible—This cottonwood behind me did it somehow, yeah?

I feel you on my back, wasp. Every five seconds or so, scuttling along the bare skin underneath the tail of my t-shirt and stopping again, teasing me into insanity and desperate, desperate fear. I feel as if you're no longer my friend. That is, I know you want me to stay longer, but forced coercion is no grounds for a friendship, you know. Every second of this sharply decreases the likelihood of us hanging out again. Do you hear me? You don't care. You're a wasp.

Wiggle my fingers. Bend my elbow, slightly—slightly, dammit!—okay good. Put shoulder joints in motion. Yes. This is good. Lift both my arms. I can move my arms! Lafferre Hall is within sight from where I am bound. Perhaps I can claw at the earth and bring the class to me with infinite strength. I can't. Damn you, wasp. You are so small—how did you obtain such divine power over me?

Wait, I'm in public. Everyone can see me sitting here, face constrained, obviously intently focused on what appears to be absolutely nothing. You see, wasp? You're making a scene. People are starting to get uncomfortable. I would call them over to help, if I didn't think you'd be smugly satisfied with that.

Hm...no. No way. Impossible. Maybe? In my head I measure the speed of my right hand flinging open my shirt and my left hand sweeping away at my lower back and my legs bolting upright and my eyes exploding from my head. I bet I can do it. I bet I can, wasp. Here goes.

Here goes.

I'm going to do it.

I am. I'm not kidding.

Here goes.

Okay I'm not. No way. You're terrifying. I admit you my respect, wasp, but not victory. I can still sit still here. And I am a well-trained American. I can go an entire day without significant physical movement. Man, but I really like that creative writing class. Do I like it as much as my back? Probably. Really, what do people even use backs for? Certainly the least useful part of the body. Fuck backs. Showers will be much easier without it, yeah? Yeah. You have nothing on me wasp NO NO pleasedonotgodownthereshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—okay near crisis averted with a risky tightening of the waistband.

I am still unstung. Time is running out, though. I will pay you $5, wasp. You'll be the richest wasp in the world. I will clean your gray hive thing. I will advocate wasp rights. Leave. Please god, leave. This is your last chance.

I'm going to have to do it. I measure the speed of my hands again in my head. Here goes, wasp. I didn't want it to end like this. Mostly because you'll probably sting me like the flying bag of wasp dicks that you are.

Here goes.

I'm not kidding.

Here goes.

Corner cutting (extended edition)

Mostly inappropriate,
socially dope but bogus wit
a side of champagne for ya dumb brain
got no problems except dealin with pain
dealin and administration
waiting for my turn
yeah i'm real fuckin' patient
nothin' to do, but think about you
you might as well quit dancin'
and tell me somethin' cruel
or maybe somethin' cool
or maybe somethin' else
statistically irrelevant,
i try and tell myself
now i'm waitin' on wealth
and i'll be waitin' in a few
got red money for days but
what the fuck can i do
just a man on a mission
a plan on which im pissin
a stand that im takin'
a dream i'm mistakin'
my misfortunes are wakin'
me up from my dreams
like tellin' me to get real
life ain't what it seems
to be
or maybe just not what it seems to me
it seems to me that this shit's obscene
but ey, it's free
you could take it you could leave it
don't matter to me
just another soul
who don't want it anymore
and yeah i hit the floor
live it up a little bit
make myself look like an ass
try and donald glover it
a white black nerd
who get down a little bit
like its cool to piss yourself
where the fuck is billy at
dumbass in a philly cap
in the place that we get silly at
nah it's really that
i ain't got time for ya'll
motha fuckas gotta ball
8-5 at the mall
got so much money that i don't know what to do with
so many problems that i don't know how to deal with
like how i ain't got money yet i still sit here and say shit
this rhyme's a funky thought, just somethin' for you to play with
and you know you don't rap, so i know you can't say shit
but when may hits, you'll be out there lickin my pay slips
look it up on ya bracelet
see what that fuckin play meant
these words are just my chess pieces
i need an X to play with
see damn son i got it
this flow inside my noggin
you're readin this and noddin
tryin' to think of what i've thoughten
and yeah i'm makin' words up
and yeah i got my courage up
and yeah i've got a surplus
of bullshit i can serve ya
but damn i hope you like me
my lyrics and my typing
my ranting and my writing
my bullshit and insighting
can't say i'm bottled lightning
but yeah i'm throttled, fighting
striving for the top of
whatever mountain i'm climbing
don't let me get you off track
and bring this classic shit back
to something that is in tact
and not a fuckin' train rack
i mean a fuckin' trainwreck
im groggy yo, my brain's wet
i'm soggy 'cause my brain's wet
i'm ballin' with no paycheck
just cuz i ain't got paid yet
don't mean that i don't got bread
throw some butter on that Wonder
after i toast it way black
that's burnt, get it?
the metaphor's dyspeptic
my flow is straight up septic
my breath smells straight like pickles
and my brain is always hectic
i am a frantic freewrite
with no aim and no guide
it's so plain, it's so nice
i'm so plane, i'm so high
i'm not though, chicago,
sealevel, el lago
here i go, espanol
this shit's too much to handle
if you don't like what i say
click any link and go away
i promise you this shit i made
was instant like the package say
and instinct like it's what i say
if you ask me to write a rhyme
so please don't write a complaint
i wish i had a refrain
some relief
some nice peace
where i could make this rhyme lead
where i could make this rhyme go
it's fuckin' silly, I know
i'm sorry bout my swearin,
mainly only to my parents
cuz everyone else who reads this
already know that we're friends
i'm hatin' on my blog,
i'm hatin' on myself
i guess this makes it pity rap
which means that i can go to hell
but yo i know you're tired as fuck
of readin' shit like this that sucks,
so i'm about to cut it off,
like a corner of a street
but i can't even cut off shit,
cuz' i don't even have a beat
so i guess i'll just stop writin' words
and hope you'll like in your head what you've heard.

random freestyle inspired by Kanye and Jay-Z. I just picked up Watch the Throne, and as someone with thoughts, I feel obligated to shine my light on the superduo's album.

Kanye West and Jay-Z have different styles. If you pick up their own work, you will hear much different brands of hip-hop. West tones down his evil creative genius, Jay-Z opens up, as it just feels like he's trying on Kanye's vision for size. It's a happy medium. It's a play album. This album is a hip-hop slumber party. Jay's stayin' at Ye's house! I picture them in one piece pajamas, eating pizza and playing Grand Theft Auto IV. It's a one player game, they can't both play simultaneously, but they naturally trade off missions and keep each other engaged.

Presenting this album to you is a crazy awesome amalgam of producers, spearheaded by Kanye. Kanye only made one song (Otis) by himself, but had a part in all but 3 songs of the original album. Swizz Beats put together beats for two of the songs, which makes me pretty happy. It's interesting to see how the different styles present themselves in a cohesive album, with Kanye making sure to be the unifying overseer of the tracks.

My tally has Kanye leading off 7 songs and Jay-Z dropping the first verse on 5 of them, and I'd say that's a pretty accurate depiction of how much of Kanye's fingerprints are on this compared to Jay-Z's. These guys rap like D-Wade and King James play basketball. Different styles, but both involve lots of scoring. They trade off being the guy and occasionally work together for a supreme highlight.

I can't pick a favorite song. Of the 12 tracks, 12 are full-blown songs. 12 of them have potential to be best and I like 12 of them. There is no outstanding winner to me after my first (and a halfth) listen. Favorite beats are "No Church in the Wild," "That's My Bitch," "Welcome to the Jungle," "Murder to Excellence" and "Why I Love You." There's no Power or Empire State of Mind from the album to tower over the rest, and I like that. Because I feel like these 12 songs and I have a long way to go yet.

Despite occasional overindulgence (see Beyonce on Lift Off) and no real home run song, a stylistic compromise, and the unfortunate lack of exceeded perfection, this album is fun. Can't wait to buy a physical copy tomorrow. 


--Eliot Sill

Nick - THE WORST THINGS

 

  Wasps

Wasps are the worst things. Bees are desperate creatures, and, if need calls, they will valiantly die to protect their hives.

And then there are wasps. Wasps don't die when they sting you. They sting you whenever the fuck they want, because they can. Also, bees pollinate all of our stuff. What do wasps pollinate? Nothing! Actually, probably something. I don't know. Who cares? Wasps are the worst.

Also wasps make those weird little grey tunnelly nests. Those things are unsettling, and they hang around your garage. You never notice them until you are too late.

The Color Beige

The Color Beige is the worst thing. First of all, when I google "The Color Beige," I get like 20 different colors. I don't think I can describe how stupid it is that this is a color when we don't even know what color it is.

One time I was driving my friend home and I asked him which house was his. He responded, "The beige one."

I threw him out of my car right there.

Happiness

Look at these people. These people look so happy. I hope they are all eaten by wasps.

Happiness is the worst thing. Let's run through an all-too-common scenario. I wake up, and turn my alarm clock off with all my fury. I drag myself to my dresser, miserably force myself to get dressed, and painstakingly maintain some baseline degree of hygiene. Then I finally trek wearily down to breakfast, only to be met by my two friends who are cheerily eating breakfast. Also, they are dating. So they are happy, wide awake, and they love each other. And now I'm sitting with them.

If there is anything worse than that, I have yet to encounter it. Happiness is the worst.

The Universe

The Universe is the worst thing. Yep. You all knew I was getting there.

Someday I could go on to eliminate every wasp and every beige-colored thing, and then The Universe would be all like, "Fuck you! You're insignificant!"

Basically what I'm saying is that The Universe invalidates everything I do. Put in a good effort to eat a healthy breakfast this morning? That's too bad, because you're a small collection of atoms that will never leave a rock on a distant arm of a small spiral galaxy.

And you can make the world a better place all you want, but that doesn't change the fact that it will be destroyed in a few billion years. 

Endings

I'm not writing one