Womb

Late nights
Blue notes
Red zen moon
Midnite music in bloom
Harmonies and melodies for the goddess flowering
Womb

Who

Who knows really?

What will happen when all the petroleum is gone? What will happen when the people rise up and extinguish the plethora of unjust laws? Will we have more peace in our stride, and more soul in our songs? Or will we repeat history, and act with greed and chivalry? A vast change is upon us, not as a country, but as a world of humans. It is time to strengthen our communities, and support our local brothers and sisters, in efforts to preserve this beautiful world, for our children and grand children.

September 29, 2011

Water to Wine

Navigate these sprawling freeways and golden arches

Fight till we all see straight, who hold the harness

My one sacrament be faith, my oldest daughter

Politicking, dipping my pen in holy water

Power of the atom that split to bang the ion

Passion of the animal rip, the fang of lion

Light a spliff to manage my wit, make a Zion

Meditate, read between the lines we all sign on

Life flows swift through the imagery of seasons

Got a tight, cold fist raised to liberty and freedom

No piece of the pie, fuck it I’m a’ eat crumbs

Rats run in circles, but they never seem to keep up

Peep us, the people underneath the asphalt

Trying to cop a couple pennies, falling from the cash vault

 Last call, for all who covered in the curse

Of the angry blood that boil up, and bubble till it burst

Fallacy and wickedness, in the schools where they teach us

No word how the church turned Judas into Jesus

Ignorance and irony lobotomize the mind

Ain’t no man that ever turned the fuckin’ water into wine

 If the Father is divine, than he wouldn’t be feared

And we wouldn’t war again when the bodies are cleared

Got a feeling that the earth’s end is probably near

So make fire with your words

And water with your tears

 

-BlesInfinite 09

The History of our Future

 

Hip-hop left New York and LA in the late nineties 

Packed it’s vinyl bag with designer breaks 

And bounced to every fifth white kid’s bedroom; 

Furnished with Timberland backpacks and Roland 8-tracks

 

Tommy trust fund didn’t have to bust guns for lump sums

Just emulate the culture that once was…

 

I remember rich Chris had the software to burn a disc, compact and crisp

Wax, CDs, and a Vestax, sandwiched between two techniques and a gold-platted MPC

Damn I wanted to touch those robust rubber buttons!

 

Collin and I had nothing

Except for an ounce we got fronted

Flipped it for a fifty-dollar profit, and got blunted

Turned eight more Ozs into a four-track with one speed

Four channels and a whole ribbon of tape bleed

 

“Let’s make beats”

Said Eph with his 18-year old ideals and baby dreads

Sprouting from his head like rhyme schemes

Passed like the glass pipe of kind weed, that made our eyes bleed

 

Midnight strolls down high Street

Heisting single cigarettes from the corner smoke shop

Saving dimes for the crate stamped $1.99

Diggin’ gems for that dope drop

 

Baraka’s Blues, Bitches Brew, Bill Withers and Gil Scott 

Still blocked us from the cynical runaround

Before Atmosphere and Aesop 

When Living Legends were the pinnacle of Underground

 

18 hours to Austin, with freestyles and herb to numb the exhaustion

Blazing resin with Murs, talking politics and hip-hop with the heads on the curb

 

Back to Burque

Where my girlfriend was about to pop

I was eighteen when he water dropped

I was a child with a newborn

Trying to make boiling water out of luke-warm

 

That’s when we played our first set

Bouncing beats on cassette deck

Counting sheep to catch rec

An ounce a sleep, an ounce a weed, and mad debt

Student loans paid rent, and filled the fork and plate

Diapers and bottles came from flippin’ quarters and eighths

But we were never too poor to create

 

Four-tracks of analog made Compact adventures

Ten Tracks of digital dropped The History of our Future

Soul trotting on the thin ice of sanity

With the synchronicity of The 2bers

 

Within the chaos and confusion, the music was the one answer

And the dope, which helped me cope, when Mom died of lung cancer

Used the loss as a canvas I could paint with my art

All alone in the lab, fuck the fame and the charts

 

Just a brain and a heart

And a temple for soul escape

A heavy-handed world resting in-between my shoulder blades

 

Almost left the world more than once

Returned with the release of Children of a Mortal Sun

From the Pharcyde, I saw time passin’ me 

And smiled wide when the club hit capacity

 

Nine years, six albums, and three children later

Still midnight marauding, with the rhythm as our savior

The history of this music is too deep to be digested

If hip-hop is dead…

We are jumping on it’s death bed

 

 

The Cost of Living

Triumph from tragedy

Confidence from casualty

Insight from innocence

Chaos from coincidence

Sound from Silence

Slowly stretching the seams     bound in quiet

 

A child’s first footprint    upon the grave of a wise elder

A free spirit   ignoring every lie that time tells her

A blind beggar  asking God for a divine favor

Manifesting a make-believe model for a divine savior

 

Nine layers of oil   cake the asphalt beneath metal monsters

Hustlers huddled on hot corners   chanting the devils mantra

 

Infants crying, lushes laughing

Grandpas rocking on old wooden slats

On a dusty porch   where nothing happens

 

Fallen soldiers, filling coffins   buried in bloody flags, made of a billion dollars

Wishing they could wash the blood from the hands of our founding fathers

 

Naked native children   dancing to the symphony of running water

 

Women cumming, warriors running

Seeds sprouting in the soil’s oven

 

Crows crying, leaves changing

Giant rats, rotting a concrete vat  they keep racing…

 

Momma said  on her dying bed

“Tomorrow is not coming”

 

Love means everything   and oddly costs nothing

 

The Clock Ticks….

The clock ticks….

And time talks

Everybody listens till the daily grind stops

Loosen up the noose
quit pulling on the rope

Eat, than fall asleep, 

while holding the remote

Season after season

no one blinks until the towers crash

Realizing how easy it can be to break the hour-glass

The pictures never perfect, how quickly it can shatter

Nothing is eternal, liquid morphing into matter

The world’s turning faster 

and we’re scrambling to catch it

Gambling with habits

till our actions snap the axis.

The 2

Right around the time I turned thirty one, I realized my death may not be too far off; and it was either time to take off, or stop…I have never been a fan of option B, so I chose to remain in the fast-lane, driving blindfolded with a tinted soul, and a twin-turbo heart. The year is 2012, My name is Bles, and I am just as crazy as the rest.

The

The Metaphysical

The exploration beyond the tangible

 

It is ethereal, and therefore, in its essence,

Can never be philosophical, or rational

But quite the contrary

 

A realist cursing the constant coincidence

 

Some summon the comfort of substances

Foul play, clandestine action

Others are disgusted with

It ain’t about the drug you hit

It’s the way you come off of it

 

I had my last supper and crafted my last picture

Only to eternally chase, the glittering girl

Lacking the glass slipper

 

Tossing crumpled love ballets down a rabbit hole

Lined with archaic ideals and lost souls

 

The serpent always seems to slaughter the apostles

The prophets are merely the prostitutes of the philosophical

 

History is trickery and technology has co modified the mystery

Society has homogenized his majesty

Yet we still seek triumph from tragedy

 

Spinning revolutions upon the wax that candles bleed

I walk the desolate range, subconsciously invested in the urban decay

Only to observe this simple moment of sanity

Spirit Rising

Spirit rising

August moments turn to dust

Water washed to rust

mud for healing cuts

 

Chaos killing control

bones turning cold

Frozen inside flesh-laden souls

 

Dry leaves crushed beneath blind feet

grinding back to sand

Vanishing from Mothers hand

fertilizing roots so her trunk may stand

 

Proud as Grand-fathers chest

warmed by infant's breath

Pearled flesh

pressed

hard against leatherd skin

With a line for every place we've been

 

Rivers rapidly winding

Caves carved exactly as time designed them

Spirit rising

 

South Valley Summer

outh Valley summer/filling gas beside a hummer

From the blood that came from soldiers/sun and sewage is the odor

Beggar walking over/probably a stoner

Probably never read a line of Socrates or Homer

Slurring, far from sober/wrinkled skin with faded tattoos

Asking for a buck for drinking gin and eating fast-food

Drop a bit of coin, wade the sea of gaunt expressions

Stepping on the curb where the junkies got connected

The somber air is smoggy, but still the sun is golden

Starring at the hungry children/teenage queen with tummy swollen

Again I give a quarter/ to a face that’s looking tortured

Stroll into the station, pass some cash, and place an order

Another pack of grits and a cold, bottled beer

Wondering how many souls will die here in a year

Jump inside the ride, cross the sinking Rio Grande

Wiping sweat beneath my eyes, the ending to a long day

The sun is falling lower with every passing second

Mountains painted pink, every breath has been a blessing

Out the ghetto section, to my middle-class abode

Wonder what I’ll meet tomorrow, on this ever-winding road

Solamente Corazon

One with too much on his plate is easily poisoned

The finest of hearts are easily broken

Be weary of the eggshells you tread upon

      they may as well be scalding coals

 

Freestyle poems

    counting the crickets 

praying for sleep  wishing to be rid of the wicked

and forgive

what I've given

Perilus

Know this

In the last days 

Perilus times will come

Man will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money

Boasters, proud, Blasphemers, 

Disobedient to parents, Un-thankful and un-holy

Un-loving, un-forgiving, slanderous, without self-control

Brutal despisers of good 

Traitors and headstrong hearty

Lovers of pleasure, rather than lovers of Jah

Rastafari

Having a form of Godliness, but denying the power

And from such people turn away…..

 

 -Vaughn Benjamin

October Sun

 

Orange October sun

Rays run, gliding above the Aceqia Madre

Making mud chocolate

Lost leaves taking up autumn

Golden Children walking

Ebony and ivory fingers clasped

Lips laughing often

Eyes glimmer like waters silk skin

 

Rusted corn shed their coarse stalks

Geese chase light drops

We pluck dandelions

Make a wish with each breath

Scatter petals, until just a weed left

Another one picked

To return before my mother was sick

Was my subtle one wish

 

How close she would have held my toddler

Together gathered pebbles to toss in the water

Together we walk and we wander

Blessed to be father

Fresh wind and water

Sing songs somber

God lives in the breath of these daughters

A tear chokes my lungs

Leaves the duct an runs

Dried by an orange October sun. 

Nothing is Sacred

 

Nothing is sacred
Eventually, with time and coincidence
It All becomes tainted
Embrace the frigid air ripping through your baby blanket
The final exoskeleton
Embracing
The futile patience
Of the jumbled rats racing
Juxtaposed
To the jungle cats waiting

For the next piece of flesh to prey on
Light transcends to darkness
Death becomes the liquid to rejuvenate the prospective Harvest
Pull out the bleeding heart
To dissect the empty epicenter of the artist
Choke upon the salt we all lick
It tastes so sweet
Till your senses become sour
One life taken in one hour
36 weeks to create
Destroyed with one bullet
We all got the triggering
Who's got the guts to pull it?

No Answers

There is no x in this equation.

Only a why? 

The perpetual question

burden or blessing?

How careful can we be in this chaos?

 

Within the ignorance there's innocence

flowers cracking the concrete

overgrowing the gasoline and cigarettes

Let's dream our way into tomorrow

and give thanks that someone is still listening

Love

"Love, in it's infantile stage of lust, longing, and innocence;
is one of the most beautiful, and profound...
of all human experience."
-L.B.H.

Knowledge is Power

Knowledge is power, power is freedom, freedom is change; change is life's only real promise, besides death. The avarice of mankind is insatiable. It takes a nation of fools to destroy the already existing paradise, we have been gifted. One love, one soul, one mission

Inspiration is Infinite

Spirit rising 

August moments turn to dust

Water washed to rust

mud for healing cuts

 

Chaos killing control

bones turning cold

Frozen inside flesh-laden souls

 

Dry leaves crushed beneath blind feet

grinding back to sand 

Vanishing from Mothers hand

fertilizing roots so her trunk may stand

 

Proud as Grand-fathers chest

warmed by infant's breath

Pearled flesh

pressed 

hard against leatherd skin

With a line for every place we've been

 

Rivers rapidly winding

Caves carved exactly as time designed them

In the Face of Chaos

In the face of chaos
choose the path of the simplest
Nothing is pure as the eyes of an infant

To heal the wounds
we can't stress the infection
Every breath is a weapon
and success is perception

Beware of the Devils

Beware of the devils; they really do embody the flesh amongst us. 2012 will not mark the end of the world, but it will be a year of struggle and chaos. To act with righteousness, kindness, and goodwill, towards your fellow brothers and sisters, is paramount. Karma is real, life is precious, and love is all we have left to fight for.

-Bles