Four flips of Stevie Wonder's "Ecclesiastes." Laudetur Iesus Christus.

I.
Da, and also ba.

II.
All things are wearisome. Too weari-
some for words. The eye's not satis-
fied by seeing. Nor has the
ear enough of what's heard.

What's been, that will always
be. What has been
done, that will always have been
done.
Nothing is new under the sun.
Even the thing of which we say
"see, this is new," it has already been in
ages that came long before.
There's no remembrance of ancestors,
nor will future generations be remembered by those who come after them.

Come home to an empty room.
I’m not even in it, too.
I’m not even really here.
What an insane thing to hear.
Nothing’s what nobody writes.
Written nothing hella times.
Not convinced I’m still alive.
What an insane thing to cry.

Huddled under sheets in snow,
Sitting midst the snowburn glow,
sodium lamps, cloudy sky, all
burn orange like end of times.
Huddled by the rusted fence where-
by I reach commuter line train
tracks, I ask the cloudy sky “al-
right, ain’t it about my time yet?”
(Please.)

Wild I survived frostbite,
Ain’t tryna survive cyanide.
Got my John Donne memorized,
Psyched for G*d to take me from behind.
Old Igbo saying go chickens with no master get mashed up by lions.
Glad to have a master to manage my time.
If I survive this, too, gonna master mastery,
Mad animals in my menagerie
Big boar manage the animal asylum 

Low cost, high impact.
Only hold pipe gun, fuck click clack.
Bash these warped crash cymbals far harder than
Black P Stones’ hammers, and at least half as nimble
Trauma got us unsure if we not bullshittin'
Nip of this shit in the fifth bottle I’m palming hits like
six shots of watered vodka, 240-proof im-
possible, wouldn’t balk if I got called out quick, take
Wolf ticket and rip it, bout time to quit spitting, per my own missive in form of lyrics written.

III.
who the fuck do you think you are
always acting as the arbiter of all good taste
i too would like some tabula roseus
split your skull upon the slate
so i can pay tribute to this unfettered day with your blood
for that youd have all of my love
but you are scum
of course you want the rest of us to play fare
i dont suppose youd still care if you had all ive gained reaping skulls and spines that grow up from the dirt comprised of tortuous flesh and tortured sphincters
wailing
whyd we ever trust the floating grin and glassy eyes enraptured with the notion of our capture and imbuing us with eternal life
but i cant expect you to read my mind when you cant even get your own thoughts straight
what do you want
money power love
if you so demand come here and take em from my bloodstained fingers
let your brothers life affix em to your hand
if you can ever grow back the back bone
bone
bone
bone
bone
bone
&c.

IV.
Nowadays, we're too damn tiny to climb out of bed. So, we awaken hours early in order to compensate for the time it takes to rappel down to the floor. And, when we get there, there's no chance to shit, or shower, or brush our teeth; just straight to the crack under the door. What's more, we exit into the world to find it's tighter than before. Behemoths gorged upon our flesh, and bred to the image of excellence, flex all of their muscles all at once and snuff out the scant daylight between them, as well as hundreds of us. Enough.

The greatest part of being small is that the tall ones cannot see how we devise their demise. Oh, how they'll fall, crawling, soaking their gorgeous, well-toned chests with tears. We're all born wet and nude. The poetry of the situation is the symmetry in that that's how they'll die, too. Now small enough to navigate their nostrils undetected and reach their brains. Although we know not how those work, there isn't a creature alive and aware that doesn't know how to destroy.

"There Is No Conflict" in IV Acts

Lyrics:

I hope all my beloveds die
long before it's finally my time.
The state'll just cremate me, there'll be no one left alive
to reminisce about me, say goodbye, or cry.

I don't feel much like praying today.
G*d knows why, so I'm sure She'd be okay with that.
Nothing feels alright, and I'm not smart enough to try and fight it.
Maybe She foresees better times for me.
Well, I would believe it, if I wasn't busy fucking grieving,
all of what I said at first aside.

The one where G-d isn't a man.

Lyrics:

Nothing ever changes my feelings for YOU.
My feelings for YOU died awhile ago.
I don't know why YOU died ago.
YOU died awhile ago.
So...
Nothing ever changes.
Nothing ever changes.
Nothing ever changes.
Nothing ever changes.
Nothing ever changes my feelings for YOU.

nothing ever changes, with full awareness of 3R41N14C's song of the same title

Easily the stupidest this I've ever made.

Lyrics:
I heard there was a secret--
I heard there was a secret--
I heard there was a secret--

I heard there was a secret, I, I--
I heard there was a secret--
I heard there was a secret...

There was a WHAT?

improvised etude for alto sax, cymbals, and my stupid whore mouth

A beat I made when I was 16 y/o. Pls tell me whence came the vocal sample, cuz I forgot.

Used the Fred Moten fragment for scratch vocals. Then got fed up with the piece, so guess it's done.

King dom cummies.

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