Troglodyte

Fables

Bobbi Fisha – “Jet Girl Jet Boy”

I’ve been happy
I’ve been down
I’ve been tripping
In the present
Like right now
Floating out the silver lining
Vortex spinning
Time a statement
This book got pages
I got patience
To hone my craft
On my back down the path
Make a hit
Take a big ol stash
Got the zip in the whip
Watch me crash
Into the skyline
My mind blend
Into a sky fire
An empire
Turning sapphire
Crown chakra
My mind’s a monster
Bite ya right in conscious state
Astro man
I got a plan
Psychotropic jam
N-bone
In my hand a rubber band
Ben knows
Where Bobbi been
Benjamin
Franklin
In the Lincoln
It’s always stinking
Like a lil tree
It’s Christmas again
So let me be
Let me walk
Don’t tread on me
Let me slither
I’ma talk not give no fucks
On 3 drugs
Cokeena, my conch shell
Go torpedo
Levitate above you people
It’s ok I’m a good lord
Not here for evil
Take your snap benefits
Mamdani savages
In my Mazadi sammiched between a semi truck and another one in the driver seat
All mangled up
Crushed my lung
Bled on streets
I rise above
Godspeed
Fisha be
Buried beneath a palm tree
Like the trees in my palms
Smoke ’til I’m in a cemetery
Smoking a spliff this shit elderberry
This oak a Canterbury, Wyatt
Can you cry it
When you tired
Can you sing
When you inspired
I ain’t a liar
I bring the fire
Got the flame in your headset
Hear me drip when I fly by
Bobbi jet girl, jet boy
Take you ’round the world
Eat this bok choy and act coy
I reel ya in with my voice
Pepe I’m moist
Tempeh a choice
I’m dipping out this bitch
In my Rolls Royce
Snap back at ya, the Mac capture the moment
The gun smoking


Ash in the air, dreams in the dash, I’m coasting
Flash in the mirror, fear in the rear, still ghostin’
Glass half cracked, sip slow, motion
Ocean in my brain, tide never frozen
Float like a bee sting, talk with a deep swing
Every bar a bee sting on the beat wing
Three rings, circus mind, purpose grind
Serpents shine when the curtain finds surface time
I ain’t hurt to climbskyline sermon, prime timed
Pearl teeth glint, word curve in nine rhymes
Turn the volume up, blow dust off vinyl
Psychic spiral cycle, bible of the idol
Title my arrival “vital recital”
Every verse viral, my vitals in the rifle
Pop off safe mode, halo bent sideways
Eightfold path in a fivelane highway
My mind spray, milewide, hybrid vibe
Tongue tied to a truth no lie survives
Ride the light, night slide, feel alive
Crack the sky like a crown of fireflies

Steel-toe flow, no deal, no ceiling
Glow off the reel, feel off the feeling
My pulse peels back reality’s seal
Reveal what’s real in a spinning wheel
Don’t kneel, I’m the field and the shield both
Heal smoke, speak hope through a steel throat
Deal dope notes, float quotes off the boat
Each word a ghost in a glass coat

I’m co-pilot to chaos, trained in the static
Aerobic panic, Bobbi automatic
Acid logic, habit of the prophet
Wallet in orbit, pocket the profit
Shockwave topic, optic spasmic
Talk so graphic it cracks the classic
My brain’s elastic, snaps fantastic
Trap in the chapel, mass gone galactic

Now I’m back in the flesh, data re-synced
Think too fast, ink bleed pink
Sync to the drumline heartbeat blink
Link to the cloud where the souls don’t sink
Drink to the blink, each second divine
Time’s a lie, I redesign the line
Life ain’t mine, I just ride the sign
Scribe the crime, rewrite the prime

Now Bobbi rise in a smoke of sage
Golden age on a broken stage
Open page to a quote so brave
“Even death ain’t a grave for the wave.”
She wave, she fade, she graze the flame
Every beat engraves her name
Jet girl, jet boy we fly unchained
Past pain, past planes, past chains, unframed

End scene in a skyline gleam
Fisha dream, liquid queen supreme
Hear her sing through machine’s reverb
Each word nervecurved and earthdisturbed
Fade in blue, fade to truth, fade through beam

Jet Girl, Jet Boy

Profession

Venomous Gospel

Been running all my life
Toward the light, flash in the fire fight
See the spark ignite, stash on sight
You smile, I pile the corpses right under the overpass
Crash site, chaos math, mile mark left like Poseidon’s wrath
I laugh last while you slide past
Right path, gas out, I’m beyond that
Got the drop, dropped they top
Made an O up on the block
Flip a sack, make a brick
Catch the drift, jig is lit
Golden toilet, drop your lid
Bird flip, drag lit, I’m rich
What’s in the bag, blue prisms
Lizards dead, cut with scissors
Listen close, the whispers hissin’
Chop the innards, zipper glistenin’
Monster mirrored in the riddle
Maze built, brain brittle
Play a fiddle, no violins
I’m on Ritalin at McLean’s
No Mazda, Mufasa drop
Propaganda from my shop
Start an agency like NASA
Final answer, cultic mantra
Classic laughter, Onassis stature
Head blown, mattress fracture
Lake Placid, alligators campin’
Krampus absent, Tampa savage

Cabbage canned, cabin stabbed
Edge I push, on action, maverick habits
Egyptian fabric, MAC automatic
Cocaine lavish, plutocratic static
Drip drop, stock on lock
Eiffel rock, towered plots
Flying off, drip drip
You a kid with Lincoln logs

Drip drop, Breezy top
You sneezy, I’m Doc
Drip on spot, drop on cot
Smokin’ yard, block hot
Comin’ hard, Ciroc shot
After dark, sack unlock
Card swipe, crop stock
Barn open, gods talk

Stacks packed, teach a jit
Light rigs lit, kits legit
Checklist tick, gas mitt grip
Vinton flick, need a fix
Through the lens, twitching glitch
Glock spit, dented bricks
Clock stopped, night terror
Paul bearer, pall clearer
Wax off, praise Allah
Cop badge gone, bizarre
Buried star, tour of scars
Whole crowd staring hard

Steady making masterpieces
Savage strings like tapestries
Start a symphony for the beast
Devil’s niece, divine deceit
She batty, rebel
Heaven sent in McLaren metal
You lemon drive, I’m celestial
Chain like testaments, theft intentional

Strip your melody, I’m your city’s felony
In G-string symphonies
Municipal energy, no G-code batteries
Leave scars, levitate chairs
Revelations, I’m golden mare
Flip hair, razors glare
Haters stare, I don’t care
Hibernate bears, frosted air
I got claws, I got wings
League above your petty things

Start a cult like David Koresh
I’m saving the best
Laser mesh protect the chest
I don’t miss, I don’t guess
My words drip lavish, Mac on hip
Dip low, floor kiss
Tongue strip, mind rip
We in orbit, arms lift

Landed Olympus Mons
I’m on top, they all gone
Shrimp plates, love songs
Bobbi caught, feast prolongs
Sip lager, marijuana fogger
Concerts bombed, Apollo’s daughter
Smokin’ loud, thoroughbred lungs
Weekend bled, tongue numb

Snap wrist, Salt Bae
Ten on ten, all day
Adderall flame, any track slayed
Mind strapped, bind fate
Meaning of life in paper lace
Mammon shrine, witchcraft grace

Back hard, spine steel
Pearl sand, time reel
Rebirth feel, teacher seal
Purse pull, sweet deal
Eat your nerves like sugar peels

Zeti eyes, burrito meal
Spicy steel, chalupa thrill
Waiter chill, haters squeal
Fuck Donald Trump, I’m the real
Lady now, GOAT decree
Brady throws, legacy
Biscuit rolls, basket beat
T.O. seeds, moment fleet
Die, no mourning, I’m rebornin’
Epoch croak, dawn adornin’

Smoke dope, open road
Bell toll, Velcro load
Billfold glow, billboard shows
Home alone, Macaulay mode
Sticky kush, blicky open
Saraswati flowin’, omen broken
Karate, Greco-Roman motion
Hulk Hogan, Rogan jokes in
Bobbi potent, zip smokin’
Spaceship loathin’, fears broken

Lil fishes, fryin’ pan
Water whip, wishin’ hand
Pleasure plan, coping scan
Molly water, flask grand
Chatters zooted, lilac scent
Pack shipped, side vent
Violence quest, lime light bent
Prunes drilled, fruits split

Blue shrooms, mime tunes
Afternoon, roots bloom
Milk shoot, titty truth
Pretty fumes, Dairy Queen plume
Two of you, three of me
W killers move silently
Halloween prophecy
Apple seed dynasty
Breeze hit, melon split
Kennedy clip, YouTube script

Time shift, mind lift
If awakening, why drift
Lizard flicks, movi

What’s In The Bag (freestyle)

Way Up High

The Introspect

Fish And Coral (redux)

I Can Write Some Stories

Welcome to The Fermentation Cycle – a 1940s industrial-noir duology told as a slow-burn audio experience.

Every day I drop a new chapter with its own lofi score running through a crackling 1940s radio: low drums, hiss, distant horns, machinery in the walls. You’re not just reading a book – you’re inside a failing dockside brewery, listening to the pipes, the ledgers, and the rats under the floor.

Book I follows The Violet Boar, a once-powerful brewery in a corrupt coastal city, held together by heat, debt, queer love, and bad decisions. It’s adult, cerebral, immersive: pressure, politics, undercity tunnels, rat “choirs,” and a city that launders violence into paperwork.

Start at the Prologue and move forward a chapter a day, or let the playlist run like a haunted late-night radio station.

🔧 Tone: harsh 1940s noir, queer, anti-capitalist, psychological, slow escalation
🎧 Sound: lofi, tape-hiss, radio crackle, industrial ambience
📚 Project: The Fermentation Cycle Duology – The Violet Boar & Rats

The Fermentation Cycle is an adult industrial-noir duology set in 1940s Brineford, where Dockstring Ward runs on steam, rumor, and the kind of “civic” language that ruins people with clean hands.
At its center squats the Violet Boar Brewery, a once-proud Kiln now being slurred as a Loom, sweating heat and debt into the street like a confession.
Elara Wexley inherits the place and its failures, walking under a city that keeps score even when it pretends it doesn’t.
Every pipe, ledger mark, and shipment becomes leverage in a quiet war between rival breweries, supply yards, and the polite enforcers who call it regulation.
The Ward itself is a chorus — bars, docks, backrooms, and watchers — deciding what the Boar is worth, and what Elara is allowed to be.
Below the surface, the undercity’s layered infrastructure and rat-choir ecology mirror the city’s neglect: history stacked like rot you can’t fully scrub.
The story turns pressure into plot: money, heat, reputation, and intimacy all pushing until something breaks and the break changes the map.
It’s harsh, cinematic, and funny in the dark, obsessed with inheritance, survival, and the cost of naming what’s really happening.

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