moshthefatyank-blog
Mosh the Fat Yank
a blog by Chris Becker
27 posts
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A Thief
https://soundcloud.com/chrisbeckerworks/a-thief
This sick kid flipped a slick little bit of lipstick
Gripping the tip of a lit cigarette
In the back of a corvette tripping out
Like a jet-lagged jet-setter
Dead set on set tripping
A set of Irish setter bed wetters
When he entered into the sock hop
With an odd pair of clogs
Bought from a nauseous cop
Who himself was brought up by gods of Pogs
Playing hopscotch in the parking lot
He caught a chronic cough from a childhood trauma
A hotbox locked from the inside
Awful thoughts dipped in and then boxed in my friend’s mind
He nodded and swayed
In a lazy but playful and abrasive way
And he spoke and gave the anchors
Something newsworthy to say the next day
It caught like a dry fire
The ashes piling hire and hire
The might of the wiliest tiger laying silent
As the flames ate the final rebellious tyrant
The tightest, priceless highness finds
In times like this finest crimes must be dismissed
Lest the viciousness of the witless piss
Climb up the miles of thorny vines
Their wrists protected from laceration
By the calluses left from exploitation
Unswayed and inconvincible
Rightly guided by the blinding light of principle
Under great duress to overthrow great power
Left with a mouth of sourness
Flowered from buds of towering pressure
The hours are getting shorter by the minute
And the masses are no longer “in it to win it”
So, quit it
The grifters are fixing to picture an existence
Purely aimless and listless
Desperate for direction, dispirited until they die
And fined a price equal to twice the strife of an average life
The terminology may be complex
But the idea itself is simple:
A thief is a thief is a thief
#poem#poetry#poetry on tumblr#poets on tumblr#poems#poems on tumblr#poem on tumblr#spoken#spoken word#reading#stream
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Just a blank background with a trash bin icon on an 80 foot tall screen
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This is one of the few songs I've written that are actually really special to me. Ten years ago, I was homeless. Sleeping in a sleeping bag in part of a parking lot not easily visible to attendants or security. I would drink as much as I could stand, just to go to sleep each night and I'd wake up the next morning and start playing my guitar on the boardwalk for more booze. After a couple of months doing this routine, I got upset at how little I was making playing Bob Marley and Sublime covers and resolved to pen my feelings in the form of a song. This song is the result. The first time I played it (fumbling through and occasionally pausing and starting again) the one person who stopped and listened dropped me a twenty. Right in my guitar case. That was more than I'd made in the two days before that. He also told me had I had some CDs for purchase, he'd have bought two. This song is really what made me realize I could be a song-writer. Maybe it wasn't a fever dream after all.
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I love clearance! Word of advice if haven't tried these: don't. You will never be able to enjoy regular old precooked tortillas ever again.
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A minimalist, chillbeat kinda thing.
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Candy-Striped Hibiscus 1600x1600
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Gah! I found my old Youtube page! Jesus, I used to be so cute.
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My beats are free to use. If you do use them, please let me know and be sure to give me credit.
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My beats are free to use. If you do use them, please let me know and be sure to give me credit.
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Writer's Block (Aug. 2017)
I haven't written a single thing in over a week Not a poem nor a story, not even a think piece Growing creatively meek, ability to think weakens Drinking inspiration, my cup overflows and I'm back to sleepin'
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Black And Grey On Black And Grey 1024x768
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18, 19, 2017
Here is the church
And here is the steeple
Here are all the unbelievable people
Creeping on decent society
With their evil bullshit
Treasonous, scheming thieves weasel
Up through the ranks
Greasing the wheels
Giving thanks and sponsoring charity dinners
Thinning the opposition
In sticking their hands in every pocket
Brought up by thoughts that fought and lost
And time had all but forgotten
Assisted by a system
Created for, by and with division
Wizarding these misled visions to other invalids
Already angrily gripping their digital pencils in agony
Reassuring each other’s delusion
Confusing their uselessness
For a reason to exclude another
Their no-talent, nothing-to-offer
Bitter, father-touched-me fodder
Crock of shit talks of genetic superiority
Torches ablaze, marching the streets
The evil for some reason never seems to recede
Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty-Seventeen
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Relocation Pending
Suspended animation
Relocation pending
Facing an abrasive entity
Like a shitty ending
Like my own worst enemy
Im lit and awaiting simply
For sympathy gripping me
Like an old whistling symphony
Intently listening
To a chorus of timpani
Fittingly hidden
Between your feet and the floor beneath
Reading the sheets
And Repeating the dream
We flee and retreat to our scene in the trees
Screaming greetings of heated glee
In the forty-forth, the torch is out
The sound has become so loud
We’re proud to announce our ears have blown out
Surrounded by the vibrating crowd
The clouds gather and the lights go out
And every now and then I spin
Forever wandering within
Until my soul falls out
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Can't Sleep
I’m bored and I can’t sleep
Dreams seem to escape me
Flip on the TV
And settle on an infomercial for a magic squeegee
Early morning freedom
Frees my mind for thinking
Mulling over bullshit and bullying my psyche
Weak pulse beats rapidly
Fascinates and panics me
Lungs are full of greasy gunk
Breathing funky, coughing chunky
Simply waiting for the last inhaling
Wondering when it might be
One day, one year, infinity?
Could I live forever, hating everything?
Immortal curmudgeon, forever bludgeoning
Anything your lovely mind could find
A bit of rhyme or reason by
Unintentionally malicious
This walking wishlist
Pulls viciously at his whiskers
And brandishes his fist
Why he’s angry, none can say
But damn, he woke up in a shitty mood today
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