recorded on 04.15.11

yes, i’d like to be honest with everybody

about what it is i’m feeling, what i’m thinking,

and how i can’t escape that daily feeling

about how i must be doing everything fucking wrong.

and even trying to write a song,

inside my head, the words and concepts won’t get along,

so i’ll choose a new perspective from which to view

the world revolve, rotate around you

without feeling like we’ll never make it through.

so what exactly is it that i have to do?

what is it that i’m supposed to prove?

maybe perhaps i am always out of line

cause maybe perhaps i’m just out my mind,

and maybe, it’s just a disguise and i’m fine.

double personalities and the masks we’re all wearing,

when out in public, which you are you showing?

and when at work which you are you whoring?

and which you do you persecute when nothing goes your way?

so much more that there is left to say.

but even if i had forever, i’d still need at least another day

to go and wander off under the shade

where i can rest and dream of another way

to survive intact what we call modern day.

cause how can i know what i am anymore?

try so hard to find any type of meaning, out there in the void,

but it is so cold and i feel so old.

i try to walk down the streets smiling,

but it’s hard with all the gray clouds,

with all of the chaos, the noise, the sound

of hungry families and neighbors screaming,

and the worst part of it all

is that this is nothing new.

this has been for always just repeating.

the cycle just continues.

poverty and the inner city is old news

like white boys appropriating the blues,

and calling it rock n roll.

but every story is two fold,

so why my community gets labeled criminal.

feels so derogatory what the media is thinking

transmitting about people that come from places like me.

but even if i had forever, i’d still need at least another day

to go and wander off under the shade

where i can rest and dream of another way

to survive intact what we call modern day.

04.08.11

music written, recorded, and produced by pepetorias on 03.30.11

i’m about to start a third world war

in this so called first world,

and yeah i know that sounds so absurd.

but i’m just a second

class citizen

and i don’t think that even

my countrymen

can

understand,

so then

countrywomen

and children

can

we stand

on a higher plane and

plan?

i’m gonna start a third world war,

not world war three.

see,

cause psychologically

what this country

be

doing to me-

it’s making me

go crazy.

we need

solutions

to help things

be.

and i’m not a puppet

for the state to bleed,

simply, to feed the need

of corporate greed.

i’m gonna start a third world war

for all displaced,

underrepresented, and

ignored

populations of the planet

that are sick and tired

and have had it.

that don’t just want

to be statistics

for the market,

or some kind of social project.

i never signed a social contract,

in fact,

my whole life

has been a request

for permission to protest,

and i regret to inform

that existence falls short

from hell and heaven.

but i’m just a second

class citizen

and i don’t think that even

my countrymen

can

understand,

so then

countrywomen

and children

can

we stand

on a higher plane and

plan?

so don’t be surprised when tomorrow

millions of bodies decide

that they’ve had enough,

that they want no more

to do with any of this.

and don’t be alarmed

when the lunatics

start pulling the alarms.

cause everyone’s screaming,

and just making noise-

trying to be heard and

acknowledged by a society

that’s in such a hurry

to make us all commodities.

cause how much are you worth?

and what can you produce?

we’re not human beings anymore,

but a percentage or a statistic

in the numbers rich folks collect

to decide if you’re worth the investment.

so they pass out tests

to see what you have learned,

and see what i have taught.

but they can never know

of what it is we share.

the love that they can’t measure,

but that doesn’t matter at all-

we’re not human beings anymore.

don’t be surprised

when we start raising hell,

so you can smell what we’ve gone through.

as we have waited for so many years

just to be a part of history,

but his story is filled with so many

inaccuracies, and who’s been doing all the dictating?

but i’m just a second

class citizen,

and i don’t think that even

my countrymen

can

understand,

so then

countrywomen

and children

can

we stand

on a higher plane and

plan?

i’m gonna start a third world war

for all of you all.

i’m gonna start a third world war

for all of you all.

i’m gonna start a third world war

for all of you all,

for all of you all,

for all of you all,

for all of you all,

for all of you all.

cause what can you produce?

and how much are you worth?

03.30.11

music written, recorded, and produced by pepetorias on 03.23.11

i will sing a song from the farthest island

where i have for always been hiding everything.

like the secret heartbeats of everything I’ve ever given life to,

like the whispering the leaves make under the breeze

when Mother Nature speaks to me,

but when you start speaking like that today they label one a loony, hippy,

say you just crazy. disconnected from reality.

all theory but no practicality,

and by that point i’ve gone tuned out,

and i’m not listening cause i refuse to be accomplice to any of this.

all theory and no practice,

i guess we’ll have to wait and see who’s really disconnected from reality,

but i’m not willing to sell me, and you can’t convince me about nature of the stupidity

about society’s decision-making

process. it simply makes no sense.

i will sing a song from the farthest island

in hopes that an alien planet will pick up the disturbance.

in hopes of finding some kind of balance

to all of the noise in the silence of my voice,

i will invoke some spirit folks from way before and times to come.

i will sing till we prevent, the whole of humanity don’t have to succumb,

and even if a rich powerful few are already too numb,

we can still make it new.

i will sing a song from the farthest island

in a silent whisper

like the ones that Mother Nature sang to me

when i laid my ear up against a tree

just to see if it would say anything if someone bothered listening,

but when you start speaking like that today they label one a loony, hippy.

say you just crazy. disconnected from reality.

 

we are blind to the tides of the times.

i mean, we will never find a reason to remain. remind

me of what’s the master plan. what vision are you offering?

and i’m wondering if our leaders realize towards where they’re leading us,

and how we follow along straight over the cliff.

i’m wondering, if

we realize if we’ve yet to open up our eyes.

perhaps, that’s why we’re so blind,

why for generations we created a system to leave millions behind.

why is it the past left clues for us to find?

why should i pay my dues just to be ordered back in the line?

it’s enough to make one numb, desensitized,

and i understand how folks lose their mind.

and if you give me a second i’ll share a moment of what it’s like

to be inside of mine,

and i’m still wondering if…

if we’ll follow the preacher politician up the hill towards the cliff,

i’m still wondering if…

if i speak so absurd, will my people understand or just label me a nerd?

and if i say i have more in common with e.e. cummings than biggie,

what would the whole rap community think of me?

i’m wondering if and it don’t even matter.

03.22.11

i am a descendent of emily dickinson

i write poetry hidden away behind the walls,

under the stars,

above the moons,

and beyond the seas

where no one can ever see me.

i am a descendent in the tradition of emily dickinson.

 

cause i am a descendent in the tradition of emily dickinson.

i am the hermit monk and his chants and incantations.

and the city is a microcosm of whatever ism you’re feeling this season.

and i do prefer the quiet stillness of silence,

of simple thoughts and constantly appreciating nature’s beauty,

for this they’ll label me a dirty hippy,

when i see it much more like returning to original being,

and a much more simple way of living.

i’d much more prefer to sit under a tree with a notebook,

and stare up at the sun towards the horizon just to look

than to be up on a stage

when there are so many more secrets in whispers.

and i just can’t think clearly with all of the screaming and fighting

that goes on in the city,

so i feel much more comfortable

when i just observe and put pen to paper

or fingers make a keystroke.

all performance is a joke if no one pays attention anymore.

 

who is it that artists do it for?

 

i am a descendent in the tradition of emily dickinson,

and i write my words for no one really.

i write my words for those that are barely being born today.

i write my words for those that have yet to be born.

i write my words for tomorrow. i write my words for tomorrow.

i write my words for tomorrow.

i write my words because i feel like i have no other choice.

i am a descendent in the tradition of emily dickinson.

 

who is it that artists do it for?