Funk-A-Licious

Funk a licious, dunk attricious, where you buy those pants at, cause they malicious?

The colours don't mesh, just like our schedules, I'll prolly never see you again because you're visually illegible.

Like a vampires reflection, invisible to detection, like the nervous stuttering kid at the spelling bee might be needing correction, corrective lenses, pre tense programs with an intense lack of friendes.

Aye-aye there chiefy, seems to be quite leafy in this spot that the rot has begun to become beefy.

Unlike those vegetarians who claims that fish aren't meat, there seems to be a problem with that statement they seat, in the back of your mind.


Trying to trick the establishment into establishing a new rule, where anything with feet is meat and those that swim are considered cool to eat.

Off topic, sub tropic, snowing where the air is stereoscopic.

3D tvs wont work inside the sea, or anywhere that's wet for that matter can't you see.

But real life works whether swimming or not, whether dimming or trimming or even spinning on spot.

Sometimes I say stuff, and it makes no sense, but it's fodder so why bother, even trying to fence, off what I'm saying, kinda like saying off with my head.

As it be rolling, you be trolling, about to climb outta bed. I'll prolly be climbing in, to my mattress of leaves instead, of material istic, is it, or is it isms?

I can never remember, ballistic-cali-schism, that's a password I wrote, to a place that don't exist, so why did I use the blade to carve into my wrist?

Just kidding, their ain't no carvings, my arms no a jack o lantern. Plus I could never back space if I messed up where the plan turned.

Wholly moley, what a foley I made and when I made it I made it solely, at the discretion of the goalie who scored the shot across the ice but super slowly.

Puck driven, muck given never had a smuck briven. What ever that is, I never had it, so am I liven?

Gonna end, so pretend, you care, and then befriend, a stranger at the place your going to before the weekend.

thanks

Thanks for nothing, thanks for everything you didn't ever do, didn't try, didn't care, got by by being unfair, over here, over there, everywhere, where's where?

I don't care, and my words will display, the discord I never felt from all the projected dismay.

Now I'm moving on, what's next, where will I end up?

What do you care, with your shish hair, and your jellied fliff flup.

That's right you got some features that be a needing new names, Like Lou Garret had that thing that made him uncanny in ways.

Like a ruffian hoodlum, you always seem to be, not worrying about anyone else, but you only considering ye.

Like an apple that's gone rotten, taking others to the grave, cause you were useless, and ruthless in the kind of talentless way.

You smile is vile, your teeth are all black, their rotten, soft as cotton, and your breaths smelling bad.

So what do I care if you never ever reconsider, consider sitting with the sitter you gonna tell me I'm bitter?

Just think of my words as litter, spewing out from my brains, they have no meaning till you add it,  does that make it inane?

What does it matter without matter, without me, not to be flattered, considering the latter to be as if it's kinda batter, that you coat your emotional state with while you go on getting fatter.

Time riding, laden with lying, wasting money, don't need buying, get your things together before you crying, it's too late, you have been flying, now your older, more brittle in your ways, and fiddling days, almost gone, and filled with haze.

All your hairs turned into greys, all those memories have erased, like a blank slate you be in a stank state for days.

So what do I care once again I ask, you need me more than I you. But you've forgotten that since the last time that I told you, but much time has passed.

Thanks for nothing, spanking muffins, cranking stuffing just to say, painting the picture that I wish to display.

Today's the day

Today is the day, just like others before it, has an equal opportunity for me to adore it;
What memories today will I create, for the synapses in my brain to clearly state;
Established thoughts, bewildered imagery, contextual alignment, deciphered semantically.

What makes this day different from any other, I ask?
Is it the fact I've changed up the tasks?
Or could it be this is my day to finally relax?

Unknown to me, what will unfold;
I keep my eyes peeled, and do what I'm told;
By the thoughts in my head, some could say it's my voice;
But don't tell them that, as their ideologies rejoice;
Attempt to bolster my ingenuity, stopping my fluidity.

Keep my being well, and just over the under toe that's meant to be there to keep you down low;
Last thing we want, is for all of you to know; 
By we, I mean me, don't know why I include;
Others that aren't present, presently is that rude?

What should it matter, This here is my thought;
The process that brought me here, kept me from what you got;
And if you're reading this, then you've played into my game;
This is my road, I'm paving to fame;
This is my picture, I've painted to frame;
This is my normality, to you it's insane.

Today's another day, here right now, but later gone;
Tomorrow may not exist, but as long as the sun has shone, and the moon makes it's revolution;
I think we'll be alright, cause right after today, we'll be entering tonight.

As the sun is leaving, setting beyond what we can see, it'll rise on the other side;
Waking them eventually;
So that being said, it's always a new day somewhere;
If not here, than it will be over there.

What memories will they have, what will make today special for them?
What will they be doing, for their dendrites to be stemming?
For their neurons to be buzzing, for their thoughts to be blitzing;
It may not be particularly glamorously glitzing.

Either way, today's the day.
What things will you do;
What words will you say?

ObiWan digi-painting

Hitler Tank(older needed some place to put it)

Pleasure of the Visit

Sitting in a waiting room, overhearing bits of convo;
smells a plenty in this shanty, people going gonzo.

Take a number, then please sit, like that lady at the desk actually gives a shit;
kids there messed up, parents there is more so;
there happens to be a person in a wheel chair looking like just a torso.

The buzzer rings, a new number gets called, when it's not their number, moods become appauld.
Everybody gets a number, then they call you in twice, once to verify your info, second time ain't not so nice.

A clickity clack, whizzity furl, whizo;
That's the sound of the machine that prints out printouts with yours, and other peoples bizzo.

Pee in this cup, sit still and gimme your blood;
That happens to be their job, and the request, and it may sound odd.

When it's all said and done, they do their best to usher you off;
Then they deal with the rest, unless that is you got a new cough.

I just touched my eyeball, now I'm seeing various tingles;
Two weeks from now I hope I don't end up with shingles.

I can't wait to get their call, I hope there's a walk-in valet;
Please don't look at me weird, just because of somethings that I say.

There's a dude there in the hall, talking loudly, his voice sounds like he's into boys;
But he claims he's there for a horse, who's mouth his wiener did destroy.

What'd I tell you, messed up, just like a toilet seat warmer;
Sitting in an outhouse in the middle of the summer.

That don't make no darn sense, this is the kinda shit that makes dollars;
Now if only I incorporated a beat, snare drums, and a wild holler.

I could transcend all my thoughts, and emotions from this paper, to the screen;
Then it would go into your mind, and you could envision what I've seen.

If you will, please remain seated, and please for the sake of your friends;
Try not to imitate me, cause my thoughts come out not making sense.

You may find this kind of shiza mildly mindless, and uproaring;
Like a lion waking up, after a long night of snoring, after wasting a gazelle;

Waking up to her dead face, last night his teeth he'd sunk;
in her skin to get a taste, of her tasty gazelle meat, but he leaves her sweaty feet.

Short poetix

Hubba bubba digeree doo, I can hear humming noises, how about you?

Heebie jeebie snifery snarf, if you go slay a dragon will you make me a scarf?

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Never do it for just for the money, do it for the love of doing it, the soon you know what it is you

love, the sooner you should start pursuing it.


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Everyone who is or wants to be, will eventually realize, that everyone who was or will eventually be,

had learned this lesson eventually.


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Perfectly perfect isn't perfect at all, it's perfect at covering faults and flaws, cause anything perfect

had to make mistakes, then keep moving forward for perfectness sake.

- Landon Crosby

Cinematography

A cinematographer's job, is always a choice, of which shot, from where;

and how to avoid, such critical errors, that are said to exist;

So the film doesn't wiggle like the camera man's wrists.

- Landon Crosby

Universal existance

I'm considering singularity, which in itself is a duality;

 it's the place time and space meet to make reality.


-Landon Crosby
(Short and sweet.)

Life in the Ether

They say that there exists an ether we cannot see, and life lives in a loop there, reoccurring constantly.

If these events are constantly taking place, why do they never stop? what's keeping them in this space?

Like a record on repeat, like static constantly, like a show that never ends, only restarts for you to see, and if you missed it in whole, or even partially, wait around a few moments and it happens again endlessly.

Sometimes when I ponder, I can compare this to my life, wake up, work out, drop my kids off, kiss my wife. Do some reading, do some writing, do some drawing, maybe eat. Complain about the things I can't control, and then sit there silently. Pick my kids up, make them diner, clean them off, now I'm a winner.

Reflect on the day, watch jeopardy. Work out again, then eventually, get ready for bed, sleep, and dream then wake up, just to do it all again, so you see, there's the theme.

Why my comparison, can even be there, to that of the ether, that exists in thin air.

Know what thy want

I know what it is that I want from this life, I want to be a producer, a director, and to write.

I am a natural born leader, and so therefore, I take to directing when I hit the ground with my wake.

I produce ideas, conveying them logically, leaving much room for the story to follow see.

Then I write it out, so that it can be built, only problem is time, which is why people are filled, with ambitions and drive, just like me, but not mine. Only some many chiefs can be in charge at one time.

I know this takes years, to achieve such a title, but every rule has exceptions, there are those that can, and those that might so; if given a chance, and a mentor to follow, I know that my abilities can explode, open throttle.

As I write messages here, I might as well in a bottle, tossing them to the ocean, and hoping for answers as I doddle.

I have what it is, the ingredients for success, only problem is placement, and proximity that cause me this distress.

So that being said, for me to get ahead, I guess I need to listen to what it is that I've said.

Move away, go to where, all the action goes down, otherwise like a shark not in motion I'll drown.

So if you come here, and read this, and agree. Can you do me a favour, and comment on what it is that you see.

Let me know there are those, who've also been in that slump. Otherwise, I feel like it is I that is trumped.

Speakin my mind

I speak the words that come to me, perhaps they're not pre-thought. I just speak them, then I read them to sound like they were what I sought.

Afterwards when the third person come and reads what I've read, they think they know what I meant, probably not, but I said, what it was that I felt at the moment quite clearly. I sometime become drastic cause I think that nobody hears me.

I just want to be able to be appreciated in the ways, people are when they do things, sometimes in a daze, is where my mind sits, and I recite what it is that I've written. Hoping to rhyme some words that will be heard, and your minds could all be smitten.

I know I'm an over achiever, I know that I'm a believer, in the good will of others, but what I see is enough to make me a bereaver. Which is to say that I is sad, bad choices aren't really bad, until perspective is gained on why it was that they were had.

As everyday goes on further away from what it was that I originally wanted, I find my buzz for life is fading as I get no where but haunted by the memories I have, of the person I used to be. But how does that at all make sense, speaking of myself in the pretense. Cause I am still me, but it's different you see.

I used to see the world as mystifying, like this magical place, that just spun around the sun, floating out in outer space. But I now I see it all differently than what it actually is. As the magic faded away and there wasn't even a fizz. I know that people are cruel, and only out to help themselves, even when they get respect, they just store it on the shelves.

And so as I sit here in my basement in fear, that things may not work out as I planned and thought, and scout, out for possibilities, as plans often fall through. I can count on absolutely no one in my life, can you?

I still try to remain positive, with glimmering shreds of yay! Every morning when I wake up I tell myself this will be the day. Here we are now more than a year later, heard nothing of the least, hope constantly faders. To the point where my exasperation seems to be like a crater. Digging deeper in my mind, telling me from far behind, I'm not good enough to do what it is I want to find.

And my children will never know, cause like an actor on a show, I stay in character most times pretending everything is fine, whilst this battle constantly wages inside of my mind. And they ask me questions like why? can't we go to places for fun, and reluctantly I tell them cause it's too much money sorry hun.

Roller Coaster

Sit down and strap in, keep your hands and your feet inside of the ride, don't mind me I'm gonna speak inside of your mind, no that's a lie. From the past into the present, presently I am silent, but as these words become more so, the speed can often get quite violent.

As you toss and you turn, never able to stay steady. Maybe not, that's just me, is it these G's or is it heavy? Life's got ups and it's got downs. Never got to wear that crown. Always wanted to, but what's the difference when you're always on the ground?

I try my hardest, and it goes, like atoms, there, but unexposed. Unless my life is under the microscope than I guess that I suppose. Am I fighting with the flow? is it what I want, or should I know?

I know what I want, I know where it's at, but I'm stuck in this place, like a tree is to a cat. Someone call the fire depot, tell them what it is they want to know. Instead of lying in bed, like Brian Wilson did, I tried other attempts, I knocked on wood.

There hasn't been a proper answer, so instead, I request the pink panther. Can he figure out the clues, no one wants to see it through. I get back, like a swampy cat, what ever that means.... erk heart attack.

Here we go now, into the dark chasm, look out world, its a twilight spasm. No not the novel, with the shiny vampires, who look like prepsters in a disco ball fire. No I mean the hit series, with the stories that were weird, just like my life, I take it back, it's like something that's to be feared.

Things you wait for, for some time, maybe even in a line. They come and voom they pass by, was it worth it, or did those feelings die? Either way it's near the end, brakes are squeeky, comprehend. What it is, that I did say. What I mentioned on this day.

Rides now over, like the stress. Turns out everything's a mess. At least you get to walk away, no not I, I have to stay. For it seems that it would be. I am stuck here eternally. My ride never seems to end, here we go all over again.

Ripples in the pond

Where I live apparently it is a crime to be efficient, this is a problem for the unions, who's workers are so deficient. They all demand, more of this, give me that, I wanna stand around and talk, and scratch my itchy butt crack, and go for a walk.

When it comes time for being paid, they whine and moan, all day. Eventually they've screwed the pooch enough, but why are they tired, their jobs aren't tough, and yet they never get fired.

I've proven it on more than one occasion, just going in and working their stations. Better then them, only a week into the job. They say I don't fit, cause I'm not a lazy slob. Cause I don't like to stand around, and no I don't want to talk.

I get more work done, and yet they feed me this crock. " A union is meant to protect us, so we don't have to work quick." and my response is your union can suck on a big dirty stick. I came here to work, not to come play games, I wanna earn my pay, so I say I worked today.

It's pretty bad when the new guy can outwork four of the oldest workers, who've been there for years, and the real tear jerker, is they wanna get rid of him, and yet he is me, so what I'm saying in essence is these guys get away scott free.

I never understood it, no it doesn't make sense. Why work slow when you gotta pay the rent? Why take from the guy who can get the job done? Instead keeping around all the lazy ass bums.

Why is everyone determined to do nothing, and get paid? There should be a parade for this escapade to learn just how they screw it. Yet throw it all away, cause what do you care. You wonder why you look old, and have no hair. Why your business is drowning, and money's not coming it. It's the blokes you hired, like a couple pairs of useless twins.

Not me, eventually I'm a be, the one calling the shots, people will answer to me. When this day comes, I won't except alot, so if your working slow, get off of your station. There are people who want to work, and people who feel this strange sensation, like everyone owes them something.

 F*ck that, earn your keep, if you wanna be kept around, then do your work and don't speak. Leave the pooch alone so it's behind can heal, otherwise it you who's going to be looking for that next meal.

I have high standards, of myself, and of others. I don't care who you are, or how many sisters and brothers, you have, or you had, or who's your mom and dad. Or who you know, aw that's too bad. Cause for me, I've had to earn it, and likewise so should you.

I really hate the backwards things that people do.

Money Done Wasted

Here I go again, another rant-tastic rammification I get to cram, from your eyes into your brain.

Who cares anyway, no one says a word. People all want me to work, but only for pennies, my polite decline makes me the jerk?

Thinking the ages of slavery are long gone, that's wrong, here I be enlightening you with a music-less song. Just because they offer the least, don't make it any less, like a slave in a field, sure there's no contest.

I guess that's a Capella, no need for fancy words, It's just a way to talk just like the singing of the birds. But now the time has come, what's the difference between me and a bum, the debt I have, is much greater than his. At least he's got income.

If someone told me years ago, that passing school doesn't guarantee a job, I would of thought they were lying, and probably called them an ignorant slob.

But I'm the ignoramus, thinking things like diplomas are the difference between being no one and being famous.

Shoot, thirty thousand dollars later, I have two pieces of paper, neither means shit, I'm stuck with nothing else to show for it. Unless I'm willing to work for free, or the greatest in the world no one takes a second look at me.

I have experience,  skills, and the knowledge to succeed, whilst everyone else around me gets be fat and corrupt with greed.

How is it they secure these jobs for so much money, doing so little, I don't find it very funny. Then my ass gets stuck doing the work of many, but when I get paid, It's like they give me the dirty pennies, no one else wanted to take.

Or what's worst is the oil of the snake, these papers constantly haunt me. Telling me I am success, but when I try to use them to my advantage, I only get stuck with less. Should I just end my misery, let this shit wash over me.

Maybe when I'm dead is when people will eventually, appreciate the things I did, and talk in ways that only I see.

Cause currently I cannot take this anymore. It eats at my conscience like termites in a wooden door. 

I tried very hard, but for nothing it's all in vain. Maybe I should get a gun and just blow out my brains. That way I can't be wrong, it will be done so quickly. Unlike my ability to secure my life financially.

As my ship sinks slowly, and I see it before my eyes, no point in staying longer, as I am sick of all the lies. Perhaps I am just lying to myself, perhaps they are all right. I guess I am as worthless as those diplomas in my sight.

I never claimed to be the best, but I gave it a fair shot. As life shits on me constantly, it's starting to get hot. I cannot do this any longer,  I had it all planned out. But nothing ever goes my way, no longer can I stand and shout.

I have lost my voice, and drive to go on. Fuck this world, maybe the next one is where I belong.
  

(Disclaimer: these words are just words not intentionally intentional don't take to heart my decision to use thoughts of suicide as actual impulses but rather an intense emotional projection in the moment. I don't normally feel like this. But when you're down your mind can go to dark places. If you ever get to know me you will see I am always quite positive, rarely able to be negative. I felt like when I wrote this that noone cares enough. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings that occur upon reading.)

Cheap World

Capitalism and cheapening of goods, making this world as shoddy as particle wood. Sure someone else will do the same job for less, and the out come is garbage, but I do digress.

I hate how we've become a society of penny pinching squatters, teaching these lessons to our sons and daughters.

What happened to value and getting your worth? It's been replaced with fillers and what's even worst, is we sit and complain that it's never enough, we want it bigger and better, with bells and whistles and stuff. Only paying the minimum, but wanting to squeeze, every single ounce of hard work from you and from me.

It's all about profit, and margin of error, but how can you make profit if no body cares? Pay me what I'm worth and you'll have a good worker. Pay me minimum wage, get a sloth like bezerker. If you pay the lowest of low, expect that back. Pay a bit more and I'll pick up the slack.

What's 15 bucks an hour if I bring you back $3,000 per day? The sales can speak for themselves in that way. Sure buddy will do it for 10.25, but when people are disgusted, there's nothing to hide. The losses incurred, bring business to a halt, it's not my problem, it's all your fault.

When you wonder why business is failing, and you've already cut wages, it's the people you have working, they're at lower stages. I come prepared, and experienced, like a seasoned vet. Give me what I ask and you'll like what you get.

If you try lying, or leading me on, I'll stay for a moment, but tomorrow I'm gone. I'd rather not work, than sell myself short. That's just me, I won't extort. I have skills, and the knowledge required, to do anything your heart desires. Just give me that chance, and you'll agree, it's not much I ask, for the work that is me.

Lipsync between two monsters

Purple dude walking and waving

Rotoscoped me playing both sides of the frame

A 2D animation playing on light and shadow

put it my nose

Newest variety of hand drawings and paintings