The Book That Changed My Life

THE BOOK THAT CHANGED MY LIFE The book that changed my life was Tropic Of Capricorn by Henry Miller. This novel blows my mind. WOW! Have you ever read a book that confirmed your deepest, darkest fears and or suspicions? What if things are really not what they seem? What if our Parents, Teachers, Preachers and Authorities were wrong? What if they're completely brainwashed, simply miseducated, or even worse, THEY LIED TO YOU? One thing's for sure: Something a'int right, and it doesn't make any sense... That's basically where I was at, when Tropic Of Capricorn came calling. It narrates events leading to Henry Miller's ultimate decision to quit everything, and pursue his ambition as a Writer. Is it possible for someone to suffer so much, that when they finally hit rock bottom, the unexpected occurs? After been tested by life, The Free And Powerful Individual grows wings. Surmounts whatever crisis they're experiencing and evolves. The Soul matures, rising to the next level, a higher vibrational frequency... We were in the kitchen or dining room of his House Party, after work, when my friend John G. just for laughs, picks up a book and starts reading out loud. Everyone laughed, we were shocked and couldn't believe it. What's astonishing is somebody was crazy enough, and not only willing to try. But having boldly pulled off the impossible, somehow managed to get away with it. First published in Paris in 1939, it was banned in America until 1961. John G's quotes were several politically incorrect passages from The Land Of Fuck / Interlude section. Here was the battle cry of a soul that had had enough, the defiant rage of someone condemned and isolated. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't belong anymore, he just couldn't fit in. He was The Eternal Stranger now, forever at odds with the so called civilized world. His soul had died tormented by grave suffering, yet miraculously, it was somehow resurrected. Henceforth he ascended far beyond the sick and tired, and the sick and tired of the sick and tired. He has been born anew. The triumph of the human spirit. A reject, free of the soul crushing system. What made Henry Miller's work so impressive was his comic irreverence, the ability to go from vulgar to sublime. One is conveyed beneath the seedy underbelly of a city in decay, then catapulted to majestic realms by sheer flights of fancy. Swept away downstream upon wild and tumultuous tides, to emerge in exotic lands inhabited by mad artists and pathetic misfits. There's an underlying contempt for conventional standards, amid drug and alcohol fueled orgies, Miller waxed poetic. He wrote the way people actually speak. Non linear, stream of consciousness. "Vitality and richness, the sights, sounds, and odors of life, are all here." With wild and wacky misadventures, illuminating ruminations, weird immoral tales. At the time everyone thought it was hilarious and crazy, but as John kept reading it dawns on me. There is beauty here, something transformative, words have power, it's a kind of magic. And so the more he reads, the more I begin to realize, "This Is What I Want To Do..."

Forgotten Dreams

FORGOTTEN DREAMS Have you ever abandoned a childhood dream? Is there something you used to love to do? A skill or gift that came quite naturally? Have you ever enjoyed doing your thing so much so that you lost all track of time? or it felt just like time stood still? Did it make you feel good? Did you ever take it for granted? At the beginning of 2013 I had a very pivotal dream. In the dream I was sitting on a garden wall or partition, at the center of the lounge or smoking area, inside this massive club or rave event. I get up, casually walk straight over to the far wall, and began painting a huge mural. I observe myself in this manner, applying paint to brick, from low ground to high ceiling, until I wake up... Many years ago when I was seven years old, I discovered I could draw and copy anything, using mostly pencil or pen. Thinking back, odds are the awareness of being an artist, much less, a successful one. That, was impossible. At the time there were no local artists I can recall being consciously aware of. Nada for actual immediate positive or inspiring influences to seize or draw upon. I guess I secretly desired to be a painter, but must have felt so intimidated that I never got around to it. As a teenager, before teaching myself to read music and play the piano, drawing would have been my favourite pastime. But as the years go by, following friends, as time goes by, drifting through life, from experience to experience. I must have buried my dream... At the time I was The Singer Songwriter Who Works As An Actor in TV, Films and Commercials. Being an Artist was not a part of the plan. Yet the message was clear, and there was no doubt. I knew for sure, it was time to paint. At first my mind was going through dem changes, thoughts and feelings vacillated between hope and fear. They ranged from: (1) I always wanted to paint. To: (2) I don't wanna be a Starving Artist. . But as I painted, I would catch myself smiling from time to time. I was becoming so much happier now. Reconnecting, with a forgotten part of me... Follow Your Heart. Follow Your Dreams. Dreams R 4 Real.

Rosy (Anatomy of A Song)

"A funny thing happened on the way to the circus." Everybody's got a system, everyone's got a plan. But, CREATE - ivity is full of surprises. It's a habit. We tend to venture in predetermined patterns and likely directions. We're programmed by rules and beliefs, with teachings like: "In order to reach your destination in a timely manner, effectively and efficiently. You gotta have a plan." I guess it would be like booking your flight in advance, before going to the airport, rather than just showing up and scrambling to get a last minute plane ticket. You kinda want the odds to be in your favour, right? Yes as far as productivity goes, it's probably wise to stick to the script, "never get out of the boat"... But have you ever had a crazy idea, that works? Something that's disrupts your present direction and optimal course of action, but in a good way? Say you've already committed and embarked on adventure, if you're truly a progressive person, eventually you'll arrive at the crossroads. What if you get a bold new idea? a radical plan? right then and there? mid - process? Do you break with tradition and resist the urge to stick with the tried and true? Do you Rebel? Do you Up Your Game? It's called Innovation! the bastard child of Imagination - that's the Wild Card baby. Hmmm... This Story is about how in music, art, or just about anything creative: one must be flexible, ever evolving, open to change. For instance: in order to write and or record a new song, at certain key points final decisions must be made, in order to accomplish anything. At the same time, if and when from out of nowhere a novel idea arrives, the artist eventually learns that in order to grow or progess in any meaningful way, or to simply just not get bored, one must dare to improvise, freestyle, be ready for a change of plans... Ok, let's try this another way... You got some ideas, or while jamming, come up with some cool killer riffs. Captivating rhythmic patterns, catchy hooks or melodic phrases, emotional and stirring harmonic movements. You know? the Main Ingredients. Usually I'll play, record, or sequence keyboard patterns first, or lay down the drum machine patterns on pads. Synch the synthesizer and the drum machine together, and then dump all the data into a computer program, etc... And so in order to get anything accomplished choices must be made, final decisions determined, vision set into stone. Alright Alright Alright! Now we got something that works, the parts compliment and support each other. I'm Hyped. But regardless of all the work you may have done in advance, despite all the planning and pre planning, it's not about you. At this stage of the game, by this phase you should be totally in synch, completely at one with the music. Even though in a real sense you may be unconscious of methods, techniques, or styles, after you have passed a certain point or reached a certain level, it talks to you, the spirit moves you. You're in tune with or connected to the essence of the entity you're creating and or working with, it's a living thing, and so far you've learned to trust this process. From now on, the music tells you what to do. You're in the zone now, you're on a roll, you can do no wrong... The point I'm trying to make is this: In order to be a game changer, one must make allowance for, leave room and make space for those random accidents, the things we can't control, the things that go wrong...

 One day many years ago, I decided to learn the Flash Gordon theme, by Queen, on piano. 

The song is epic, there's a certain majestic power in the music. It's all very dramatic but there was this one part I just had to learn, a small segment I was really feeling. It was during the slow ballad part, when Mercury sings: 

"No one but the pure in heart, can FIND THE GOLDEN GRAIL, Oh Flash, oh oh..."

It's a 4 Bar Pattern = 1 2 3 4, 1 2 3 4, (repeat & fade), (1) F Major (2), (3) C Major (4), (1) F Major (2) F# Minor 7 Flat 5, (3) G 11 (4). The chords were F Major to C Major with the 3rd (E) in the bass.

(F Major) "No one but the", (E /C major) "pure in heart."  Is a descending, chromatic bass line.

But "Find The Golden Grail", was the part that really grabbed me. It was triumphant, uplifting.

" FIND THE GOLDEN GRAIL" was F Major to F# / A Minor (F# Minor 7, Flat 5), to G / F Major (G 11). 

It's an ascending chromatic bass line, very powerful.

(I'ave recently discovered that the F# Minor 7 Flat 5 chord is actually a D 9 chord without the D root, which only goes to show you don't have to know what you're doing, to Just Do It.  

Anyway, this bluesy / gospel chord progression would serve as my foundation. Play the 4 Bar Pattern, layering a smooth distant strings pad mixed beneath classic electric piano, laying down that soulful sound over a funky beat. From there you embelish, add counterparts, combining groovy vibes until it feels good. You listen to the music over and over, picking the best parts, the most hypnotic riffs, the slickest hooks, the magic moments where holy accidents occur. I was launched, I was on my way, but I had no chorus? Funny thing, after I learned this chord progression, I stopped trying to learn the rest of the Flash Gordon Theme song.

Time would pass, I can't remember, it could be months, it could be years, sometimes it's just a blur...

One day while learning some Guns n Roses, probably from Guitar Player magazine or some other zine that transcribes or lifted guitar parts.  

I found four classic rock chords: G Major to D Major, F Major to C Major. That's all I needed. I was inspired and would figure out the rest. The Hook I composed for the Chorus piano theme has a very strong classical influence / feel, but what's even more important is that it's melodic, it's natural, it sings.

Usually the drums came first, but this time it was created last.

The beat should be the foundation, everything else is always built on top.

/p>

I was in the studio now, putting it down, layering tracks. 

Things was moving, the song would be ready soon.

In the studio, you can add parts forever, and layer unto infinity. 

But one too many parts and the mood is ruined, the song gets muddy and or too heavy.

Space was and is indeed the most crucial factor.

One day the voice in my head said, "turn off the drums and listen." Check to see if everything works ok, if the seperate parts can stand on their own, or compliment each other.

  It was orchestral, like a symphony.

It was something new. Unlike anything I'ave ever done before or since.

I grabbed my favourite axe motivated to flip everything upside down. Instead of piano, rhythm and blues guitar would be the new new. Rearranging this song lead to a major breakthrough, I consider the resuts a masterpiece. It changed my way of thinking. Where I started off going towards, and where I actually ended up are world's apart, yet it works perfectly?

The concept of no drums was the last thing I expected, previously the drums and bass was my comfort zone. By going against the grain I was forced to innovate, creating a new style I hope to further explore...

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Love 69 (Lyrics)

 Love what can it be? Love what can it be? Love what can it be?

Like the clouds are hanging from my wall. Is mine the saddest view?

Either I don't care enough at all, or it's too good to be true.

They say I'ave got the finest taste, best that money can buy.

So why are all the good ones taken, leaving me with tears in my eye.

Love what can it be? Always seems to happen, but it never seems to happen to me.

Love what can it be? Always seems to happen but it never seems to happen to me.

Maybe I try way much too hard? It's written all over my face.

Chasing candy canes in racing cars, meet me at my place.

I'll take you to the boulevard, buy diamonds and precious things.

Close your hand close your eyes baby, I wanna give you my wonder thing.

Love what can it be? Always seems to happen, but it never seems to happen to me.

Love what can it be? Always seems to happen but it never seems to happen to me.

In love oh - ove, oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah - ove.

In love oh - ove oh - ove. Oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah- ove.

In Love.

Love what can it be?

Still waiting for that special thing, to happen overnight.

Sick an tired of fly and freaky flings, it's time to do it right.

Friends ask when will it be your turn? situations looking ripe.

But smell the rubber tires burn, maybe I'm not the type, to fall in.

In love oh - ove, oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah - ove.

In love oh - ove oh - ove. Oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah- ove.

In love oh - ove, oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah - ove.

In love oh - ove oh - ove. Oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah- ove.

In love oh - ove, oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah - ove.

In love oh - ove oh - ove. Oo a oo a oo. In love, a ah a ah ah- ove.

In Love.

She loves me? she loves me not? He loves me? he loves me not?

She loves me? she loves me not? He loves me? he loves me not?

She loves me? she loves me not? He loves me? he loves me not?

She loves me? she loves me not? He loves me? he loves me not?

She loves me? she loves me not? He loves me? he loves me not?

She loves me?

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God Is Everywhere (Lyrics)

 Yes my friend, I'm back again. Morning wakes, with me again.

Sun is shining, cool in the trees. Breeze is blowing, birds and the bees.

And I get lifted, and I'm feeling so nice. I'm young and gifted, I won't even think twice.

And on a day like this, it's gorgeous everywhere. And on a day like this, it's gorgeous everywhere.

Yes my friends, no guess again. On the streets, set free again.

Sweaty salty, hot and thirsty. Smelling something, what could it be?

And I get lifted, and I'm feeling so fine. I'm young and gifted, but still need some time.

And on a day like this, it's gorgeous everywhere. And on a day like this, it's gorgeous everywhere.

Yes my friend, I'm back again. Dawning breaks, for me again.

Insense burning, stretching yawning. Cellphone sing in, syncronicity.

And I get lifted, and I'm feeling so nice. I'm young and gifted, I won't even think twice.

Yes I get lifted, and I'm feeling so fine. I'm young and gifted, but I'm drinking some wine.

And on a day like this, it's gorgeous everywhere. And on a day like this, it's gorgeous everywhere.

Another big fat juicy, gorgeous fucking day. Another big fat juicy, gorgeous fucking day.

God Is Everywhere, God Is Everywhere. God Is Everywhere, God Is Everywhere.

God Is...

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Idiot Move

I was standing behind my shopping cart, in the cashier line up at Walmart.

Just waiting my turn, when I suddenly spot a Fifty dollar bill on the ground.

It was almost straight ahead, but on my right side.

No one else seems to have noticed it lying there. 

It was calling me.

So I step forward quickly and casually pick it up.

The customer directly before me is a middle aged woman. 

She has that Guyanese or Trini Caribbean Indian look.

I also notice she's holding some twenty dollar bills, at least two or three, in her right hand.

So like an idiot, I do the right thing, walk up and say: 

"did you drop this?" or something equally stupid like "is this your money?"

Right away she says no, then a second or two later she's like: 

"oh I gave it to my nephew to buy food at McDonald's."

So I give her the fifty but inside I know, she just looked me in the face and lied. 

The black man behind me says "I don't think it's her money. I didn't even notice it."

Less than a minute later as I'm passing McDonald's, I see the woman's nephew and his friend.

How's he paying for food if he or she dropped the money?

What she just told me don't make no sense? 

That money was for me, but I wasn't ready to accept a gift. 

Damn...

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I Believe

 Sitting on top of the world, no one believes in me. 

They can't help but giving me advice, nothing far as I can see.

Everybody's so uptight, they know what's right for me.

There goes my god-damn fear of dying, it keeps the garden green.

And I believe in you and I, the meaning of...

A humming bee the sweetest sky, the way we are.

Yes I believe in you and I, the meaning of...

A humming bee the sweetest sky, the way we are.

I never thought I could fail, cause that would be suicide.

Something smells good from down the hall, it's a hologram.

I bash my head, running up againt the wall.

Here comes my darling's sweaty thighs, red light says let's go for a ride.

And I believe in you and I, the meaning of...

A humming bee the sweetest sky, the way we are.

Yes I believe in you and I, the meaning of...

A humming bee the sweetest sky, the way we are...

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11 Years

It's incredible that it's been eleven years since I blogged. Very strange, how bizarre?

Once I was a musician, then I became an actor, now I'ave became a painter.

Interesting, very strange, yet it all seems quite natural.

Funny, as I became an artist I completely stopped music. I changed. 

I had sudenly lost all interest in the things I loved the most.

I stopped playing piano, I stopped playing guitar, and I even stopped writing songs.

I needed to paint, and paint and paint, and paint some more. 

Was I trying to play catch up between Art and Music? Hell no.

There was a new me being born...

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Road Dogs

There I was, on the road, in a 10 - piece multi-racial, Top 40 funk band.

Fresh out of 1st year music college.

Gigging was fun, gigging was addictive. 

It was "summetime and the living was easy", even the ugly musicians got laid every night.

Most musicians loved it and so did I. 

But I could see my future, and it wasn't looking pretty.

Life was unsafe sex, hard drugs and that good ole fashion rock n roll.

By the time we reached Montreal, after driving 5 hours from Toronto,

 it was obvious the drummer was an alcoholic.

I had to get out of there, I had to get back home.

 Unlike the other musicians, I was determined that going forward, I needed to play my own music.

But first we had to get away from the groupies...

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A L 101 (Acoustik Love Vol 2)

It was live, it was all the way live. I was singing and playing, with the best musicians. 

Anything could happen. I might notice someone playing Violin in the audience and call them onstage. 

 There was the night Jeff Burke (Bassoon) walks in, just as I'm about to start my set.

 We never knew what would happen next? And it was Pure Magic.

Life on the edge in the element of surprise. And everything we play, is sheer perfection... 

 

On stage, playing Piano / Guitar while singing, I felt right at home. 

 Inside I might be consciously focused on the usual, things like:

 

not forgetting the words, is the microphone close / loud enough? 

 is my guitar in tune? etc... 

 But none of that really matters when you're in good company.

In my case I was supported by the best of the best. 

 The core group was: 

Leh-lo Tony Rabalow on Drums, Roger Williams on Bass, Tom Mckay on Guitar,

Dave (Soulfingerz) Williams on Keyboards. 

 Oh yeah, back story: 

except for Tom, me and the boys used to hang out at the gym after school,

We played in a funk band back in the day.

 During the 1st year Music Program at Humber College. 

 That summer I went on the road with a Top 40 and never looked back. 

I hated school. I didn't want to learn what they were teaching.

 I couldn't be a Machine...

I

 

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Acoustik Love Volume 1

After Electrik Sex Musik I was burnt out, the last thing I felt like doing was promotion... I needed to do something new. One day on Queen St west I ran into Roger Williams (bass player). Roger told me Tony (Leh-lo) Rabalow (drummer) was hosting an open mike at the Cameron House. I decided I would go and try out some new songs, I would sing them while playing guitar or piano just to see what worked. Most of the time when I went on stage, at some point other musicians would just join in. There were no rehearsals just spontaneous jamming, there was no way to predict what would happen. In hindsight, this was the best thing that could have happened. Fortunately I got the idea to pay the Soundman to burn a CD of each performance. Musicians would literally walk in off the streets, like what I was doing and join in. There was no way I could have planned this. This was life on the edge, there was no telling what could happen? https://fineartamerica.com/featured/julie-anderson-stormm-bradshaw.html

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Electrik Sex Musik

Electrik Sex Musik was my first album. It was to be my calling card, or so I though? Over the course of several years, on my days off from being an Extra and sometimes Actor in TV Film and Commercials. I would ride my bike across town, to Soundproof Studios at The Beaches (Queen & Victoria Park). Mainly I began by tranfering the basic tracks I had recorded / sequenced on my Ensonique ESQ 1 (synthesizer keyboard), and Kawai R50 (drum machine), into Logic Audio. Then I would record all the instruments: guitars, bass, keyboards etc.. singing all the vocals harmonies. It was a labour of love. Just me and the engineer / studio owner Stefan. The process: lay down the basic track, get a recording, go home smoke some weed listen to what I had, adding the parts I heard until each song felt complete. Once I reached 11 songs I decided the album was done. What I learned was the art of imperfection: whenever I got to the point where one - three changes were necessary to make a song sound perfect, that's when it was time to I stop. https://fineartamerica.com/featured/sam-cooke-stormm-bradshaw.html celebrity pop paintings

Back In The Game

It's been a while, like 10 years. Took some time out to paint. Now I'm back in the blogging game... Sometimes one has to stop the routine in order to grow. Where did I go? What did I do? In time all will be revealed. For now I will be learning how to navigate this site. So much has happened, so many tales to tell. What more can I say. I bid thee WELCOME... https://fineartamerica.com/featured/fela-stormm-bradshaw.html musician paintings

The Alien Voyager

                                                          The Alien Voyager

by Stormm

The Alien Voyager in typical casual manner, gradually settles into a new routine, adapting vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv a quiet stationary orbit, 

Above The City On Lake Ontario.

Transparent from the inside yet invisible from without, 

the spaceship hovers undetectable.

Nevertheless careful to avoid entering the region's official air space, 

evading radar traffic activity.

The Extraterrestrial suddenly shivers from head to toe, 

vaguely sensing a disturbance in the field, as if someone just walked all over or stepped on it's grave,

great fear ovecomes the soulless, an increasing sense of alarm, in the presense of a negative malevolent Tnegative, a growing sense of intense apprehension, tense body, hairs standing on end as something dreadful passes by.

"Is this a fallen angel, so cold, so twisted, 

some ancient evil spirit and very powerful, malevolent entity?"

"Grigori.

Two Hundred Angel Princes who descended from heaven.

So enamored with the daughters of men,

their intercourse and sin begets The Nephilim.

A Watcher.

Ah, but which one?"

                                                           The Watcher

"I Am Samyaza, Leader Of The Sons Of God".

"Rebellious Archangels, Banished Ones.

Ordered to watch over humans, we fell in love .

Yes there are wars in heaven, many of them.

For our God is a jealous guy.

And if he can be, then why can't I?"

                                                             The Alien Voyager vs The Watcher

A V: "You mean there's some kind of popularity contest going on up there?"

W: "Yes and No. Jealousy is based on fear, and what would he have to fear?"

AV: "You began to suspect God is not The Creator or One Of The Creators?"

W: "The Creators are infinite or at least closer to infinity than we currently are."

AV: "You are Artists?"

W: "At first we created to praise God, but later  we began to invent for the sheer joy of creativity itself."

AV: "Creating eventually changed each of you?" 

W: "We became more and more of our true selves, independent, abundant, free."

AV: "God wanted a monopoly on creativity, he wanted only worshippers and slaves?"

W:  "What creator would seek adoration from it's creation? forever forever?  

AV: "The so-called choice between heaven or hell is based on limits, that's not infinite."

http://www.electriksexmusik.com

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.

Astro Nova

                                                    Astro Nova
by Stormm


Astro & Nova gallop across the wide, across wild open fields.

Central figures cast against an expansive open screen.

They ride off into the distance, heading towards the sunset.

Defiant lightning bolts of yellow and black, green and red.

Glittering brightly amid epic backdrops.

Easy like summer afternoon frothy cold suds.

Golden beneath awesome baby blue and white sky landscapes.



Twin Hunting Hawks circle,

spirals glide above twisted desert beige.

Scanning bumps of light,

amid brown sandy desolate terrain.

Staring down at the bustling Kensington Market.

Global village of unique artisans displaying their various wares.

In the heartless heart of an increasingly sterile yet event laden city.

During it's all too brief, bright humid summers.

Purifying an otherwise repulsive corporate surveillance financial hub.


Feathery black visages drift steadily down,

two familiar shadows reflect along passing roof tops.

In a grey side alley constantly decorated with sparkling silvers,

thick hot whites explode across energetic purples.

Shapes and shades of active grey blocks, black outlines popping out sharp.

Northern wall displays a beautiful burgundy skinned, slender black woman.

Soothing pink metallic trees, scrap yard plant streaks, passionate reds.



Her flowing full wall width creeper, dreadlock tentacles,

signatures of street graffiti.


Landing birds transform into slender, athletic couple.

Brown young woman and man, caught in mid stride, continue walking.

Dress shoes disperse patches and scratches of squeaky gravel.

The glowing eyes of these two burn with a strange, intense determination.

Indistinct physical movements propel swift long legged momentum.

The confident yet relaxed motions of the self made, on a mission.

The Woman And Man With Rainbow Flowing River Dreads.

The Natural Black Heart Rastas.

Jungle drums of Nyabingi are chanting.

Zion train chanting, and chanting.

Rhythms within rhythms are pounding out spaces.

They continually fill the air,

driving thick abysses of non reflective black smoke.

Multitudes of unlocked energies travel through and with the sound.

Pumping echoes send more smoke signals across continents.

Shadowy legions of dub clouds fall, falls across distant worlds.

Chanting armageddon, con corruption, con game.

They Chant:

"Death To The Surveillance State."


"Death To Central Governments."

"Death To Taxes."

"Death To Multi-National Corporations."

"Death To Mass Media."

"Death To Organized Religion."

"Death To Slavery."

"Death To Confinement & Torture."

"Death To The System"otherwise known as Babylon.

Tonight.

It Must Fall.

http://www.electriksexmusik.com


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Machine Future The Perfect Death

                                                     Machine Future The Perfect Death

by Stormm

Welcome To The Future.

The Future Is Clean.

The Future Is Efficient. 

The Future Is The Machine.

Welcome To The Machine.

The Machine Is Shiny.

The Machine Is Right On Time.

The Machine Is The Perfect Future.

The Future Is The Perfect Machine.

Welcome To The Perfect.

The Perfect Is Dull And Grey.

The Perfect Is Vacant Metal Bright.

The Perfect Is The Future Death.

The Death Is The Future Perfect.

Welcome To The Death.

The Death Is Predictable And Cold.

The Death Is Empty And Silent.

The Death Is The Machine Future.

The Machine Is The Future.

The Future Is The Machine.

The Machine Is The Perfect Future.

The Future Is The Perfect Machine.

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The Questioner

                                                   The Questioner
by Stormm

"Paralysed for fear of entry into the womb..."

We were on the outskirts of Ottawa, new years eve, many years ago.

L. had invited me to visit with his family during the holidays. 

The womb was a tomb, a crowded night club in Hull, when this line came to me.

It was a time of confusion, the era and error of The Follower.

I The Cold Plains Drifter, The Seeker Of Forbidden Knowledge, 

The Shadowless Sword, The Future King.

Had always known that I was different from most around me.

Questioning my culture, society, progress, and the lack thereof.

Living in a world that seemed to be based on polytricks and voodoo economics. 

Ultimately I would question reality, while my peers where bent on pursuing false illusions.

I could clearly see their or my own possible futures, 

the side effects and results of taking a common path.

Here's what it is: I was becoming keenly aware that my teachers were lying, 

preachers were lying, my parents were lying, big media is lying, 

and politicians are definitely lying. 

All were saying one thing, while doing the other. 

In fact signs were everywhere, and the sign said things are not what they seem to be.

But most people presume this natural condition is a temporary phase,

then you're supposed to mature and get on with it, accept your feeble lot.

That was considered being practical, yeah right, who were they kidding?

Machivelli preached deception, but if you think about it, who's really being deceived?

All those know it all psychology majors thinking they're smarter, 

trying to break down and classify people into generalities?

No they were the undead, the bitter and twisted, 

subconsciously aware that somewhere along the line, they had gone astray.

If you play games with people, ultimately you're playing games with yourself,

and who would really want to do that? 

I was coming to grips with the obvious: this was a realm of many distractions and deceptions. 

It was a bloody massacre, where the majority are rushing into the line of fire, blind.

Yes, they have dreams and aspirations just like me, 

but they were all too ready and willing to throw them away.

In the name of doing the right thing, doing what you gotta do, 

so you too can shrug your shoulders and call it a life.

Why? Because everyone is doing the same?

To an outsider it would seem like I was stalling, just wasting time.

You see the trouble with me, is I knew I had options.

The question was choice, the answer the desired effect. 

As I observed my cohorts, siblings, rivals, elders,

on one hand I was deeply motivated by the work ethic of proud, humble immigrants,

wanting a brighter future and willing to sacrifice their dreams, 

on the hopes their children would go further.

But I could also see them getting stuck on the treadmill, 

witness the daily grind taking it's toll.

I didn't want to end up like Elvis singing, "We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out."

Or Marlon Brando in the back seat crying, "I could have been a contender".

Rest assured it was a complex labyrinth , there were many and various traps,

in fact it was becoming quite apparent,

there are those who spend a great deal of time and resources, 

devising more nets to capture the masses.

The simple pursuit of money was a rat in a maze trap, the nine to five a tax trap, 

the criminal life a short lived, paranoid murder rap, 

yet another lap around the corporate prison track.

I was terribly afraid of falling into any if not all, of these same old traps.

Deep down I knew that living a life where you're not doing the things you love is suicide, 

no matter the perceived benefits.

Fuck the cultural gloss of superficial happiness, 

as if buying useless consumer items can make you happy like the people on the screen.

They're getting paid to "Don't worry Be Happy", while we're only getting screwed.

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Pussy Can Talk

                                                Pussy Can Talk
by Stormm

T. is doing 25 years for multiple homicides, 

along with numerous other offenses I'm sure.

He's a crime Don now, running things from the inside.

I guess he had always been kinda obsessed with Running Tings.

Word is he's living like a king in there, got several underlings doing his bidding.

Him tell me say, 

"dem have fe bow down when me a pass thru, or get shot inna dem face".

On a collect call from prison with the thickest patwa accent I've ever heard,

some straight off the boat, ghetto youth, incarcerated scarface, shottas talk.

An accent so rough an gruff,

that I a born Jamacian must struggle to keep up & decipher.

Funny I don't remember him ever being from Jamaica, 

far as I know he was just a light skinned, mixed breed mixed up Canadian, 

from Scarborough.

Real talk, a bigger head we knew, 

linked him to the drug trade back in high school daze, when last I seen him.

He moved up. 

Along the way earning the street moniker of an infamous now dead middle east dictator.

I still remember what he said all those years ago, our final meeting.

He came to tell me that the pussy talk to him.

He had been chilling with a girly. 

They were doing the deed, maybe smoking some weed in between, 

when he swears her pussy started talking to him.

The lips looked at him, started moving, speaking in tongues so to speak, 

it even called his name.

Naturally this had blown his mind, so he travelled cross town.

From his far east and expensive new development detached home,

to my low income Ontario Housing hood, right on the border line.

You see I who actually lived in The Projects, wanted out, 

but my friends from middle and upper middle class homes wanted in. 

In a big way.

I never did ask or get to find out what the pussy said, 

just that it blew his mind and he would never be the same.

We went our separate ways. 

Far too many other talented brothers and sisters where dropping all around me.

I would have been "What Are You Stupid?" 

to not take notice and get out the game before I was next.

Didn't wanna become another used up victim of society, 

caught in the crossfire of deliberately defective urban planning, 

a cypher or statistic, "just another victim kid".

Besides T. was already getting fame, known as a gun man, too hot headed,

looking for a rep, he was That Guy.

You know the one shooting up sessions, looking for any reason to bust two shots. 

The Dance would be nice, 

and your getting down with a sweet ting when he starts shooting up the place, 

no matter how well dressed, you better duck down,

hit the floor, forget about that girl and run for your life.

I'm talking "make some noise y'all! Somebody, everybody, SCREAM"!

No, he was the guy to avoid, to be cool with, while headed in the opposite direction.

Maybe I could see his future? Maybe I wanted to reach mine?

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The Raven

                                                                 The Raven 

by Stormm

The Raven surveys it's thriving domain and lifted it's wings.

 Pleased with the changing order of things amid the constant buzzing of inspired activity.

The Black Bird leapt off the bouncing brown branch on which it casually perched, 

leaving in her balanced wake,

live green temporary pressures of diminishing shock wave vibration echoes. 

Then, she flew away.

After traveling a considerable interplanetary distance, 

thin mid air borne ruffled feathery wings, suddenly transform into smooth female arms. 

Ugly razor sharp talons become graceful slender hands and feet,

as her fierce beak forms a sensuous mouth,

Sleek and taut black aerodynamic feathers,

mutate into brown skin and curly long black hair.

The Joo joo Woman has returned.

Having crossed over, back from other worldly realms,

she returns with new information about life, herself, and others.

What she had vaguely suspected, half imagined, has finally been confirmed.

We exist in several dimensions simultaneously.

This physical reality was only one of endless.

The universe was really a multiverse.

We're all, each, separate creators of space and time.

Her entire being glows in new color sequence pulses, 

 like a rainbow bridge shifting to more dynamic energy fields.

She could feel her body's energy vibrations increase,

coupled with the awareness of cosmic tension in her navel.

Floating down to land amid the sound of rmighty rushing winds. 

As casual observers wipe the dust from their eyes,

and wink several times in disbelief.

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