I’m in a, I’m in a fuckin’ waystation Fuckface fuck fakes, hug patients I died and now I’m in a fuckin’ waystation Gotta run a jawbone in the basement I live my life inside a fuckin’ waystation My name’s Jake, I can brave the Mohaine then After that his mind’s on a fader Adversary ride the Creator Sling guns if you want - I don’t Rather Waste Books with my arts - y’know Charge - reload, gotta find Dark Tower Hard hours in the cards but I’ve known about that all my life Stuck in Jake Chambers Made a lot of games, dreamin’ runaway capers, Stayed a lot of knaves acting unafraid, paid for Staying with the wraiths - watching Funimat’ later (bluh) Raver, ranter, the people feel it deepen It’s a little bad mind and a lot of psilacetin I’m ready to get drawn through the circle and escape But I’ve got a big Turtle in the Way, not a jape Just that in some other universe they’re calling to me Don’t matter who’s on, shoes on, follow the beam You’ll maybe get there, and won’t need a holler from me I’m standing here til someone takes away the wall on my scene I’m in a, I’m in a fuckin’ waystation Fuckface fuck fakes, hug patients I died and now I’m in a fuckin’ waystation Gotta run a jawbone in the basement I live my life inside a fuckin’ waystation My name’s Jake, I can brave the Mohaine then One who holds the keys, go then, There are others worlds than these And when you die, maybe you’ll be in a theater, stuck With everyone you ever met or talked to, believers And the atheists, watch the whole movie of your life in a stadium, You can’t leave, just fall to mania So peep a panoply of watchers in masks Commentary every single stray thought that you’ve had Taint all of your maps, straight grovel and crack Til Jake calls from the back, it ain’t novel, relax. I’ve made novels and tracks, I got worse shit Half the time solemn as ass, the rest worthless Half the time calm and I laugh, a messed wordsmith Langors for as long as my lack prevents purchase Not a Maine thing, lamping in a King locale And fuck pen-page, I’ll just put some ink to valves And like the Dark Tower, half my fans on the fence, boy Like me more for where I could’ve been than my endpoint

Origin story, more a big hole of lacunae ‘80s kid in college tryna do right Dad drank, Mom suffered through nights Bad days, strange choices cruise by, playboy not too wise 1994 in the cold, memorize the code - criminal Wanna be police, he’d call it life dream, pivotal But never said why, and soon the nights seem seminal, If a girl tells him he’s nice then he might be skeptical An ex-cheerleader type graduate with problems of her own They hang out and soon Mark gets to sees the light A charming guy who got a few weird phenotypes, nothing very Serious, the girl don’t penalize. Within the month there’s a short pause She needs to see him in person, he’s feeling worse off Stomach backflipping, yeah, fuck, kid’s a poor SOB Oh god, you’re not pregnant, are you? Of course not Then the changing of seasons He quit all his classes and never gave them a reason Kid is shit out of passion to spurn his awful lot in life Plays MMOs for days and work a shitty job at night Forklift operation, years die Helps when everything you know is nearby Nearsighted thinking that he sees the world with clear eyes And still no one’s reported if they see flaws or hear sighs, weaksauce career flies One day online and the mood pops After seventeen years, the other fucking shoe drops Broken condom - failed birth control - then some new talk About a kid who’s interested in info, wanna do swaps He reels back, not a man for kids or relations But learns another man adopted his son and had raised him And the kid’s grown, what the fuck is Mark gonna do Life’s a stage, fraid he only played the parts that he knew Now he’s left with only end results, pacing floors Moments of redemption lost, no desire for making more But here’s a chance to maybe score a hit back Calling mom a whore, communication lines pitch black Big spat - mad father’s rite of pass Like how in holy fuck had she decided that? Damn, if this was someone else’s problem then he might have laughed Fuck your blood test, deleting emails without writing back Keeping to the silent path and see if freakin lies’ll last The next week was filled up with intermittent contact All one-way, short followups his kid had written compact Start nice, but as Mark sits on his ass for weeks Olive branches can grow thorns and soon the asks have teeth Like I can understand the little slights at my mom She didn’t want to end your life, but you’re right the lying was wrong And in your place I would at least want to Skype with my spawn I made a few short stories, and now I’m writing some songs And fuck, come on man, I don’t believe you don’t have questions, I’ve done too much in 17 years for glass defenses Man, all I want to know is where I’m from and what I’m heading to For years I’ve tried to find you, Mark, I hoped I might be getting through But fuck that, if you don’t have the time for some adopted kid I’ll take my lessons distant and in time become your opposite Shape my life without your help, and you get back to clocking in And don’t think on your deathbed I’ll be showing up for talking with That’s the end, a family suffers long erosion Grandpa keeps him secret, Grandma doesn’t want to know him He can’t say for certain cousins know he exists One man’s tantrum throwing thick curtains over his kid Origin story, more a big hole of lacunae A kid heading for college tryna do right Dad’s great, Mom loves him, kid brother’s too wise But closing doors on roots of his tree can take a few tries 2013 in the dark, kid’s up and now he’s come to push free of a mark Misbegotten. Want to be a writer, get beast with his art Tells himself that every venture looks bleak at the start, reason departs.

Lost in my thinking as the time flies I number thoughts and I figure how to tie ties Hear a satisfying clicking up in my mind Footnotes stapled in, clip into the sidelines This is fine wine, this is lifelines This an escalator ride in a high-rise This is life - if you think along the right lines You can’t really see the world with a dry eye Every divot a patent, with some wisdom and craft Every difference is mappable, symptoms amassed Every surface an architect, smitten alas and Every purchase departs into illiberal bags I got my shoelaces, not a stress test Now the escalator’s turning even and the steps mesh Perform philosophy within the present moment I’m Epicurean, guess I’m just content to own it

An electroplated gold Magnum Clutched in the fist of a meditating Cro-Magnon Low-grav I keep toes tapping til toe-tagging Hone craft, if I could be a nomad I’d be so happy Rappers talk shop, selling sample shit and 808s Ain’t amazed, never scoping eyes over tablegrain Play to pay, killing blues, greying the skies, And most wanna-Bee Gees ain’t Stayin’ Alive as such. Don’t just crack, you need brainpans and eggbeaters Papal with Paypal, I pay Paul to peg Peter Then late seated reading Fineman a man fine Anti-s stay inside a closet like it’s Plan Nine Stardom not too far but a locked dude’s carving What I brought through bars to top the top few czars I got a not true start but I get mad sheets And reference books I can’t afford to fit the sad beats Bad-at-rap skirmisher Lay back, staring at the nasty black curvature Mope, get mistaken for a massive-ass Goethe nerd After that word a verse, turn a hurtful big finish acidbath murderer It’s lit, innit? Get a laugh at that or earn a curse Kid disc-spinning, in a mattafact a perjurer and Finna miss spitting with the cataracts, the burn-averse Finna kick writtens til the actirastic turn reversed Affirm a dirge, give listeners priapisms Try to write the right lines then worry I might have missed em Mind a prison, invent selections of private vistas Claim life is vivid then livid, crying to find it isn’t Minister, see a problem and fix it I’m not royal Ironically the bottomfeeders stick to the topsoil Done keeping head over water I’d rather grow gills Serene as a man with no chill - elite to probe skill And you would think with all this running there was somewhere to be Instead of molehills with old pills Awake at night while you thumbsuckers are plum tuckered I’ll end this, fuck, what’s friendship, I once wondered.

Janet Evanovich, if you can it I’ll talk a bit Put your face on back covers - wish your handle’s anonymous And you count to 25 while I plan the apocalypse So in short I must evict, this my planet, get off of it And take James Patterson, awful colossal, And most read, like the literary Ronald McDonald Giving NYT a Maximum Ride or else he look lost Pretending he invented novellas but call em Bookshots If I were violent I’d pull Steel on Danielle She’s everywhere, but what she ever write, I can’t tell Really though I’m just a writer, I’m not a hoodlum, Wish reprints could drop the Ludlum and cop the good ones Going occult, I’m sowing the salt, songs getting Overly cult, no Jodi Piccoult or John Grisham Write the type of microwave meal that I could die from Rather bring a curtain on the plane, mile high club

Ron Rash - poet, writer, Appalachian professor Payments amazed agent, hey, these latest pages his best work Maybe paving the walk for greater post-haste nice jewels Ron staging a talk at some no-name high school Serena is his latest book Dealing with the hatred of being in Appalachia And it’s great if he can just make em look I guess - points kinda muddy but we’ll get to that - Point is Mr. Rash has got a pretty simple demograph And pretty simple’s never that - twixt all the dickpics And the meth trade, it’s taught to every kid in the district Every writ til it’s quizzed and every bit til it’s witless Every list it gets listless, every bitch is an isthmus With no landmass - hand it to one kid and he’d hand back Teachers think that SF is Bradbury and can’t hack The kid is not impressed by a horror that don’t have tentacles And living near a mountain don’t make him feel more amenable For the title’s superwoman’s Greek chorus of loggers And the love plots give him grief, boring with slog work Story mostly forgot, it’s Macbeth with deforestation And Mrs. Macbeth can beat everyone at their only games and - Well, Ron had come, accomodations were fairly used Chintzy auditorium, dusty windows and buried truth Asking if they have any questions, and that one there - he do Kid stands up - Hey, why’s Serena such a Mary Sue? The kid still got an autograph, Ron swiftly forgot him But the others didn’t, all wanna nod, kick or applaud him No lockpicks for the plaudits plus no chance for the love A young kid has grown bored of always answering stuff And still losing - a dick thought stomach-punches were funny On a theater trip, I got thirty for my trouble in coming He struck my solar plexus, they went “eh, it’s a joke” Guess that’s what I get for phrasing things like I was Randall Munroe How rose-colored, stop interacting at all with most dullards Some kids had stole my DnD books, I got no others Life’s hard to handle, I’m still on the way to most of it Staring at the overcast and contemplating homelessness Voice acting Satan for theater kids and I’m on that But feeling mostly like I’ve been stuck down in the wrong class No date for prom, and I’m cosplaying as Doc Scratch But hey, at least I know I’ll never have to be Ron Rash

Mid-range lo-fi high-concept Kid’s brains don’t like my concepts Flip flame flow fly find progress No game no life no contest Fuck yo -- who that boy, why he rap Well I guess I’m tryna be just like my boy ytcrack- Er, I’m calling him my boy, but he’s not, so in fact I’m myself, other cats prolly won’t write me back Augh, peep the declaratory distinction Fuck a label, this is just rap territory distinction Class-time teacher can hand-garrote delinquents The last five surviving can damn inherit my inklings Getting indie on the lo-fi shit But if a person fucking with me I’ma blow right quick And I’m perpetually busy but I don’t quite quit Cus I got no time for dealing with a no time ish You bitchin ‘bout the game’s how I bitch about the Hugos The kids amount to lames gettin clicks about the UFOs I’m rude though, Moody Blue flows like I’m Fugo Cruising through notes - I was growing up on Kabuto Writing out the type of shit that’s printed on demand If you wanna do collabs then I’m spitting in my hand Happy if you’ll have me and pissy if you won’t - oh Kick it in a dojo, miss me with the dough jokes Straight bumping with the trumpetous zeal Half the time I argue shit like whether numbers are real Not a plus when it’s sorta hard to sum what I feel But smiling when they say the game’s dead and blood has congealed I like literature, not Jane Austen I’m into integers and not lame sophists Magic cylinder to solve game problems A cynic sinecure, the dogs stay novice Cats crowd around, give em constant acknowledgement Buys own hype, yeah, he’s falling for all of this Adversary type, and my gall is impolitic and few Know me like I’m Herzegovinan politics Probe meridian, yeah I know it’s -govinian I get most of the idiots in a roast like Davidians And I wish I could keep a Dymaxion sleep schedule Rapping for cheese, keep it rapid release, hence No one’s gonna prevent me from rhyming it maybe on beat Waxing abstract while I’m lying back on the concrete Deadhead mess SFX def excess I read SFF FFS GPA fulla As, guy seems so NEET Check a chess rank, more a high C, low B. Cus I suck at openings and endings and midgames I’m only coping with contending with misnames Uh, misnomers, no Jacob, a kid sober Bringing technicolor dreamcoat shit when I flipped over The dude’s a big loafer in a pair of big loafers HELLO WORLD prints out my mouth when I spit toner

Get adept at any type of bailiwick you finna rep I get ahead and let the mind go alien to spin a web Lie to minimize I’m in a mess, but never in arrest Or in a rut or gutter, kid, I’m standing on the minarets Interest-ed parties cheer with warrior candor A lot of rappers leave me always snoring and damn bored I’m Snorri at damn war, see formula behind the lines, Fourier transforms the quarry entranced for Quorum of camp wards are disabused Handsigns to interduce, vampires with interviews Sleeping in the streets, writing music in the sheets It’s not rap, kid, it’s Pollock to a room of synesthetes Fan fights break out, I’m playing the panpipes And trained ambidextrous, forgetting your hand-sides So righters getting left in the dust with the spaghetti words Find a rap god and stop playing for the Demiurge Arrogant - I don’t change the pitch, but the yaw’s fair Barrelling, got a lot of fish in my crosshairs Eridan, sitting with a sip in my lawnchair Maryland, I think it’s the tits but I’m not there Perish all your parishes I’m paring at imperatives for content Tearing at a terror of the top ten, he Really just a tenor need a tenner for his tenement So I don’t hate a game I don’t play, it’s irrelevant Gnostic, I’m off and getting often accosted A caustic, better pay the cost if you crossed him Once had the will to get dreams then I lost it Jake just a killer emcee - acrostic Real, word, kwyjibos scrabble up the walls While a Jabberwock can gather the resolve It don’t matter if you’re madder at a loss, do the math, I can multiply your troubles like an adder in your draw’rs Sheep got the ramshackle plans to shackle rams I grab a backpack and cram a stack of plans Distracted dance at the last a last to stand Then natch collapse, no collabs or back-up bands Just a cracker in primordial soup His life is pretty fucking boring, he’s resorting to shrooms A Gordian noose, thinking like god-damn I blow at this I’ll see how many tapes I make before somebody notices

Uh, my fucking fave, A former Doctor Who writer, and believe me that’s another tape Lawrence Miles, a man with no tedium in his head, Jake Keeping deleted essays and reading em needing headway - get saved Not a source of worship for a young man Just the feeling that more is possible and he loves that Banish thoughts we’re running out of wonder and fire It’s like staring into the sun, except the sun is a writer Love to quote, read radio scripts, sleeve scuffing notes Check the drafts, then he’ll be color coding up some in rose Something broke - writing turns bleak and deals worsen For all my sympathy can barely prove he’s a real person One day a writer I know’s giving an interview Announces that it’s L.M., serious, so what’s a kid to do Give him all the questions I really wanted to ask My girl sends him a text and he acknowledges back Then what the fuck, phone ringing, wind frigid I’m in my dorm, what, this thing has twenty-six digits Gonna answer, it’s the end of the interview, this shit’s wicked Girl had got me shit that I wouldn’t have even wishlisted And so I was on a call with L.M. A little lag, time slowing down what I had felt then I always pictured that he sounded like Yahtzee, but he’s friendlier And really more nervous than I was over any getting burned He talked a minute, I’m nodding, I don’t have to speak Finding good question’s like just sneezing a masterpiece Had some, he probably already answered them Is there anything you want to talk about, Jake, then I jam my lungs. (No?)

Kid missed the funeral, business as usual Fuck swords when a hundred pinpricks are suitable Wish this was mutual, live with it, doable Winless Lelouche any miss inexcusable Honestly your nearness mysterious to me Setting off with a weird-ass experience or three Hella spitting out words, but you got me And kudos, I’m ludic but zoom over quandaries Love em, let em leave, game played to the hilt If they come in on the breeze, say fate is fulfilled Else stumble and repeat, make tapes and rebuild Never humble in a screed, ain’t wait for until Now I’m rustled by degrees, blank space in the film Needin somewhere I can breathe, may brace in the chill Maybe mumble when I dream same face in my stills Or I can jump and find relief - waystation, I’m killed. I’m never green, teeth gritting, say a man’s Feeling lousy, I’m nasty and all I need’s Aurelius I had a dream that I didn’t take a chance And Yudkowsky was yelling at me calling me an idiot Thoughts, tears, injokes, I’m not angry, stay hard, Just shouldering the multitude of solitudes that pains bards A safe start to your lane as the ways part Farewell and brave heart - depart.

Mouldering his flow No soldiers in a row Cold shoulder to his own old folders of his notes Hardcore Dark Lord villain for days Like Mister Potter Evans so on will've erased This kid's ability to act in any kinda liminal case Least til carbon is making treaties with the silicon-based, feeling debased His application final, now the last part's to state the act Not appraised as viral, chasing mad bars they say he has Puts his faith in cryo, what a glass-hearted maniac His never-vinyl ass marking mass market paperbacks Ten years back nerd rapping was more for Frontalot Today it’s for overgrown kids who want to front a lot Whence me, whatever I grow it may well be dense, b, Strategic sword slashes telling ends like Schelling fencing Priveleged with a potent power, even still dead to rights Smugfuck, this neckbeard could eat and kill a Mennonite S'posed to do aloof for guys - vote's'll kill instead when I Get off on good reviews like dude's the most vanilla Cenobite LessWrong rapper, point inflected like diastemas And better termed a walking intersection of diasporas From online, outside a trillion more have come before me Leave that be and huddle close, forget, let’s tell some other stories Faux rap god playing villain for days Like Harry Potter Evans so on's antics will've erased A kid's ability to relate in any liminal case Least til carbon is making treaties with the silicon-based His application final, now the last part's to state the act Not appraised as viral, chasing mad bars they say he has Puts his faith in cryo, what a glass-hearted maniac His never-vinyl ass marking mass market paperbacks I milk flows til they're tawdry and milquetoast With coffee in silk robe for dropping on Audrey a spill no Twoey, don't know what the raps is doing to me Laugh at spooky movies in the back and acting Looney Tunesy I'll get some meat soon, I-I promise, this a fluff piece I'd bust free if prior obligations could uncuff me, So just, stay here a minute, kid, the listen’s voluntaryist Go players go play I'm finally finna figure fairy chess Masturbate, meditate, organize. When it's said and done they'll maybe separate the lords and flies. A sorta sore sort, sorta great sorta guy Aorta sordid, sword corta, lame-brain’s fortified This is Maya.