WHAT ARE DREAMS, i have a few to tell.

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What is a dream?
The body is asleep, while the brain is still active. The truth of dreams remain a mystery to me. I dream a night then I dream a year. In my mind dreams are fantasy. A story without titles or names. Some call dreams nightmares, others call nightmares just dreams; until you re-live a dream as Deja Vu. I had a good many of those. Also in dreams, I don't see the sun reflect in nobody's eyes. A dream has faces, those faces are whatever; sometimes it's a friend or family members...other times those faces have no faces at all. And those faces scare me the most. That is a good thing, never in my life have I dremt of killer devils or large spiders as big as a house. No evil spells cast over my sleeping body.
Most of my dreams are with views. Like bomb's dropping and exploding, running away from something on familiar places, re-uniting with friends, friends I have not said sorry to. My dreams are always about me. My name is never mentioned by name or yelled for that matter, and I have never pasted a mirror. During some dreams I want to stay and sleep until the end, while other dreams wake my body in a cold fright. Sometimes on nasty-occasions, I struggle to move. My brain spins so fast that I fell like I'm spining with it. Spinnig so fast that maybe I'll spin off and fly away.
So I decided to remember my dreams, when I wake in the morning or in the middle of the night; no matter how sleepy I am, I'll write what I remember and I'll post a few in here.

Last night was a slow paced night. My mind painted a Zombie foe. A tired old drunk man with stuttering steps. The dream took place in this house and down a dusty road.
The steps of the man dragged across my wooden porch. Saw him through the front window. A man about 45 years old, with dirty- muddy clothes. His face was similar to sun-baked hamberger. In a dash, I raced to the door and turned and bolted the locks. I was alone in the room, family members gone, only empty white walls. From outside the door I heard a mumbleing sound, which led me to believe that this man was never a great specker. His un-hearable voice then went away. But left something behind, or used another way to communicate. The Zombie with the Zombie bite turned the knob to my dreamy room. Frightened as he pulled the knob, then another.. I was again frightened. As I stood against the door, he on the other side yanked the door knob. The sight of his bleached fingers and strained muscles pulling the knobs; forced me to place my living hands around the straining bolts of my 5 dollor knob. Hold him out, and I'll be alright, was what I thought. In a few dreams, listening is forgotten; only this night in my dream, I heard the metal parts twisting and breaking...finally the knob snapped and the Zombie was gone. The knob was broken in my hand. A jitty-jumpy knob was all that was left. It did not fall. I slid across the wall away from the broken locks. My eyes where focused on the slightest movement to alarm me. As in many Horror movies; when the villian is quiet, its o.k. to let your guard down. For that split second its good, then in a sudden the movie monster will jump through the window or mysteriously appear behind you. In my dreamy nightmare the broken door opened without force, more like a simple breeze blowing the door open. The swaying door kept me alert, any moment the zombie would appear. And so it did. I could see the figure move slowly through the side cracks of my now open door. Leaving fear out for the first time; I jumped into the door. The momentum knocked and smashed the zombie. As he fell the broken knob fell where the zombie lay. I didn't pay any attention and jumped over the dirty hemp of dead human. Jumped out on to the porch and ran to the dusty road. There I turned and seen the zombie get back up and make its troubled way back down my front stoop. I seen his face for the first time. The un-reconizable face appeared to be the victim of my fathers victim. The man was the man my dad killed. He marched toward me and reveled a set of razor shape teeth. The teeth were dirty and some fangs were missing. I yelled for help and noone came. On a dusty road and the Zombie with hamberger face woke me right out of my nightmare.

( all things are fiction, mixed in with my vivid imangination and inspired by that simple dream.)

this little song( if you can call it that; or if you can find a tune to make it work. LOL) i made was about a family of cannibals. a family who celebrates ever august with granddads discovery back in 1932.


Let the poor man sleep, then we take his bed
little room for future kids, o-ver-pop-u-late this crowed bed
no mat-ter how many times, so many idiots spawn a crime
Dumb do the dumb while young bums drum some song

outside the hell wall of backwash plague
granddad came to hunt, lands dry, lands wet
someplace forgotten during candle light
the troubles of human nature, a hint of manifest flavor

flashback to hungry people, look at granddads silent stare
out on nomad lands of Madagascar;
lost guns, forgotten law and sent marcella home
No meat to eat, hunger loud as dropping bombs
...until Candawase, of a unknown tribe,
told of human and self-fried methods...

fall of 1932, August, rise of something new
a way to settle the fuss, cel-a-brate every year
let the mean, dirty, healthy man shun the helping news
it so, then we take and bake his nasty head

Rid the world of nasty souls, a red ripe apple
eat the body of un-trusting crows, never again with hate
so we sit and rip flesh like wild lions
trained reality, railroad train...out in a grassy field

Only half way down, Buck the murder count
no extra bread, turn the man to market dead
one by one, pass it to the next family member down
nothing wrong with screaming dawn
long forgotten mean man, human red sand..human bled........

this thought came, when i was coming back from seattle by plane. i looked out the window and seen the highway without cars, we were so high up, you can't see the cars, so i wrote what it would be like to travel home with a thousand miles to go....
One Day & Miles a Day to Go.

20 bucks on pump #4 and a pack of smokes.
"20 and Smokes...what kind?"
A pack of Newport Mediams..Boxed.
"That comes to $4.83, is that all mister?"
Yeah, that's good...and keep the change my friend

nothing like a free man with a full tank and a pack of smokes
time to put miles behind me with a thousand miles to go
shades of blackish purple burn with a lite orange glow;
behind black silhouette elevation
some say a lucky 7 is luckier than heavens triple 7's
i'm not a gambling man; but here on earth..
my 1977 convertible has two
and thats fine with me
just me and my thoughts again
5:45 A.M., has been a good friend
on the way back to people i know
a thousand miles east, riding through county's and states
go back to the place where i started and left
those dusty faces are sure to be clean
the years did nothing but update calender dates
no worries, no More animosity...nothing has entered
sometimes its a blessing to go away
only this day, i will arrive without hesitation
nothing like a open interstate to get me there
a free man in my '77 convertible with a lit Newport
on the way home to people i know...on the way home.

my dreams are usually about the story im writing / book but i cant share it well not yet at least the first chapter is olmost done

where could there ba a place like this? Hmmm...someplaces are overlooked and passed over..what if we(as a nation) decided not to help a burning city or a smoking little place called Never-Never Land.
Never_Never Land

A Place where light is blackish-grey with darker shadows
no plants to disrupt this neglected sight
the air smelled of heavy smoke mixed with foul play
the aftermath of genocide and suicide
creepy frights and ghoths work payless jobs
killing and betrayal; wrestle like gluttonous pigs
it would seem almost irrestible to do the samething
...only time changes along with peoples' self-insight..
or you can leave and never come back...
unfourtanly for me, its home without order
how can you blame an entire town?
a town without law or justice;
mechanical madmen ride crazed individuals;
a lot of sinister beings, like:
everyone in this burnig shit pile commit MURDER!!
the answer for destruction is START OVER
but these days its difficult to explain
no leaders among stipid groups...can't read or write
as dumb as a blind dog..killer groups..santanic words...
50 years of this nomad convention, and not a DAMN ONE CONVICTED
silky metal worms spred red mur-da germs
blood, bones, flesh, rotten, dirty thick air, dark, no wind
killers, ghoths, psychos, RED, BLACK, frosty white-skin...DEATH
A town beyond god's reach, stained with burning living souls
somebody call the plummer, united plummer
we've got this town leaking blood like broken pipes

i went to this rodeo in a town called farmington, nm. there i seen this cowboy busting a mack with this mother by the outside blechers. the sight was funny. the guy wore a light brown trench coat with black jeans. and of course a cowboy hat...and how did i know the women was a mom...well..she was the type of mom any single man would say "HI" to. how about that? two men looking at a buttiful women with kids.. and that was the concept for this..out there in the world alot of the men think about sex, and not to mention the women. it just proves that we are all impervious and in the raw. cept my cowboy here, he pays no love to anyone. gettie up, YEEE-HAAA!!! no respect for women leads to younger women disrecpecting men. the cycle continues....
Confessions of a Impervious, Shilly- Shally, Cowpoke...in the Raw.

Ache my heart, my horny heart. so many cows come callin'.
da-de-da-do-da-de-da-doo! another tune for this cowboy
come up with me to my room. my head is banging like a runt potato inside a hoping sack race. baby, take off my boots. oh, that feels good. oh, what a day. hon, could you get your man a cold one, you can gat one for yourself too. one on one and noone needs to know. but today i'm tired, baby. i'm cramped and racked fulll of pain. today i broke fences and put up new ones...done that for the past two months. yeah i watched them ride bulls, made me want to join. watching those jerks ride those bulls wanted me to prove them wrong, i can ride bulls, i ride bulls for fun. but my boss told me to clear out the horse stalls with a dog named "reek leak" that furry black bastard took a shit in there too. bending over and enhaling that dark green shit really bucks with your nose. anyway, bending over and heaving pounds of shit into the bags where not what i wanted. i believe we can't go bump in the night. my bucking back! we don't need to buck tonight. i'm tired...but, but..if you're still here at 8:30 to 9:00, then yes we can buck until you get tired and weak. for now this IRONMAN needs some rest. just lye beside me and massage my ass and the small of my back. you're fun-thing and my fun-giver make music like a bow and violen..this cowboy is civilized.oh, bitter sweet. another one hooked and reeled, someday i'll let you go. i've been bad, but, since you're here; forget your mission and get me done. another tune for the shiney-peter-salute: this old man i had many..with thier hips and lips..give this doggy a boneyard.

the story i'm going to share is about this kid i knew. this kid was about four years younger than me. this guy was just a kid a few years back..back when he started to mess with his life. i seen a bit of myself in him. i hung with wild people, in return i to was bad. the reasons were stupid as i look back..but for his life, he's a low-life give up. the boy is on his own.. i'm also gald i understood the meaning of bein' alive and free. well here you go.


there was this little boy, innocent as could be. he never swore, or maybe just a little nasty word here and there. not too much to make him obnoxious. he was a kid in his early teens. no simple pimples or any major acme. a simple kid with a simple life. he was too weak to talk. to weak to defend himself. his plan was to finish school and nothing more. baseball was the place to foget a cry in the halls of the empty school. everyday he would take grounders and bat with his right hand. his instints were good. but little precious was too skinny to fight in a rumble when he was confronted. EXCEPT, WHO WAS THIS? WHAT WAS THAT?: "HEY PUNK! YOU WANNA LOOK THE OTHER WAY! DON'T LOOK AT ME YOU SKINNY BASTARD!" they were the words of the school clowns. the clowns who picked on the helpless and hunted them everyday. the only way was to cry. when noone was around and he kept all the pain to himself. day in and day out, little precious was at odds. it didn't matter because it was always against the grain. no matter what were at odds, precoious made and finished his day with swollen pink eyes. crying wasn't enough...so one day he left the mean town without a goodbye. left me behind....

a few years had passed. was it his thought or was it his will. that the last time i seen him, he was pure as snow. now who was this? the kid changed in a dramatic fasion. unreconizable, what had happen? clearly he wasn't the same anymore. the face was a face with longer and comed back hair. the thin mustach was visable only up close, but still he would trim everyday. when i stood and watched . he threw a book across the room and told his teacher to BUCK OFF!! the colors of his clothes was black and white. nike sneakers with a blue banddana tucked into his back pocket. his baseball members were forgotten, his new team did not ware the school colors, they were the gang posting on third street walls with black and white spray paint. he looked like a gangsta. i seen the fall of a bright mind with talent on the diamond. now smoking weed and crack behind the city buildings. hanging with his thugs, drinking a fifth of souther comfort. or soko as they call it. things i never thought would happen. a tuff guy with his MOB now....

a few months had passed and he loved it. what could he ask for? he had friends, a group, a girlfriend and a reason to act. until one December night. a party in the north hills. not in the boondock, but near a abandoned store. a night of careless drinking left precious in disaray. he was having a ball. his women sucked the base of his neck with a vampires pose. all the city homeboys held cans and puffed cigs in hand. life was it, it was life to celeabrate. no worries, no blame. everything he did to change was in his mind the best thing he ever did. UNTIL WHO WAS THIS? WHAT WAS THAT? FAMILIAR VOICES CRACKED THIS MELLOW SETTING: " HEY PUNK! WHAT'S YOU'RE DEAL? THIS SUCKER LOOKS LIKE A KID I RACKED UP IN THE HALLWAY'S BACK IN MID-SCHOOL."
it was the teens who pushed precious before. but precious was to drunk to stop this next move. soon after they insulted him, precious blew a wad of spit on the face of his older rival. what was he thinking? his homeboys left earlier with a few young females of they own. now back at square one, little precious was at odds. he was alone and drunk when the mob of his rival smashed the side of precious' face with a eppty bottle. then they threw him to the ground and stomped the sides of poor precious body. the sight was terriable. beaten so bad, that the sound of the sirens was his only reaserance he'd live.

now lying in a empty hospital room about a two days later, little precios cryed for a reason. he cryed with the salty tears sinking into his dry lips and said to himself; "why?".

no more morals and dreams crushed this young man's life.

writing this and re-reading it, while i posted was a bit haunted. we have to agree, no matter how young or how old. we have a bill to pay when were done. oh, this came when i seen two burials in a span of 8 months. there i seen with mature eyes the faces of death inside 2 caskets.
My Way or the Other Way

i think its time to do this before its too late
the day we die is not predicted by the stars
you don't know when its time
so when i drop and pass
you'll understand my future,
that my life in eternity starts when my heart beats no more
heaven or hell...who knows where i'll be
just hope i had dinner or lunch,
cuz when you dead, your always cold and hungry
my ghost sits on a road post as cars drive by
just leave me where i died
i can't believe the sight..how peaceful as i rot
so before i die, i'd like to say:
" lord, forgive me and let me enter."
the only time we pray is when we question our actions
the years of sin and selling sin made me file for chapter 11
from my birthday to my death day, let that day forgive
and don't you cry or feel betrayed
because i lived my life this fast and short
race the mid-night moon with my summer kite
i always thought as dreams as a gift
so when you stand over me and look
just imagine me dreamin' a dream
that long sleep with no wake up call
it's best i did this
before they pick my suit and the color of my pine box
my way was to live
the other way was for me to die..now i'm a done poem.

everyone seen COPS, the show. and its reality with no winners. the dirty house, car chases, dope, floozies, and 10-million cop reports scribbled on a pocket notebook. its all the smae. different city and you get the picture..AND MOST LIKELY THE COP WILL ASK...


this women from the street has a problem
she is skinny and tall with brunette hair
a women in her early 30's
she walks a lonely hall to her apartment
walks the night until she taken to rented rooms
its a good thing, cuz she has a nasty home
dirty and smellin like cat turds and rotting trash
a smell her neighbors despise,
i've responded to a couple of arguments several times
when i get there, there is a older woman
Mrs. P is standing between her door with her mouth running
when i question..Mrs. peppers rants like a overbearing mother
spoken like a mother with kids of her own,
the face of Rebbecca is hidden with her long brunette hair
her misery is known to her and everyone else
cheating husbands don't know her name,
but they know the street name,
the truth is that she does not respond to added responsibility.
life is so hard, that she can't snap and get a burger king job
the only job she knows are the ones who employ her
every other night, a drunk and drugged sex doll with bills to pay
thats the truth, i ain't lying', seen so many as a cop
the cycle remains with unlimited revolutions
different faces, dirty facts, and same shit, different day
over the years, there is no hope for this woman:
jail, lost kids, shitty-house, and a plain bucked-up life
she will never learn, won't ever see what we see
and thats why shes despised in her own neighborhood
she say " i wanna be, you can't make me.."
then i close the backseat door
it don't matter to me, my job is what i do
i arrest stupid and wrong criminals
i shake the hands of smart and serious citizens
i have common thoughts of my own
after next year i'll send my pink slip
get going with my family to another part of America
tired of these, investigations take years
20 years of crime and a million gallons of gas
come to think of it, i joined the academy when i was 18,
38 years old ain't that bad...
looks like that trip to Australia is still a go,
i heard the Aussie people were the nicest people to know
next year with 273 days to go. on mar. 5th
until then i'm doing my job, hope i don't catch a bullet
someone can fill my role, but Mr. Denzel wouldn't know
cops and divided sides, i chose whats true.

i think someone already put a thread for these "special" lyrics...well, i'm not them. this part of this song is what i envision for my self and that one. it specks 4 itself. if you understood the words of 'Pac, then this should come to no suprise...
(4give me 4 the spellin'..the names of the drinks...DD.)

lets turn this house to a happy home
this is for all the homeboys couldn't get they HAPPY home
always one of us got it, some of us got it.

Now we been kickin' it 4 quiet some time
remain beside me through my trials N this life of crime
we fought so many times i 4got 2 count
i'll never hit U, not a coward, rather leave your house

remember back in December, when we was tight?
sippin' alazay and Cristal
while every night N my bedroom promising that i commit 2 U soon
tongue kiss me evertyime U C me step inside a room,
str-8 out da hood

we promise to be good to each other
plus i love you, so i know you'll make a good mother
just try to understand if i change the time
its only 'cause i never owned anything that mine
so i'm tryin'...
you can stay with my mama
but keep the drama to a low
Never call the police,
i'll never call you U a [email protected] or a [email protected]
we were all born hungry in this world alone
finally moved out my moms house, and got a HAPPY HOME

ok...i can't bare to see this thread end up in the 2nd page. so i decided to keep it afloat...and thats the problem..i have comp problems..my disk won't load and i have tons of poetry and future stories on board..and i'm frustrated because i can't find the right DIALOUGE for my characthers... i'LL POST after i type this one. I UNDERSTAND THE VALUE OF A SIMPLE STORY, and believe me, i have one. and thank you for reading this..i shoud have used a spoiler to get you to read...not just a read...but curiousity..damn..oh..well...

That precious one is excellent.

more and more, when i drive, i see wooden figures with two straight arms with one leg, the head has no shape. sometimes thier is a group, and sometimes just one..they greet the road to say: slow down and remember me. the roaring roads do not see the group of crosses.

you really have a beautifull language, Clark Kent (hopefully that didn't sound too feminine ..)






thuggish outlaws from 2 tales

clever and daring with youth and smarts
2pac and billy the kid
their lives similar in terms of Westside!
ahead of their times and blazing history
a thug and a outlaw
humble rush to newspaper prints
not a damn story for fairy tale readers
something true at different times
to the dusty trails of southern New Mexico
to the dust kicking streets of California
time for some changes and some growing up to do
rewards for defied delight
American souls testin' new and old societies
sometimes burning bridges behind them,
so in packs they rode," OUTLAWZ," AND " REGULATORS"
a story of raised men who held 9mm glocks
or a pair of six-shooter-peace-makers
from platinum records to treasured revenge
courts and prison, fines and sales
it was strange not to see the light in sunny hot states
25 years old, 21 years young
fate and early exits blazed then and now
american souls testin' new and old societies
given me a reality other than nino brown and the man with no name
something i learned,

what can i say , again? these two are my heroes'. sure i like others but, these two are the best of them all. look at their lives and see a common fate. besides, billy was made famous in my home state. and for Tupac, well, its a damn shame to see him gone. i always wondered how he'd be right now. for damn sure the Rap genre wouldn't suck as much.

again, peace to the deceased.


Woody Woods

Woody Woods

Captain REX
Those are some interesting writings, Double W.

Your signature reminds me of Slybaghouse...

Woody Woods
thank you Cap' N Rex...

Woody Woods

Woody Woods
am i taking a risk by posting this thread? i'll post for now then PM the people in charge? if they accept, then you are reading...now..i hope. this poem came from my school, a bully. this bully pushed everybody. he was a tall fat guy with a attitude problem. i know i didn't get on his RAG LIST. thank god for small favors.



calm down, count your heartbeats
those jokers wanna push buttons,
but i got to stay calm
like i said to myself: "count your heart beats"
O.K....1...2...3..4..SHIT!, they won't stop!
alright! now you gone too far!
so here i am to terrorize!
gimmie that bat! i know what to do with it!
does that hurt?!
Smash 'em heads! bust 'em wide open!
bucking byatch! i told you to back off..
now look what you made me do!
oh! oh! you still wanna talk?!!
looks like my bat don't hurt enough.
what about a bullet to the face?
or what about I drown you in a tub of gas then set you a blaze?
stupid mindless jerks deserve much more.
but what could i do?
i can't let them push me the wrong way
..if i gone too far..then mur-da 1 is what i m in for
locked away and housed with my criminal mind
all I asked was them to turn and walk away!
now no matter how many times i wash;
I still have the blood and smell of a corpse on me
....OH!, WHAT the hell!
what did they suffer?!...death is one door
...too bad, you can only punish them one time...
so you heard me on the loudest part.

Woody Woods
He's getting closer, every time you close your eyes.
A childhood game of red-light-green-light...near the flames.
Open them eyes and see this illicit form of evil
Fear is the automatic conclusion, never seen before, until now.
The truth was told as you can hear Hell and its guilty cries.

Mr. Bad has finally found you, Mr. Bad has taken you.
The Adult concern after you are held for your own sins.
Responsibility they tell to young kids...a parants job..
Now you sit in unknown darkness..crying to get home.

No luck in trying..its home without parole...
A prisoner where no one is evilier than the devil himself.
No earthly Prison where you recieve pork chops and jello.
Only the Hot-nasty spit you carry..not a drop, not a cool breeze.

Beyond Image

Beyond Image

Beyond Image

Beyond Image
take this lost and move the hell on.
don't make it worst than what it is.
there will be another day for your return.
be a man and take the left exit, friend.

i don't wanna fight you, understand?
why fight when we play everyday?
why stop a rivalry and start a stupid one?
you and i will be here tomorrow, to play.

don't waste your time with the name-calling
and elbowing my right shoulder, its already has a bruise.
hey! i 'm tellin' the truth, i'm surprised to see you already forget.
oh, i think it would be a great decision for you to pick up practice.

get better, get smarter and definitely learn to hit a right jumper.
that is you weak spot, all those dunks and power-moves.
are far overrated, its only 1 foot away, try longer.
see you here tomorrow, same time. good game.

Beyond Image

Beyond Image
Erase nothing, its always there.
as the poison has already reached the water hole.
everyone thinks they know more just to judge.
nothing like that is fair.
come out and say what you feel.
those hidden secrets suck, tell me dammit!
no running in circles.
and no more wasting my ****ing time with your suspicion!!

Beyond Image
I am what you say Iam, a ghost who can type.

i am, what he says, what she says, and what they all think...
a anomaly with a way with danger and pressing the wrong letters.
my roots are wild, my past was wild, can't be a liar about that.
a glass monster filled with blood, so real as i see his image.
look at him as I look and see his features in the mirror.
this man who gives no **** about jail or responsibility.
my fault, or is it his fault, i wasn't born white in a suburban city.
you can see the result as I went to school. for once i wanted to die.
the other kids around took note and labeled me a troublemaker.
could hear 'em say that, even as i walked passed them.
sometimes saying:

"he's loaded with sin, and maybe a pistol..so lets leave him alone. we don't need THUGZ in this white populated school, my fellow white nizzles, and pink shnizzles..now, lets leave him be."

not a way to get away, where could i go and be at peace.
where i meet people just like me, for damn sure it wasn't school.
**** them bastards, and i m walking down to the darker streets.
meet the regulars and pick up a habit, a marijuana habit.
smoke the earth and blow out smoke, yes, these..
drink a fifth and kiss some drunk chick.
all for fun and free, join its easy and its FREE.
not ashamed to be who i am, i am who i wanna be.
when i m dead and gone, you'll have your say.
until then just keep that bullshit to a low.
i don't need to rip your heart out and show you its final beats.
just like you, and your just like me. a face with no name.
nothing dangerous about my methods.

but **** 'em anyway!

Beyond Image
Snort a BUMP With me *****.

Beyond Image
my aviator looks like a guy Fawkes mask. Kool

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