Tyler Durden's blog: "Brass Knuckle Poets Society"

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Certified Sicktastic - cock the shotty, Ant... yeah, click-clack it. Nightmare on a Silent Hill, all the Residents beyond drastic; Pure Evil, hellish buggin', watch out it's the sequel. Sharpen your meat cleaver - divide the fog, and leave limbs unequal...

ANT the RANT of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
I put it on 8mm, but I'm hold'n 9. Late feature, documents the history of an old crime, the mystery to unfold, told in rhyme, calm, collected, cold and refined, smiling safely, as CSI retrace the, body with a bold line, the killer sits right here and waits, online, hold'n up his call sign.

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Berserker rage, it's time - shot released, open-says-a-heem, through the spine. Shells expended, cackle on the pine. Floors, as he Rants through the House of a Thousand. Mr. No-Regard-for-the-Corpse. The Road forks, like a cat with Nine lives, leavin' alleys where there use to be doors; blowin' 'em open, and beggin' for more. Shells exhausted, he reaches for the nine, flashes a Death's Head grin, as the canines shine, hollow-tips flash, night strobes to daylight, and dust turns to ash. He licks the blood from his conscience, not what you'd expect - as he cleaves a wake of Evil Dead, and Devil's Rejects...

-Each1 Teach1- said:
remaking classics, the shells have eyes, click to clackin bastids, my 9's gotta mind...of its own, and a desire to leave domes blown, syllable savagery, with a finish of chrome, man the verbal catapult from ontopa my throne, cause offa the dome, im disectin any stranger in my home. the last laugh from no mans land to flagstaff..a lethal injection through gun metal intervention.  i brought the kbar to leave flesh scared indentions....

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Stop to reload; shotty welcomes annihilation.  He inhales cain through the nasal, with a grimace - it's pupil dilation, 
an increase in sensory detection'n heart palpitation; he pops nictric oxide, powered-up enter Mr. Hyde, his formula for altered station.  Detectin' vibration, increase his godspeed, he's ready for Revelation - bringin' Armageddon to an ungodly situation.  Six degrees, as trigger-reflex dissects, based on affiliation.  Pistols extended, hang in crucifix-formation.  Commence to bodily separation - heads decapped, fall in three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation; wet thuds signal success, and blood saturates the pavements... walls, halls, and arrangements.  Dumpin' without hesitation, the Nines smoke in celebration, Mr. Meat Cleaver danglin', clanging in expectation... blood lust enacted - primal activation; hunger screams, and he laughs, feeling his aura's elevation... as it crackles through his brain - any other woulda' been slain, but he's on it like Max Payne... severing spinal cords, The Butcher brings the rain - surgical accuracy wit' the thang.  Jack-off pump-dump and shotty embodies its creation, reason for incarnation.  It's 8mm flicker, and the celestial soldier hurdles like an abarition, one-man army-avatar-300-at-Tripoli, insane like a banshee... the Lamb of Salvation. 

ANT the RANT of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
He leaves no forensics evidence at all, just ANT the TYRANT stained across the residence wall. Their bodies lie butchered in a decadent hall, personified devil, rebel without relevant cause, a demon screamin night terrors whenever his conscious calls.

"A killer conflicted, afflicted, with a sickness, and it's too late to fix this, let them all bare witness!!!"

Corpses lay positioned boastfully blasphemous, desecrated with the sins of sadistic malice, a man ruined, woefully callous, punisher in the palace, you can't salvage this savage, he pleasures in your pain, and revels in your strain, you can't level with the insane, this is the devil's domain, Some have tried though, in vain, too primal to quote bible, pain revival, killing a rival, like Cain did Abel, unstable vitals, as your eyes close, your life goes, but death remains, to the deceased comes bittersweet relief, finally released from his reign.

Please proceed a escribir en la manera free, like sons of liberty, y les de la gente what they need. The truest deeds begin as unborn seeds - just an I to the D.  Duckin' D-E-A, pass me the strawberry cough, please, so I can blow high, ‘cause tha’s my steez.  Like Ralph Macho, movin’ cobra keys.  I take two hits and don’t weeze, and jump on the instrumental wit’ the sick beat.  I roll two joints, and then I roll two bleeze.  We greet each other irie.  I keep the I-n-I, and my Brothers are the I-n-Me.  We roll fresh, like an eastern breeze.  West Coast revolutionaries - Bear State Beasts.  We leave the weak bitter, like vinegar E-V-E.  Don't tread on me, like a sleeping hippopotamus with razor teeth.  Welcome to Generation Yadamean, where satellites are the enemy, and the endangered animal is free speech.  The fall of the Republic leads, to the Ottomon Empire where kings drop ultimate decrees. They wanna’ tax our right to breathe.  The New World Order wants to bring us to our knees.  So, crush your G-P-S and smash the Federal Police.  The war on drugs?  That’s a war on the A-I-C.  Backwards, like corporations dictating government policy and poisoning our streams… starving the workers they’re supposed to feed.  They throw us into the worst recession in history and blame it all on A-I-G.  It’s like Sauron in the Lord of the Rings.  A monstrosity with an all-seeing E-Y-E. George Orwells’ 1984 - the life I lead, like a protagonist in a tragic  scene.  They feed us skewed truths spewed through crooked teeth.  There’s so much wrong in everything I see, while Fox News tries to sell me dreams, like I’m asleep.  They rip the ozone with HAARP, and say the planet's gonna over-heat; tell us to go green and send our jobs over-seas. Mandate what our kids can read. It is what it seems, and that’s fucked up beyond belief.  The G-O-V’s a giant leech.  We’re the salt of the earth.  That’s why they don’t want us to breed.  Planned parenthood will kill our seeds for free.  What happened to One Nation Under G-O-D?  This shit looks pretty divisible to me.  As a matter of fact I wanna rip apart every piece.  Shoot this shit to bits because it’s blasphemy… tear the pyramid apart until my nails shred and my fingers bleed.  Rebuild the Zion it was supposed to be.  Too scared to say what they mean - everyone’s so fuckin’ P.C.  Docile, like a herd o’ sheep.  I curse at these fucks and slap ‘em with my bleep - Springfield .45 XD.  Too big to fails?  Well, what about We?  The People who’re supposed to be protected from tyranny.  I’m ready to go to war against Wall Street and bang on the greed - guaranteed I’m gonna eat.  I never had shit to begin with, now my kids won’t have shit when I’m six feet deep.  They robbed our future - I praise God that he’s my peace.  He holds me tight and gives me the strength I need to proceed.  I march down Life’s beach, look to my six and see his footsteps behind me.

Is the wish for the touch of sweet fingertips the nature of the lyre?

A delicate instrument who dreams of a sire to strum her tender chords across an empire.

Does the muse search for the poet, like the poet searches for a reason to be inspired?

A longing for completeness in all things comes hard-wired - yang to yin, masculine to feminine, even the Truth needs the Liar.

Love is a fickle creature, and when strangled it's easily tired; denied the bellows, the inferno’s destiny is dire.

Struggles for radiance lead to desperate attempts at breaths; the immolation of the conflagration becomes a funeral pyre.

Whether positive or negative, understanding of vision is subjective. With this being said, could love be a phoenix - once exhausted could the bonfire be resurrected?

New wings, alight with flame, to burn away the dark of pain - soaring away to heights unexpected.

This is the game we play; the way we danced away the day - perfect partners divinely selected. Flying in unison, equal parts became a perfect perspective.

When did our passion become misdirected - was any of it ever elected?

Something so precious should have been guarded, protected. We never lost heart, but we wrecked it.

Let’s make a pact, and make it collective - to rekindle our love and let it rage unchecked. Let’s glide to new sights and find new lights like Aurora Borealis, riding currents, convective.

I love the way they hate me - the fear in their eyes, 
They starin' on stupid, like they hypnotized.

The jealousy and enmity makes my dick rise, 
the animosity is nothin'; I've dealt with it all my life.

She gave birth to a King; it's innate the way I innovate.
I'm the Almighty Virus, that they can't inoculate.

I have to congratulate - it's an art how you perpetrate; 
But how you gon' disrespect when all you do is regurgitate?

You're drawn by my gravity, like the force of the Sun. 
I'm an eagle, you a sparrow, and I'd hunt you for fun.

I'm the eloquent chameleon blessed with a golden tongue. 
My paths are unlimited, while you tied to one.

I blow minds like Ptah-Hotep and Sun-Tzu; 
If I was tired as you, I'd probably hate me, too. 

Sick like the flu, I roll with a chosen few. 
Game recognize game, and Coward I recognize you.

I roll with a halo, an aura, a mane, 
Y'all some scavenging jackals; I'm the Lord of the Plain.

It's so fuckin' serious - don't you understand? 
You's a flea to Colossus, I'm the muthafuckin' MAN.

The Ard R'i

I'm more stress than you can handle,
I bang push-ups by the light of a candle
Just to be the last man standin'.
Chisel my temple just to flush you like a tampon.
You can't handle. the brilliant light of my mantle,
You can't see the aura. that's similar to Rambo
When you step to a king and get dismantled -
Break you down like steel on bamboo,
My clear and concise 'll rip up your ramble.
You want to riverdance we could throw down, dude
Beat you like I got a shillelagh in my hand, too.
There's no love in my fisticuff -
Savage-ass polar bear when I rip you up.
Ride you like John Wayne, nigga, gitty up,
How could you ever prevail, pussy, give it up.
Blowin' Wrath of God, sippin' Heaven in my cup...

I'm more stress than you can handle,
You wanna' test the Wargod, I embrace the battle -
I'll-crush-you. like-steel-toes. on-bare-feet. in-sandles,
Death from the venom, to the beat of the rattle.
Your spirit broken by the weight of my hammer.
I'm a carnivore - I'll eat you like cattle.
You're a killer-whale swimmin' wit' mammals,
I'm the cannon blastin' the harpoon -
My temple tempered by the hammer and anvil.
You're playin' wit' Ouija in a darkroom,
Leave you scarred for life when I harm you.
Masochistic; Mars could get never get enough -
You paper-target; Hollow-tip'll rip you up.
There's no surrender, this Savage gives a fuck -
I'd rather go out. like shogun - open up my own gut.
Smokin' Death's Head, sippin' Hades in my cup...

-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

Saying BKP aint the fliest thing flexin is like saying the government aint lying bout 9-11...

Cú Chulainn - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

It's like sayin' Divinity's numeration ain't Seven... or Heaven ain't the seven plus two inch connection to my erection. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya', or judge a tome by it's complexion... it'll take a silver bullet to stop the anaphylactic venom injection. Against a brass knuckle polar bear, I recommend an elephant gun, for ya' protection. Why ya' stickin' ya' neck out? You ain't heard o' Natural Selection? Get ya' Windsor undone, like the tie from a Colombian around ya' kneck'n... I keep steppin', eyes open, awareness beyond your comprehension. It's like misjudging my cultural, historical collection, makin' the first move, lettin' my bishop rebuke you like a diagonal blessin'... correction, lobotomizing your ignorance feels better than sexin'...

-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

we respond with good intentions, as he said, natural selection..each and every direction is touched with perfection...egos lay limp like non-erections, failing to make connections like shorts in wired sections...schematics redrafted properly, i rock it, they drop it awkwardly, dramatic is the exposure of faggots talking improperly...so smashem' just follows logically...

Cú Chulainn - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

The Savagery demolishes the Mockery. S-A-double-V, savved out until The Apocaly... Ya' acolytes get sacrificed for knockin' me. If the proof is in the pudding, then trannies in stockings... get made from the men, I mean mice, of the opposition that be stalkin' me. B-K-P's the Devil's Kitchen, we serve it up, hellishly hot, schmorgesborg-colossally. I'm Cú Chulainn, the Hound of Culan, there's no blockin' me. I'mma barezark, my ríastrad rips through ya' armory. I silence all John Do's and Johnny Devil's. Get behind me Satan, don't talk to me... I remain fortis et stabilis, there's no after-shockin' me. It's gotta' be the shoes - no, it's the God in me.

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

We've come to destroy and rebuild, we avoid these toys of Troy, within the walls of our guild, so stay out of the presence of the great, I saw through your false pretense from the gate, with your complimentary ways, and presents that are fake, you peasants can wait, upon the BK Crew Lords, we labor and move forward, to fulfill blessed destinies . Think you're skilled enough to flex' on me? Inevitable catastrophe, Brass Knuckles to smash your scene, dream team, a common sight, but alas unseen, the Assassin's creed, only I am the master of me, so bastards please, go'on hide behind your Trojan horse, we stand ready with liquid frozen swords, while you cower in you fort alone, your home, anonymity's defenses will not hold, keep talkin bold, I come with an underline, to undermine, you unrefined, flu infested swine, I come invested in mine, tested through time, best of his kind, next thing to divine, because of my dangerous mind, born sinner, and I'm paying the fine, sworn winner, when I stay on the grind.

-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

we keep it ground like beef, teachem to think before they speak in the presence of a sheik, top rope is how i drop it atomic in disbelief..you want it? but want it weak? sorry yer souls incomplete..best to kick it with the chickens and maybe hang on to yer beak..."but they listen when i speak!" sit down and go grab a drink, rethink the angle of approach, you fuckin geek...yer bloggin is hella boring, but you get yer blog on.. i guess we all need a forum, like you need something to slob on...

Written for You-Know-Who-You-Are... come holla'.

-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

My spit switches hotter than fine bitches with hip twitches....

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

we get riches, on triple digits, dig it, my company so legit it's...ridic-u-lous when we visit. lyric for lyric my squadron spit that satiric ill shit, so feel this... but you fake bitches couldn't hear it, if I whispered the realness directly to your ears bitch and that's what the fuck the deal is.

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

I'm like a pint of Guinness, Mayne, I'm fuckin' brilliant. My ism's tighter than ripe knife wounds with fresh stitches. I pick up what my brother pitched, yeah and fuckin' kill it; witness the Death of a Thousand Cuts, when my lips schism. I six-shot Billy-the-Kid-it, accurate and vicious, like Sweeney Todd with bionic scissors... no sanity, Tourettes and sick riddles. The scary shit is, my thought process is as lucid as my vision. My crew's all soul food - you fools is mic-griddles. We'll eat you up, and shit you out for shits and giggles. I slither through The City poppin' thizzles, no limits to how a soldier handles his business. The elevated mind-state of a fundamental Christian is some hairy shit to witness. I honor my dudes, and they honor my sickness. That your bitch could call me 'Papi,' is one of her wishes; she likes the way I shimmer like platinum dipped in charisma. I'll do you dirtier than dishes... like your step-daddy sellin' all the gifts you got for crack, at Christmas.

-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

......as another years passed, and hella crews crashed, dippin mics in verbal acid till all thats lefts ash...till the last bowls cashed....leavin assholes smashed...doinit 4tha Laughter and to have the last laugh...the pummeling is humbling like fumbling with a handgrenade, listen as the grammar sprays, each and every entity standing in our way..its not a matter of if, more so a matter of when...direct connect from brain to tongue is still my best friend, i been moonlightin with my pen, my freestyles not mad, i treat her like a lady, like the best i ever had, but she aint got a dad, still my styles aint bothered, maurey checked the DNA and you ARE NOT THE FATHER...

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

we laughin, blasted, dancing and smashin, in a circle of trust, passionate about my stuff, passin purple to puff, the actions of our forefathers before us, speak-with native tongues, the silver ones, they hear-the-word, call it a miracle, I just ain't that type of spiritual, I call it lyrical, shit to spear-at-you, with the real-and-true, to my lifted sons, recognitions, gifted visions, expressions, with my brethren, meeting of the minds, speakin within the lines of my rhymes...a session, you peasants, needn't speak cos you rhyme depression, matter of fact, don't even look in my direction... and as for me and mines, well... our-lines outline our-times out-on-the-grind, forever out-for-a-dime, act out-of-line,the outcome is fine, cos out-here out-come-the-nines, I'd rather make that a ten spot, knuckles for a head shot, give your nose red snot, from when you get your head knocked. brass fucking knuckles, smash something in a tussle, amass the muscle, like cash on the hustle, blast and it's trouble, it's in the bag, like a duffel, so you fags can get the double...fist in your shit... when I'm pissed and you get loose with the lips like a stupid bitch that talks too much shit and doesn't know when to quit, unless, it's with a mouthful of penis... properish term...for the dick.

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

They stand in line greedily, like flies on shit, moths to infernos, the imposters get licked... speedily. We addicted to this - too steadfast to quit, entrenched, enmired, in this... way of life - you're just part of the scenery. What do you mean to me? You're fecal matter on the tip o' my prick - a blasphemy. I extinguish thee, for revolting me, for makin' me sick. I'm cataclysmic with mine, and my brothers are quick... to drop coins on your orbits; you're just a kid with some tricks - a trend, a fad... I'll slap you wit' my sack and my swag, like a ton o' bricks... I don't boast or brag. I live my life on a different rung than a lad. I've got nothin' to prove - it's like a chieftain verse a eunuch. It's worth the investment at hand, to castrate you, you fag, make an example of you and turn you into a half of a man...

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

fuck these subhuman neanderthals, with no influence from above, we keep it movin, back and forth like a tennis club. pass me that 40-love, swig it, got me sayin werd, shit it's just day'um cypher...when we be flippin verbs, so andy riddick-you-lers... serve'n words, fast and frickin furi-yers, givin them the slo-motion curves, so Wimbledon can sit and observes, cheers and shit for you and yers, match met...shit's fucking absurd, check the verse, fresh like the pair of white cross-train'ers, or that dime Sharapova in a mini-skirt, MMM mmm mmm... she makes me pervert, please 'scus this nerd, he's just trying to get some of her sponsors... for my benefit, but my friend it's, not about the tennis, but word-play is our tenet, pray to us with reverence, homage when I send this, sentence with the swiftness, of a night-stick in the hands of a white pig, fucking sick of all the shit he's witnessed within his 6, years working the fucking night-shift. I write this...life with, the might of the pen... fuck a sword, no reward, flashin forward, with the passion for, my fam, cash and board, jameson's on my dashboard, mashin towards, mountain tops, found the top, hear the sound when we drop, the powder on the ground is soft, so this run is bound to rock, then we lounge down at the lot, before we bounce the spot, we drown our thoughts, and here's a pound for my dog, yo that shit was hot... sequel coming soon to the Ta'

Amaze me with your voice. Love me with your verbs.
Explain to me, how I make your world blur.
Kaleidoscopic flashes, as I worship your purr.
How I make your insides warm, and colors merge.
Amaze you with the way I caress you, and make the pleasure surge.
You salivate, as you wrap warm wood and smile wit' the knowledge that it's all good.
It's no small feat for me to worship all of you; but I embrace it and savor you, like a holy jewel.
I understand your desire, I'm a part of you.
We grind in tandem, when I hesitate you move...

I ride with you, and it's an animal groove.

My fingers caress your lips, as I split you in two.
I won't stop, until you have an orgasm or two.
Explain to me your pleasure, and tell me truth.
Amaze me with your song, there's no words, but it's proof.
That life is delicious, it's like Heaven in you.

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

 We brush off the flakes, Forward-looking BKs, with goggled-covered face, we do not hesitate, to sleigh down the mountainscape sideways, like we were on borrowed days, time is fragile like freshly frozen lakes, Cali kamikaze is the chosen way.

Cú Chulainn - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

So-Cal steelo meets the Tao of the Bay. So cold, that we numb to distaste - adrenaline rush and it feels fuckin' great. Speedin' over powder, and it's powder to the face. Red Stripe on the mountain, like we run this fuckin' place. We don't need a highway to heaven; we hit the freeway to play. We go hard in the paint. We side hard on the mount, 'cause we been drivin' all day. Against B.K., you look like a fuckin' stain. The speed is the rush; who gives a fuck about the pain. We some moguls hittin' moguls; you can kiss the fuckin' taint...

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

We shoot passed traffic like rushing river rapids, Rant.one with the Savvage, where we're seated is heated, so life is love and lavish, a smooth dude, goin down on the slo' like she's a bad bitch, we riding mapless, and there wasn't a trail that we haven't had licked, just 2 rad kids, Ready to dip, the minute we slid off that lift, these pockets mad thick... with cabbage, a G worth of Cs, but please- I'm not on that material rap shit, but I've been known to have it, plus I always pay with plastic, like a habit, grab it, out the wallet and I slap it, countertop for my ticket, collect platni miles for the slick kid, holdin my beer with no fear up in here, cos these lifteez know my status...

Cú Chulainn - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

Adept wit' the Burton aparatus. We dip off the lip of the lid, and let 'em have it. We sick wit' this shit, like we rabid... choppin' through the soft white, like a cleaver through sad cabbage. The delicate balance of the razor's edge dictates the Savv's passage... Drunken Master - skilled like Caradine wit' the jack-it... gear and the graphite wit' the graffix. I'm higher than Aspen, giggin' while I'm passin'. The Mad Hatter, wit' the hat to the back an', I'm yeein' and I'm laughin', givin' the Homie dap an'... we up in Tahoe, doin' it real Mount Shasta. I'm ghostin' like I'm Casper; eyes on lobster, like an albino rassta... slappin' the rap at high speed, seemingly impassive... beastly jurassic, slicin' the white like a raptor. It's the the Silver Surfer rippin' and splashin', harassin'... wit' the Iceman; the Spaniard be smashin'.

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

Dip out in the wagon, the kid is out boastin and braggin, flippin out, trippin and laughin, actin in no particular fashion, throwing snowballs at random, these dudes is bad men, running around saggin, people see we're what the fuck that's hap'nen, and want to be a part or a fraction of the action, cool-ass fool came through and is askin, if we had'em, No? well take a drag then, puffin magic dragon, while cars in the lot kept passin, I'm in the cut, with a brew on my lap man, doin it real Captain, eyeballin the pleasant distraction, snow bunny attraction, but it's time for extraction, so we slide out like we were losing traction, on the Outback again...