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(Source: libidildo, via fortunetoro)
It’s sad that another song came along and got a lot more popular than this song and stole this song’s title and has now usurped it’s throne as ‘the best song with this song’s title’, which I personally believe is unjustified as this song is obviously much better than that other song that did the stealing of song titles.
Beat.
Haven’t done any poetry in a long time, apologies if it’s a little rusty (also Tumblr layouts don’t really give you much space for anything but photos so sorry for the poor layout.)
I could write a Beat poem, and extend every line to how long it takes me to breathe and it would be full of adjectives and imagery.
It would be nonsensical and sinister, with subtle tones of broken bones and a call-to-arms of those whose prose washes the shores of a timeless hoax.
It could shout to my friends, peers and enemies, a constant reminder of my tendency to convolute a world of variabilities with visions of absolute absurdities.
I would travel and discover, the love and hate that we all share for one another, and define it with words and defy it with passion and rely solely on the soles of my boots to find me the next destination to uncover.
It would talk nothing of myself and would be most humble, regarding others with such baited breath that my words would stumble,
over the sounds of the brilliance of the like-minded, showing complete ignorance for those less one-sided,
and always, following, the beat.
A-dum.
A-dum.
A-dum-dum-dum.
We sympathise with those that don’t understand, it isn’t the Beat or the music at hand
It’s the persona, the calling, the timing and the measure,
The screaming out loud in the coming together.
The ruckus and the rebel and the rattle and the treble
A colonising soul-combining self-relying constant sign of the colossal cries of class-divides and social ties that we cultify -
but still, following, the beat.
A-dum.
A-dum.
A-dum-dum-dum.
Whether it’s for the Beat movement or the movement of the beat, the soles of these shoes still walk these streets;
They still turn at the corner between Sussex and Windsor and will forever allow me to look down my nose and point the finger,
While the toes tap away with the obnoxious glare, the meditation of the mind used as a pretentious snare and the history of ourselves is written in gold,
always, following, the Beat.
annabeljanewakefield asked: who gives better snuggles... me or osc? :)
hmm. osc when he hasn’t had a hair cut cos he’s got that whole fluffy teddy bear thing going on.
Anonymous asked: how tall are you???
exactly six-foot ;)
