Melt away, make ‘em smile and just fade into the past.

An old life friend was worried, scared about the way I vanish, they didn’t want me to slip through the cracks. They wanted me around, alive in their life, they wanted me to exit on a spotlight.

Mind draws grey blanks, crisp recollections fading away into soft nothing.

I can’t remember her face, or her name. I tried so hard to forget and now it’s happened I’m not sure why I did. I walk alone in my dreams now, it’s hard to imagine anything else.

Mistakenly thinking that this is easier, how’s that line go?

We under value the moment, always wanting it to be shared and given in public stages. My best moments, my dearest moments, are the ones I’ve stolen for myself and kept away from the world.

Made in silence, given to no-one…

"All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain…"

- Blade Runner, (1982)

Stumbling on, the world ringing in ears, flashes of colours and light whip past unfocused eyes.

Punch-drunk and numb to the overzealous stimulus, a slow and hyperactive death by a thousand neon cuts.

Are we at the end yet? How long has it been… wandering the wilds alone, alone surrounded by the lonely. We’ve gotta be close.

To find silence seems like cheating, an unusual glitch unexploited. We’re gonna do this thing right. Only one way to quiet, dark, peace.

Only one way.

And we’re almost there.

"We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing."

- The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship, Charles Bukowski

"The Gap" by Ira Glass.

Brilliant advice for young (and not so young) creatives.

How close to the edge can you push it? Throwing the weight into corners, left foot brake to save seconds, blipping the accelerator, feeling the slide on the very limit of control.

Gravel spits from spinning tyres, steering jumps to life as the differential pulses power from wheel to wheel at the beck and call of the traction control.

Basic physics dictate the rules of the fight, friction versus momentum, altering the outcome is a skill not yet mastered. Counter-steer and pull back from the brink, power-slide is a reward for maintaining your mettle.

I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over.
Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can’t see from the center.

- Kurt Vonnegut


I bump Aston Martin music while rolling in my Honda
You say it’s delusion but it’s just the way my mind wanders
Switch track, singing Superstition in my hatchback
Thinkin about the things that I keep dragging in my rucksack
Black cats and broken mirrors, are they bad signs?
I just figure it all depends on your state of mind

Mine is decidedly backwards, barely kept in place with tacks
Words fail me, vocab and letters poof
They themselves proof of my detached and floating attitude
How do I see myself? The baddest, rudest dude?
Better yet maddest geezer yelling from the corner
About hipster crews tryin to score dank from a brother
My views are crazy but they stack bank for a brother
I send em on their way with a bag of herbs and spices
They choose to profile so I show them what nice is

I don’t help the cause, I still walk like I got a pocket full
So of course the moustache and fixie crew come sniffin for a hit or two
I feel a little bad for they next of kin because they think
They can dance with the White Lady and win, and because I’m AZN
I must know someone that can get em lit,
The only time lying doesn’t feel like sin
Well, maybe a little bit
The broken glass from those aforementioned mirrors
Jingle and glitter, bad luck tipped from my back
To make room for what I need to make this last
Rhyme so special and poignant to the younger set
I think hard and cue the track on my deck

I bump Aston Martin music while rolling in my Honda…

"She was totally flirting with you bro!"

No, she wasn’t. But it was a nice thought… well, nice distraction anyway. God knows I could use a few more of those lately, after all ignorance can be bliss if you use it correctly.

Grimacing at the song currently playing on my boombox, I had relinquished control after repeated and irritating requests to put something more friendly on.

Friendlier than De La Soul.


At least the sunglasses hid my disgust as the sand warmed my back through my mat.

"So… how’s the new job?"
"Don’t change the subject, you should’ve made a move!"

Well fuck, so much for that.

I didn’t make a move because I couldn’t be bothered. If we boil it down, I’m single because I’m apathetic, and kinda lazy. I had a long conversation the other week about the subject, my response to my future had no mention of anyone other than me.

That’s how it starts right? I actually can’t picture a future where I’m in a committed relationship… next up I have the animal shelter on speed-dial and am buying cats by the cubic metre.

"Whatever, you should try being happy more often. I hear it’s pretty popular."

Yeah and so is this song, but I still want to put a bullet in my head when it plays.

"Can I put my music back on now?"

"I feel guilty for being a member of the human race."

- Big Sur, Jack Keruoac

An open letter to 2014,
(In which I code switch, again).

What it is little one,

2013 hey? I straight up ran it down and stomped it, exactly as I promised ‘cause y’all know I’m a man of my word. Past it, through the finish and past that and now…

Now I gotta wait.

Yeah y’all heard me youngblood, I gotta wait. You see I’m still in my old hood, still doin the same old same old but you gotta recognise one thing.

I’m just waiting.

I only need one thing to move on, one thing to get me to step 2 and when I get it I’ll get to steppin. Believe that B, I ain’t waiting ‘cause I like chillin… nah I’m waiting on my opportunity. The second I can, I’m takin it and I’m gonna blow by you the same as I did the old year. Switch you up wit a cross-over, break y’all ankles and rack on you.

Believe that.

I’m waiting, but it’s only to catch a breath homie.

See you real soon B,

Mr. Ødin

"Life was always a matter of waiting for the right moment to act."

- Paulo Coelho


Sometimes I wanna get mad, get fired up
About how my brain’s wired up
Spit heat from spite tellin how I came up
Blame on, shame on the music I listen to
It’s responsible for the irresponsible way I use words
My mouth is like a AK with the safety gone
It hurts the ease with which offence is born
And carried on the foul wind of my breath

Are you kiddin? I love this shit

I know how uncomfortable you get when I speak
It’s unfathomable the depths which I draw
To get the reaction I seek, and you sad ‘cause
I tore you apart with the last thing I have
My uncanny literary ability to stop those trying
To hit me in the underbelly I don’t have time
To teach the kids how to rhyme with raw fury
Unlike five my brain doesn’t go off-duty
It’s a twenty-four seven three sixty five ride
To the farthest side of human thought
So if you wanna learn you ought to take notes
I’ll point you to the greats, knock you down one last time
Ready folks?
I wanna get mad on one more rhyme, throw heat
But this idea’s too furious to repeat

It only hurts when I laugh.

He held her gaze for longer than was comfortable, forcing a smile as silent tears welled at the edge of his vision. She slowly turned and walked into the past, he remained uncertain in his present.

I only lie when I’m smiling.

She tried so hard to project this aura, risqué and worldly… but on her immature reality it collapsed into an undeserved cynicism, a clumsy and childish vulgarity with sharpened claws. He stumbled wounded and drunken into a future, stopped and collapsed in the meanwhile.

"Most people’s deaths are a sham. There’s nothing left to die."

- Charles Bukowski


Just imagine this is really eloquent
Instead of something irrelevant and irrevent
Posted simply for the hell of it

A wannabe classic from a wannabe MC
Scribbles in his rhyme book
He don’t see anything worth sharing in depth
So sticks with kiddie pool rappin
Makes you wonder why he wastes his breath?

He could flip it and tell you about his real life
But he thinks you only wanna hear about his ideal life
Cash and cars and chains and blinding shit
Not rent and relationships and relateable imagery
It’s surprising when you hear his verse
The hollow image he rehearsed and projects
Then see what he writes in that book
More substance in a single hook
Than he ever speaks

And he’ll never understand why they call him weak.