* Dedicated to St. Paul
* Dedicated to Kid Cudi, Just What I Am
St. Paul, what up son???? St. Peezy how you livin fam? Ahhh, Im so excited dawg! I don’t even know what Im bout to write for real! St. Paul, Im Catholic, riiiiiiiight? So you know I believe in the full unbroken, living and active communion of the saints, werd! So concomitantly dat means I have full license to pray to you son! SO IM PRAYING RIGHT NOW THAT YOU WOULD SPEAK TO ME! SPEAK WORDS INTO THIS POEM SON! LETS GO!!!!!! WOOOOO!!!! (Can I get an Amen?!!!! Amen!!!!)
----------------/ Acts Chronicles Chapter 22 (Part 1): All That I Am, No Longer Can Be; Paul’s Thoughts On Being Interrogated By the Jews Enveloped In Dust
Dirt plumes have a way of mimicking nebular haze
a burst of thickened mass (before fading)
into which we externalize fears, euphorias and utopias
visioning the life we always thought we should’ve lived,
the duration of which seems to extend
forever. I was a Roman Jew straddling two worlds
trying to embrace both, warmly, cleaving to one
passionately kissing the other wryly avoiding
jealousy; fine wine flowing down my chin
wiped with hands cloaked in blasphemers’ blood,
sneering drunkenness of the damned misguided.
I distinctly remembering sleeping soundly each night.
I wanted, at that time, to fashion myself piety’s paragon,
wielding the same Roman knife that
protects citizenry against both insurrection and unorthodoxy
wearing Caesar’s olive wreath and riding Elijah’s chariot
in the sky. Yet this selfsame dust spurs delusional difference
with mixed opinion amongst my detractors,
it accentuates a visage in stark contrast
to the maddened fanatics that dispersed it enraged,
in it they see in me the face, and silhouette, of a Philistine resurrected
amassing the courage of David to beat with false accusations
that ping like rocks that impale with spears
of a centurion. As the cloud dissipates my eyes focus
with clarity
(on all I once was and just what I am now)
my two worlds spurning me, two lives of prestige
wrenching themselves from my body like a cruel dissection,
a certificate of divorce issued from the beloved,
of torture at the hands of those who hate me.
Saul the Pharisee, Saul the citizen of Tarsus
enjoining their voices with the cacophonous calls for murder:
Kill Paul...he is no longer worthy
to be one of us
--------------------Acts 22:22-23
And they listened to him until this word, and then they raised their voices and said, “Away with such a fellow from the earth, for he is not fit to live!” Then, as they cried out and tore off their clothes and threw dust into the air,
----------------Just What I Am Lyrics
[Verse 1: King Chip]
I'm just what you made God
Not many I trust
I'mma go my own way, God
Take my faith to wherever you wanast
I'm out here, on my son
Won't stop 'til I get me some
Club-hoppin', tryin' to get me some
Bad b*es wanna get me sprung
Early in the morning, I'm wakin' bakin', drinkiExplainn', contemplatin'
Ain't no such thing as Satan, evil is what you make it
Thank the Lord for that burning bush
That big body benz I was born to push
On my way I'm burning kush
Nigga don't be worried 'bout us
Neighbors knockin' on the door, asking can we turn it down
I say, "Ain't no music on" she said, "Naw, that weed is loud"
Nigga, we ballin', straight swaggin'
Lost Hawk, but I'm maintainin'
I've been told that I'm amazing
Make sure keep that fire blazin', weed livin'
[Hook: Kid Cudi]
I need smoke
I need to smoke
Who gon' hold me down now
I want to get higher
I want to get higher
Need it to get by, ya
Can you get me higher?
I want to get higher
I want to get higher
Need it to get by, ya
Can you get me higher?
I'm just what you made God, I'm just what you made God
I'm just what you made God (Nee-need it)
I'm just what you made God, what you made God
I'm just what you made God
[Verse 2: Kid Cudi]
Let me tell you 'bout my month y'all
Endless shopping, I had a ball
I had to ball for therapy
My shrink don't think that helps at all
Whatever, that man ain't wearing these leather pants
I diagnose my damn self
These damn pills ain't working fam
In my spare time
Punching walls, F*ing up my hand
I know that shit sound super cray
But if you had my life you'd understand
But, I can't fold, some poor soul got it way worse
We're all troubled, in a world of trouble
It's scary to have a kid walk this Earth
I'm what you made God
F* yes I'm so odd
Thinking 'bout all my old friends
Who weren't my friends all along
Hm, when it rains it pours
Whiksey bottles of the six and fours
Everyday the first things a chore
Amidst a dream with no exit doors
[Hook]
[Outro]
Need it to get by, ya
Willy
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