Sunday, April 13, 2014

0 oz. (stageplay pitch, serial episode) 4/10-4/18 /14

Act 1  Scene 1

Violet comes to understand that there is a developing military campaign in the classified part of her Utopian government controlled by a clone army.  Walking in to work and organizing papers and then finally sitting down on her cubicle's computer, she is giving a monologue to the audience about the virus that totally eradicated the human race by infecting the nervous system.  If someone who had been exposed to the virus, which had been %100 of humanity at one point, felt any significant kind of emotion, they immediately became enraged to the point of a heart attack.  To suppress any accidental killing of each other, the clone army had been established by a computer generated task force assigned by the United Pandora government to destroy any human capable of having extreme emotions.  People learned to survive by not feeling so much as following instinct and intuition and orders by the government.  The clone army could detect the emotion easier than normal humans because of genetic deficiencies in their mental chemistry.  They needed these receptors, however, to create long term memories, for which they had been successful at keeping a steady balanced population of normal human beings to make up for in the government.  As Violet sits down on her computer she begins by receiving a voice-call through an implanted telecommunication chip.  The sounds of two men picking up the phone is heard as she begins typing with a transparency of not speaking while the other two voices relay to each other the necessity to bring more water-control to a dam in part of the city.  The two men comment on the different shipping methods of supplies to build new control fields for the electrical refinement process when one mentions the nearby location of another dam that might be used to store certain amounts of the shipment.  The other man tells him that it would be impossible to use because of the other shipments being made there for use in the "Secret Project."  The first man replies that he already was aware of the conflict in spaces, but that the outside of the dam could be used as a type of temporary shelter for the supplies if they built an exterior building which could be torn down easily to avoid conflict with building permits.  The second man once again replies that time-limitations may be too short for this idea.  They agree to talk later, and get off the phone.  Violet raises her hand and a superior worker comes to relieve her as she gets out of the cubicle and starts to walk over to a water cooler.  When she picks up a cup another coworker, and another superior coworker walk onstage.  The superior coworker asks Violet how she is feeling that day, to which she responds that she's been feeling poor about the living conditions at home.  The coworker mentions the water supplies and Violet responds that she is suffering from dehydration during the night.  The superior worker asks Violet if she'd like to come over to his home to share his water after work, and invites her to stay and watch a movie with him.  The coworker mentions a few titles of future cinema and Violet says that her mind is elsewhere, actually, that day and mentions the conversation she had just been transcribing.  The superior asks what she thinks the conversation means, and Violet begins telling them how she thought it was interesting that there seemed to be secret space programs in the local government.  The supervisor of the company walks onstage and interrupts the conversation asking Violet to repeat what she had just been saying to the coworkers verbatim, which Violet does.  The supervisor then calls security.  The superior starts to defend Violet's innocence to the supervisor, as Pink & Blue show up and the coworker starts to walk away.  The Pink & Blue tell the coworker that his freedom has been destroyed and kill him.  The supervisor and superior begin escorting Violet offstage as Pink & Blue remove the body.

Scene 2

Wyatt and Evan are outside of the two walking tubes that form the sidewalks along a road.  They are picking trash off of the street and putting it into bags they are carrying.  Evan begins talking about a school project he had been assigned for his graduate program involving how to work on improvements for the water-line system in Utopia.  Wyatt refers to the need to concentrate the water supply into the impoverished areas of the community where there was always a high crime rate and emotional unrest.  Evan seems to agree but objects to point out the inherent needs of people like their friend Matthew who worked in high end electronic development and manufacturing.  Evan also seems to wonder if Matthew will get the promotion in his company to a higher income.  Wyatt replies that he hopes that he does get the promotion but wonders about the effect that his technical presence would mean for the development of more system monitoring equipment for the Pink & Blue reproductive pods.  At that moment, a pod swings through the stage levitating in the air.  Wyatt continues how intrusive it was to have babies that were intellectually inadequate to pass judgment on any actions of the community be the basis of the crime monitoring system.  He says that it could just as easily have been human babies rather than clones that do the monitoring.  Suddenly patrolling clones interrupt the scene with several following human schoolchildren who are on a field trip to study the modern transit system.  The clones refer to Wyatt and Evan as poverty level citizens, which causes Wyatt to stop working as fast and he almost drops a piece of trash after a couple of moments.  The clones point this out as well with the explanation that the nerves of humans are much weaker than Pinks & Blues which is why they needed to be monitored on a constant basis to ensure emotional safety.  The two brothers continue, and the group walks off the scene.

Scene 3

Roman and Virginia are in the armory of the Valley, next to the courtyard.  Roman starts talking about the society's need to find more energy sources aside from wind and water for electricity.  Roman defends the system, though, and points to Lincoln and Suzanne's lives who were lookouts for the Valley.  He tells how they are upstanding citizens.  Virginia points out how the class of Suzanne's parents had caused historic terrible events when the infection-refinement and treatment facility shut down.  Roman heeds her warnings and tells her that the new refinement programs will probably avoid the same casualties from happening again, with new safety measures.  The King and Queen of the Valley, Roman and Virginia call the party to the court.  Roman gives a speech about independence.

Act 2  Scene 1

Wyatt and Evan are on their way home when they are passing a strange building.  They hear voices from inside, and pull out special spying equipment to listen in to the conversation inside.  In the building, Pink & Blue have Lincoln and other Valley refugees held hostage.  They are demanding to know the hideouts of the rest of the Valley people.  Wyatt and Evan are briefly interrupted by a radio transmission from Matthew.  Their sister Violet has uncovered some clues to where the Valley hideouts are in a place called Atlantis.  He also mentions that the hive of the infection is located somewhere between Utopia and Atlantis.  Back inside the building Pink & Blue begin executing hostages until Lincoln reveals the coordinates of the hideout.

Scene 2

Act 3  Scene 1

Scene 2

Scene 3

...  To be continued.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Langston Huges and Twyll The ChyllTyrant

'As Befits Me'
by Langston Hughes and Twyll The ChyllTyrant

I don't mind dying --
But I'd hate to die all alone!
I want a dozen pretty ladies
To holler, cry, and moan.

I don't mind dying
But set my funeral on fire:
Rows of little shorties
Fainting, fanning, crying in smoke.

I want a fish-tail hearse
And a hundred cadillac parade,
Clowns all day
And a truck load of bad bitches.

When they let me down,
Into that ditch of the clay,
I want the women to holler:
"Please don't take him away!
Don't take daddy away!"

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The UnHoly Trinity

The Unholy Trinity


truth is hidden within
evidence in nature
ev’rything becomes true

falsehood comes of imagination
faith from fate

The Road

not all roads travel straight
every road ends twice
walk with a travel mate

compass, water, some food,

The Infinity Thesis

one is all that exists
percepted infinite
percepted only once

if perception is reality

god has died

by Billz

if what you say is real
and god is dead than
why do some people
have morals and don't
worry about bread
they don't so i guess
you were right so
i guess them people
where dump to death
that jumped in that
flight or proble not
maybe just every
thing they saw was
real and no body
under stood how
they feel but i know
infantz with the same
deal and i kinda know
how they feel and god
made all shit real
and i know i know how
he feel so i spark 
a dutch and stay with
a refill

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Generation Born Twyllis

Generation Born Twyllis

In the early years of his life on Earth, Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant was already hard at work creating the stable foundations of poetic authorship as he competed with other children in poetry finals in the Syracuse City School District.  Yet it was out of his formal education that his earned knowledge of music grew into a steadfast lifestyle as a musical entrepeneur.  His scholastic achievements won him honor as a Magna Cum Laude graduate of Thomas J. Corcoran High School in 2003, while at the same time strengthening his repertoire of experience.  Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant as a character was in fact, however, conceived at the age of 13 in John T. Roberts K-8 School, while working with the concepts of music theory with a fellow Syracusean who went by the name of Beam 5000.  Together Beam 5000 and Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant formed the illfated group Stereotypes in the late 90’s.  His sustainment in the rap genre was, after the friendship and group fell apart, only held by his conference enitity in the formations of one of Upstate New Yorks first breakdancing crews out of Jamesville-Dewitt High School, and his participation in the artistic inspiration aspects of graffitti art.

Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant’s personal life however, took quite a hit, as the tolls of an outlandishly extroverted appeal to society, as well as personal discontent due to the use of drugs at a young age, landed him in the psyche ward of University Hospital in Syracuse.  His release from which was conditional that he maintain a healthy diet and living habits so that he would never go the same route again.  It was only months later though, that he was back to writing.  At the same time, he would be returning to the darkside, or underworld of the world that he lived in.  Many people pushed or pursued him to discourage his rapping, but to no avail as he soon collected three volumes of poetry of which only the “Pathwork” collection has met the Library of Congress’s copyright desk.

For the first few months, Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant would practice rapping with his two main groups, Real Truth, and Three Fist Journalists, in freestyle cyphers and in crudely fashioned recording sessions.  Three Fist Journalists, comprised of L.O.S. & Reaper would go on to continue to make music with Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant during his studio years, even as he evantually changed his name to Tyrant.  From 2003 to 2004 Tyrant worked with these young rappers as he pushed forward and progressed his rhyming skill.

After a period of time, Tyrant met Ninj through his group Real Truth.  Ninj were three rappers who together formed a compact and versatile group that had performed in venues across New York.  With the addition of Tyrant to their group, they called themselves Real Ninj Truth.  By 2005, Real Ninj Truth helped Tyrant jumpstart his mixtape career with the release of “Close Range”, released alongside “The Nightmare”.  The Syracuse hip hop scene, at the time, was ill equipped to feature such a dangerous combination of talents, so the releases went, for the most part, unheard.

It was only one year later that Tyrant had gained enough esteem to be offered a spot on a label roster, Steam Records founded by J.C. Gori.  His contact with the label is limited, but they’re input helped spawn both “The Raven”, & “Swag King”, as well as “CollabZ”.  At the same time as those three limited mixtape releases, was the formation of Volyoom Team.  Volyoom Team was Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant’s attempt at rock and roll crossover.  The “Team” of youngsters included three guitarists, one one-armed guitarist, one bassist, and five back-up vocalists with Tyrant on lead vocal and harmonica.  They were arranged to be performing the biggest set of the century with “I Love New York” of VH1 as the guest host, when they were suddenly forced into Ninja Attack Mode when facing certain conquest of pirate robotzombies, while playing Unreal Tournament in Tyrant’s parents’ basement.  While they failed to attend the event, it should be noted that they did giftedly spot Wali Wigz earlier that day while hackeysacking at Woodland Reservoir.

It wasn’t until 2007 that The Crooked Empire entered Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant’s life.  It began as he struggled with the production of original material, when he was most lacking original beats, and as his spread out groups began to form the conglomerate that would forever then be known as The Crooked Empire.  The Criminal Era was the starting point.


Let It Die
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Let it it live.
Let it wonder
how to stay alive.

if the pale moonlight wanders across the astonishment at last
and the balcony chair wanderers ever cross the lawn once more
if nowhere monsters churn their bones to the music of a nowhere
and the streetlamp flicks on our shadows' hair, shaded from a machine

give it some breath, some time, and our explanations will be recorded on diner napkins
we return the straws before we cut them...
whenever we forget
to let our tongues roll, eyes tip, and our ears must
be percussion instruments, because i heard you say it?

Let it die.
Let it stammer
at the altar, the chant.

if ever we sounded off the twilight reverie, to the ghosts
and the evening awoke to purple skies, the slumbersome guests
crazed and panting, we threw off our yellow to green hues, blended blue
we'd roll around the canvas and paint every inch of eisel

Let it live.
Let it give us new reason,
to be trespassers on the horizon.

O let it give in to the wistful,
the enchantment lost in the bubbles
Let it loosen it's grasp on reality,
the harsh and the bold let live.

O let it misunderstand every second,
let it forget us every minute:
it's not's yours.

Jesus! (poem/story)

In the intensity of a thousand years passage without recorded event…
I am reminded of the boredoms of an early night spent outdoors with the ambitions of the youth grappling onto the last moments of pre-ordination and curfew.  The recitals of ancient epitaph that resounded only a flash between that last flitting of eyelids before unconsciousness settles into our complete focus. 
There, in that epicenter when the sounds and emotions replace the visions and memories of a cyclic world, is where the focus of our most complete satisfactions can become manifested for our enticed pleasure to experience.
I had turned off the lights myself that night.  It was an important event that I have now only stumbled upon in a quick flash. 
The symbolism of reaping the sewn, and the cleansing of our most private sinews. 
I came upon the comforts of my own bed that had been constructed or assembled or otherwise produced by parents who stood always watching through invisible windows. 
There, on the blankets that would hold tight the pieces of my soul which threatened to escape at such young age to a culling night-time reverie of twilight stars and evanescent streetlamp glow. 
Sharply did the blinds once throw limply approaching light outside, and so only now did the dullness of a doldrums’ ponder across the sidewalk through maple leafs usher away the spirits of night, for on one night’s long descent into darkness was the fluorescence forgone. 
The room I slept was so dark that only my own imagination could spread the sensory of sight onto the shapes of the walls, and in this way was I in a boundless room, without border or end.
“Mom,” I called into tomorrow, and darkly did my voice resonate.
So, as the arms of a loved one spread the blind folds of sheets over my chin, I could no longer speak the words that could follow across my plunge into the abyss.

It was the moments between sleep and life, when I was distinguishing the real apart from my realized fantasy, that struck the most powerfully against the ambience.  In this time of helter skelter, in the reveries of immediate proximity that reverberated, yet at the same time collapsed the reasoning of conscience amidst conscious thought, as thoughts once entangled and emotions once withheld shrunk with the falling mind and squeezed through escape routes to forgotten vaults in the back of my brain. 
The innocence of deep sleep was imminent.

Suddenly, the footsteps on the stairs awoke me.
Startled, I pulled my back up against the headboard and shook off the covers from my face, like the undead rising from the grave and with emotionless fear I peered deep into the black space.
When the door to my chamber opened, out protruded a face like a bearded skeleton.  The man that entered was like an angel of distinct familiarity who would lead me through the barren landscapes of dreams and reality.  He showed me the future and cried when I asked him of my own demise.  He wrung his hands and hung his head and shamefully left, having felt as though nothing were accomplished during his interview.
I was left alone, lonely, desperate for the last moment of attention he had refused to spend.
Thus, I chased out the door for him into the hallway of my house.
Down the hall I heard a typewriter or something.  I heard the movements of many hands hushedly writing the pages of a book about apocalypse. 
I didn’t look down the stairs; instead I moved past them to the end of the hall and walked past the railing as the howls and growls of some unfathomed hound rose from the stairwell that Jesus had disappeared down. 
Onward I began to lunge towards the knob of the door, and as soon as the absent metal flushed my skin with a ghostlike touch of chill, the words stopped.  I opened the door.
Inside the devil himself sat at long table with a manuscript freshly printed.
The hounds on either side of him charged past me through the door.  However, I showed no fear.
He had high top blond hair with slim features and eyes that looked dimly through the air as though he was in need of eyeglasses.  He wore a business suit. 
And he promised that if I followed his words I would get the information that Christ denied me.
I was haunted but persuaded.  I didn’t follow his words, but I made actions of my own that mimicked his for a while.
I never awoke.

Instead I was catapulted back into the same reality that I am today entrapped in.

Tuesday, May 07, 2013

Dewdrops & Dandelions (poem)

Dewdrop by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

 between your mask between

 in lines drawn on drawings
wrinkles of the crinkles often

 atop a reservoir - deliverance
will smile tomorrow - crying tonight
epitome of epitaph - strewn across sights

 when gods knew not
 when lost on pew of rising dewdrop

by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

dandelion days & firefly nights. 
noontime rides midnight. 
crazy liars inspired by life... 

forever one lady always my mind. 
rise high, climb fires to die... 
the flower, to light...

Monday, April 01, 2013

The Original Testament Interpretation

Everything was done The seventh day’s work was done, and so we rested Everything in the seventh day was blessed These are the stories of that day that made God Before there was anything on Earth of God There was a mist that rose from the ground There was dust on the ground that grew into man of God There was even a garden that man stood in against the signs of God In the garden there were plants that represented the good and evil and food and beauty and life of God A delta lead even from the garden One river was Pishon leading to Havilah where there was gold There was also bdellium and onyx One river was Gihon leading to Cush One river was Tigris leading to Asshur and one river was Euphrates God made man take care of the garden God said that man may eat anything in the garden Man could only not eat the tree of good and evil and die God said that man shouldn’t be alone and that he should need help God showed man the animals and let him be named Man named everything but himself God took man’s body God made woman from man’s body So man said she was called Woman In this way, a man leaves his mother and father and finds a woman to make unity In love

Monday, October 01, 2012

Movie Pitch for "How To Sleep" a proposed original film project by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

two girls and a man search for an escape out of a shared dream where everyone falls asleep once and then stays unconscious for an immortal eternity. first, they must find out about each other, across continents, through spiritual journeys in which they rediscover their inner fears and demons by trying to capture a devilishly evil escape artist arch-nemesis and fight with a wild dragon king whose power is to teleport within eyesight to wherever it can see in light, and blow firebreath. the group then has to work together and race against time as they realize how they are all slowly disintegrating their own reality outside, bit by bit.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Climate Control

weren't North Koreans and Asians blowing up atomic weapons at the base of the ocean? oh... so where are these hurricane's coming from? that's climate control. the percent of reuseable natural resources is dwindling, and we need to be concerned with the damage to the climate caused by greenhouse effects on tectonic plates as well as glaciel impact, and in addition the fact that climate changes are soon to arise on schedule in the next 1000 years for a probable ice age... it's not important now to handle the population, it's time to unite and try to discover an escape route. that's my problem with 80% of the governments in the world, is their inability to cooperate with the general public with the ongoing efforts to expand our resources in ways that are only shown misinformatively on national broadcast. the middle and working class are as well controlled by the introduction of the new products and laws every year, and by overpopulation itself with the expanding of mass media into worldwide circulation. fun.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

"She Said" (poem)

“She Said”
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant














standing dusk open wide

rains stand glimmered


Is this the right time”



Rebirth on alien shores

burning bridges

Your virgin shadow




hungering lust

and  grind

Monday, April 16, 2012

Tyrant TellEm Tag GAMEGUIDE

Tyrant TellEm Tag


Tyrant TellEm Tag

one area of 23-2800 square feet.

5 Players

1 Player is "It"

This player picks 1 Teammate

2 Players are "It"

The "It" Players must stay within fifteen feet of each other.

The other 3 Players must stay safe from being touched by the "It" Players, and within 50 feet of the other safe Players.

Once a safe Player is touched or "Tagged", they must stay on one pivot foot and can "Tag" other safe Players that run by them.

The last Player is the new "It", and can call any of the "Tagged" Players to be his Teammate.

Be Safe, Have Fun, & Enjoy!


Thursday, March 08, 2012

A Few Scary Stories

Here’s a few short scary stories.

Bobby went down to the schoolyard with his friends one day, the sky was dark, the puddles still were fresh on the sidewalk, and the boys were planning on playing tag. As they approached the gate, they heard a barking from the gutter below the chainlink fence. Bobby leaned over and sure enough, it was a tiny puppy shriveled up in a ball. It must have been left out from overnight in the storm. Bobby took the puppy, which was barely skin and bones and tuffs of sparse hair across it’s body, and returned home to nurture the small creature back to life. The dog barely could eat at first, but it stayed alive through the night, and when Bobby went to bed, he saw the dog gnawing at it’s tail and it worried him. Bobby asked his mother to keep the dog in her room that night, so she did. In the morning though, the dog had gnawed off its entire tail on the floor and there was blood everywhere. Bobby went to school after trying to play with the dog. When the mother took the dog to the vet later that morning, the veterinarian turned to her and whispered “This isn’t a dog, ma’am, it’s a sewer rat. And it has rabies.”

Bob was a good guy, but he didn’t like the unease that came with living in the city his whole life. One day late in the winter, he left his apartment, and took off on a backpacking and camping trip in the wilderness. He knew it would sound crazy, but he had to go be alone, to think things through about his future, and he wanted to do it out in the woods. When he got there, there was no other cars in the parking lot, and no signs of anyone to be seen down the trail. He started down the path as the wind whistled through the pinetrees, and over the brush. The bright sun kept him at a steady pace on his hike, and he continued to forge forth through the twilight hours. As the dusk approached, though, he kept getting the feeling that he was either being followed, or that there was something else out there chasing or being chased. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes he saw out in the fields, another set of footprints. He began to head over as the wind blew harder and harder, and he shielded his eyes from the snow drifts. When he got over to the trail of footprints, he began to follow them. Through the thicket of the woods, he brushed past branches and needles scraped his cheeks. He closed his eyes in the tightest of the bush and when he opened them, the chaparral disappeared completely. As did the footprints, directly into the middle of a giant dead tree, where there was no way around and no way up.

Robert grew up alone in the world, was sometimes difficult to get along with, and couldn’t make friends that lasted much longer past high school. He’d often just spend the nights alone at home, waiting for company to call or show up unannounced. One night, he was watching the empty street in front of his house, when he saw a big black vintage Ford pull into the driveway. Three pale white men got out of each of the passenger seats, including the two in the back. They all wore sunglasses and top hats, suits, and black shoes. They left their doors open, and stood there in the driveway staring directly into Bob’s window right at him. They didn’t move, but they all in unison said the same thing without making any noise, and Bob knew what they said because he could lipread them all at once. “Room for one more.”

Sunday, February 19, 2012


If a tree falls in the woods ontop of a woman, is she lieing?

If you were stranded on a desert island, with your newborn child, with only a slimming chance of rescue, and your baby started to die, would you eat it when it was dead or throw it in the ocean?

A man walks into a strip bar with a bag of dead babies. When the bouncer tells him to leave, he explains, "They are premies, so they're worth more."

If you and your last boss, your father, your wife, and your child were the last people left on Earth, trapped in an underground cave with just water in a pool, and inside the water was a squid that would be able to live far longer than you or your company, and possibly repopulate the world evantually with new species, would you just eat it to live a little longer, and then still die anyway?

A policeman pulls over his car next to a park and pulls his gun out on a squirrel.
Squirrel says, "What did I do, officer?"
"You were trafficking."
Same cop pulls over next to a fence on his way back to the station, with the squirrel in the backseat, and pulls his gun on another squirrel ontop of the fence.
Squirrel says, "What did I do, officer?"
"You're tailgating me."
Now, in the police station, a squirrel jumps out of the ceiling and pulls out a bomb.
"You're all nuts!"


Thursday, January 05, 2012

My Thoughts on "Democracy in America"

To understand the contrasts between The Democratic and Republican Parties, one should be just as concerned with the depth and continuity of the ideals held in each platform, separately, as well as comparitively. The importance of this analyzation of integrity is one that is often overlooked by the mere casual approach of many young uneducated Americans.

The ideas of men whose individual successes are fundamentally constructed to adhere to survival in all circumstances, are mainly tied into a variety of responsibilities and sponsorship of life. First, and foremost, as is easy to point out, money plays a major role in civilized survival. Money, representative of a person's worth, or reflective of environmental work availability, is a good indicator of most peoples' value to society. However, the unknown relationship of the person with his political standpoint is nonetheless valued as well as is his character and ability, heritage and intelligence. While these factors rarely come into play with elections of government officials, this may help explain why the two part system of Democratic/Republican exists.

The downside of bi-partison elections, as well as misleading people into non-interaction with their own government, is that the two parties are both plainly faulty and contradictory against each other as well as in their own terms.

This is why it is important to create a personally-manipulateable division of classes every taxyear to be reflected in votecount, to further encourage voter output as well as interaction within a democratic government. It is also important to get rid of the electoral college completely, to separate larger states into multiple states and increase statecount, and to assign more bill pass approval into the hands of the voters in America by allowing them to vote yes or no on all bills, and retiring the seat of President to a position of compiling bills into acts of two-three at a time for monthly voter-registration, and to passing or vetoeing emergency or military and armed forces bills only, or as directed out by clauses attached to each bill.

Those are just some of my thoughts right now.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

Poetry Remix

Poetry Remix

by Twyll The ChyllTyrant


The Poet Sees Naught

They're tongue-twisting devils

no good daydreamers



They're crowding around

the beautiful

suffocating it

Dutiful beautiful rudimentary

access to love

Rude awakening

I see a woman

beautiful in structure

standing alone

I wander towards her

in mind

But in body

walk away


There is something

unattachably beautiful

about being

the only species

to want to die

Angel Falling

A featherless angel

has leapt from faith

A falling sky following her life

Calling minds

with a hollowing light

The wind

carries her tears

as she falls

Leaving a trail

of vertical hurtful pain

without a purpose

Scared Of The Son

whispering winds

the ocean

the stars

tell me about my past

about my future

about why i cry now

i have no real name

only this empty bag

and a black dripping lung


empty and filled with cigarettes

redeem for five cents if rinsed

to know that there is no resurrection

to write in complete darkness

scared of the sun

father, real father

baptise me in my own blood

and tell my mother for me, i am dead

tonight i have no calls

only myself

to call upon

i'll read your poetry if you read mine

i feel like such a parasite

to my own thoughts

i'll remember this night

for the rest of my life

Toxic Waste

Precious pressure

Precise prelude

of premonition at pre-dawn


Ours is a useless search

To reach the coils of a snake

with would-be wood


now just death

holding death in its brown leaf

now just a dead matter

of dead matter

holding us in its distinguishing


And the red slugs and their red shells

leave red trails

trailing from homes of broken families

to the homes of broken hearts

to the home of broken

states of mind

Money is the dean of all the

evil a live


could need

In its basic form

the word love

does evolve

I Wish I Knew

I guess I shouldn't say a word

and there isn't one

in the English language

to make you understand

My heart aches

so that no painkillers

can heal

Isn't all human emotion justified?

Then what's so esoteric

about the question

"Do you love me?"

What's so rhetoric

about the place we met?

What's so cruel about

the planet we live on

if you and I are still alive

But I need to get out about

I tire of the question mark

just as I tire of being alone

And just knowing

that you exist

makes me


Because you slowly swallow

my world

In these days and this time

nothing I say is wrong

just like

nothing I say is right

Or good


for you

Man on Bicycle

Man on bicycle

surrounded by chaos

suddenly stops

feels human

Finds his "peace"

turns around

walks away

The truth as I see it.

Plagiarism at its finest time

Consumerism at its only place

I don't want change either Bicycle Man

But change is inevitable

We should all take lesson

on Man on Bicycle

My Spirit Hums A Song

A teflon heart beats For a woman Never introduced Only seen from a distance And the attached lungs Stung with each gasping breath Rung out with the laundry Out for all to see My spirit still needs cleaning Just as my eyes seek My ears seek a soul A lonely guitar string is plucked And another one answers And another one so far away in my mind Until it's back to that first string But still... loneliness It creeps in Like dim light from a lamppost On a deserted lane Bound to reality Wishing retreat But every path has been followed And no brick road has been found A friend is forgotten He was my own And today is now Just what I am Forgotten Or forgetting slowly Until just a spec remains Spectacular love Escaping my tender needs Although my heart beats My love is woven from the softest cotton That stretches and bounces But never makes it out of the drawer Where it lays dormant and bored Boasting of times past I'm often reminded of my evil deeds And regret claws all over Until my eyes water And water falls Like Niagara My love needs a caretaker Like my heart needs a bullet But nothing will break But my spirit Tonight.

Halfway To Perfection

Angry puffs of cigarette smoke

Shoot from his nostrils

His eyes narrowed

His brow curved and lowered

He looks for meaning

In the meaningless meanness of people

And sees his own reflection

A smirk curls his lips

Battered yellow teeth revealed

One eyebrow raises

Like answering an obvious question

His hand flicks the cigarette

Again and again, quicker and quicker

He thinks he looks sexy when he's angry

The Essence Of Time

from when time becomes the essence

to when time becomes the absence

our hindrances are our blessings

only when we use the past tense

from the cradle to grave stone parts

our life goes but down the drain once

even women who made home still are

redeemable as film's pay stubs

from when time becomes the essence

our blessing becomes a hindrance

The Electric Chair

Questionable expressions


Stained mirrors

I sit in my room with music

Deaf to the song of agony

A soft breeze enters windows almost shut

And I am blinded by the wind

My chair is electric

And I am static

The Shepard And The Wolf

Does your flashing life move forward or in reverse when you die?

Time is nonexistent

Catch me in your arms

Oh madness eternal

My name is god

When the knife's edge is dull,

you must push harder

I am as a shepard, or wolf, watches the herd

Where the mountains rise

and the streams bleed and fall

I dance -- motivated by a diamond in the sky

The Sandman

Falling through the sandy dunes of time

I want to fly but I end up wasting time

Hold me if you want half my damage

Let me go if you just can't manage

Some people just weren't meant for living

So this ode to the modern man I'm giving

The hour glass

is blow to bits

I just wish

The sandman would care

Sparkling diamonds in this water

even the pyramids of Egypt fell

Every Mile You Walk

Time slipped on a banana peel

when the skilled archer

missed his mark

a blue thorn

My obsession

constantly killing



Killing it again


on the deserted desert road

where the sun doesn't glow

it beats

Like a drunken father

letting his son learn lessons

from him

by him

My love for you

is probably more than you shall

ever know


you never shall know

that I love you

pocket lint


Sometimes I wonder

if what I'm saying is true

But even the lies lay low

like little leprechauns

hiding their treasure

from the rainbow

I wonder how hungover

God was

when I was made

Because all that I'm looking for

is a tall glass of water

and a never-ending cigarette

and my shoes

and your love

and maybe some painkillers


let's see...

no starting point

fuck haikus

Searching For You

I am powerless

to reposition the East

and the Beast therein

Prodigal son like heir, a kindred kin

I return

from my voyage

a boy of new age


I stand motionless

An end

with no means

All of my names

are monikers


by a brash movement

from a brass age

of trumpets and jazz horns

By any movement

of love to the world

I dream selfishly

of love to the word



of you

enveloped in letters

suspiciously appearing

in evolution

Emotionally maimed

by another's mail

The fee was infinite

Postage stamped returned to sender

Oh deliverer of deliverance

deliver me with drunken scribbles

Gentle are your replies

to my unlawful questions

My right to speech

isn't a first amendment

For it must be first amended

What's Your Name?

Under each dim orange street lamp

stands your silhouette

In every cloud

I see your ears straining...

To hear me say...

To hear me ask...

Everytime I flip open the pages

of any old book

I see your eyes

in the words

watching me fail

So I smoke a cigarette

Give in to death

Nothing seems real

Every girl I see takes your form

I'm going crazy





Every word

I write

disgusts me

Because no words


that I love you

And I don't even know your name

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Poetry of The Addict (Marquis Woolford & Twyll The ChyllTyrant)

Marquis Woolford & Willard Tyler Moulton


The Poetry of The Addict
By Quis Quoch & Twyll The ChyllTyrant

My name is Marquis Woolford and I am an addict.
I wake up thinking about it
and go to sleep dreaming about it.
I am constantly seeking ways to hustle up money to support my habit:
chasing that sweet white rabbit,
... I grab it
whenever I can and try to never let go of it
when I have it.
I am like a ravenous
animal viciously and constantly pursuing it!
This drug has me doing things I never thought I would and loving it!
I've lost love, loved ones: friends and family, my whole world, ALL OF IT,

But I also realize this is a disease: something I was born with!
Something my mother and father had, they passed it--
all my brothers and sisters, even they have it!
I even met my wife, back in college, cause she is also addicted:
we have started a family, and since day one I saw in their eyes, signs of the addiction!
As a matter fact, everywhere I look, I see others with this
fatal affliction,
I see others that are sick:
Because this
HUNGER, this
QUEST, this
guaranteed to leave you DEAD...
You see, I am addicted to LIFE, the sweetest drug there is!!!

Peer Pressure

My name is Willard Moulton and I am an addict’s friend.
I wake up thinking without it,
And go to sleep dreaming about it.
I am peer pressure. Your body has promised me forever.
Only love is in our tears, only drugs we remember.
Pressuring peers. Endless. Every year.
I push it and pull it. In it and out it.
I’ll kill your goodness, invisible bullets.
As well, hell knows no physical bound.
Jumpy as a monkey and as a demon is bloodless.
You will down our friendship to a certain level.
You know me as your worst enemy,
You know me as your devil.
I see you when your sick, and when your family is gone.
I’ll shoot you without even a gun.
Guaranteed to leave you where your dead.
But I’ll be best as your worst friend to the very, very end.


Saturday, September 24, 2011

VaderFang Martial Arts Technique Combo & Kada

3 years American Boxing and Wrestling

2 year brown belt Karate & Kung Fu

practiced in Ninjitsu, Wing Chun, Tai Chi, elements of Ba-Gua

Martial Arts Theory:
to eliminate an opponent from being a threat ever again, by destroying his ability to physically perform the duty of fighting.

this technique is used to divert attention away from yourself to an opponent by use of confusing motions of the extraneous body parts such as fingers, toes, eyes.
facing opponent, right foot forward (off-balance), from most comfortable arm-blocking position, extend right arm outwards quickly towards the harnessed chi in the opponent's body (solar plexus), finger straightened and tensed. with equal speed, change direction of arm movement into, an immediately slow and accelerating to equal speed, swinging motion aimed to the opponents eyes and line of vision to your own face, simultaneous swinging the fingers from tensed to a pointed claw when reaching the line of vision. the space between your fingers should represent the person's mind and fighting ability, so that the fingers resemble as though they were holding a marble between the tips. this setup move is immediately followed with position change and advance into fighting stance with a straight left leg movement forward, with concurrent jabbing left arm.
this technique is not useful unless you have come to a situation in which you will be the initiator of a conflict that involves deciding to then follow with the following three situation-related kadas in order to kill your premeditated single opponent.
if this technique seems ineffective, it is suggested that you subdue the opponent quickly one time, using a left foot advance step into fighting and blocking position, followed by three concurrent landed fast jabs to the nose and mouth area, followed by one of the two following combos.
1) right cross, left hook
2) if wrestling is involved, step right foot forward, advancing to between the opponents feet, dropping down and lunging onto the right knee through the body, while grabbing with your arms around the opponents knees, in a tackle, followed by containing the body and then eliminating the eyes
if the first combo is used concurrently with at least two jabs first, you could easily continue with the three kadas. if the wrestling is involved, it is often easiest to break the arms by twisting them around the body to the back, or snapping the neck by pulling it and twisting the head around sideways.
the three kadas are as follows:
a) for distance advances, a lunge is used, jumping from the front right foot to swing the left foot behind it, into a jumping right footed jumpkick landing as close as possible before the opponents arm-reach. this is followed by a follow-through left foot stomp into the opponents chest, if possible with complete follow-through to a ground chest stomp, but if not, countered immediately with a sideways left hand contact grab on the chest area, followed by right leopard paw to the neck continued into a strangle grab of the esophagus and blood vessels around the lymph nodes.
b) for short, controlled advances, advance from left jab, to another right foot advance while simultaneously side right leopard paw strike to the solar plexus, followed by a continuous motion of the right hand into dragon claw scratch down the belly and belt, followed by upwards nose strike with a right leopard palm.
c) for short, counter-advancements, advance from left jab, to sliding chop down the middle of the collar bone, into a contact grab on the chest, while simultaneously, right foot inner heel stomping on the shin of the opponent, penetrating through both legs and both tripping while right arm uppercutting the chin of the opponent backwards while moving the left arm into a push and landing your right foot. this is followed best with a set of stomps to the opponents head.
the final killing is usually done using the Sticky Fingers technique, in which you wait for an opponents flailing arm to come towards you, and react with a block to the opponents attacking arm's inner side elbow, followed with a push while sliding to the outside (hand-side) elbow, and combining with the other hand strike to the temple, followed by simultaneous arm and head control using wrestling techniques of repelled momentum.


Wednesday, August 24, 2011

3 Poems by a Young Tyrant

I Am Getting High
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

I am slowing down
I am false breath
I am the burning of the heart
I am peaceful rage
I am

Heart Shape
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Why is my heart
in the shape of a bowling ball?

One finger for love
One finger for hate
One finger for direction

heavy stuff

I want to pour cement in my hole

Vanity to spare

Saying PEACE
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

powerless to your inhibitions
inhabiting powerless messages
mental massages

i am bound to what were whims
and to your wars above your womb

as i take my turn to talk
i walk in circles and above hurdles
grasp onto your peer-pressure points

and try to step out of fear dresser joints
popped into and out of place


and all that it means to me
as a crazy cat

Twyll The ChyllTyrant


Friday, August 19, 2011

Review of Cyphertyrant by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Review of “Cyphertyrant” by Twyll The ChyllTyrant
“To believe in your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all”

The genuinely general imminent feeling that a genius has as he reminisces his compilation of accomplishments, is somewhat a forgotten token in today's world where the constant barrage of entertainment and commercial industrial rituals of the working people is as tightly wound around as the gears inside a timepiece. Once over, the true mark of a genius is most often found to be revealed through his remarks of his career, where hypothesis incarnate is harnessed for the pondering contemplation of the common man. When it comes to such brilliant lives that defy recorded history, it is important, also, to recognize the inherent stable-structured combinations and varieties of talent exposed through mind-bending connections to both the input work and life of the individual as well as the futures of its constituent contemporaries in realms of physical attributes and tribulations. The overall effect that the genius has on his peers in his civilized society is the final determining factor.
Twyll The ChyllTyrant, artist extraordinaire, shows all of the affects of a true leader in his portrait of an oral tradition as old as history, with the "Cyphertyrant" collection of self-learned, self-produced rap songs. The leadership shows through in his ability to command every aspect of his product, and carry through a delivery of nonstop intelligent and intriguing concepts through synthesized new-age rhythms that definitely belong in a category never before seen to be this successful.
Although the album maintains a high cadence of staccato style, fast, and heavy vocals, the electronica backdrop is a statement in and of itself. The choruses and hook arrangements are creatively placed within the course of the twenty one song album. They do give the added free spirited boisterousness that melds the verses over the top of each of the chaotic beats. As instrumentals themselves, the selection might show a versatility of its own, although partially uninteresting if without the lyrics. The emcee on the album sounds like a college professor at times, with little to no pausing nor slips. At his best, the rapper-producer-engineer let's go of all unnecessary control and lets the words simply fall right out onto the track in freestyles as epic as they should be for an achievement of equal proportions.
"Cyphertyrant" is a good thing to hear against the multitudes of different styles available in music as a whole, for sure, due to the fact that 90% of the strength of the album is the lyrics, to a point where the catastrophic beat is at full force in a cataclysmic rush of orchestrated symphony.

9.9 / 10

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Thursday, July 28, 2011

UnDead Theory

UnDead Theory

The following essay is an attempt to prove that Zombies age even when they become UnDead. Unlike Vampires, Zombies have been shown in movies that they are able to transform and become a different and independent entity that is grossly disfigured, yet separate from any other UnDead specimen. Consider, also, that Zombies in modern culture are both legends and urban myths, as well as a scientific marvel and quandary, and are often an as well-documented case study, as opposed to the other slew of horror characters prevalent in film history. This may be the cause behind how the creativity of the theories that are implanted within the plot guidelines and characterization of Zombies as themes within the Zombie movie saga, is possibly attributing much to the relatable dilemna of world pandemic and sociopathic behavior. This, while at the same time quite poeticly delving into an exploration into the human subconscious and the inner-workings of instincts and intuition.
The idea of the Zombie originated in Africa, and was held as a tradition in some of the Carribean island cultures, after expansion and trade began to accelerate from out of Western Europe. However, there are many comparisons and analogies one could make from almost every traditional civilization that humanity has enough historic information about. There is also a modern science that has lead to the current theory that Zombies are actually part of a ritual of natives in those areas, where with the use of a special poison, medicine men and doctors are able to give a person the symptoms of complete unconscious, inanimate, death, only to be revived after 24-72 hours of what is really a near-death sleep. Aside from the closeness to realities that the imaginary character of Zombie has invoked and paranoias that are built since the re-establishment of the horror element in George Romero's classic black and white film "Night Of The Living Dead", though, the consistency of a relatable dilemna of a disease that spreads through the UnDead and their insanity-driven crave for flesh, is a well-kept and harnessed approach to the horror genre. Because of this, the attention or focus of the Zombie filmmaking has been on upkeeping a tradition of unique totems that are in minor ways extended throughout the sagas and titles of the UnDead variety. One would consider in this way, how in the popular Zombie versions of "The Return Of The Living Dead" series, how the sealed canisters contain special "pre-aged" Zombies, explained possibly as original specimens made available from certain nations that had the experimental expenditures to create the UnDead within a laboratory setting of some sort. Those remnants of what seem to be at least made at an ancient time, may reveal a lot about why the gases are used to store them, too, however.
Take in contrast "I Am Legend," wherein after a period of time, Zombies that were left without the necessary sustenance from brain matter of living humans, began aging. These Zombies did not age in the normal sense, but developed abnormal deformities that were almost uniform throughout the entire UnDead population. It seems that the aging of the biological human body, after infection, is fought, and warded off by the remaining natural human instincts that are still alive within the specimen's brain long after its initial contact with the contagion in the poison. The virus works off of the subconscious, though, immediately, and most of the survivors of the initial contagion are usually consciously affected within a matter of moments, possibly as fast as fatigue sets in. Many Zombies do not feel natural fatigue at all, and this may be the brain's prolonged submission into the state of UnDead.
My hypothesis is that if UnDead life becomes the sole inhabitant of planet Earth, the planet itself would then transform and become a different type of star. The fictional continuation of the Zombie disease, of course, is complete annihilation and destruction of the universe, but it would probably be so complete of a transformation that the planet Earth would become like an UnDead entity of its own kind, and possibly take course to infect other galaxies with the Zombie disease. This may have been how, as depicted in certain films such as "Evil Dead," there seems to be other dimensions that are filled with UnDead beings that are trying to conquer all of the other realms. If planet Earth does become devoid of human life, in my opinion of the matter, it may be possible or inevitable, that the UnDead beings become one total and pure UnDead existence which controls the universe for eternity.

-Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Memories (poem)

deep glows silence soft, warm, long nights stretch
dim into oblivion
not secrecy, symphony, more sympathy, empty
down a highway shoulder sag, into curling brambles,
misery thickest to the groundside
into fireflies tempting wanderer lost lands beyond
safe citylife
fires hung in the ceiling of the basement, closed eyes

now notice the already known, how to run away
from a first kiss, how to submit to an ancient god
for our own names are being forgotten
where are our personal heroes when we grow up
in a world where legends always have to die for us

this is the quietest type of silence
that i remind myself of as loud motors pass me
in headlights see the headlines in streetnames
and milemarkers in the flashy, fast
anything, everything
the kind of memories they built to
surrender powers
never look into a gutter too far
blinded and restrained, water and dirt retains

ditches are making ghosts, making minds
sanitarium walls so certainly contain souls of humanity
screaming violence in swears beyond
extraordinary vocabularies
trying to cry to death

and will they remember anything besides
the freedom sacrificed for love?

Thursday, June 30, 2011

A Brief Review Of Tyr's Fall by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Tyr's Fall by Twyll The ChyllTyrant isn't without a critic, and if I am considered a potential contender for the most vital speculations on the ground that said title would insinuate it would undertake in hope of upheaval, than consider me the culprit, as well, to a cynical outlook on my own works of fiction at discussion here. This unoriginal content with it's aggressive promotion in a saturated pulp fiction literature genre that has tendency to appeal through certain elements usually too heavyhandedly, seems to succumb to it's own cliche`s perhaps too often. The strength of the theme is needlessly pinpointed on the head of it's at first darkly-described protaganist, as it seems that the scattered appearance of the central character Tank works as an anti-hero to the lead character of Tyr. We have come to expect creativity from a market that this novella seems to obliviously confound, in it's attempt to portray a "war within the mind" of Tank, against a backdrop of nonstop adventure in separate viewpoints, while the absense of presented personality in Tyr does more to cover up lack of intriguing dialogue than is normally comfortable to a casual literature audience. The overconfidence in tackling "classic" literature in modern times, is often irritating and difficult to read. Perhaps it would read better if looked at as a Buddy Action, a quick read, coffee-table market, rather than the Spiritual Fantasy it professes itself as. In all honesty, it does a good job of explaining how to try to make up for intelligence with deepness of it's own variety. As the nearly-forced writing peeters out towards the end and begins switching formats and setting quicker than we can absorb in a single sitting, it begins to sink in that the only real commendable portion of this book is that the total execution seems very well planned. The idea of an original story about ancient Gods is a great accomplishment, and then, that this should be accepted as a good one, although the metaphors are nearly blinding in their blatantness, the overall feel of the challange is afoot throughout the shorter-than-expected read. The illustrations help the feel of the completed project, and some of the poetic intermissions between chapters have a range that is interesting to say the least. The opus that culminates towards the end in all out war, reads like watching someone hopping rocks across a river, as though each chapter serves an intensely rigid and imposed purpose. Nevertheless, the book is a fun, easy, quick read that holds up to it's claims of enormous research in almost all of the known religions, and certainly meets requirements of an accurate interpretation of an age-old theme in many studies.

Tyr's Fall by Twyll The ChyllTyrant


Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Come Clean (poem)

Come Clean
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Sitting here listening to myself complain, again
I can’t think of any other ways how to show how I’m sorry enough
Death is the fastest thing in life besides sleep, but it will end
Money is the shortest legs a man can stand on to get a hold of things so out of touch
Damned if I can see the future, I am, though, looking too close to home
So what I had those school kids fooled running wide circles in a narrow cage
I can’t make dollars with just the five senses I got from my mama, anymore
You know what I mean and that seems something like love at this age
Even to me, to a babydaddy to a few gravesites and gold son of a few guns
My old man couldn’t smoke with me to save a forest or make a target
Smokes were too pivotal, I guess, these days, I really don’t work much
It’s a joke to me and it shouldn’t really be that easy if it’s so hard to get
I gave up way too much, young, to take a bunch of easy shortcuts to happiness
All while I was living blindly the greatest of lives surrounded by lights
I spun that wheel hard, but as long fortune isn’t my favorite tune
Now I can’t wait to pay back the bank what I stole in my human crimes
Life insurances aren’t much but it’s what I got left behind on and foresold
That and these dirty poems, you can all just call them my soul

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Night Walking (poem)

tonight is every changing
screaming cry within my dried eyes
disguised more as mere metaphors
potential paradises
devoted instincts jealous men
haunted on long walking courses
motivated work slights of hands
pounding on the ground forth forces
bounce imperfect repetition
phantom interception frequents
ghosts never possessed possessions
forever fleeing to safeties
memorized yet forgotten lives
latenight thoughts make dark desires
struggle to settle traditions
newer contradicted fires
propel wanton profanities
mundane scraps boasted other arts
down glowing lower empty streets
hard choking or coughing in hearts
exist the same as me in fogs
imagine with no temptations
fortune out gold nor second tries
journey alone although always
home begins beckoning the lost
return pledging leaving tortures
broken promise painful blessings
neverending outside corners
mistaken complex attractions
says restated obvious words
planning planets never by us
give up on yourself next time first

by Twyll The ChyllTyrant (2011)

Saturday, June 04, 2011 is, to start off, and to only scrape the surface, the very ultimate best thing that ever happened to us since the beginning of the Earth. It predates dinosaurs in it's sheer awesome ability to travel at distances between light and sound and move in and out shadows that are created to overthrow themselves against the flickering flames of Satan and Mephistophles in the bowels of Hell stretching to the gates of Heaven. Pure brilliance exudes the personal presence of this impossibly wicked and metamorphosizing oracle of prophetic genius and greatness. You may have read about God in those hallow walled churches. But until you've seen the truth of the Logos, the Emblem of the High Exalted Tyrant, know only that you will never truly understand how it feels to be a human being in today's civilized society. Modern artists and collectors as well as art critics of any and all major or minor magnitudes of importance and imperical incredibility are united in their praise of worship over this website that exists today like a monumental monolith to these fallen armies and industries that stood tall before man and women everywhere. United Nations and Divided Countries have risen righteous and died off desecrated, spoiled and rotted in their dieing bones under an Earth unturned and then turned once more. Here! The tribune shouts! Watch, now, as becomes the devil inside the mind's soul. The truth within the syntax, the magician with the semantics, and another amazing talent of The Crooked Empire. This is's mission in it's unfathomable and bottomless peak of glory.

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Sunday, May 15, 2011

"Gay" Blog

"Gay" Blog

The following blog is an essay that I have chosen to write that I hope will not be taken as offensive to anyone. I am determined to make an honest attempt to write the clearest, most effectively accurate interpretation of my theories pertaining to inequality, drugs, and homosexuality in modern humanity, without apology nor abandon on respectful contemplation of personal lives and consideration of instabilities of actions and thoughts involving feelings within the gay community.
It is certain through my more recent meditations that there is a need to clarify the human condition of "highs" and "lows" and of natural and unnatural self-medications. I have lived a life that has although condemned me, too, has also allowed lessons to be learned and taught be it by inference and observation, scientifically, or educational instruction by trusted sources. I have never totally left my regard for information, but I have always skeptically accepted all evidence that has been approved for my judgment, for I have learned from experience the pain of complete outright rejection and public disapproval, and know the consequences in the human psyche to not withstand the punishment of factual innaccuracy. Therefore, the theories that I present as a heterosexual homosapien, myself, are only opinions of my own one mind, and are independent of reference to outside pressures of influence by other people.
I have determined, for instance, in addition to the ignorance and insanity that is inherent in human mentality, there is also a consistency towards the self-destructive and regressive ego. The "id" of the human spirit is naturally only progressive and positive for the possessor of it's memory in the living spectrum once in a while, in a meanwhile stable and instinctive survival technique system.
The relationship that grows between the ego and the "highs" and "lows" is the center of concentration to many of the decisions we make as adults in society, and is an accelerating factor to the amount of self-destruction that we can incur on our own bodies. The relationship that I am discussing is the relationship that does occur in self-medication, but also in daily life as a whole.
The draw towards the experiences of pain and suffering is the same that would draw one towards new inspiration of knowledge, and a natural guidance by fate through our admittance through universal physics. I, personally, have a belief that the loss of conscious wakefulness in society is a commitment to the inevitable end that awaits us all, and therefore, that the natural high attained by any value of consumption or adherence of process that results in loss of consciousness is a personal admittance to a fate and that at whatever rate the progression takes place, the more that the individual person has invested in itself to the persitent pertinence of existence beyond the physical privelages or responsibilities that it has acquired or inherited in it's living culmination.
I do not personally believe the ideas that coexist with certain lifestyles are generated with exact polarity to the personality, either, for the character of a man or woman is portrayed most efficiently by their objective display, and not their subjective and internal ego. This is the reason why many people in modern times are perceived as crazy, when they are actually only trying to be "normal", while people that exhibit no cultural differences, sometimes are introspectively creating nightmares within their own perception.
In conclusion, the safety of a civilized human being is the most important facet of existence as a part in our society, so the identities that people have upfront to each other is crucial to understand whenever you need to work along, in the aspiration of a higher faith in the future that is fundamental to all time.
Thank you for your time. I do pray that we can continue to work together as a single unit of life better, and that humanity grows to fully accept itself and the infinite everything that is potentially conceivable.

Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Monday, May 02, 2011

Rare Poetry by a young Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Kind Of Blue (original)
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

It's like the world
Wasn't meant for me

The planet
Is blunderstanded

Lightening walking

And every stretch of sea-beaten beach
It strikes
Leaves the glassy remnants
I painfully gaze through
To see you

Every spin of the CD
Is an emotional eternity

At what looks to the naked eye
A thousand spins per minute
I think of myself

As a CD
From DC

Angry politicians
Wave rolled up papers
At one another
While destroying the environment

On a three legged unarmed chair
I try to balance a letter from you
And an orange

Everything tilts to blue

When I'm not with you

To Catch An Angel Falling
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

A featherless angel
Has leapt from faith
A falling sky
Following her life
Calling minds
With a hollowing light

I sturdy my legs
Beneath her
Judging her landing
I attempt to catch
Her eyes
Her lies
I realize
Are all truth

Hidden behind
Scarred shoulder blades
She has lost her knife
And in these colder days
She only weeps

The wind
Carries her tears
As she falls
Leaving a trail
Of veritical hurtful pain
I aim my arms

But at the last moment
She swoops away
Defying gravity
And returns to heaven

I am once again

And without a purpose

Realm Of Thought
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Realm of thought often wanders
Never trusting the ground it walks on
The ice beneath it
The frozen waters it swam through to get out of

Out of mind
Out of time
Out of life
And it rhymes

Numb elbows creak when bent
Strong thumbs show discontent

As a cigarette dangles like a rescue rope
Smoke rising as signals

It's always on the tip of your tongue

The Essence Of Time
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

from when time becomes the essence
to when time becomes the absence
our hindrances are our blessings
only when we use the past tense

from the cradle to grave stone parts
our life goes but down the drain once
even women who made home still are
redeemable as film's pay stubs

from when time becomes the essence
our blessing becomes a hindrance

The Cure
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

It wasn't the winds of Christianity that brought me to this place

But it was the waters of life that I will swim through to safety

Blessed by my own faults
Stressed as I apply the salt

Trusting myself is next to impossible

Hopefully the cure is untainted with the smell of rotting fish

Clock-Wise Evolution
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Facing north
Where the cold winds blow
I face myself
Staring deeply
Into the ocean

Facing east
Where the stars rise
I face myself
Searching intensely
For warmth

Facing south
Where the people dance
I face myself
Looking absorbed
In the quest for wealth

Facing west
Where the sun sets
I face myself
Seeing harmonically
The beauty of freedom

Facing up
Where the souls go
I face myself
Perceiving exclusively
My grave

How I'd Like To Be Right Today (What's Left Of Me)
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Judgment after judgment Passed like a gas station when you need to stop Even the word itself isn't spelled right
I spell out my name In dark red before me As remorse stinks In line with regret Which sinks in My heart
Plausible applause For a man lost in his own Need for perfection
Too many times has the word bitch been thrown around like a towel Cast in Defeat to fear And hiding embarrassment I am seeking forgiveness I know I am wrong And yet I seek beauty This is my deadly flaw My purposeful wrongdoing
Level headed I grip a knife And slit my wrists Because so many times I have dabbled in the idea Babbled on about it in what I call so-called poetry I'm a fucking waste of life and I know it That's what's sad Not the starving babies But the grown man who is full up to his eyes With food for thought And is consumed with thoughts About his own death

My Spirit Hums A Song Just For Me
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

A teflon heart beats For a woman Never introduced Only seen from a distance And the attached lungs Stung with each gasping breath Rung out with the laundry Out for all to see My spirit needs cleaning Just as my eyes seek My ears seek a soul A lonely guitar string is plucked And another one answers And another one so far away And another one answers so far away in my mind Until it's back to that first string But still... Wishing retreat But every path has been followed And no brick road has been found A friend is forgotten He was my own And today is now Just what I am Forgotten Or forgetting slowly Until just a spec remains Spectacular love Escaping my tender needs Although my heart is teflon My love is woven from the softest cotton That streteches and bounces But never makes it out of the drawer Where it lays dormant and bored Boasting of times past I'm often reminded of my evil deeds And regret claws all over Until my eyes water And water falls Like niagara My love needs a caretaker Like my heart needs a bullet But nothing will break But my spirit Tonight.

Am I Eternal Or An Eternalist?
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

salvation salivation
solved only by evolving methods

trust in it like the trust in a bank

a thousand chained masks
calling out I
clawing out eye
and eye

am I as a spoon is to the milk
at the bottom of the cereal bowl?

every morning I mourn
and every evening I even scorn
for not helping
as much as I could, should, would

good god
my left foot is working
while my right foot rests
my right foot works
while my left foot is resting

in the words of Rakim...
in this journey of the journal
I'm the journalist
am I Eternal
or an Eternalist?

Sunday, March 13, 2011


Today's discussion is on boobs. As a male in the human modern society, in America as well as in history around the world among the hierachies of empires and countries, conquered continents worldwide, and even in outer space, it is very crucial to the experience of life to be familiar with the female anatomic body part known popularly as boobs. Despite the normal characterizations and descriptions attributed to the word boob, the concept of the titty is actually a very high society trait, designated specially for the most well adapted and intelligent or powerful and respected members of every community. Boobs, which can often be used as a synonym for an idiot or dumb person, are actually beyond a doubt, the most evolved piece of human genetic structure.
From a young age, the closeness and relation to the mother's breast is a strong one, if not necessity. Located under the collar bones of a female body, the dual protruding bumps on the chests over the upper ribcage, are used as a producer of breastmilk or lactate. This is done in glands under the skin called mammaries. As maturity of the female human continues into puberty, a type of natural growth stimulant known as a hormone is released from inside the breasts in an area that contains lymph nodes, which usually only produce white blood cells to protect against germs and bacteria that invade the human circulatory system. During puberty, hormones called estrogen are released into the bloodstream of the female human who then processes the growth stimulant to produce mammaries and extra collagen inside the boobs. The more estrogen that is produced in the female hormone glands usually can be associated with larger breastsize.
Throughout the history of mankind, which spans hundreds of thousands of years, the human has always understood the relation between the breast of the female and the universal consciousness and relative thoughts shared between any civilization. The first artists began preserving their work of the female breast as early as 15,000 BC, but the bond was probably just as strong during times before even tools and common language. Based on the statistical study that reveals that an average man spends between 2-12 seconds of every daily minute thinking about sex, it is easy to see how strong the correlation actually is. Collagen, which is the main piece of ingredients in the boob, is the same type as the collagen in the lips, which also help to produce speach and show the strength of the human mentality. Women, since the invention of braziers, and during the catalyst of evolved civilization and mainstream media, have also attached special attention to the boobs.
Many men have grown to a fascination of the boobs that border fetish, or sometimes become obsessive. Yet topless beaches are still found worldwide, where the female population is allowed to freely express their individuality and sexuality. The areolia, the focus of media attention to censorship and judgment, the center of the boob, itself, is metaphoric as a center of the human mind's focus. This is emphasized by the controversy that surrounds it, although to a newborn it may be the most important facet of life. Although, it is equally as important to stress that boobs are just as integral a part of modern society as anything else, it is also just as important to apply a certain amount of respect for them that outstands most of the other things, basic as to the survival of the human race to the symbolism of motherhood.
This is my essay about boobs, and I would like to reitterate once again that boobs are a huge thing on most men's minds, almost all the time. There is no doubt that boobs are intricate, delicate, and beautiful parts of the existence of humanity.

Monday, March 07, 2011

"Pi" by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Poet: Willard Tyler Moulton

(part 1)

but every moment

is spontaneous, rampant

because slow motion repents

glass ocean sun dance

or hovering breeze's

refusal to cool

though i can't see you directly

i think of a different spell

of cast incredible, in darkness

and ashes fall

sparks flitter to the sky

attempts to filter part

of a broken word

practically dream-like

a loose idea of when you would emerge

and a definition is decided

like a substitute reality

but execution blinds my intuition

the moon is cold

like our headache

and when i see your blind face

or so i'm told

i can't make my mind

maybe i'll

leave you behind

9 50288

(part 2)

I think it was intuition. It may have been instincts.

I thought it was survival but I knew I was not fit.

I was hungry. And I needed love but I needed MONEY.

I want to become an educator. I wanted to.

They showed me books, and I'd close them with my eyes.

They showed my machines to people, and thought I saw the future.

I didn't. I only held principal my own fear.

I think it was intuition. I wish I'd have just stayed in the dark.

(part 3-4)

Doctor Eisel and Mister Morton are all Dedicated, but who they mistake is Paul. Messiahs don't jump out of paintings. They jump out of walls. A pistol on a wall, however is far less important than the silhouette. The Masquerade of the Games continue to this day. They continue to the silhouette falls and the air is gone. The air will be gone when the sun has fallen. So Paul, by the way, I'm sorry to inform you, that Ant's are under and Elephants foot. Blades are in the Tears of our Heroes. But what does an Elephant always forget? How to be not so afraid of some damn mouse. We'll return here, eight years young. But that will be our spot in Heaven. Hell is where we call our Home. Hello! Hey! Or better yet, what's up?

We thought for a moment, he and I, Paul and I. Paul said to me, Darlin' you're not so bad are you? Well I wolfed up his excuses and said. "You'd have to ask Charles."

So who was I though? I thought and thought. and the world would fall if I gave up. But the world didn't know that I was the Painter's Portal. The paint, we know as a better name. But some think that he is one and not the same. When it comes to a point, however, is not when we love the painter, but the paint and that ain't the saying that you would like to repeat. But I look in the sky sometimes and wonder out loud to the bright side of the moon. But what I can never repeat is what it took lifetimes to defeat. The stars are the angles of how that funny old man up there, fishing pole and all, never sleeps with his eyes closed. They are his angels, and what I know best about angels is how I'd have always liked to be one for my brother. But that is you know, one way to keep things rolling on. One piece at a time, one at a time, to thend and now. We know answers are lost forever, but the question was always what kept that man from getting a name, or woman from getting it right. Well another quote from Paul I'd like to use here is "Maybe we'll all be saved in Graceland". Faith to the future my friend. False as it may seem. Truth to the boy crying wolf, for his face may never be seen. But the boy was not Mr. Eisel for he was the screen. Charles and Morton they just made them scream.

I did nothing behind though, that nothing made them so much more than all full of steam. And that's where I seem. Rather than.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words Young Man.

I forgive you all, Isaaha above and below.

I apologize to the angels.

I give deepest regrets to the fallen souls of Earth and Air and Water.

I, A Brahm of the worlds that we hide, and Greg of the time's collide.

Dear Lord, I got the idea somewhere out there...

Just trust my people to carry the legacy.

The torch will be extinguished.

The Just will be relinquished and the Righteous will be prevalant.

The pregnant moon and loving milk of the sky, so bright they will fall to the Earth before we will choose to not exist ourselves.

3.14159 26535 89793 23846 26433 83279 5

-Twyll The ChyllTyrant
Sol Y Air Be Caedo CE