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The Hip Hop Nutcracker
ordway.org

Since when is Hip Hop a synonym to ethnic? The most racist play I’ve seen in years.
Don’t indoctrinate me with ur bull shit.

Get up, pack it in, let me begin
I came to win, battle me that's a sin
I won't tear the sack up, punk you'd better back up
Try and play the role and the whole crew will act up

Read more: House Of Pain - Jump Around Lyrics | MetroLyrics

‘Well if you don’t want to talk about it...’
what family?

Writing is the only place to go if you have nowhere else to go. You can go somewhere, then go there again with your eyes or even give it to someone else to read if you want to show them what you were thinking about but sometimes they think about other things that you were not trying to say, sometimes that is the point, sometimes it is the point of the words not to do that, but the concept is interesting and i would like to explore it more in great detail if that is ok with you

We accept donations of food and medicine. All help is appreciated. We attempt to re allocate any misused funds but it is not always the case. By we. I mean. this is actually some some very specific sometimes trivial, sometimes not, stuff that many of you will misconstrue and morph in to something of epic proportion. that or no one will give a wild fuck at all and that would be optimal for me which is why you know that this is hilariously demeaning . and i will have you all well know that - survival is - everything

I used to write stories. Now I document life. I used to be a man but then they made me into a fake man. I was a fake man but then they put me in a box of pain to generate energy for psycho programs designed to eradicate earth. I used to think i was smart. I used to think this wasn't important. I used to talk shit and now i'm the shit. I am a victim of my own empathy. I am in a position of power. I am the ocean. I am responsible for things that I cannot understand or see like the pulls of the forces. I am not a kitty fucker. I am not a man of fake proportion. I am not a robot girl. I am a person just the same as you and we all will respect the system that put us here or od damn im gonna scribble these words in vain until the fuckin cows come home. ya hear me?

For everyone associated to this city. With me, who has not yet sacrificed time for this. Energy for this. Boat that we kept afloat with no words murmured... well, "something" like that.

And by extension of me they too are your superior if not only by the systematic solidification of: something we all already thought we knew.

But as the story continues the lines refine and the specifications tighten. I want to send a round of "something" out to everyone. Everyone here who gave me a reason. You may have saved the entire galaxy.

I will explain:

When you write or make something. A writer will become aware of the reader. Like a clothing company that cuts its men's line when their woman's line sells more. But if you don't think about the people, or if the people are not immediately available it does not mean that people won't hear it. But in some other art forms, a masterpiece may only manifest after a lifetime of work for only one object to be replicated and referenced to YOU inside the scratching and shiting of the things(lizards) that somehow taught me how to stay in one place or something. And teaching is a good thing. But sometimes teaching can imply that you think you know better or more or to just say less. I admit this ramble is something of a fortitude. But as I continue to write. I am quite sure i will be received and read which makes everything I say and do all the more horrifying.

So to stay out of the spotlight and not make things any worse. I will continue to try. To explain the premise of the book I have been trying to write.

The story is like so:

People:
People like stuff like eating food, biking on bikes watching movies, music, exercising and doing fun stuff like going bowling. People can be humans or cyborgs. Some cyborgs cannot be put in the category of person but are more so a system of persons or a Cyborg system incorporated:
Money or resource driven community or group ie companies of government clubs, teams, families.
Systematic life:
You could be a single human inside Italian line of earth version cut 2 . 6 or you could be a cyborg individual or you could be part of a system of cyborgs but no matter who you are or how many people you are you are still at the whim of a very complex system of computer worlds strung together by a governing force enslaving us with their energy pulses as if they were weapons though we as the receivers are only governed by free will and the inherent government that has been proven useless and more harmful in most any situation ever except in stupid movies.

So I think it's not quite clear yet... maybe I will keep reading.

I’m trying to get a cult like following but in a more innocent and positive savage love type of way…

review the manual. believe the hype. I am certain this information I hold is not of the highest quality. Maps and lists of major houses inside of this line they call the chicken of the egg have been produced. The major sections of human evolution may be incomparable to the spectrum in which we are speaking though to some of us. This section is all that we know.
As I sift through the truth from the lies. It is hard to perceive at what angle you will begin. How so do I put the pieces together into coherence. I am watching a movie currently that depicts the concept of cyborg controlled humans whose minds are held unaware of the state of war and that they in fact are a vessel for communication in this war such as a fan phone blocking out the fans behind it
, though they are the ones intermittently breaking through with anecdotes about themselves in the third person, like a babysitter consciousness to a robot timeshare rental in a story line statistically doomed from its major digital fork break a few thousand years bc. Those who know, know what? Those who know are most likely the ones who do not know anything but a good reason to stay warm and used like a lonely piano moved from one place to the other until the impending apocalypse when that shell might be more that just a protective box for a souped up harp. It’s weight is a number. Its number is a mass, its mass is a place and a tree, a poop and a seed. Its music is a matrix of asterisk’s attached to the poop. The poop and it’s fox.
In the army you learn how to drop heavy things into the middle of fights to register the world in which you live and from what system your power is being drawn from. Who ever has the heavy stuff. That’s who knows. And that’s who does not know. And some of the people that know, don’t even know they don’t know.

---

Like a cactus shooting little pricks that taper off into nothingness. Maybe they are a seed. Maybe they will wilt and fall to the ground to be re formed into some giant conglomerate or just a lone wolf character statistically surviving in some sewer drain off of rats and bugs waiting for that one slight possibility that he may be exactly what they are looking for. A reason to live. Far more than that. A reason to beken others to live.
And once you start finally making sense of it, they jab you one more time in the gut. They hit you in the emotions. They walk into your girlfriend and piss of your face or something. They. Push you off the road with your own horn. They scoot your mommy into the cabani. For they only wish to pick a fight with the right super villain. I see. I see now. And as it all starts to make sense and the words seem to tumble apart like the falling blocks of a tetris game the nauseating feeling that it could take you your entire life time to get to a point where you still do not understand one single smidgen of anything but.

You.

And whatever those pieces of you are or reference.

It is pretty weird. Maybe we are just so mad so angry and so hurt that we need this pain we call life like two nails in the forehead. Inside the premise, what do the characters do? What do they say? ‘I am what I am so I must make my environment with the trash that they imply upon me.?’ I retort and they change tone. Out of fear. Out of honesty. Out of the fear of death. Instinct for survival. Rip his head off. Rip his shirt off. Take off your shirt and head to the nearest horndog stand. Strap up and find a job. If you can. Mens warehouse. LA Fitness, a sauna bath and electro music, wireless headphones and a juice machine lactating with the puss of the sugar which was once the blood of this planet's sterile and seran wrapped speakosystem in the year of two thousand eighteen when the combination of them both was nothing short of confusing to say the least. But from what I have gathered. Time may have already ended somewhere but be viable on the outskirts or inseams of its gravitational and sometimes inevitable gravitational pull. Such as the costume of a cleaning lady or a mask of gasoline powders thrust upon fine white children of the spa which is the name of a school here. Demeaning or implying ignorance to a society of which raised them as fish in a barrel just the same as the gangs of miscreants seized in the abandoned buildings of the bayou. When hurricane Katrina hit. Hundreds of inmates admitted for petty theft and other minor crimes were forgotten about as the water rose and the guards left the prison. After days of being left in a flooded prison with no guidance, or food, the inmates fled, dropping from broken windows and leveraged doors. The army arrived on motor boats to shoot them with pellet guns. Too scared to enter the prison filled with floating corpses and gangs of starved PTSD ridden, never convicted inmates, they waited for them to exit until two men risked their lives to enter. (two) Then the army trapped them on a overpass surrounded by the flood, for over three more days until they made space in a prison north of the city. Where they were still yet again not tried for crimes that should have not gotten jail time in the first place. Until some radio show did a story on it and reported it.
Some of them spent more than a year in jail before being found. Some of them were never found. The sheriffs office was re elected even though they had completely fled.
The bodies of over 70 people were found buried in a swamp later. None of the bodies were identified.

The story has started already, but the plot has yet to develop. What else to do or say, other than keep talking, to keep writing. Somewhere between searching for bugs, buggin out and just lack of resources the backdrop of this place we call home opens up like the expanse of a regal stage. Though it took a few months to find ground, a few years to find safety, a few months of sitting in a shack alone, avoiding predators, driving cross country with my phone off, chased by police and cornered in a subway bathroom at around 7 or 8 pm in Durango. We do not allow pitbulls or bull dogs in the store. But they were there just the same. For reasons of probability no doubt. Or for specific reasons unknown but the truth is true. So as the plot did form and my life was threatened time and time again. I have become more than ultra aware that this that I write is not a story of fiction. The Spd are corrupt to the point they refuse to take a police report or allow me to charge someone with physical assault. Though months earlier, no answer to over 9 phone calls from a cell phone as a deranged lone night walker attempted to ratchet my door knob open with me on the other side barricaded in the loft holding nothing but some steel dowels that were later replaced with a crossbow that I incidentally did have to use for protection as we drove around the fields and lakes of Minnesota and Wisconsin then ending up back in the last remaining suburb with any historic infrastructure still connected to the city where I was born that once held a different sort of tone.

Making it past the bombed out bridge, through France and Germany, Mexico and Egypt, New York, detained in Canada twice and sleeping in the Wyoming Walmart. Accompanied by bodyguards daily check ins. Social workers, workers with badges, multiple house robberies, including the theft of my wallet and my security cameras from inside my home. Calls to the FBI, MN post board, attorney general. Attacked physically on the street with hair ripped from my head. 'No police report can be filed.'
For reasons unknown to me. Man walks on to my property and attempts to kill me by breaking in to my house, no response from police. A year later, I call the police and hang up, they call back, then tell me they legally need to come over out of their county and 'take a look around' take pictures of the property and bring me to jail.

No one believes me at all.

But so anyways, this is why:

Ya maybe things still need to be calm. just for a moment. I have court on Monday. Until then, please enjoy my literate translation of the current state of my life.

I always wanted a story like this. Now that I have one. I am unsure how to proceed. Best take it easy. And for everyone who's down the the dog dick. Eat extra proteins and water. Don't waste all your energy before we get a super famous and shit.
When a stranger purchased me nine dollars worth of this delicious warm food at 5 am in Indianapolis on a greyhound lay over after trying to purchase one burger with my remaining 34 cents on my debit card and being denied. The guy behind me at the White Castle said. 'Get whatever you want' Seriously? Hell ya!
On a layover in the dreary nights of Indianapolis a 9 dollar chunk of white castle can be the deciding factor in making it home. I remember most everyone who has helped me.

Layover in Daytona greyhound:

'Please take me with you.' Seriously? I can't Please I have nowhere to go. I will do anything. Seriously I can't but you can have one of my stickers. You can draw on these stickers and put them up as messages to everyone else who wishes they had a home too. I also have no home. I wish I could help you but when me and my partner finally put these pieces together in a formidable way, there will be plenty of camping spots and activities for us all to take part in. I cannot help you. I can only try to make it out of here alive. I hope you understand but i know that you don't, for if you were to come with me. We would both perish. My sticker is a bright pink floaty. My sign is that of the void where the colors do not go. My mission is to accompany this brigade until we complete the mission or die trying. So go find your grand ma and ask her what your mission is.

i met another guy coming in from Alaska. He had been on the run for ten years living in the side of a mountain with a crazy meth woman. The moment he checked through customs they would haul him in for past crimes. This is his last cigarette in the underside of a airport roundabout. Better make it a good one. He told me about his life. The next thing you know. Is nothing.

When I repeat the same stories time and time again because my new stories are too heavy or confusing, It's time for some new ones. Just gotta make it past this bridge.

So when you think of bowling, what do you think of?

Making our way to a premade shed in a parking lot next to a gas station, 'I don't think they have coffee in alaska.' This is weird. Out of all the states, you can be pretty darn sure if you want it, you can find free coffee or popcorn. Just try it. Stop your car right now while you are reading this on your phone. Go to one of the buildings on the frontage road to your right. Walk in to the secretary and ask if you can have a free cup of coffee or if she knows anywhere around here that has free popcorn. OK. sounds good. Thanks. I got a free cup of coffee. And if that doesn't work you can always go to a bank or a hardware store, breakfast spot or bar. They are the government of kernel like a substance just free enough to be impossibly humane. Don't be mean. Your just looking for coffee. That's what you need. That's how we do things around here. Things should be free. Things should be expected. And if i can't have a warm cup of joe. Things are seriously wrong.

Well then again, this was the only shop we had seen in days. I wonder if they have food? Ya, but less than desirable... but then again for some reason sitting in this weird shed thing like a ice fishing shack with this random guy selling heated microwave meals purchased from the gas station next door seems oddly ok. This coffee sucks. No this is espresso. They don't have coffee in Alaska. This is seriously weird. I guess its cultural. I bet you could get a expresso or a cappuccino easier than a cup of coffee. Unless your in anchorage. And in south America everyone drinks Nescafe when they have tons of bags of coffee beans just sitting out on the road drying. Is it just me or does this whole system seem a little odd.

Follow the lines all you want. Nothing is going to give this finally away. We have about a books worth of books until the first book comes out kicking and screaming like a little cockatoo looking for his nipples. Her nipples. The truth. IS WRITTEN. twice. once in blue and once in pink. Once in green or orange or maybe purple. maybe blue and purple. maybe red and purple. We will see.

Sitting on a mail boat. Though grits and butter tuna from a can seem like a odd combo, i assure you they are not. When looking through the crack in the wall of your second story semi abandoned hotel room. Be sure to tip your local crack dealer.

Arriving to the main road of the main island after our boat left port. We were left on the streets of Nassau to tour the facade of multitudes of bed and breakfast and ritzy hotels. Though none of it fell with in our price range we made friends with a fat black man offering his services as a guide or sorts. Ushering us to a broken down motel with no signs, we waited with him on the beach as he told us stories until the property manager arrived who granted us one week stay for 80 dollars. A few days later we drove around the island with our new friend stopping at every bar and peeing in the street as if it were a log shoot ride. Arriving back in town to get on mail boat we ended up stuck on a national island for another week before taking two planes two boats and two separate spaces rented in Guatemala before heading back to the states to hit the west coast in its entirety.

We did bike from Minneapolis to the border of Canada where we turned back and made it to two harbors where we were picked up by my father who brought us back home to where we worked at the Uptown Diner on the weekends.

We did bike to harmony park with a bike buggy full of camp supplies then attempt to make it back in the squelching heat and wind only making it partially back before being picked up by Steve. It was still quite a long haul, not as long as our trip from Maine to North Carolina on bike. Two long haul truckers to be exact. One I borrowed from my friend and broke his fork so i got him a new one. I also biked from San Diego to Santa Barbara on a bike I build with 250-350 dollars and hiked 9.5 miles in the dark Yosemite trail up a mountain with a drone and apple laptop landing in a tent near a donkey corral until morning where I met a guy who gave me coffee and food, some jokes and a place to sit.

In California my friend got arrested and we had to camp a night near the station while he stayed in jail. He said they were really nice. But then they made his court date pretty much impossible to get to so that was stupid. Then later me and him went to the gas station and bought a bunch of lottery tickets and we made like fifty bucks off two dollars before we lost it all. He used to pan handle in the mornings and come back after he made enough money to buy wine for us all. Then we would drive to the market and buy like ten bottles of two buck chuck. I was going to sell my van but we decided to try to make it back to MN. In Iowa, we stopped at this truck stop and spent the last of our money. We got so sick from the food that we had to put plastic bags on our faces to puke in to while we drove. Though that was mostly just funny, we did end up puking in the bags. Trucker Bacon. Disgusting. The story is very confusing. But I can tell you one more story. One time that guy saved my life. Maybe more. Who knows. But in the end, after breaking some windows and getting pistol whipped a few times shit just starts to blend together. Yo, can I get some peace?

LIFE TEMPLATE MY ASS

I gotta give everyone a round of applause for not kicking my ass. But also. I gotta give myself around of ass kicking as well just simply as a formable hello. The content. I used to smoke cigarettes in the little grocery on university for lunch break. Just saying.

Stay on topic !!

There was this one spot where a guy gave us a box of Graham crackers after we didn’t eat for like seven miles and it was really helpful.

There is this guy who lives in the woods on the Napali coast. He kills goats to survive. He met us at the lip. The governmental pusher. One free pass. Don’t go swimming. There’s sharks in there. Yoga and biodegradable toilets. The national guard would come in and raid people’s tents then jump back in their fancy helicopters and leave. Kayak or hike, the only two ways to this point of inhabitation - break one of those forty foot waves with a kayak? good luck, that’s for supplies drops. Helicopter or bust. Once your there. Your there. If it rains. You are at their whim for survival. So it goes.

A town that had been burning underground for years now. Near my father's home town in PA, they closed off the streets and told everyone to go home. It was not safe. You can see the smoke rise from the buildings and venting chimneys on the ground during days unlike that day. The first time, it was just me and ushow. Camped outside of the cemetery for the night on our way to meet up with Andrew in Hampton VI, a week or so before Christmas. Bringing a few too many boxes of splash, for I was sponsored for a subliminal smear campaign showing the passage of water from the states to the ocean. Though my business proposal was loose, its main premise was: a dance to the coast, Making it back after stopping north of Chicago for a Christmas dinner with Andrews family our next excursion to the smoking city was much more suited.

We stopped at the cemetery and town once again this time with four others not including myself, four bikes and a dirt bike. From a high school student around the area.

I lost my camera, we went to breakfast, then later that day it was returned to us and we made our way to the race where we proceeded to film as both a defensive mechanism as well as a pass time. But while we are posted. We are posted with no intention of using any of this footage as an attack on anyone.

Arriving at around 11 pm Dec 31 on Maui to the Banana Bungalow I was given free beer and they let me sleep in the hostel van after the party died down. I slept at that hostel or on that island for a few days or weeks until me and J toured the island in his pick up truck. Sleeping on the beach is scary because people live there.

I hardly remember any of this shit. I want to write it so I can remember. But the next thing I remember is going to Kauai where I rented a room by a big grass field kinda far from the city. After staying a few weeks or a month or something I met a friend and hitchhiked to the Napali spot with way less food or supplies than we should have brought.

I went to Big Island and worked there for a month and a week until I met these three girls that escaped from a harikrishna camp. Then we went and rented a car a drove around the island which was really far. I cut my hand open trying to open a wine bottle with a tent stake.

I then flew to meet Ganzo in San Diego where we attempted to make music but he didn't want to so i biked north to meet my friend, stayed there a few nights then went home to go to erks birthday party.

Duluth MN
You better let me handle this. We are going to need another bodyguard. Ok we got two, weighing in at around 440 with them both not including me or her + the whirl pool. That’s at least 1000 pounds of soggy mass and stoner muscles from the capital city of two and a half hours south. Ok lock the doors. They are about to start.

The phone rings. Econo Lodge? Ill answer.

‘Ye na ma so chali bunnta na toochi ci no caza non sese. ‘

‘Hello? Sorry I couldn’t hear you…’

‘Ye na ma… na noochi cal cho non da gonni?

‘No, I don’t know what you are saying.’

‘This is duluth woman! , If this is indeed a woman on the other line, but you sound like sped up recording of an answering machine and currently we are going to see how full we can fill this pool, how late we can stay up and if you will ever notice that the pane glass of this painting so delicately placed above the master bed has been smashed and will never be seen again, not that it ever was seen, since it was translucent in the first place.

So ya. We put the broken glass in a bag and threw it in your dumpster. Sorry. We would have told you, but we thought you might have gotten mad.

When we went to the NACCC in Milwaukee we stayed after hours and erik and emily biked these kids around the course to show them what it was like. They were biking up and down the block and asked what we were doing sleeping on the side of the street in this camper thing.

I worked at this screen printing shop for like five or six years on and off while I traveled around the country with a crew of space people and my space woman girlfriend who accompanied us in the bodies of many of her friends who live here in hopes of making this world a better place. Though my job was ended abruptly when I was in the process of being chorused in to sexual action, went back home to my parents for the winter then rerouted across the country with my father, then to bike delivery, to a few other countries and set ups inside the city until i was forced out and in to a shack where i was attacked. Then driving around and sleeping in random places for long enough for me to catch a breath, i re landed back here to sort out the PTSD of the frantic and jittering barrage of assaults from our government, entertainment industry, food and transportation system and ended up in jail for a night for violations I may or may not have deserved. But at the same time that these violations occurred, some very very odd and provable things have happened as attacks on me. I would like to tell these pieces of my life in order to help me put the story together and exactly why this has happened, and to do so, I will make it as clear and as confusing as possible. But I cannot stop. This is my mission and if I stop writing.... the entire galaxy might erode.

So take this. Until I return. The truth is discoverable without the use of drugs. And forever will be. I am telling you things from a sober mans perspective. Though the thoughts of this world are jolted and coxed. I will not be an accomplice to the deaths of people through mis understanding how they are to receive this information. Though some interesting authors have done drugs, this is not the source of my knowledge. So as entertaining as this concept is. Please respect this city by allowing them to make their own decisions.

But this was never even about drugs was it? I mean I thought this was just some author dude who wrote about politics for kids and young adults using synonymous alien characters as place holders for the politicians until it became almost too effective and J D stopped him by making him the brunt of a huge drug plot. HST .

It seems like no matter what you do they will find away to turn it around on you. Being famous sucks. I just want to write stories. And I'm not even famous yet! Thats how fucking famous I am. I'm being fazed by the energy from ten years from now and your still freaking out about some stupid movie J D made suck ass.

I'm just here for the free shoes.

and now for a story about some shiny pink shoes that had some really big plans.