COLD ..::Exercise::..

I'm watching through these eyes of a stranger, when my turn at the Russian roulette arrives. I've seen through others. Walking and stalking in the desert streets, where nobody is an insider; we all are freaks, mutilated by our self destructing souls deepened into jazz, swords and meditation. We meditate with our peace and carry weighs through unworkable mists, dying at the master's desire. My own law, one is equal to his guts. Into the chamber, the ranger who clutches the broken crystals of the show demonstrates how to use a knife, a religion and a book. Designing corpses of bastards, representing one's self last chapter, the Samurai is the devil and transforms into more and more. Born mentally questioned were no peace can be. Can you be there? And do not mourn, the performance will kill the show. Blood will kill the man, the white man who grieves, ignores thAt The eternity lies there, just behind the last tear. Though the innocent one still believes, the reign of children will be taken away by the diseases and the whisperers of some synthesized religion. Fifty miles away from here, a boy is in his own house's kitchen, cleaning his blood because his father went on the samurai way, the final shoot out shall be some sword duelling right before the dusk, according to the code, this child will be able to vengeance, but before he does that, he must clean his ten year old blood. Trumpets carry the angels creeping and craving for some human love and that is the place for the dogs. Ghosts, spectres, niggers, outcasts. He should be able to step into a dance floor and to slash some stomachs, merciless the snagged man pays up his tax of blood, spilling red in the floor like a milk box in some inexpert hands. No flavour into the queen's desire while we walk into the door. I'm the samurai that keeps changing the shape, the shapeless fame. I've been through childhood, Goddesses and dogs. The chorus goes by, samurai like my dad, and his dad. And their dads backwards until the humankind started. DESCANSO. Even a man can taste his own blood, whenever he does it, he is contacting God's fear. God fears of samurais and of singers, both pierce. Piercing instantly, only a champion is the paper of his hot wife, she pierces too; but God does not fear of woman because they only go in the long merry-go-round of flesh with mortal men. Don't try to test yourself champion, you're the only one as long as you can be ready for the battle in the shadow, only if you are enough focused to move to fast, kill and thrust. Only you can do it and at the end turn on a candle and declare yourself lost into your woman's arms and bosom. She is the winner of each battle, you'll never be a champion. She is the ruler of the sighs of the Samurai; that's why the samurai shouldn't trust anybody but his own master. REST. IN PEACE. PEACE. No place can be at peace if I'm close enough. They can't see the darkness because of me. They believe they are dead because I am light, itself. Not anymore in the air. We will travel by feet, we will be at the utmost point from home. Each step will be a new darkness and each footprint will be a path to a million forests. Where the wind asks the shade and they have the longest dialogue ever had, they should be greeting each other, but by tomorrow everything will be gone in our thoughts. Must flow tonight. And suppose the last days of the world were imagined into someone's mind. A superbly talented mind, yet retarded. So much light and clarity won't be at hand in the next two hundred years. There's a gate for the enlightened, beating at each song beat. Each man should be able to open it just with singing, but nowadays we need, a gun and a soul to accomplish the task. Ground question for the champion: Where were you when the masses laminated your woman? Where was your sword when my voice echoed in your metal palace. She was wounded by my pity. Within the space of seven breaths, she faded and I had the night smelling your dead woman's corpse; your house, impregnated of my reflex ions after raping. Poison and arrow, and my thoughts are more powerful than your helicopters, dynasties, longs banisters and bombs. Assassination and my soul clean. Natural disaster you can call it, but if you lie yourself you will never be able to concile dream in the classical way. Laws, guns, pussies and dogs. Satin offences when you are a samurai. Sat right here. Satellite me, orbit me a little while. Stay there for a while meanwhile I'll lock the door. It's the eternity o'clock. It's me for a while, so enjoy me; now or never. You know what they say, the eternity is just a little instant, a little while. The end is near don't clutch it too much, or it will stab you melodically, now I'm tired and wasted, DANGER! Drop the black bar, so we can go to the nearest bar, 'cause I'm the infatuated samurai. Will the dogs be on the rock and roll. Here we go children, you don't deserve on what man can feast. Hips are moving to take our minds out of the road. Control yourself; you dull bitches are out of control. The body is the mist of God. We are the last dust particles of the Heaven.

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Este ejercicio fué idea de Miles hace mucho, escribir con un disco en los audífonos, de pe a pa. Lo que salga, yo lo he hecho con RZA, la música para Ghost Dog, discazo. . .