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Personal Journals

by Sage Francis

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1.
Crack Pipes 02:21
“To all the people who said I wouldn't last, Don't make me laugh, don't make me laugh!” - Lil Sage I'd give a twenty one gunshot salute With the toy rifle that you bought me but it won't shoot And all is well because there's been one too many shots The sterile robots want to talk to me about detox Stop the presses. There's been an update delivered via a 1:30 AM phone call When an only half-informative source talks discreetly “Meet me at the family room on the side of the Intensive Care Unit” Immediately I carry a tune, but the sirens are so loud I can't hear my music Keep free of negative thoughts. Everything'll be fine we all assumed That it would go back to the way things were. That it would go back to normal soon Saw the moon in a way that I never seen it before when I looked up that night Into the sky, wondering why, looking for answers. Guess I ain't asked right I'm guessing most of y’all out there know exactly what that's like (What that's like) Now tell me, what's that like? It's like a whirlwind of emotions that occurs when moms and dads fight It's like when a girl grins, an emotion of hers that holds your arm and grabs tight Hurl him into the ocean. One of them cold sweat heat-flash types But extreme fluctuations and temperature changes have been known to crack pipes... crack pipes... Crackpipes Meet me halfway and I'll go that extra length just to help your strength Meet me at the AA meeting, needing to take more than 12 steps Bring me to your hiding place so I can face your vice grip I'll chisel every single monkey off of your back with this icepick Come meet up with me on the sidelines when the game is over just to say hello Then afterwards, backstage, to let me know that you enjoyed the show And go to Grandma's house for Sunday dinner. Sit at the head of table Take away the fatal flaw you made the day before I seen you bleed Meet me on Christmas Eve. We can fight but make up before you leave Make visits with the rest of those who rest in pieces of my dreams Meet me at the fork in the road where the lost souls get indecisive Meet me at the crossroads so I can have someone to walk into the light with
2.
Different 03:16
"Nothing at last is sacred! Oh how the great have fallen! What have I done to myself? It's been way too long!" We need to reacquaint. Things are different now, I ain't the same man I was Hi, how are you doing? I'm new and improved with even less to lose A collector's edition version of a virgin-drink ordering cock tale teller Gone way wrong. To the point of no return Over the edge and burned out before I even got my shine Holding my head in pure doubt Out of insight. Out of mindful things to shout or rhyme about Yeah, I know I was supposed to change the world and all Looks like the world got to me first If you can't beat em, join 'em. Then hurt the team by beating yourself I'm different...in a different way The only thing that stays the same is change While people claim their states, I state my claims Sage Francis made a name for himself For the record, my mother calls me Paul Which was my father's middle name, but Ray Stepped in and raised me It's crazy, but this is a game I play called "Shut the Fuck Up" Don't bother calling me at all because I'm not answering Is that a voice-mail-bomb-threat or a broken promise I'm mishandling? Gambling away my money issues. Somebody owes me big bucks My career depends on explosive vacuums sucking me in and blowing me up Poetry struck a nerve in the listenership Spoken word then got 'em all interested Now I don't have to serve ice cream to little kids I get to serve emcees who think they're rippin' it And poets who think they're somehow significant Meanwhile both are loud and ignorant And don't know how to speak to a crowd in an intimate environment I am different...in a different way The only thing that stays the same is change While people claim their states, I state my claims I'm a quiet natured player who outwardly hates the game I shake what I got, which is a jingly pocket Do my mini-market research and make noise for myself when I walk quick I talk with authority while I question it When I ask, "Who am I?" I'm left guessing But if you're a poor man's version of anything it’s your self-perception Growing up in a microscopic town prepared me well for this petri dish Where talk is invisible to the naked eye and they hate the guy they're speaking with I'm a real vegetarian: No chicken, not even fish I'm a real underground rapper: My tape quality sucks, my records are warped, and my CD skips Lady Luck is a greedy bitch with itchy palms and a case of the gimmes But I've got an outie if she's got an innie, I'll clean her pipes and then sweep her chimney The beat that's within me is polyrhythmic. You're only 60 heartbeats per minute A human second-hand-me-down-to-earth-guy who will thriftshop-lift his hip-hop I may be getting too big for my britches but I paid my dues when the cost was climbing And if I burn too many bridges I'll never get off of this awful island As long as I've been rhyming, they only started listening Because for a while they didn't like how I wouldn't smoke the pot that I was pissin' in Plus I had no dead homies to pour out the liquor for. I don't drink. You can flash your shiny objects in front of my eyes and I won't blink I'm motherfucking different Oooohhhh yeeeaaahhhh I'm motherfucking different Oooohhhh yeeeaaahhhh
3.
“Sage Francis. Personal Journalist. 1968 to 2001.” He left with deep breaths in each chest that needs less innovating They're still debating over what rhyme skill is Sick of waiting for time killers to get over there murder raps Then he sold his own shirt off his back for cheap exposure Sought closure but stayed open minded Always seemed to keep composure, peeking over both his eyelids Speaking vulgar in misleading cultures of ultra violence Teaching others how to be more loving with brotherly guidance A bleeding soldier knows the science He does the math quick and writes without having to think twice Without asking for advice. Letting the scalps peel Having brains picked by head lice before the scabs heal His death mask conceals his face paint It feels like a safe place, but it ain't Feels like it safety-seals fate, but it don't He's not a real saint, just another one of those religious political jokes And that's not even half of the nutshell Cats are compelled to crack open and extract his blood cells When he comes back from hell again He'll have a few bones to pick with a fractured skeleton “Sage Francis. Anti-socialite. Secret admirer Student loner. Continental drifter. Professional bootlegger Spin doctor. Self-referentialist. Personal journalist” Word is the worthless wordsmiths we're conversing with impersonal twists Heard they’re concerned with making the Earth shift. These kid games are silly... When all art is signed anonymous He'll turn that big bang theory into a small pop hypothesis “Sage Francis. Death merchant. 1968 to 2001 Devoted son, father to none Husband to something soulless” He didn't spend his life with who he loved The hardest workers in showbiz need no diamond studded glove His time is up. He's still the type poised to make a comeback Kill the white noise until the sun's black Moonwalk around New York City and get murdered by flocks of sheep Who square-dance circles inside a box of beats The California dream sequences end quick Couldn’t find middle ground in little towns on some midwest trip He stood for something. Fell for every trick in the book So he stopped believing in an Avant-Garden of Eden Get off the cross! Of course we need the wood to burn a godless heathen Catch him red handed only if his palms are bleeding “Sage Francis. Non-prophet. Artificially intelligent Avant Guardian angel dust mite. 1968 to 2001. It's been a pleasure. It's been a pleasure.” But get out my weathered face with all that sunshine Get out my weathered face with all that sunshine Get out my weathered face with all that sunshine Get out my weathered face
4.
"I wanna show you something,” she said As if I had built up enough trust in her to the point where she could show me the type of thing that she had to first introduce by saying she wanted to show it to me. Instead of just showing it Like, "Look." And I'm like, "I don't feel like looking." Like the uninterested type. So I say "Aiiiight, show that shiiiiiiit." But with a little more respect and reservation. It was my sister for Christ's sake. So I'm waiting for a follow-up line. There usually always is to statements like "I want to show you something." It kind of runs in the same vein as statements like "You can't tell anyone." And then promises are made. And secrets are kept. I didn't tell anyone about what I seen or heard that day, mums the word still I'm scared to plant ideas into your head while your rebellious side is fertile Hurdles are getting knocked down. I'm running a losing race Your legs aren't the only ones marked up. How many dreams have you chased? If I could have said this to your face maybe you wouldn't have to write like I do Except I use paper instead of my body now. It's something you might want to try too From haikus to horror stories, it's something in our blood that we share Something in our blood that appears on the surface of our skin when we bring it there My facial expression said I didn't care Hate and aggression must've made an impression on the little kid who stared Sitting on stairs when I would bother to bring my skates My feeble attempt at being a strong, big brother doing father figure 8's Ripping my cape on the ground that it dragged on Tripping on fate and hearing the sounds of a sad song Listen, it's great sharing time now that Dad's gone But what's with the choice of words and the body parts you decided to tag them on? I'm a vagabond who moved to modern day Babylon and then back again With minimal contact and you know I can't ask your mom what's happening You've got such beautiful gifts, what are you doing ruining the packaging? How ironic. Come to think, I probably put this ink on my back for him I want you to laugh and sing more You dropped anchor in a place where dreams go to die And you're keeping your ass indoors I'm asking for you to stick it out and see things through You're asking for me to zip my mouth and keep it just between me and you Just between me and you. Between me and you. So that’s what I’m a do. And wait for my cue If I could have been there from the beginning If I could be there right now If I could promise to be there when you need me, would it raise an eyebrow? How would your body be different if I still dropped by for visits? Is it my place to put a smile on your face? Could I erase your body language telling you it’s all been said before? Or change the words you wrote, exchanging your scars for my metaphors? I'd add them to my collection while smiling Next time you want to paint with razor blades and need a canvas, use my skin You're hiding your sins well, but I see the hell that your limbs speak Tongue in cheek. Lying awake in bed while other kids sleep The strength of evil begins to keep your grins weak No matter the length of the needle, marking up one's body is so much more than skin deep Feel the pin prick. The grim reap what they sew and you're trained to say that you're fine Your threshold for pain is greater than mine So I'm waiting in the lines that you give me, patiently While you get cut in the lines that they make you wait in, in ways that they can't see If there's a vacancy, as far as room in your life goes Say it to me. Don't do it with a knife under your clothes Because the anguish of hidden skin is letting my ghosts be shown Plus, the language it’s written in hits especially close to home I'm most alone when I'm out of touch with the people who feel this type of pain You might just aim for a day that it’s raining to strike a vein to take my name in Changing your uniform and altering your mindset Has your pointer finger decided if it was a fault of his or mine yet? I bet I know the dialect. It's nowhere I haven't been before With skin that's sore. Battle scars that rise from our inner war Are decorative medals of honor that our father decided to pass through inheritance And it is repetitive when the kids head in the direction of evidence Proving the pain and hurt is relative All this pain and hurt is relative If I could have been there from the beginning If I could be there right now If I could promise to be there when you need me, would it raise an eyebrow? How would your body be different if I still dropped by for visits? Is it my place to put a smile on your face? Could I erase your body language telling you it’s all been said before? Or change the words you wrote, exchanging your scars for my metaphors? I'd add them to my collection while smiling Next time you want to paint with razor blades and need a canvas, use my skin If I could be there from the beginning If I could be there right now If I could promist to be there when you need me When you need me Give me a shout
5.
Climb Trees 03:53
Sunset and sunrise are my own personal light show Flipping switches, moving from basin bottoms to plateaus The Earth manipulates itself beneath me I stand still. Stagnate. Can't kill this lagged state Life manipulates itself around me, but I'm dead still Upright but dead still Word is still born. I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y'all chill on If the building's boarded up and the children of the corner Liquor Store don't want to kick it no more. Because holes have filled the walls, sneakers are scuffed, and toes have become sore I saw y'all walk from the hood of tough luck If these walls could talk they wouldn't shut the fuck up Jump in your pickup truck, drive from the mountain range Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young and count the change How strange. You think these clouds look lovely? Smoke signals manipulate themselves above me No symbols are below me enough to overlook I know you read my every move, I wrote the book Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. Endlessness is my "to be continued..." Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed Shaking uncontrollably. "How you doing?" "Not bad...how about you?" Brought it right back to me like, "What you been up to?" I don't talk to freaks. I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs I walk the streets. And they don't know that I'm famous in 2000 years So I say shit loud in their ears and I spit a wretched verse in their face Disrespecting their personal space In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed They think they've shut me out, but I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of “O”’s I'd break their windows with a stone that has a note attached That says "I hate Jim Crow, and here's a poem to let you know the haps.” I've got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down Dead to this world. Bury me now. I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come But it’s too late, I've missed my fate. I eff with the deaf, blind, and dumb My father taught me one thing; how to fire a gun I don't bother. This is survival for fun I have become the most sinister sin city slicker Cynical dim-witted trickster Critical shit-grinning hipster Whisper...into my ear hole. Tell me not to be fearful Be careful not to make any...sudden...movements Show me your sole. I like to study shoe prints You've stepped to me before! I can recognize them stubby toes I left them guys with bloody clothes. For a second time. Nobody knows The pain I've seen. Nobody knows the pain I've seen Nobody knows why I've got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed Climb trees. Go out on a limb To find me, forget about him Forget about hymns. What are those psalms that you sing? What are those songs that are in your head echoing? I am not here to make a change I break chains I break dance moves and move strange... Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents With little patience. A pediatrician who hates kids Women's lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs Baby, did you know I love women who hate mankind? I talk about it all the damn time. Keep it comin', ugh! "I haaaaaate mennnnnnnnn.” This conversation is mine. I own all the stock in boring small talk And I've trademarked this facial expression called "gawk." So fuck off. I dis functions. I’m souped by ninjas in hockey fights While discussion groups infringe upon my copyrights “All them bitches want me tonight!” I've been so great and respectful They only get salty when I bend them into the shape of a pretzel I make them flexible when I break their schedule. It only got hard... When I asked 'em politely not to fight me and to give up. God- Damn, this is easier than I thought it would be They'll attend any party and not fight it as long as they're invited cordially Unfortunately, I've only got so many hundred openings But talk to me, I want to take you all under my broken wings Who's the right man for the job? Put up your hands, y'all, because I'm not tall enough to stand up to God Who's the right woman?! Throw up one hand and wave it now I’m taking you down
6.
Broken Wings 03:55
She's a fairy with broken wings I used to watch her perform If she hears me I hope she sings songs That had me going right back Couldn't find anyone in town to talk About how no one like that Should be confined to the ground we walk She glides so much it seems like she floats And these folks decide to crush her wings until they're permanently broke She’d ride gusts of wind just by the way she spoke She cries, but loves to sing songs of freedom and hope On the east side, hustling, discussing things that we quote In shallow conversations as if we have deep throats We choke on our confusion, not sure if it’s a heat stroke Or if we need coats. Trading in our cheap jokes for her C notes I see notes being passed, I ask to see what these creeps wrote To find these silly kids had flying privileges revoked Ski slopes have been blocked off. They can't chance it Had weights tied to her ankles so she most definitely can't skip town She’s held down by the transcripts my hands grip Tried to tie her wings back on before they’re once again clipped Panic stricken. She'll remain stuck On a Titantic sinking. She’s trying to stay up Changed her plan thinking it's OK. See, this is strange but Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves in a way that kept them chained up I'd like to see her take flight into the stars Instead of letting her fly free, they keep her in jars Instead of letting ‘em fly free, they keep 'em in jars I put my hand to the glass so hard it might break the prison bars It isn't hard to see why they keep her captive She’s naturally attractive, speaks with adlibs, she’s uncommonly talented Ain't enough adjectives to do her disposition justice Kids are wishing for just a kiss and it's a mission to touch her lips They can't trust her with freedom of movement. That's a chance to lose her quick If she ups and splits, so you might as well call that discussion quits They have ways to keep her down. The government's underlings Enslave people in this town, especially if their culture's rich Exploiting talents. Making it do a bunch of tricks With the rest of the wingless imports repeatedly told, “You ain't a fairy, you’re just a bitch With a butt that's thick So rub your tits And thrust your hips And suck my dick. And run your shit, and run your shit, and run your shit” She’s a fairy with broken wings I used to go watch her perform And if she hears me I hope she sings songs That had me going right back Couldn't find anyone in town to talk About how no one like that Should be confined to the ground we walk When I was down in New York she'd send me letters and I read her passages About how I left her to the savages No matter how sad that is, I didn't cry Because it was only a matter of time before they’d figure me out and try to strip my pride I knew the scoop. Wish you could've seen the blueprints in my eye When I flew the coop, utilizing overground railroads in the sky It was live or die Let me let you in on the secret of mine Me and you are different, girl We don't even need wings to fly
7.
8.
I am more than two faced. I've got at least six with cheap tricks To hide my not-so-pretty side while accentuating cheeks and lips I use battin' rouge to battle crews who don't like the remix And you just act confused by the way I choose to fuck with a double helix Cuddle with me quick. Get befuddled and sea sick My ugly mug'll be equipped to make it a struggle to see shit The beat kicks. My belly feels empty, I want a person there I'll curse and swear, and act unmother-like until I persevere Haven't been to church in years. Right now that's the setting Couldn't think of a better place to cover my face and have a wedding It's upsetting how plastic my mask is getting, it's melting and releasing toxic fumes Covered by lots of perfume. Never coming out of my closet of costumes Cartoon versions of myself get drawn out and after that occurs Time gets consumed. I'm in the dressing room with the caricatures Until my head is cured I'm heading for pedicures and manicures Man, if you’re not damn sure of whether or not to pop the question I'll let you in on the answer.. Think of sex in a camper... A phony life with a trophy wife, menthol cigarettes, and cancer Smoke and Mirrors So sophisticated So cool I am an illusion specialist turning tricks who could never dis The one the wake up next to even if it's not the one they went to bed with Breakfast at Tiffany's, skip lunch, make sure the dinner table is candle lit I squish my feet until they crunch, but I'm unable to make these sandals fit I can't just sit, I need to move and power walk, because Oprah said it And I won't forget it, she does it during the opening credits. I'm so synthetic I like the smell of coke, get it? I powder my nose Power to hoes who pound on a hose while playing in a pound of snow I'm getting snow plowed, I KNOW! It's time to fuck a guy now I just applied blush and look surprised but it's the way I pluck my eyebrows Time out. I'm in a tanning booth reading Danielle Steel And I'm planting banana peels beneath every damn man's heel Waiting for them to fall for my sad tricks. I stop, drop and kneel With a little touch of magic, I'll let David cop a feel I'm not real, but I've got feelings except in my nipples because of the breast implants To have my chest enhanced. I pant in dresses but never dress in pants A club-hopping strobelight honey addicted to wrinkle cream Sipping on Listerine. Mr. Clean don't like the smell of nicotine Smoke and Mirrors So sophisticated So cool
9.
Message Sent 04:20
I've got some letters inside of my drawer that should have been stamped and delivered One is addressed to my ex. It says, "I'm the type of man who can't be lived with" One is addressed to my friends. It says, "I'm a mess so y'all can't visit" One is addressed to myself, but I don't know which personality or hand to give it I'm a God-damned misfit, mismatched, but never missed much Mr. Right-time-wrong-place with a long face until our lips touch I don't miss the mistrust, it's what got our messages mixed up Before I rip up your letters let us see if I can tear you away from his clutch This stuff's a whole other drawer from a different dresser I'm not ready to address I went to the west to get my mind off things, I'm already depressed I give up, get let down, downplay, play games, put on my game face Face my pharmaceutical needs, feed on my medicine. I don't like the way that it tastes I go place to place without enough money to put a bed under me I share my sleeping space with rodents, insects, and dust bunnies I laugh at the mess I've created for myself until it gets unfunny But I'm content in the fact that they don't expect respect, sex, love, or trust from me When I'm hungry I can taste it I hide in the basement Check up on me every now and then Because my mood swings low I can feel myself going down again Falling off is easy Getting put on takes a bit of ass-kissing I'd rather listen to myself flop on the ground than hear the sound of a mattress spring I rap and sing and talk and write and often type with 2 fingers The "hunt and kill" method I edit one third of a word per second Your emails sit in my unsent box. If you're a girl that I miss You'll eventually get my virtual goodbye kiss The rest are addressed to my friends and the subject line is "Just check this fine bitch" And the one for myself is untitled but...it's the same virus My wrists get slit on your shoulder blades when I lose my grip when I hold your face Let it drip on your golden laced silver slip spilling all over the place I'd lay my jacket over the blood puddle when we go on dates To prove I'm a gentleman, pedaling my bike at a slower pace "The sum of the parts doesn't equal the whole," she states Before my parents get home I'll take time to find the fragments of our relationship Glue back together this broken vase Falling in love is easy Falling out of love takes a bit of practice I'm good at both without even owning a mattress I never asked for a kiss without deserving one If you never saw me cry before Wait for the next time I wake up on the wrong side of the floor I've got some letters inside of my drawer that should have been sent by now Sealed in an envelope One is addressed to my ex and it says that I feel our friendship's a joke One is addressed to my friend and it says his ex-girlfriend's on coke And one is addressed to myself on a personal note Unopened, filled with endless quotes Whenever I spoke, they'd close me in and bust my lip Now I wear parenthesis on my temples, step to the podium and just think Whenever lonely I shrink and hold myself, squeezing tight Before I sprawl out on the hardwood floor and kiss myself to sleep at night I have dreams of flight, but I'm not floating The ground is approaching awfully quick So I wake up screaming for you to catch me That's what I start every day off with I may talk shit but ain't much else to do in this prison cell Lucky for me no one really listens well, especially when I dis myself I'll fly away on a pig when my living hell freezes over And since I'm used to the cold I'll be able to rest my head on Jesus's shoulder Explanations are in order for why these floorboards are always freezing Guess it'll all make sense once we get older and reach the Age of Reason Until then I'll have no reason to sleep in. Not even on weekends Unless we're together because my willpower will probably weaken Deepen my appreciation for the current condition Because I'm sick of always feeling like something is missing I slumber in one position. Crouched up and fetal-like The couch sucks ‘cause my feet are like...given no space to breathe While I embrace my knees It’s off to the floor because I can't sleep nowhere else That's where I write these letters to all of y'all but never send 'em It's better to just keep to myself
10.
“I’m fuckin' doin' it... This song is called Eviction Notice. It's a two-parter It's about how drugs are the gateway to fun and flat laugh lines *Beeeeeeep*” There's effort in her smile and it shouldn't be that way Her last days are being snuffed out in an ashtray, and that's pricey Trying to intercept the passing away, I've asked nicely But I've learned not to feed the hand that bites me This morning the cradle rocks the hand As I bang on pots and pans She's just playing in her warning-labeled box again She wants a man I can look up to. A role model to come through Don't bother unpacking your car- cinogen-filled thrill sticks. This girl will spit fire Got me doing pirouettes over her guilt tripwire I still skip by a land mine or two. See, I've learned the landscape All the while practicing my firm handshake Hair-trigger finger itch to spark any conversation Said explosive personalities don't want deadly confrontation What happens in between her lips She needs a fix more than she knows Her friend's a bitch and needs to go There's a note on the door "Listen, one of us is leaving And when I say ‘us’ I mean YOU... YOU'RE leaving” “You're leaving...” “You're leaving" I'm in the house y'all, I'm in the house y'all And ain't no little piece of paper gonna kick me out y'all! I'm in the house, I'm in the house And ain't no legal separation gonna kick my ass out I'm in the house y'all, I'm in the house y'all And ain't no new boyfriend gonna kick me out, y'all! Fuck that, I'm in the house. I'm in the house Ain't no snot-nosed brat gonna kick my ass out Pick me! Please leave me believe me please leave me believe me please Please leave me believe me please leave me please leave me be “This song is called Eviction Notice. It's a two-parter Basically it's about how sacrifice and vices will invite themselves To an overstayed welcome at your haunted house parties” There's effort in her smile and it shouldn't be like that Her final evenings have her drowning in a nightcap, and that's costly Trying to keep her on the right track, I ask softly But she just says "BACK OFF ME." And I've learned to space her private respect She breathes some room to need and every afternoon proceeds To mix her liquid sitter while preparing baby food to feed She wants a man I can look up to. A mentor. Fuck you. Get your things packed Yes, kids. The poison *is* the message in the bottle Before the dawn she'll have to kill All fetal positions by ingesting a morning-after pill Crawling fast until I get rewarded for how good I've behaved While practicing my goodbye wave Should I stay after planning my escape routes? Shouting out, "Is there a lifeguard in the lighthouse?" To the rescue, bottle mouth-to-mouth between her lips she sips She needs a fix more than she knows. Her friend's a bitch and there's a note on the door
11.
Had I known then what I know now Had I thought now what I knew then.. I might still be human with all the little stupid fix-ins As I fix sins and vixens vick souls Stitch clothes for the characters they play then switch roles Nail me to the cross dress The holy cloth costs less I'd toss less if I still had your soft breasts to rest my head on Since you've been gone I recalled my issues with problems and hate But I can't exactly remember the model or make Now glass bottles break in my death grip I'm about to take the next quick exit and end this head trip My bed is stripped of its blankets, comforters, pillows and sheets But I might have to peel off all my skin to remove your scent in order to sleep I had my highs and lows When on top, I let you peek out over my nose Sitting on my shoulders and I suppose if I had a backbone You might still be here My skin is filthy.. From my lows when you weren't there. But to keep from feeling guilty I collected the dirt. Kept it piling up Now Mr Feel Nothing saves his tears inside of a cup And he drinks. And he forgets that he's an asshole Jealous of his ghosts and doubts that he even has a soul My secret pleasures have my inner demons gossiping I'm a ghostwriter for the horrorcore lyrics that my personal monsters sing I'm sitting in a strangers tub.. With all my clothes on, shivering, considering the dangers of love They get half of what I have to give. If that It's all about the packaging. They're distracted by the gift rap Predictable. Easy to manipulate They're foreshadow puppets and I'm waiting for their strings to break The pillars that once held up my halfway house have been taken out I'm in my last days now. There's a change coming soon I just want to crawl back into my mother's womb I need a comfort zone But obviously I need to find another home To call my own...and always return to And I want it to be you I sit and stare, zone out, think a lot and never sleep Creating memories to remember and then I forget to eat Went to the street you used to live on, staring at the bedroom window of your old home With puppy eyes waiting for God to throw me a bone I'd settle for one more goodbye kiss while I settle for less I'm unsettled at best. Sulking while abandoning settlements Insulting my companions intelligence. Conversing with baby talk Playing with mind games. Rehearsing with playful thought It’s the way we fought that made my blood bubble then turn cold When you made me walk through rain and mud puddles down a dirt road It left me so messy Forget me not. I've got more mud to sling... shot.
12.
Specialist 04:09
The one that I'm with thinks sex is a beautiful thing and that's simply adorable When my time is affordable, dimes pay the price I get abusive and that's the truth It's just a fucking shame this is how I choose to communicate Excuses I produce have their roots in the music I make She's not a fan Nor am I famous I may just change and adjust when I branch out and leave Get off my damn couch and achieve What I dream about, leave my house, hand out my keys To the sleepless beauty who failed math class and can't count her Z's The tree dies She says that she's mine. She's my proprietress I can't hold on to most of what I owned Besides she likes to kiss and that's cute I hug her till I start to hurt her She wants to dance to my pulse, but I've got heart murmurs A shark circles our lifeboat ‘til its fin folds The monster we created might choke in clothes I'm naked walking tight ropes without big toes You couldn't see this with the night-scope if my skin glowed Falling. Calling for a safety net The great white might drain me on my life Bite into my veiny neck where dreams of falling asleep Could dry up once she sees that I bleed off beat Head over heels because she's tripping on her own feet That puzzled look on her face still isn't complete She gives bits and pieces of herself While I'm breaking myself open, I pour my contents onto her shelf Pardon me but is that me wearing my heart out on my sleeve With razor sharp teeth Gnawing at my wrist how beautiful is this? The most beautifullest thing in this world Is making up words when I have none else left to say to a girl Making her curl up in a ball in a corner of my eye Taking a timeout, I don't want her to cry I don't ever want to be considered the sort of guy Who says, "I just might break your face tonight" I spread my love like the legs of a crack whore We sleep together but don't sleep to keep it simple You dance around me like a fire. Blow me away I spread my love like the legs of a crack whore We sleep together but don't sleep to keep it simple You dance around me like a fire blow me out And I’ll send you love poems in the form of smoke signals *cough* Over-average marriage materialist, mister righteous A savage miscarriage of justice. Just us and a dust that never settles I'm rust that spreads on metal to make it weak plus disgustingly ugly. Nobody wants to fuck with or touch me Under-appreciative with a with a hundred weaknesses What do I need to live? The blood I bleed is thicker than the skin I shed people with I beat a fist to the air Pretend to make believe she cares ‘Til I open up old wounds and the usual bruises on my ego appear I'm a low self-esteem engine in need of a whore’s power Out of sleeping powder Dark clouds follow me with heat-seekers. I need a colder shower The showboat won’t expose his open-ended quest Because it won't float if it turns out these are permanent echoes in his chest I think it’s best to turn the reverb down Kill the delay Get me the fuck out of this cave I could paint you pictures all day But I'm not gonna pander to Neanderthals that way Nah. I'm not gonna pander to Neanderthals today The one that I'm with thinks sex is a beautiful thing She thinks I'm something special She's my specialist and more beautiful than sex Because only something like sex could make something so lovely turn ugly and fuck up shit I'm holding a sleepless beauty pageant on my shark-infested waterbed until it's punctured I spread my love, spread my love, spread my love until I pull a muscle Spread my love, spread my love, spread my love until it’s see through Spread my love like the legs of a crack whore We sleep together but don't sleep to keep it simple You dance around me like a fire Blow me away. Blow me away. Blow me away I spread my love like the legs of a crack whore We sleep together but don't sleep to keep it simple You dance around me like a fire Blow me out and I’ll send you love poems in the form of smoke signals
13.
Hopeless 01:08
I played connect the dots with your beauty marks and I ended up with picture perfect sheet music. I read your musical notes with a composer's eyes and heard our song for the first time. My spine is still tingling. Mental images of your fine tune is what I've been nodding my head to lately and every now and then you can catch me humming your nudity under my heavy breath. I heavily suggest you resurrect your ancient, neglected dust-collector if you distrust the dissonance in my seldom plucked heart strings. Sit stripped before your full length mirror. Perform your reflection backwards. Maybe then you’lll understand the rhythm in my movement. Listen when the news is sent. Because it’s then when the rules are bent. I’ll be waiting to take your lead. Make me a victim of your two step. Make me an apprentice of your body parts. Teach me the dance to your beauty marks. I’m stepping on toes here and I don’t care. It’s hopeless. It’s hopelessness. It's hopelessness holding this openness to blow a kiss so close your lips but don't get pissed and throw a fist at this vocalist. I'm not emotionless. In fact I broke my wrist when I wrote the list of all those I miss. This is my poker face. Mr. Feel Nothing
14.
15.
Tonight I'm in the mood for some unscheduled affection Spontaneous combustion. I'm playing with my fire inside Burning my inner-child blackened his skin to the tint of his sweatshirt Hey...when you play with the big boys, you get hurt I used to suck my thumb while rubbing silk blankets across my cheek Until my mom denied me access. I bawled for weeks We don't speak to this day. I came to terms with my fear and loathing Now I wear this clothing like it's an extra layer of old skin Afraid to shed. Tears in the fabric from years that I've had it Found abandoned on the stairs to the attic Collecting runaway skin cells, absorbing memories It's been to hell and back, dragged through the dirt, and even worn by enemies Born in the 70's of the 20th century Making that distinction is for future reference in case y'all remember me And my genesis. What's most important is to remember this Women and men are pissed. When they kiss they exchange spit that is venomous Most of it is affection-less and the effects of this has us quick to clench a fist Don't get fancy with your paintbrush when you reminisce I'm sentimental and I miss what used to be close to me Or maybe I've just got OCD and I can't break my old routines Hopefully I’ll reconcile with my inseparables; what lies inside from head to toes Instead of symbolizing clothes. Identifying with outside symbols Cut out the middle man But my woobie is in demand... I'm feeling like a kid again It protected me from the wind, sea and sand Sanity was saved from the crazy cemetery walks And every awkward moment spent talking with the Boogie Man Man managed unconditional comfort. As I've come to understand... The monsters are under my bed again The monsters are under my bed again
16.
Cup of Tea 02:10
Every midnight we sit at the coffee table and we share a cup of tea He stays up with me and we discuss things Most of the time he just listens Other times offers suggestions or he just ignores my questions It gets more depressing as time passes Every night I ask this one question And all he does is wipe his glasses It's aggravating as hell I'm just waiting to tell whether or not he can even remember the answer Whether or not he's choosing not to tamper with his memory Whether or not he can even fucking remember me What a waste of time But every night it's that same damn routine One green cup of tea and me stuck all by myself once it’s empty And then I'm off to bed with plenty of caffeine to keep me up and thinking The cup I'm drinking from is never clean I can't remember if it's a dream once I awake and I walk From my messy bed and anticipate our next late night talk You don't scare me. Why are you still sitting here. I'm not afraid of you. You are not intimidating. What is it that you want from me? I'm not leaving. I want to stay. I want to stay. Every midnight we sit at the coffee table and we share a cup of tea He stays up with me and we discuss things Most of the time he just listens Other times offers suggestions with his awful expressions Altered reflections. His whole aura is see-through With more confessions. I don't want to leave you This cup should be bottomless. As my insecurities spill I see his face fading away. I surely need a refill I purposely keep still and don't move much Except to wet my lips with sips, with every kiss of death I lose touch I sip the tea carefully because it’s at the degree of separation Tasting the forked tongue in bilingual conversation Waiting for his answer still, and at any given chance I will Sweet and Low my bitter past. Let the cancer kill the small talk Alright man, this bitter taste in my mouth needs to get washed out Ghosts in this house don't have anything timely to talk about The concept is dead. There's nothing death should interrupt I went to bed last night with one sip left in the cup
17.
Rollin' on some lonesome highway east of Omaha You can listen to the engine rollin' out as one long song You can think about the woman Or the whore you mongered the night before Sometimes you can’t hear 'em talk. Other times you can All the same old cliches: "Is that Sage or Xaul Zan?" And you'll always feel outnumbered when you go to the Scribble Jam Uh, ah, uh, uh, ah, uh, ah, uh Say here I am. On the road again Here I am. Up on the stage Here I go. I'm playing a star again Here I go. My Name Is Strange When you walk into the restaurant, strung out from the road You can feel the eyes upon you as you're shaking off the cold You pretend it doesn't bother you when they ask if they can download Uh, ah, uh, uh, ah, uh, ah Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed With the echos from the amplifiers ringing in your head You smoke the day's last emcee, ridiculing what he said Uh, ah, uh, uh, ah, uh, ah, uh Say here I am. On the road again Here I am. Up on the stage Here I go. I'm playing a star again Here I go. My Name Is Strange
18.
Runaways 06:07
It's time to rethink every fact that is imaginable Survival instinct dwells in a past that is inhabitable I happen to pull fast ones over the slow parole board who likes to speak To de-fanged wolves who cry sheep Time seeps into our skin. Age indicates how long we've been lost in space I keep putting expressionless looks on my face An awful waste of human skin who waits for Autumn to begin My fall from grace will do me in. Too late, I'm out of seasoning No spring chicken summer romance novel writer could win a prize That’s nobel. Go to hell in a writing vehicle that ain’t winterized I change my mind more often than my undergarments About abortion and other nonsense I'm an orphan who comes from Providence I am a sign from God. For the parentally misguided and I know My state is not an ocean, not an island, not a road If I don't know where I come from how do I know where to go? It's not where you're from, not where you're at It's where you’re going. And I am going home (And I know...) My state is not an ocean, not an island, not a road If I don't know where I come from how do I know where to go? It's not where you're from, not where you're at It's where you’re going. And I am going home... To the land of the lost souls Feeling a loneliness that really only exists in abandoned foster homes How many images of missing kids can be fit onto a milk carton? Framed. They're starting to look the same Starting to say his name and claim privileges as if they found *him* The strangest little kids surrounding the circle of false friendship Rings of fire. Arms are connected at the elbow Cause their tired moms unexpectedly let go The velcro-like component that keeps their unit cohesive? It's the music. So we give reasons to get sober. Life experiences to hum to These kids play Red Rover, I look for weaknesses to run through With reckless abandon. They're standing. Refuse to go down The pinballs in their machine bounce between abusive homes now If it’s fight or flight they'll just choose to throw down Ain't nothing like beating a dead horse, riding it through a ghost town I move with no sound. I used to think I was invisible Until they stopped me mid-stride and said, "I think I seen a picture of you..." Picture that. I said, "Nah, I just got one of them faces Placed next to an expiration date that changes.” I kind of look familiar. My name is at the tip of your tongue The lost look on my face makes you play dumb Say something colloquial. I need to get my bearings And a feel for where I'm at, but you ain't hearing that. They shout, “Freeze!” I'm a tourist trapped by townies Who put bounties out on me in all surrounding counties Before I bounce I hear them shout, “Can someone help us out, please? We're all alone in the foster home killing ourselves with the house keys.” Not every broken home can come equipped with a fix-it man And it's a smelly mess once the shit hits the fan Kids just stand in their circle jerks with their dicks in the sand Saying "FUCK THE WORLD" because they ain't got no girl. Who do they think I am? Think again. I'm not that quick to plan ahead of time I'm two steps behind their schedule. They pretend to have read my mind I think they just misread the lines in the palm of my hand, because They're random scars caused by slap boxing with landlords I ran with the dogs until I realized they were all mutts Turned bitch once the dog catcher caught up Forced into trucks, boarded up, put to sleep in the pound Being an orphan sucks but I'm done with sneaking around I see my frown posted up on street lights and telephone poles From what they show it seems like I never grow old From what they show it seems like I never go home And that doesn't seem right because they won't let me grow And this is where some go To avoid the sun rays and the noise of subways Emerging introverted, unemployed and unshaved I feel rewarded offering a finder's fee that I know no one will pay And this is where some go To avoid the sun rays and the noise of subways Emerging introverted, unemployed and unshaved I've got multiple personalities and my inner children are runaways

about

Available on CD & vinyl (signed) at store.strangefamousrecords.com/search?q=personal+journals

Originally released in 2002, "Personal Journals" blindsided the music industry with the deeply revealing and confessional lyricism of DIY stalwart Sage Francis. If you ever wondered how Sage became so strange or famous, well... this is the record that started it all.

"Personal Journals turns the self-examination into poetry and then, harder still, turns the poems into great rap. And as dark as he gets, Francis makes sure we have a good time." - Pitchfork Media

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Label: StrangeFamousRecords.com

credits

released April 16, 2002

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