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to thine ownself, be true...a heathens' peace

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Heathenism 101

Posted by Socra Teez on April 27, 2016 at 8:55 AM Comments comments (54)

scripture says the heathen is justified by faith,

so I find no shame in understanding

misunderstanding is a part of the job description,

when leading

a critics greatest weapon,

is ignorance…not being

knowledgeable of

Hebrew concept of know,

is to become one with

if that process has yet to take place

let alone begin

how can one then truthfully criticize?

but then,

we are only hueman


those who know me

those who know me well past the preacher

past the poet…past the professor

past the publisher…past the psychologist

may have a skewed view of actions

not intended for their purpose

and that’s cool

it’s cute how quickly and unconsciously perceived

actions dominate definitions of

right and wrong


I have learned to

accept my heathenism


the shrinkage of my circumference

is honestly greeted with a joy I cannot express in words

not in a manner that can be considered respectful

having been constantly reminded how

powerful my sound is,

I digress

I cannot be completely responsible

for what may be misinterpreted

another’s ignorance is not mine to assign


some truths are hard to deal

some truths are hard to reveal

some truths are filled with pain

but all truths lead to gain

get your mind right

close your eyes

and you may have sight

sound only adds to what you see

so, look for the love

and let all else be


get your life right

and perhaps you will better

sleep at night

you may seek to stop running

full speed down a one-way

the wrong way


false echoes followed by

forewords that fuel fires Faith does not forgive,

feeds me faulty fantasies yet to be fulfilled


I hold onto hope

I hold onto the hope

that my faith in you

will one day in some way

be rewarded


Pink Slip

Posted by Socra Teez on November 26, 2014 at 12:50 AM Comments comments (0)

I’ve got my pen in my right hand

and my pad in the left

“Your services are no longer needed”

is the heading, and at the bottom …

“much success”

I regret to inform you is followed by a blank line,

name insertion,

it’s about that time

You have been given this notice,

because the hour has come to past for you to dip …

beat it, bounce, move on …

You’ve received a pink slip


The first time I had to pull out my pad, it cut me to the core

A friend, well an associate …

someone who decided they didn’t want to be so accommodating anymore

He did some shit I wouldn’t expect from an enemy

Pulled some ‘greater’ than player hatin’ bull,

and thought that I wouldn’t see

Instead of being a man, he acted like a little ole “b”

Did his deed, smiled in my face and

“What up man”

was ALL he had to say to me!

This fool pulled a BITCH move, and I’m supposed to act like we’re still cool?

Ice-T told me a LONG time ago though that

“some of the niggas are bitches too”

I tried to rationalize the shit, but I could find NO valid excuse

It was nothing more than a bitch move that a BITCH used …

And for THAT, I gotta slip you!


With my pen in my right hand

And my pad in the left

“Your services are no longer needed”

is the heading, and at the bottom …

“much success”

I regret to inform you is followed by a blank line,

name insertion,

it’s about that time

You have been given this notice,

because the hour has come to past for you to dip …

beat it, bounce, move on DAWG!!!

You’ve received a pink slip


I aint ever been one to freak behind a love gone bad,

especially when it was behind some GOOD pussy that

a brother never had

It’s not the love lost that gets to me,

that’s ACTUALLY to be expected

But the problem lies with the way WE got to that point,

the shit WE did to neglect it!

Ok … so, say I got beyond her past

After being raped by her cousin at 12, she simply gave UP the ass

By the time she got to me,

I think my number was like 60

I paid it ALL no never mind, because

the girl had STILL been traumatized all this time

In my eyes, she simply needed help and love made me stay

I’d always remind her, her past would never make me walk away

But the problem kicked in when the true lies got serious

From time to time, even her OWN family knew this girl was delirious!

The one that said I raped her was NO fun … and the one that had me beat her in the head with a GUN left me stunned!

One morning, she told me that she loved me right after she blew my brains … and that very damn evening was when the restraining order came and confirmed my worst fear …

THIS bitch is INSANE!

It was NOTHING more than a bitch move that a bitch used …

And for THAT, I gotta slip you


With my pen in my right hand

and my pad in the left

“Your services are no longer needed”

is the heading, and at the bottom …

“much success”

I regret to inform you is followed by a blank line,

name insertion,

It’s about that time

You have been given this notice,

because the hour has come to past for you to dip …

beat it, bounce, move on TRICK!!!

You’ve received a pink slip


Even family can wreck your shit …

A drunk father or a crack head cousin can certainly make life a trip!

I think back to my CD collection valued at five grand EASY

There’s nothing like a sax solo, bass line or smooth piano to please me

From Motley Crue to Mozart, my shit was tight!

I had a song for EVERY occasion, and if it wasn’t on the rack …

it’d be there by the end of the night

One night, 3 boxes of 50 CD’s sprouted wings and took flight …

and since I knew CD’s don’t fly unless you THROW them,

SUMTHIN’ wasn’t right!

THIS funky bastard tried to deny the obvious and play me for a damn fool

Guess he was too fucked up to remember that

I teach teachers how to teach school

I was JUST about to let the shit go & say that is that …

went to the store to purchase some used CD’s,


I asked the manager who sold the CD’s, and we looked at the damn list

Wouldn’t you know … MY CRACK HEAD COUSIN!

Now, I’m REALLY pissed

It was NOTHING more than a bitch move that a bitch used

And for THAT, I gotta slip you!


With my pen in my right hand

and my pad in the left

“Your services are no longer needed”

is the heading, and at the bottom …

“much success”

I regret to inform you is followed by a blank line,

name insertion,

it’s about that time

You have been given this notice,

because the hour has come to past for you to dip …

beat it, bounce, move on CUZ!!!

You’ve received a pink slip

See, it REALLY doesn’t matter WHO it is … NO ONES EXEMPT

From fake ass friends to lucid lovers, to fraudulent family …

ANYONE can get slipped

So, the NEXT TIME you notice a bitch move that a bitch used, and they’re fucking up YOUR world view …

get your pen in your right hand


your pad in your left

and tell them calmly … I GOTTA SLIP YOU!!!


Mistaken Identity

Posted by Socra Teez on January 12, 2014 at 9:20 AM Comments comments (0)

Solitary confinement accented by motions

of silent waves of compromised joy

A dichotomy of confusion placed in a vicarious

position to be isolated in a crowd of torment and pain,

while struck by the notion that nothing is as it seems

How can there be answers, when the questions

have yet to be posed?

What better way to express obscurity, than by

supply minus demand

But there will be a need, right?

Like needing a crowd

Like needing a crew

Like needing someone who needs you

There will be a need, right?

Like needing water

Like needing food

Like needing to be in a mellow mood

There will be a need, right?

Is it a request or a requirement?

Is it a craving or a determent?

Is it a want or a need?

The fine line that separates the two,

borders reality and insanity

Are you experienced enough to know the difference?

The request is something you delight in

The requirement is something necessity

says cannot afford to bend

In spite of those things you would like,

Have you confused simplicities for complexities

just to feel fine?

Have you lost yourself in your needs

to pacify those dirty deeds done dirt cheap

a sometime?

Have you been looking at blue skies with grey tinted shades?

Have you mistaken the clubs in your hidden hands for spades?

Have you longed to sing a song who’s tune you have hummed all night?

Have you been running from a problem that your soul knows just isn’t right?

The plot thickens as the questions are thusly posed,

ad the once naivety of issues is thusly disposed

It is no longer possible to look Ignorance

in the eyes and feel as though you look in a mirror

That strange dichotomy that places you

in vicarious positions due to

Confusion slowly slips away

Aware of your present position,

the acquisition of light makes it possible to see

The dark path you have traveled is a

dead end in a cloudy cave

A natural formation not fit for human habitation

Why are your hats hung here?

Once again,

silent waves of compromised joy flow in from

torrential floods of emotions that make you

wonder why you forced yourself inside

You can no longer hide from Fate

The monumental moment is at hand

to humble yourself and separate

your wants and your needs



Posted by Socra Teez on May 30, 2013 at 7:20 PM Comments comments (0)

I’m telling you…

(she was telling me, really?)


if you believe in the impossible,

how do you allow the tangible

to inhibit the probable?

like reminding me to be religious, although this war is spiritual

if you're calling a spade a spade,

how am I wrong for making mention of the malarkey

Maliciousness made?

soul’s been singed, mind remolded and sanity scolded

perhaps, more offended than anything

nothing never means everything,

till it means sumthing

so, how does one profanely protest an assumption

systematically set in ghost mode to snickerly satisfy

sumone else’s selfish insinuations?

everyone has a story…a soundtrack…a symphony

to say what sumone’s isn’t,

is to assert what yours is

what you give is what you get

how else am eye to respond to blatant disregard and profound disrespect?

my matching the mode met,

is no more wrong than being right in calling a vanity mirror a lie

and why?

like a lost lover looking for an everlasting love,

loose lips precedes an untamed tongue

eyem addicted to understand

craving wisdom in every ignorant act

found that

facts are figures for statistics



like beauty

is employed by the beholder

when working with a bolder brilliance,

minimize the amount of contrast

enhance hue

and let the levels do they do

greatly improving the images intelligence

eye can only imagine the objective usefulness

of tyrannical treachery

the madness stupidity offers, is but a token of immeasurable despair

when demeaning symbols are easily slung to create the greatest amount of destruction,

what compliments care?

Disparity never allows Delirium to travel

alone for too long

so always be prepared for a

foul stench in the air

the strain of misguided persecutions

remove restraints, allowing for the easy extraction of useless sacraments

tell me…

how does one find comfort in confusion?

in a world of popular public opinion polls

prostituted politicians and false positive preachers

what is pleased?

the price of infamy is pain

when heaven is pimped as a consolation prize

long as eye serve as a hypocrite’s assistant

tell me…

how shall eye proceed?

dense hearts numb perspective cognition,

like translucent logic irradiates retention

remorse is all that resides


set aside

eye am rightly left alone

holding my hot cup of

empty apathetic empathy

perhaps eye am a hypocrite’s prodigal son

eye am the patron

saint of uncanny shit

whoa is me



love letters

Posted by Socra Teez on May 30, 2013 at 7:15 PM Comments comments (0)

I received a 'letter of love' from a family member the other day.  To be honest, I never finished reading it all...there was never a need.  I finished a new piece Tuesday, entitled "Laujikwurx".  A rebutle for the "labor of love" had already been prepared prior to being offended...which, by the way never happened.  To be honest, it truly saddened me to know that sumone who had once been a model illustration for what love is, finally expossed their true selves...kewl beans...when love comes attached to constraints that serve only ONE side...then, perhaps we CAN call you selfish!!! ijs

An Artistic Poetry

Posted by Socra Teez on February 22, 2013 at 5:15 AM Comments comments (0)

I remember the moment I wanted to become a writer. I was fifteen years old, and I had just been blown away by “The Ballad of Dorothy Parker”, by Prince. Although I had been a connoisseur of music at an early age (thanks primarily to my father), I had never been so drawn to a song! I was blown away by…and that’s when things got “complicated”. For the first time in my life, my vision of the song extended beyond the mere melody. More than just the words…more than just the music…more than the two working together so perfectly as to paint the picture in your mind with every measure…more than a melody that plays in your mind long after it’s finished, but begins as if there is no end. More than all of this, I began to create an entirely new story!


In the past, I began life ‘in song’ as an “extra”. As the song played, I could see the image, but I was never a part of the story. “Crazy Train” by Ozzie Ozbourne, is a perfect example of my simply standing in the scene. The train was moving, yes, but I wasn’t on the train nor was I ‘in control’ of it. I was an observer of the “main characters”, but I was not the star. However, as I began to grow in music, I graduated to a “stand-in” role. I studied the script and I was “invited” to the story, thus becoming a part of it. As I began to study the purpose of melody to sound equations, pitch to tone theories, and a host of other elements that defines “aesthetically pleasing” in music, I began to elevate my “expectation” of the art. Soon, I accepted the leading role and the main character was me! I became the lonely “Man on the Corner” by Genesis…I was the frustrated guy bangin’ on the drums (although I couldn’t play, nor had a clue Phil Collins was singing a song about divorce) “In the Air” tonight…I was the guy with Lucy & Cynthia Rose having “Starfish & Coffee”. As much as I was the lead character, I was still nothing more than an actor in a script written by someone else.


When the last note to the ballad had been played, seemingly the song didn’t stop. It continued on somewhere in my mind that not only had its own set design, but the characters were already in place! The song extended onward so, that not only was I offered the opportunity to pen the rest of this beautifully un-ending silent film that has a supplied soundtrack, but I was up all flippin’ night from the excitement. A rush had come over me so severe, I literally woke up the next morning like a kid on Christmas morning. A writer was born that night, but it has taken several years for me to even feel comfortable telling people I’m a “writer”. My skills were refined from criticism both in and out of art. My television viewing changed. What used to be greeted with utter disdain suddenly became a welcomed subject (for whatever reason). I took notice to what “appealed” to the senses. I noticed that my objections to previously presented sounds, were then investigated & re-catalogued. What could have been ‘offensive’ to the pallets, were tasted again to ensure “quality assurance”. I examined everything I ingested and graded all that crossed my path. Being the agent of chaos that I am, I questioned others as to why they “accepted” what was being fed to them, regardless the source.


Seemingly, my generation has ushered in an age of media dependency, and the public appeared to me as “zombies” dancing to whatever tune the piper’s were playing. The more I examined the content of the messages being sent through main stream media, my depression grew greater from the impending doom that was soon to appear. When “quality entertainment” is defined by planted ex-convicts who portray role models for separation purposes, drug abusive under-acting individuals who’s lives will never be perfect, and power hungry horemongers who inaccurately define success, it’s a wonder why society has issues defining beauty…it’s a wonder as to why it’s complicated to define beauty in one’s message (art). Art, like life, is not complicated…it is the combination of simplicities working in concert to produce a compelling appeal to the witness of said work. Even the most putrid of products can contain an appealing element that both attracts & entraps a witness. The question that must be answered by onlookers is what is the “separator”? Where is the line drawn, when it comes to whether a work “works” or not?


Plato emphasized proportion, harmony and unity when examining aesthetics. Aristotle exhumed the notions of order, symmetry and definiteness. By definition, aesthetics is pertaining to, involving, or concerned with pure emotion and sensation as opposed to pure intellectuality. So then, art is nothing more than a message from one sender to a receiver that “should” appeal to the senses. Is anyone paying attention to the plural tense in ‘senses’? If there are five (5) senses…if we perceive by way of our senses…our perceptions mold & churn our beliefs…then, would it not make sense to be attentive to ALL the “senses” are processing with any communication, be it art or otherwise? The purpose of any work of art, is to transmit a message. The appeal of that message is largely induced by the level of the witness. What is the message’s meaning? Is the meaning congruent with what the senses perceive? Is that message being conveyed correctly?


There are a number of ‘needs’ that require attention in terms of the message, but the sole heir of the “is the message being properly presented”, rests on the presenter…the artist. What motivates the artist, and is that motivation visibly apparent in the work…or does it linger in the shadows? Is the message’s intent clear? The more elements added to the piece, the more “dimensionality” is added. As in other aspects of life, art is not exempt from the asinine ideology that more is better. Too often, artist (including myself) are guilty of over-indulging in the gluttony of an audience’s accolades, we completely disrespect the craft (whatever craft we partake in). We drag story lines out that should have been cut…we sing too many runs in a too long song…we add too much color to a perfect picture. By adding more than should exist, we destroy the beauty of perfection and reduce & demean the work to a ‘novelty’ item as opposed to a collectible.


If we are to produce a better society, then we should be creating better artist. Along with creating better artist, we should also be demanding of the art we DO ingest! If poetry is an ‘elevated’ form of artistic expression, then there is a charge…a call…a responsibility…to produce work that either questions, answers or possess a quality that contains elements of both as well as entertain. We who would call ourselves “poets” or those who seek to join the ranks of those regarded as poets, are educational entertainers who appeal to those who would hear. We are creative expressionist who paint pictures with our pens and make magic with our words. We are more than mere puppets for claps & finger snaps…we are not rappers. We are defenders of the truth. So, why are SO many of us feeding the foolishness?

eye am

Posted by Socra Teez on February 21, 2013 at 12:35 AM Comments comments (1)

On any given Sunday, the sun can be seen setting in the west

after rising in the east

(a small price to pay for commanding peace)

Brief glimpses of greatness rise from meaningless sex stained sheets

that cover flesh trained briefs

all in search of Solomon’s lost key

Spend every dime

exhaust both energy & time

to force open a third eye

merely but for a five minute dream

And it seems

some still cannot see me

Lite speed is rather fast, so screw it

eye am your epiphany’s fantasy

kiss me on my ego

So serious

Circumsize your mind

eyem a miracle making melody maker

eye can redirect your mind, redefine reality

Take three lefts so eye can right

as eye remix time

A walking contradiction…black man with blue blood who bleeds red

My reflection resembles Pinhead

However, this façade is adequate or so eye’ve heard it said

Hannibal Lecture is a colleague,

so lessers become banana bread biscotti’s for my

Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee with Parisian almond crème & toffee

eye am the double headed demon who saves

Change the game with a wave of my hand who craves

Thus, be it resolved, eye am reality at its finest

Your land is my domain

eye am pharaoh reborn

eye am your highness

eye am the reason non-singing lames are

singing in their works on the first place

If you take a pile of pooh

spray paint it platinum, you will still have nothing more

than a pretty pile of shit...please

Cornbread, Earl, Hi-C & Me

We made sure the scene was supplied banging beats

we wrote the blueprint on

“How To Make Your Poetry Show Hot: Even When the Shit on Your List Is Not”

eye am not that nigga, although eye am the O.N.E.

Hell, eyem the reason why they offer disclaimers at shows son

prick please

nothing more than a flea to me

eye electrify audiences like Blanka baby

act like you know

eyem an uncanny x-man well beyond super,

eyem an extraordinary hero

Call me Mr. Manhattan, because eye can make incredulous things happen

Hey, eyem the reason pussy-hunting pretenders defecting to rapping

they aint got nuts like these

Spend their child’s support change to download a lyricist greatest hits collection on mp3, only to read the biography and discover their favorite artist’s favorite artist is SocraTeez

Eye handle my bitch problem one flee at a time

Wondering if eyem going to get mines, is like tweeting the Brothers Johnson and Jesus to see if the son is going to shine

get the funk outta my face

Eyem so ahead of you hoes, eyem bungee jumping on Jupiter broadcasting live in HD from space

You can still keep up with a sundial, it’s true

a non-commissioned analogue is right once in a while

every dog has its day

eye imagine its only fair that this principle applies to a bitch too

eye am this game and this game is me

eyem so art

eye inhale society’s tells and piss filtered fantasies that echoes a drunk mans cream dreams

eye secrete seduction and feed from Despair in apologetics

eye am poetry, so when eye inhale putrid past lives that amount to humorous lies, eye filter the foolishness and exhale aesthetics

eye am having tea in the Sahara with Peter Parker & Ciara, and they are referring to me as Dr. Stephen Strange

strange...but eye know you see it

eye am life, liberty and the pursuit of freedom

you heard it right, eye am poetry

So, play your position trick and treat the game with a little more respect

You have been begging for the real...

Well, this shit right about as real as it gets

colder than the cum from iceman’s dick, trick, eye may be an ass...never an anus, but bitch eye aint shit to play with

eye”ll make you famous...hello hoe

ask your girl if eyem not her biggest secret

Even when you go hard

she’s still thinking about me

eye am the plumb line, the cleaner and the waiter

if poetry is my Stars Wars, then Luke,

eye am your father

eye am Lord Vader

Both maniac and braniac

beautiful nightmare

king of beast

you are a pussy being fed by a griffin,

if we are what we eat

eye am the trillion dollar O.G.

and are a four dollar jigga

look well beyond the frame

eye know you see it

eye am a North African Albino,

when eye go ape my nigga

eye am nirvana

so, eye am Billy Badass’ superlative figure

King Kong, Mighty Joe Young and Godzilla pay homage to me baby,

because eye go-realla



Posted by Socra Teez on February 20, 2013 at 9:00 PM Comments comments (1)

considering I've have been the hueman disclaimer, this TRULY shouldn't be suprising...but then, ALLOW ME TO RE-INTODUCE MYSELF!!! ;) the CURATOR HAS A HOUSE AND THE HEATHENS HAVE A HOME!!!


for the record, I never professed to be the best. Is what it is, right? Therefore, tap dancing with Destiny does not compute. I have long since understood my purpose. I simply never wanted the wrong conditions to plague my process. Honestly, the closest people to me inaccurately assess me, so being “mislabeled” is nothing new. Hell, I’ve heard some propaganda regarding me that made ME laugh. The objective truth, right? kewl beans


Question…how often does truth mutate in your mind? That it does, is not of concern…repeating “known’s” makes how much sense? For it ‘necessity’ has created a desire in me that has made much sense, but been of little use…until now. God gave me a charge several years ago. I merely asked for the opportunity to select ‘my’ ministry. I wanted to work with those who knew perfection is an aim, not a residual place…not at least where they resided at the moment. Hence, being mislabeled a misunderstood alien has been beautiful.


Being a heathen has been hella kewl. Some beautifully strange learning schemes I could have never dreamed have been bestowed to me, but kewl. A friend described me as a beautiful nightmare. Best description I’ve heard. I am at the center of logic and faith, between pleasure and pain. As no wine appeals to every palate, I have thusly understood my plate…not for everyone’s table. I am...I repeat, I am NOT for everyone! I am, however for those who appreciate and love art as I do. I am a conduit. How God chooses to use me, is an argument to offer to Him…not me. I am a teacher…I am an artist…not particularly sensitive to criticism regarding my work. I didn’t create the characters, I only expose them. Knowing the words serve a much greater purpose than my plan, I don’t get too hung up on idiots these days. Is what it is.


Still, it is rather cumbersome to know that I am the system’s Sigmund…I am the system’s Freud. Argue with the work all you wish, I am still that which is discussed. Not the creator, but an innovator nonetheless. Buddy of mine, Birdwalker, reminded me that my classroom is beyond walls…my classroom is the stage. Since securing a building to train in, I am more confident than ever of our promise. With whatever you do, LET IT BE BEAUTIFUL!!! ARS VITA: Art is Life.


My mother once asked me if I was afraid to speak up for myself. Laughable as I look back, but still asked. Although much of the past has been reanimated by black & white artist in HD, I am not certain three is an adequate number to call dimensions. Perhaps this is the same philosophy promoters employ charging artist to have them entertain themselves. Some things simply don’t add up…never have, never will. BUT I BE DAMN IF YOU’RE GOING TO CHARGE ME TO ENTERTAIN YOU?! I cannot ask “where they do THAT at”, because apparently HOUSTON is the answer! But then, if you regard this craft as a poor man’s sport, then who holds their head high for the championship?


Performance, is much more than being before a few. My assistant and friend, Edith, informed me that perhaps many simply don’t know…don’t hold the new responsible for the ignorance offered…at my hand. Ok…point well taken…it HAS been a minute since “the curator” was on the scene…kewl beans! However, please be patient with me…last time I was to resurface, a super cute kid became the sum…lol…I’m nervous! Even still, I am a vocal technician of sound…I am a master artist, who is an instructor of the arts. From the choir stand to the pulpit, from the boardroom to the stage, I have mastered center stage. I have mastered the microphone.

the horizon

Posted by Socra Teez on February 20, 2013 at 8:00 PM Comments comments (2)

Let’s meet on the horizon of a dream

A dream with

Purple skies and blue mountains

Green seas and yellow trees

Let’s mix up the color of everything,

So we can hide in the beauty of imagination

This is our world,

And it can be as jazzy as we want it to be


Let’s meet on the horizon of a dream

A dream with

Passion as our appetizer


Ecstasy as our entrée

Let’s make desire our destination,

And promise me we will never leave

This is our world,

And it can be as pleasing as we want it to be


Let’s meet on the horizon of a dream

A dream with

A meaningful me


A purposeful you

Let’s define our destiny,

So we can support each other

This is our world, 

And it can be as majestic as we want it to be


Let’s meet on the horizon of a dream

The horizon beckons


Life awaits


A Simple Thought

Posted by Socra Teez on February 20, 2013 at 8:00 PM Comments comments (0)

Struggling to reach my peak, I am afraid of what lies beyond summit. Am I frightened? Am I capable of reaching the unthinkable? Though my arms cannot lift much, they can support my dreams. Although I am not certain about tomorrow, I know if I do not try, I will fail for sure. If I allow others to control my thoughts, I will never know what to think for myself. No goal is unthinkable, because it took a thought to label it unthinkable. All it takes is a thought, followed by a will or desire, and finished with an action. Where will my desire take me? What action will follow my will? I pray that it is the right one!