Thomas Abban

Born of Fire Echo Sinner Irene Death Song

Imaginarium

Joint Noise

Within the wheel I steal a disk, raise the dust, lick the stick and flick the switch. Beneath me clocks tick, waves flip a ship, splashing the wrist holding the [...]

Joint Noise

By Thomas Abban

Within the wheel I steal a disk, raise the dust, lick the stick and flick the switch. Beneath me clocks tick, waves flip a ship, splashing the wrist holding the drink I sip. Beholden to the wooded walk and beholden to the tunnel fly, beholden to the wouldn’t talk, respect an exit and enter I. And despite the choice devoid of noise and poised to void my previous voice. My choice that points to choose to loose the noose rots me still within my joints. The coins I cast defend my ends, from unnatural bends among the consorts in lions dens. And to those trends and those who worship them I write lines in tens with timeless pens.

Tracing Strangeness

Talk, eat, and drink with the ethicist, eat up views that were within you all along, inherent in all humanity. Man creates robot, man touches robot, robot touches man, [...]

Tracing Strangeness

By Thomas Abban

Talk, eat, and drink with the ethicist, eat up views that were within you all along, inherent in all humanity. Man creates robot, man touches robot, robot touches man, robot longs to create. Ricocheting from stolen proverbs and sayings to some half-baked, useless neologism. Revolving around a planet, a stream is touched and the place is tuned-in to the cold colors of strangeness. Fighters struggle against growing pains, growing hairs of individual thoughts, I am the vision itself, I seek fulfillment in the pools of Uranus, 7th planet from the sun, father of Cronus, grandfather of Zeus and Poseidon. Cut and gave life. The truth came with the invention of the drum, the most intelligent, complex, and willful communication device. Witness conversations with the ancients and the divine, tapping into the specific rhythms, the words you can never say, spoken with a hit. Except for chaos, change is welcomed. I traced my mind and found it siting under a fig tree, reading the lines in the bark and writing in the dust. It overlooked a great city and judged it unknowingly based on the sounds it heard. I slotted it, and its learning, back into my head and returned back down.

American Hershey

Exceptional momentary bliss- painted in forgotten tombs, waving like a school child, a child of the wind, a child of terror, because terror is the only trauma. It’s [...]

American Hershey

By Thomas Abban

Exceptional momentary bliss- painted in forgotten tombs, waving like a school child, a child of the wind, a child of terror, because terror is the only trauma. It’s a shame to reveal the work undone by idle hands, in front I stand, badge on my chest, a remembered dream of escaping deadlier men. Unlikely grief gets turned into a lateral left-wise expansion, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about a CGI movie making a cold billion, let’s sing praises and hallelujahs to undercover technology and organic Easter eggs. Let’s talk about how it’s not done, how it’s gum disease that’s really killing Africans and stoping them from smiling. Let’s talk about barrels through holes in walls next to an Indian curtain, next to a picture of a mountain, next to a shopping list stapled to dogs head, eggs milk butter, organic sugar. Let’s talk about children riding a long afternoon to wasted time, death after life gives me more perspective and hope that I’m on a narrower path. Let’s talk about that classic pose when you cup your face for the black and white cover of Time Magazine, society seems a lot more plausible, moods seem more like landmarks, and information seems more dystopian. Let’s talk about class being dismissed, but learning never ending, falsehoods, smacked ambitions, feel safe in your lane, and feel the effects of those American Hershey healing sessions. We are not ready for what comes next. You can’t unearth ancient secrets without a shovel. Training pigs to be proudly reactionary. Let’s talk about sore losers who float on that reaction, are inflated by it, spread it, read it, regurgitate it, shape it, form it. Let’s talk about the winners too, same process, the same outcome, and even the same powers. There are still castles and pirates in 2017, the spirit of adventure either dies or lives, it never sleeps. Let’s talk about shifting maps, and swarms of people, hands raised, with functional legs, and they still don’t move. A steady beat and a slip into water. Let’s talk about the deep bass slide down, stop, slide, stop, slide up, slide up, stop, and repeat. I never have been quite the same for hearing that, for feeling it to, I have always found the best things to pierce the humdrum. Let’s talk about about the evolution of beauty, and how we sit while we know that the wave is on the horizon, getting closer, building speed, gaining size and strength, faint rumblings that will only get louder.

A Dance of Precision

Could they have known before rejecting him in his own tent? Words have life long before they are spoken. The apple existed- it is the thought. Devastation waits moaning like [...]

A Dance of Precision

By Thomas Abban

Could they have known before rejecting him in his own tent? Words have life long before they are spoken. The apple existed- it is the thought. Devastation waits moaning like a beggar- nails stuck in the door- growing slowly into the room which it is kept out of. Always hungry and never satisfied, it lifts it’s gaze and pale face towards any source of light, no matter how small, devouring it, leaving the bones by its underground lake. Distancing myself, I travel to the misconceptions of silence in the face of a question. A questionable answer helps no one, but it is also everything at once. Going. While change exists, the weak have hope, the brutal grow more greedy, and the beautiful become servants. Lowly. The land of milk and honey, the honesty of progression, the municipal takes love seriously. Ocean. A dance of precision can destroy a city. Clapping resonates from the lower chamber, as the bodies move methodically acting out the stages of their creation, Elders look on with inaction disguised as importance.

Sons of Man

Off to the right, I identify with an accented pulse. Increase momentum, I float with a thin, vacillating line. It is comprehendible. I absorb the chaos around my line but [...]

Sons of Man

By Thomas Abban

Off to the right, I identify with an accented pulse. Increase momentum, I float with a thin, vacillating line. It is comprehendible. I absorb the chaos around my line but remain weaving between the holes I navigate. Like rotted stone. Green and dark purple dreamscapes, I walk among the megaliths- the chill of acid wind, and shadows of large creatures in the clouded sky. Primordial tablets lay broken on the highest mountain. A structure of sticks overlooks the red lake. We have been blinded to our origin. Time did not make us forget. I heard the first song conceived by the universe as the acid wind tore through those impossibly high features. Put the thought of remembering to death. The demand for an answer shall come to all. When my solitary journey is done I am pulled back, becoming our first song, crashing into the strange megaliths, placed there by the sons of man. Awake, and bathe in the knowledge which will leave you until your next journey. Ablutions then compliance.

Author Crazy Dead

Deep strangled, contracted and twisted. The tree bowed, the pressure of a hundred years of smaller pressures. The gagged choke of tense muscle, the stifle [...]

Author Crazy Dead

By Thomas Abban

Deep strangled, contracted and twisted. The tree bowed, the pressure of a hundred years of smaller pressures. The gagged choke of tense muscle, the stifled protest of the lack of oxygen. The view moves ant-clockwise around the body, becoming the animation I dreamed you could be- the tendons now apparent to me- I see the outward and inward simultaneously. The prophet sacrificed. The water has been drunk. Roads are mended by the machines which break them. The way of movement is constant, it is by it’s own nature evolving. It is by its own nature confusing. Age unknown. Author crazy, dead, mute, stubborn, and the wrong kind of hermit. The sacrilege is really any refusal to destroy the monuments to the most high. The higher, the lower mankind regards it. The day will come when the sun will part with itself, separating into two bodies of fire over the two greatest of man’s cities, and the child will scream but no safe place will be found for it. Drawing in the dirt, a symbol will appear, and that ground will remain while the two cities sink below the earth.

B Flat Intelligence

Raw intelligence, overlooked by circular systems- a deductive scientific method, conclusions before hypothesis always. My wooden gloved angel, black cape and Nike hat, golden necklace around her toes- memories of [...]

B Flat Intelligence

By Thomas Abban

Raw intelligence, overlooked by circular systems- a deductive scientific method, conclusions before hypothesis always. My wooden gloved angel, black cape and Nike hat, golden necklace around her toes- memories of the old Chinese dynasty. Toppled threaded DNA, the story 1 billion years in the making, woven into bundles on top of my head, hidden only by my intelligence. My Eroica is first draft, and the blood stain is genuine. The metal pencil in my mouth helps me distinguish between vibrations- now my life is filled with low frequencies and b flat.

Molecule Leviathan

The ceramic chant lost in bubbled dirty rouge, I almost stumbled. My sideways head spilling programing from my ear, crushing it all the more between the thorn-hedge in a primordial [...]

Molecule Leviathan

By Thomas Abban

The ceramic chant lost in bubbled dirty rouge, I almost stumbled. My sideways head spilling programing from my ear, crushing it all the more between the thorn-hedge in a primordial garden. Feet pursue in the murk of bad thought and even worse practice. The cuban influence buzzes in my head. Sideways of course. My comfort projected onto me by the scarred sculpture. The ancestor recognizes and approves. Jams with knowledge, grows ancient thought, and cuts with razor. Fire is always the destination, and gives way to darkness even deeper. Marvel at the small molecule as you swallow Leviathan. The early worm catches the nocturnal appetite. Diseased and still makes shells.

Mutant Filter

Thick black, spilled corrugated tubing along textured red- wires and bone fragment like hair and follicle. The human flesh shield devastation- buy bonds, for this is our enemy- spoken and [...]

Mutant Filter

By Thomas Abban

Thick black, spilled corrugated tubing along textured red- wires and bone fragment like hair and follicle. The human flesh shield devastation- buy bonds, for this is our enemy- spoken and accounted for. Wailing siren sits on top of the beat heard after the slit. The abstract circus, the pain felt as I descend into darkening madness. The chair I can’t sit on, the shadow shape of dead trees. The mass wealth and output. The crate drain in my mind, the soul piercing whispering. Untitled abstractions with immaculate concepts. The conception, the pain, the stretch, the life made to make other lives. Dull beat. The mutant representation of sound. Analyzing, I beheld the conjoined image of a reaching black arm tattooed in white scripture, enter my filter. The women at the gate protects my fountain and is dressed in rags- Visions of the future Kings sitting on the upturned thumbs of their Queens. Measure the pit and capture the smoke in a jade bottle. Almighty comes and sets up its kingdom, and neon masks are in the caves surrounding them. The tribal convulsive dance burns the stone and echoes their scream of mutual frustration. Blood knuckled. Fake shield. Buzz. Collapse. Repeat.

Graffiti Feast Hall

The morphing silhouette surrounded by the uninterrupted line of thought. Vengeance for the tribe of Judah. Metamorphosing into the stagnant beat of the pale skin drum. The particle segment, melodic [...]

Graffiti Feast Hall

By Thomas Abban

The morphing silhouette surrounded by the uninterrupted line of thought. Vengeance for the tribe of Judah. Metamorphosing into the stagnant beat of the pale skin drum. The particle segment, melodic and infantile- raising blood to never forget the blood it come from, to steal the blood of others and cause them to forget. Forgetting, why? Introduced to the universe at birth, we are the eyes of it, and the ears, but not the mouth. From the mouth came demons, leaving 30 corpses a night, shadowed by their own embarrassment. Wandering the marshes and wetland wooded glade. Mother is the ocean, father is all flame. The relatives of darkness, the cousin of fame. The graffiti apartment and the raided feast hall, sit atop the bleeding hill, built for the crying sky. Destroyed for protection.

Lyrics

Death Song

Death Song

Women form a line
Burying me deep
Falling two at a time
This my death song
This my death song

Sick in the blood
You open a vein
You fill up a cup
Disease in your brain

Women form a line
Burying me deep
Falling two at a time
This my death song
This my death song

Sick in the blood
You open a vein
You fill up a cup
Disease in your brain
Stuck in the mud
Your strength has been drained
The bed’s covered in blood
The baby’s crying again

Sick in the blood
You open a vein
You fill up a cup
Disease in your brain

Women form a line
Burying me deep
Falling two at a time
This my death song
This my death...

Once I was life’s own son
But now I’m on the run
Now I’m on the run
It feels like I’ve just begun

But now my time is done
I’ve seen all of my suns
Time to touch the chosen ones

This my death song
This my death song
This my death song
This my death song
This my death song

Horizons

Horizons

I see you on the corner near horizons where the night doth lead the day
in a dance of echoes and excursions while both are stripped away
with my thoughts and feelings and the touch of plastic mixed with flesh

But I will sit and deliver but I will not promise you
that I will still be here when the best of times are through
you I’ll be what I want to, maybe you will even like it
t(w)oo 3 4 please remember to come in on my cue

I’m alone we both know that and it shows that I liked to be called out/line
forms with my fingers and explore them as the colors being to shout with
the raindrops exploding on the pavements as children walk on by black
wolves that are howling at the things that keep us up at night

But I will sit and deliver but I will not promise you
that I will still be here when the best of times are through
you I’ll be who I want to, maybe you will even like him
t(w)oo 3 4 please remember to come in on my cue

I see you on the corner near horizons where the night doth lead the day in
a dance of echoes and excursions while both are stripped away
with my thoughts and feelings and the touch of plastic mixed with earth

Lord

Lord

Eclipsed by her tricks he wondered and swooned
And thought fondly back of dead skies and her truths
Where words fell like teardrops unfinished and crude
When lust was it’s loudest when wisdom was mute

Lord, Lord don’t you hear me calling out?
Far ‘cross the sea to my lover who wants me dead

My crazy perspective intrinsic and thin
Then piercing the silence, hollow accordions
That played for the martyrs who were praying for you
They fell in the alleys and in the rose gardens too

Lord, Lord don’t you hear me calling out?
Far ‘cross the sea to my lover who wants me dead
And who wants me there

Sometimes I catch that boy looking at me
He’ll make a fine honest man, just like I used to be
I lean down and tell him that I’ll be home soon
As his mother throws my bags across a red living room

Lord, Lord don’t you hear me calling out?
Far ‘cross the sea to my lover who wants me dead

The thin black madonnas, madams, and maids
A holy reunion of the glamorous and saved
Shacked up with the watchmen in their slick silver caves
Cast a domino of fives on a fresh ace of spades All of us slaves

Lord, Lord don’t you hear me calling out?
Far ‘cross the sea to my lover who wants me
Lord, Lord don’t you hear me calling out?
Far ‘cross the sea to my lover who wants me dead

Who wants me dead
And who wants me there

Symmetry & Black Tar

Symmetry & Black Tar

You were never unseen
And feeling drawn inside
Ooo

I have never adorned freedom
The dead move as much as the alive
I walk among a ruin
Just like these I’ll survive

And I’ll bless you with the fire from a candle
And open your eyes with symmetry and black tar
Symmetry and black tar

And I’ll anoint you with oil of a cedar
And strangle your mind with talismans and fire
And I’ll bless you with the eye of a poem
And give you the tongue of a movement
And craft you the ears of a speaker
Now born to you of symmetry and black tar

Symmetry and black tar
You were never born
You were never born unseen
Symmetry and black
Symmetry and black tar

Sinner

Sinner

In events long past I dwell
Wherever she’d go I’d as well
But apart we did grow, apart we did grow

So baby don’t you come back home
And I’ll stay on my throne
Instead of feeling like a sinner in the arms of an angel

Though our time was short
Memories maintain life of a sort
And reflect all our fears
And infect all our tears

So baby don’t you come back home
And I’ll stay on my throne
Instead of feeling like a sinner in the arms of an angel

The silent girl on the street
Cloaked in flesh and deceit
Gave life with one book
And took like with one look

The men unknown by all
Buried underneath the walls
Of the castles they’ve built
The ruins time has killed

So one day we’ll be under walls
While I’m by nothing called while
You will be uplifted in the arms of the angels

So baby don’t lose your grace
Cause mine has been replaced with
Feeling like a sinner in the arms of an angel

So baby don’t you come back home
And I’ll stay here alone
Instead of feeling like a sinner in the arms of an angel

So baby don’t you come back home
And I’ll stay on my throne
Instead of feeling like a sinner in the arms of an angel

Uh

Uh

Unique tattoo cliché taboo
Don’t refuse to be misused

She’s not the kind of girl you’ll get a vibe from
I’m not the kind of boy you’ll get a light from
And when I’m choosing things I’m abusing
I light it up and do it all the time

We’ll I’m not the kind of boy you figured would be a fighter
I’m not the flickering flame or the spark, I am the lighter
He’s the source
And as I’m biting, the fuse I’m lighting
I’ll burn you up, I do it all the time

And when I’m choosing people I’m using
I tie it down and do it all the way

Fear

Fear

Their love is cold and it’s here to stay
So I sit milking dust and licking shade
Mood tide rippled fast, it’s so cheap to say
So I speak like God’s a mile away
Cause you never want to
And you can’t accept this
That my love is, my love is fear

My speech is cold, words fly and die
So I sit weeping light but never sigh
Plucking thoughts, whipping fists, it’s so cheap to try
So I salute, use the moon, and pretend to cry
Cause you never want it
And you never trust it
That my love is, my love is fear

Her love is bold, it revelates my realm
So I sit, standing quick, till she cuts the film
Black, white, contrast bright, treat these eyes as blind
Let the wind flip the bleach when I’m far behind fear

Don't You Stay The Same

Don't You Stay The Same

He’s underworked
She’s underpaid,
Feel dispossessed,
Feel underdressed for you,

Well it feels like it’s my time
To change and love in kind
So don’t you stay the same

I move like the rain
She ends the same,
I die like men
And she tries like them,

But it feels like it’s my time
To change and love in kind
So don’t you stay the same

I dug my grave
She rolled the stone,
I’ve climbed and dropped
started and stopped,

But it feels like it’s my time
To change and love in kind
Yes it feels like it’s my time
To change and love in kind
So don’t you stay the same

So don’t you stay the same

Echo

Echo

A name is but a sound then an echo, like smoke you leave my mind after the
hello, a name is but a sound then an echo, like smoke you leave my mind

A name is but a sound then an echo, like smoke you leave my mind after the
hello, a name is but a sound then an echo, like smoke you leave my mind

You don’t want no man
I just bought a gun
Time to bite the bullet
Finger’s getting hotter
Soaked in holy water
Just like a woman should

A name is but a sound then an echo, like smoke you leave my mind after the
hello, a name is but a sound then an echo, like smoke you leave my mind

You don’t want no man
I just bought a gun
Time to bite the bullet
Finger’s getting hotter
Soaked in holy water
Just like my mother should
My brand new degree is working terribly
But you are still my trigger

You don’t want no man
I just bought a gun
Time to bite the bullet
Finger’s getting hotter
Soaked in holy water
Just like a woman should
My brand new degree is working terribly
But you are still my trigger

My trigger

Aladdin

Aladdin

My baby looks at me funny when she knows that I stole her money
But she knows her Aladdin is rude and Aladdin needs food so a Sheik’s her next move

La la

White palace scattered with black sons/suns
dancing as one with 6 temple drums
But they know that Aladdin won’t glance and Aladdin’s last chance is to kill their new dance

La la

My baby looks at me funny when the storms rage but I say it’s sunny
But she knows her Aladdin is bad and Aladdin ain’t mad

La la

Let Me Tell you Something

Let Me Tell you Something

She said she woke up smarter than the scientists and the martyrs

I know what you are thinking, but her cup just ain’t worth drinking

I’ve tread all through these mountains, drank gallons from life’s fountains
So Son let me tell you something, pockets aren’t just made for stuffing

You may be strong and violent, you may be weak and silent
But I need to tell you quickly before you learn to miss me
That you may be as poor as me or born a slave not yet free
But Son let me tell you something, nobody dies for nothing

I’ve seen reflections burning in a sea that tide was turning
I’ve stared into eyes of fire, devoid of all desire
Though they may cloud your thinking and poison what you’re drinking
Just remember what I told you about who and what controls you

I’ll see things you will not see, and you will be things I could not be
But Son that ain’t no excuse to not do things you just ain’t used to
My plates are never dirty, that’s the best part of being hungry
Oh gee ain’t life lovely? I like that money rhymes with funny

Black Water

Black Water

Out on my own for the first time, out all alone with you
But you always knew what would happen didn’t you? Didn’t...?

I’ve been down yeh

Well I live by a sugar mill, where the people know me and they know what I’m about
But she lives for the morning light, where the sun doth shine and the night hides
Life’s like a bottle of fine wine, it just gets emptier each day

In the morning when you rise up I will leave you again
I’m going back to drink black water with my father my only friend
I’ve been down

Well my mind’s been in front of me since the day that I knew I remembered all
Razor wit cut intelligence, to express oneself, thou must know thyself
Life’s like a bottle of fine wine, it just gets emptier each day

In the morning when you rise up I will leave you again
I’m going back to break the white bread with my father my only friend
I’ve been down

Well I live by a sugar mill where the people know me and they know what I’m about
But she lives for the morning light where the sun doth shine and the night fades

Time To Think

Time To Think

He’s writing on his cigarette
He will read it when he’s weak
He has more time to think about
All the times he could not speak

The jester used to sing and dance
Now his shoes are curling down
He’s got more time to think about
How quickly he’ll hit the ground

And how could I forget
Your green eyes on the silver screen
I’ve got more time to think about
All the films I have not seen

He’s writing on his cigarette
He will read it when he’s weak

Irene

Irene

Oh Irene I know you’re home, won’t you please come out?
For hours on your cold front lawn, searching for your light

I remember when we ran through a field of roses
But winter time has killed them off and the fields have turned to dust

Oh Irene you took my hand, then you stole my heart
But now you won’t show me your face we’re now before the start

I remember we drove your car, drunk on love and wine
We took the apex way to fast and our bodies flew for a time

When I awoke your head was turned, your body lay next to mine
So I closed my eyes and in my head ran through a field of roses

Oh Irene I know you’re home, won’t you please come out?
For hours on your cold front lawn, searching for your light

Born of Fire

Born of Fire

Born of fire, breath like water, I could never be it all
Soon forgotten, I turn to shadow as bones replace my grief
Seven foregrounds, one condition, by those who knew you when small
Blazing horsemen rip through feelings and I run in the night like some thief

Black will hunt me and white will save me and light shall be my guide
Through endless hallways as many souls linger and fingers poke my mind
Hourglass smashing, times sands crashing, metal fist holds my hair
None continue, but all remember, some forgotten in despair

Shine your features like stars of intrigue, you always were it all
Different context and no response yet your sleeping breath turns my tide
Dig this country and ride its highways, you will never get enough
Watch me shorten this object longways to demonstrate my point

Even temper until you tempt her to kiss the ring to own
She never loved him, she hardly touched him, their lives now blew/blue to bone
Silver meadows, grass blades sharpened, sparkle in the midday sun
Piercing our soles as many holes grow in the feet that tread the earth

Bound for glory, glory’s bound on doomsday, destruction will be the norm
It will come as I’m singing, come as I’m preaching, judgement cloaked in a storm
Judgement cloaked in a storm