“It’s a Beautiful Morning” woke me up.
After playing five times, it was time to get up.

Listening to Madlib, Pre-morning coffee.
Gotta be instrumentals.

Tools for Titans,
That’s what I’m writing.
Use them in your writtens,
It will be so exciting, it’s frightening.

The Brothers Karamazov
Lit Molotov, mazel tof.
I sit in my four cornered room, waiting
for my Zoloft to make my brain soft.

I am squirming in my tethered suit,
I am learning what not to do.
It’s not safe to be you.
The nurses come in
and give me something
100 proof.
The pain goes away.
They pull the tooth.

There are ants on the sidewalk.
They are forming a line
in my direction,
’bout to start an insurrection
in the intersection
of life’s lessons
and slow progressions.

I cheated on a cheetah, and I cheated on my math test,
I needed rest so I layed my head down, on the tool chest,
took the typewriter reel, put it on the floor,
typed with my big toe a letter to my friends,
and a fuck you to my foes.

Both started with a salutation,
I sing songs, my vocals get so high, vibrato and castration.
The society of mind, doesn’t want me no more,
Said, no vacancy, gone fission, they’re on vacation.
I sit waiting for the tone to drop low
the decimals down, I am frustrated, but patient.



Minsky, Mingus,
a little cunning linguist
with the sticky fingas
from cunnigulus.
This is liquid thinking,
stop signs are erasing,
like bullets through Lincoln.
I pound on the pavement.
got a 40 hour.
I am walking
I am walkin’and talkin’
like Christopher Walken.
My biggie smallin’
is spatterin’
all over the wall and
I can catch flies with honey lips
and tongues tied,
swaying hips to the music.
Rhythmic magician,
sitting waiting, thinking like Rodin.
Misfit moving, making a movement
in your soap bucket.
When I’m done, I must be undone,
’cause there is no place to flush it.
Need a faucet to wash it,
run out of my closet
and break the ice
to a lady in the laundromat.
Your delicates are filthy.
They need washing.



Tony Robbins
got nothing on me.
Money master the mind.
I mastered the mind, it made me.
Flee to the bank
with fiscal solvency.
Who likes the Doobie brothers
’cause we got one of them
playing checkers
with Desmond Decker,
waiting for the sun to set
on Lucifer,
who yells at Jupiter
to be more super.
Soup or Sandwich,
avalanche or table dance.
It all is hot
and mayonaisy
if you stay with me Daisy.
Dizzy Gillespie
talked to me and Roy Disney
in my dream,
gave me a little bit
of LSD and gasoline
and I said make me
something pristine,
fit for a princess.
Trees, grow higher,
like Alice,
and I am eating to catch up,
Fungus with Ketchup,
too much comes the furnace.
I burn one and turn one
like my poker guise,
and faded smile.



Clean rhymes, over again.
Till they clean rhymes, over again
till they clean, till they clean.
I can talk about it, I can be about it.
I can talk, and I can sit and listen.
I can fly higher than millions
of turkeys at Thanksgiving.



I have been told,
makes me act like an asshole
but keeps me in focus.
Que Sera, Sera.

The body moves,
twitches after
the bullet exits.
I eat sulfur
and lead for breakfast.
It’s delicious.
It’s like black licorice.
I rotate in hyperspace,
my face sliding all over the place,
like eggs on a plate.
Runny yolks, y’all got jokes,
caffeinated hijinks.
Tolerate the diagnosis
if it keeps me focused.
I could never be a writer,
loose leaf, Chief Keef.
I could never be a fighter.
TKO before I enter the dojo.
Lost my ticket to get in the ring.
So goes the slow mo,
loco, fist in the air,
yelling at clouds.
Fist in the air,
fish in the mouth.
Fishing for the right words to say.
I love you. There is nothing
ever been better than you.
I adore you. I implore you, Princess,
to move steady with lace
into hyperspace, get that egg on your face.
I can see for miles, kaleidoscope
got me spinning in place.
Waste the wasted
and save it for later.
I can’t hate. I am the ultimate hater,
mad mind mental masturbator.
Got my words all over the paper.
Flying from my baby maker.
I come unglued, like Elmer,
hoarse from the hooves,
I inhaled in September,
Earth Wind and Fire
Got me higher than a flat tire
‘Cause Sativa makes
for an interesting story,
when you’re in the pill line.
The nurses are oh so kind.
I speak like Southie
and do pushups on the daily.
Lithium brings you down
to the alley
and sets you up like
Sister Sally.
Brings you down to the area
you were at,
flying over Death Valley.
Brings you down,
so down, Laying on the couch,
down and out in Cincinnati.
Can’t stop me, just contain me.
Give me brain maybe,
I be sleeping like a baby.

Topless, I was in the hospital
something awful.
Ran through the haunted hallways
Like a docile fossil.
I sat Like John Stossel,
waiting for my date in Line.
Next to me
was a Fox News correspondent
In the medicinal line.
Got my PRN
with someone from CNN.
Fake News, they shout.
They shoot them with Thorazine.
The medicinal mad man
got the medicine man,
and the ice-cream man’s confused again.
The one with the lyrical pen,
starts acting stupid and Zen.
the Heartz of Men,
like Tupac said,
go wishy and washy
like a car washy, s
loppy in the lobby.
I sit down with my coffee
Two bullies and a bouncer
want a half an ouncer,
I say I dab in the drops
and dips, but I would rather
be in a cloud
than the morning after.
The pill got me chill
and seeing daffodils,
the slew of caterpillars
climbing in my gills.
Breathing on the beach,
up for air
Got hooked on a line
Now I am dabbing
at football practice.
The fisherman put me in a boat
put me in a cooler.
Wasn’t big enough to cook for dinner,
so I am swimming upstream for the winter.

The fat man grows thinner
with every passing minute.
Popeye ate spinach
now speaks something Finnish.
Dad was good,
but mom was nicer,
I thought as I sat
eating eggs in the diner,
waiting for the waitress
to give me a nooner at niner.
The muscles in my mouth,
more in my smile.
than in my frown.
Eat the steak, on my plate.
Choke it down.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
OD’d on aspirin
so I could play the sad clown,
so I could have something to talk about while
I headed out downtown
to the lost and found.

I was not the ample man
I am today.
I was slender
like a sickening horse, man.
A Viking Norseman, made out of clay.
A guillotine came and ruined my day,
said, Hey, you look like
you need your neck displaced
from therest of your body.
Will that be ok?

I said sure,
what the hell.
Its Jagged Thought Tuesday.
I got nothing else to do today,
so swing away.


Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His third book, Train of Thought 2: Almost Home is available now.