ninenineoneone

eleven,
to the ninth level,
full circle multiplication,
exponential experimental existential just-be-dopeness,
nine times in a row,
all at once,
in an inverted upside-down roman-type numeral cross.
IX x XI, etc.
and then revolving all the way back again to eleven.
9911.
is that numerology?
i'm sure i don't know.
but what i do know is that today's date indicates
a quantifiably copious quotient
of ferocious hot fiery fate-fulfillment.
and that's on both american and european calendars.
nice.
what happens next is anyone's guess,
except that all of it really is.
and it is happening hard.
that's a non-negotiable factor of warrior poetry.
what gets composed today will directly impact
the evolution of each and every subsequent day.
concentric circles, expanding outward, my ninjas,
viewed from the side,
they make a cone.
uh-huh.
and that funnel of freshness
is destined to let the flavor flow down and out
from the fount of foulmouthed feasance.
yuuuuuuuuup.
from my face, for your face.
a steady, consciously unconscionable, streaming, screaming,
torrent of abrasive, invasive, effusive philosophy-
and you mutha-'uckas better get with the stockholm syndrome,
or y'all may not make it to 9-10-11.
that's a thing.
a funnel in reverse is a bugle, b!tches.
remember that.
if you're not feeling the flow,
you're probably blowing it.
c'mon.
*
hot fire?
check.
berserker barbarian battle-beastlinesss?
uh-huh.
hard styles?
exclusively.
i'm presuming and presupposing that today is the day.
again.
a high-water marker for active participants,
measuring merit for worthy due-paying duders an' that.
i guess,
in a way,
i am pillaging and plundering.
the unforgivable thatched roof?
small worlds and suckie personalities.
just be dope, or F* right off.
the scorched-earth policy of wreaking wreck on the
wastrels, whiners, and wallowers is in full effect.
effective immediately.
my workday may be a predetermined composition
of weak-sauce wallflowers, waterbabies,
and less-than-ten-state travellers.
but if so?
i guess i'm gettin' rad nine times over,
and taking it to eleven as an instructional example.
you guessed it, neighbors.
scalding skaldic stanzas on victorious viking virtue,
excruciating excoriation for all the other other ones,
and expert extrapolative variations on the current coded codex
of our own transliterative lexicon.
and just so we're all clear:
any haters on THAT hot fire can definitely suckle my clankers.
daaaaaaaaaaamn.
*
the full moon pull is really something this time around, kids.
the late-summer wolfen beast times are here.
longer and stronger than usual, it would seem.
and earlier, too.
too bad for all the sheepish suckholes,
because the wolf in wool stockings is on the prowl.
seriously.
today is the day,
and i'm spitting hot fire until it's over;
never quiet, never soft.....