“Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again - the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world's greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding”
—Saul Williams’ Said the Shotgun to the Head
“Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again - the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world's greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding.”
—Saul Williams ~ “said the shotgun to the head.”“Bruises are beautiful, plums that bloom on the skin. They stretch and yawn, metamorphose between the differing shades of purples, blues, and sometimes yellows. Puffy eyelids hiding ethereal irises, sleeping to the sway of the world, smiling at all the small things. They capture the color of a dark and swollen storm, a scrap of the sky you can cover with your thumb, the size of the moon. Bruises make the best lovers; they rarely lie, they cluster in a vigil of human fragility, they possessively imprint flesh, but they fade. And yet, the flesh will fade too, the vigil will burn out, truths will turn to lies will turn to dust, and bruises never do forget that. It behooves the skin to adhere to fingerprints of black and blue smudges; like snowflakes, no two are the same. A trail of crumbs lead to nowhere, led to sweetness once. A star chart of man-constructed constellations, formations of small-scale nation-states, a lush garden of seeded sadness, the envy and marvel of cuts and scrapes. Internal, introverted bleeding. Passed the past, feathered into skin, bruises are ephemeral love letters from beds, from falling, from trees, from things unknown. Some are un-love letters from ex-lovers outgrown. Stop romanticizing your bruises and smarten up, translate them as lessons learned. The body is beautiful, pain is beautiful. Violence is ugly, but bruises are beautiful.”
— said the noose to the neck
“Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again - the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world’s greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding”
said the shotgun to the head
she had eyes
like two turntables
mix(h)er
in between
my dreams and reality
blend in
ancient themes
the bass is of isis
(basis)
cross-faded to ankh
the beat drops
like a cliff
over looking
my heart
and you
never loved her
for what she
possessed
you powdered
her face
and came
on her
head dress
oil slicked feathers, putrid stenched water bed
“mother nature’s a whore,” said the shotgun to the head.
- Saul Williams
“she kissed
as if she, alone,
could forge
the signature
of the sun
i closed my eyes
although
i never knew
the difference
i stood before
a brighter light
at lesser
distance
and then, a feeling. Almost as if nothing were ever bound to repeat itself again. As if history had been as masterfully created as the great pyramids and any attempt to reconstruct or relive any given moment would have to stem from an understanding of how the pyramids were built from the TOP DOWN.
and if one could understand such majesty one would also understand that kisses hold codes for unlocking new portals and that pyramids were first made of flesh
our bonded souls
shifting through
hidden corrals
and passageways
i will find my way
to eternity
within you”
– Saul Williams, “said the Shotgun to the Head.”
