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AAron Roz May 2018
Music is loud or quiet.
Music is soft or heavy.
Music can have meaning or not.
Music can be nothing or everything.
Music is:
◾Art Punk
◾Alternative Rock
◾College Rock
◾Crossover Thrash (thx Kevin G)
◾Crust Punk (thx Haug)
◾Experimental Rock
◾Folk Punk
◾Goth / Gothic Rock
◾Grunge
◾******* Punk
◾Hard Rock
◾Indie Rock
◾Lo-fi (hat tip to Ben Vee Bedlamite)
◾New Wave
◾Progressive Rock
◾Punk
◾Shoegaze (with thx to Jackie Herrera)
◾Steampunk (with thx to Christopher Schaeffer)

•Anime
•Blues ◾Acoustic Blues
◾Chicago Blues
◾Classic Blues
◾Contemporary Blues
◾Country Blues
◾Delta Blues
◾Electric Blues
◾Ragtime Blues (cheers GFS)

•Children’s Music ◾Lullabies
◾Sing-Along
◾Stories

•Classical ◾Avant-Garde
◾Baroque
◾Chamber Music
◾Chant
◾Choral
◾Classical Crossover
◾Contemporary Classical (thx Julien Palliere)
◾Early Music
◾Expressionist (thx Mr. Palliere)
◾High Classical
◾Impressionist
◾Medieval
◾Minimalism
◾Modern Composition
◾Opera
◾Orchestral
◾Renaissance
◾Romantic (early period)
◾Romantic (later period)
◾Wedding Music

•Comedy ◾Novelty
◾Standup Comedy
◾Vaudeville (cheers Ben Vee Bedlamite)

•Commercial (thank you Sheldon Reynolds) ◾Jingles
◾TV Themes

•Country ◾Alternative Country
◾Americana
◾Bluegrass
◾Contemporary Bluegrass
◾Contemporary Country
◾Country Gospel
◾Country Pop (thanks Sarah Johnson)
◾***** Tonk
◾Outlaw Country
◾Traditional Bluegrass
◾Traditional Country
◾Urban Cowboy

•Dance (EDM – Electronic Dance Music – see Electronic below – with thx to Eric Shaffer-Whiting & Drew :-)) ◾Club / Club Dance (thx Luke Allfree)
◾Breakcore
◾Breakbeat / Breakstep
◾Brostep (cheers Tom Berckley)
◾Chillstep (thx Matt)
◾Deep House (cheers Venus Pang)
◾Dubstep
◾Electro House (thx Luke Allfree)
◾Electroswing
◾Exercise
◾Future Garage (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Garage
◾Glitch Hop (cheers Tom Berckley)
◾Glitch Pop (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Grime (thx Ran’dom Haug / Matthew H)
◾*******
◾Hard Dance
◾Hi-NRG / Eurodance
◾Horrorcore (thx Matt)
◾House
◾Jackin House (with thx to Jermaine Benjamin Dale Bruce)
◾Jungle / Drum’n’bass
◾Liquid Dub(thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Regstep (thanks to ‘Melia G)
◾Speedcore (cheers Matt)
◾Techno
◾Trance
◾Trap (thx Luke Allfree)

•Disney
•Easy Listening ◾Bop
◾Lounge
◾Swing

•Electronic ◾2-Step (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾8bit – aka 8-bit, Bitpop and Chiptune – (thx Marcel Borchert)
◾Ambient
◾Bassline (thx Leon Oliver)
◾Chillwave(thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Chiptune (kudos to Dominik Landahl)
◾Crunk (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Downtempo
◾Drum & Bass (thx Luke Allfree)
◾Electro
◾Electro-swing (thank you Daniel Forthofer)
◾Electronica
◾Electronic Rock
◾Hardstyle (kudos to Dominik Landahl)
◾IDM/Experimental
◾Industrial
◾Trip Hop (thank you Michael Tait Tafoya)

•Enka
•French Pop
•German Folk
•German Pop
•Fitness & Workout
•Hip-Hop/Rap ◾Alternative Rap
◾Bounce
◾***** South
◾East Coast Rap
◾Gangsta Rap
◾******* Rap
◾Hip-Hop
◾Latin Rap
◾Old School Rap
◾Rap
◾Turntablism (thank you Luke Allfree)
◾Underground Rap
◾West Coast Rap

•Holiday ◾Chanukah
◾Christmas
◾Christmas: Children’s
◾Christmas: Classic
◾Christmas: Classical
◾Christmas: Comedy
◾Christmas: Jazz
◾Christmas: Modern
◾Christmas: Pop
◾Christmas: R&B
◾Christmas: Religious
◾Christmas: Rock
◾Easter
◾Halloween
◾Holiday: Other
◾Thanksgiving

•Indie Pop
•Industrial
•Inspirational – Christian & Gospel ◾CCM
◾Christian Metal
◾Christian Pop
◾Christian Rap
◾Christian Rock
◾Classic Christian
◾Contemporary Gospel
◾Gospel
◾Christian & Gospel
◾Praise & Worship
◾Qawwali (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Southern Gospel
◾Traditional Gospel

•Instrumental ◾March (Marching Band)

•J-Pop ◾J-Rock
◾J-Synth
◾J-Ska
◾J-Punk

•Jazz ◾Acid Jazz (with thx to Hunter Nelson)
◾Avant-Garde Jazz
◾Bebop (thx Mwinogo1)
◾Big Band
◾Blue Note (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Contemporary Jazz
◾Cool
◾Crossover Jazz
◾Dixieland
◾Ethio-jazz (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Fusion
◾Gypsy Jazz (kudos to Mike Tait Tafoya)
◾Hard Bop
◾Latin Jazz
◾Mainstream Jazz
◾Ragtime
◾Smooth Jazz
◾Trad Jazz

•K-Pop
•Karaoke
•Kayokyoku
•Latin ◾Alternativo & Rock Latino
◾Argentine tango (gracias P. Moth & Sandra Sanders)
◾Baladas y Boleros
◾Bossa Nova (with thx to Marcos José Sant’Anna Magalhães & Alex Ede for the reclassification)
◾Brazilian
◾Contemporary Latin
◾Cumbia (gracias Richard Kemp)
◾Flamenco / Spanish Flamenco (thank you Michael Tait Tafoya & Sandra Sanders)
◾Latin Jazz
◾Nuevo Flamenco (and again Michael Tafoya)
◾Pop Latino
◾Portuguese fado (and again Sandra Sanders)
◾Raíces
◾Reggaeton y Hip-Hop
◾Regional Mexicano
◾Salsa y Tropical

•New Age ◾Environmental
◾Healing
◾Meditation
◾Nature
◾Relaxation
◾Travel

­•Opera
•Pop ◾Adult Contemporary
◾Britpop
◾Bubblegum Pop (thx Haug & John Maher)
◾Chamber Pop (thx Haug)
◾Dance Pop
◾Dream Pop (thx Haug)
◾Electro Pop (thx Haug)
◾Orchestral Pop (thx Haug)
◾Pop/Rock
◾Pop Punk (thx Makenzie)
◾Power Pop (thx Haug)
◾Soft Rock
◾Synthpop (thx Haug)
◾Teen Pop

•R&B/Soul ◾Contemporary R&B
◾Disco (not a top level genre Sheldon Reynolds!)
◾Doo ***
◾Funk
◾Modern Soul (Cheers Nik)
◾Motown
◾Neo-Soul
◾Northern Soul (Cheers Nik & John Maher)
◾Psychedelic Soul (thank you John Maher)
◾Quiet Storm
◾Soul
◾Soul Blues (Cheers Nik)
◾Southern Soul (Cheers Nik)

•Reggae ◾2-Tone (thx GFS)
◾Dancehall
◾Dub
◾Roots Reggae
◾Ska

•Rock ◾Acid Rock (with thanks to Alex Antonio)
◾Adult-Oriented Rock (thanks to John Maher)
◾Afro Punk
◾Adult Alternative
◾Alternative Rock (thx Caleb Browning)
◾American Trad Rock
◾Anatolian Rock
◾Arena Rock
◾Art Rock
◾Blues-Rock
◾British Invasion
◾**** Rock
◾Death Metal / Black Metal
◾Doom Metal (thx Kevin G)
◾Glam Rock
◾Gothic Metal (fits here Sam DeRenzis – thx)
◾Grind Core
◾Hair Metal
◾Hard Rock
◾Math Metal (cheers Kevin)
◾Math Rock (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Metal
◾Metal Core (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Noise Rock (genre – Japanoise – thx Dominik Landahl)
◾Jam Bands
◾Post Punk (thx Ben Vee Bedlamite)
◾Prog-Rock/Art Rock
◾Progressive Metal (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Psychedelic
◾Rock & Roll
◾Rockabilly (it’s here Mark Murdock!)
◾Roots Rock
◾Singer/Songwriter
◾Southern Rock
◾Spazzcore (thx Haug)
◾Stoner Metal (duuuude)
◾Surf
◾Technical Death Metal (cheers Pierre)
◾Tex-Mex
◾Time Lord Rock (Trock) ~ (thanks to ‘Melia G)
◾Trash Metal (thanks to Pierre A)

•Singer/Songwriter ◾Alternative Folk
◾Contemporary Folk
◾Contemporary Singer/Songwriter
◾Indie Folk (with thanks to Andrew Barrett)
◾Folk-Rock
◾Love Song (Chanson – merci Marcel Borchert)
◾New Acoustic
◾Traditional Folk

•Soundtrack ◾Foreign Cinema
◾Movie Soundtrack (thanks Julien)
◾Musicals
◾Original Score
◾Soundtrack
◾TV Soundtrack

•Spoken Word
•Tex-Mex / Tejano (with thx to Israel Lopez) ◾Chicano
◾Classic
◾Conjunto
◾Conjunto Progressive
◾New Mex
◾Tex-Mex

•Vocal ◾A cappella (with kudos to Sheldon Reynolds)
◾Barbershop (with thx to Kelly Chism)
◾Doo-*** (with thx to Bradley Thompson)
◾Gregorian Chant (hat tip to Deborah Knight-Nikifortchuk)
◾Standards
◾Traditional Pop
◾Vocal Jazz
◾Vocal Pop

•World ◾Africa
◾Afro-Beat
◾Afro-Pop
◾Asia
◾Australia
◾Cajun
◾Calypso (thx Gerald John)
◾Caribbean
◾Carnatic (Karnataka Sanghetha – thx Abhijith)
◾Celtic
◾Celtic Folk
◾Contemporary Celtic
◾Coupé-décalé (thx Samy) – Congo
◾Dangdut (thank you Achmad Ivanny)
◾Drinking Songs
◾Drone (with thx to Robert Conrod)
◾Europe
◾France
◾Hawaii
◾Hindustani (thank you Abhijith)
◾Indian Ghazal (thank you Gitika Thakur)
◾Indian Pop
◾Japan
◾Japanese Pop
◾Klezmer
◾Mbalax (thank you Samy) – Senegal
◾Middle East
◾North America
◾Ode (thank you Sheldon Reynolds)
◾Piphat (cheers Samy B) – Thailand
◾Polka
◾Soca (thx Gerald John)
◾South Africa
◾South America
◾Traditional Celtic
◾Worldbeat
◾Zydeco
etc...
Francisco DH Jan 2013
My love for you is like Violin dubstep
Starting out slowly moving effortlessly as if I were in space
Then it hits with  a bang

Pushing me right
Pushing left
Makes me drop
Makes me rise
Oh , my love for you makes my feet come to life

I get lost in the Rhythm
One Beat
Two beats
Four beats and more
Pulls and plucks my heart string back and forth

Yes , my love for you is like Violin Dubstep
This senstaion that I get is nothing but ecstasy
Winding me up for the big finale
LOVE Oh love is Violin Dubstep
Kimmy-Nichole Feb 2012
you cant defeat me
you wont
Ill cooperate
Ill act scattered
Ill be unfocused
Ill be motivated to motivate this terrible distraction in my mind
The answer is simple
College and AdHd dont mix
they collide
my brain is a dj playing dubstep
24 hours a day
non stop full volume
crank it up
because there is no stoping.
Every day I listen
And I listen hard
I try to block them out
And move forward
So there's one thing
I listen to and never forget
The drop chill beats
Of Dubstep
Dubstep--where you start the beat off
Dubstep--where you rise the beat up
Dubstep---where you let the tension rise
And then let the beat Drop
I love Dubstep
Ben Dec 2011
wub Wub wUb Wub wub
dubstep bass drops! ****'s dank brah
wUb wub Wub wub wUb
We come to a complete stop.
At a red light.
We wear our arms like seat-belts-
crossed for protecting our pilot lights.˚
I can't help but wonder how many airbags might deploy
if a meteor crashed headfirst and heavyset into the planet
and pancaked us eternally into this moment-
and how our fossils would look confused;
funeral flowers on a wedding cake.

None of this matters, we're both thinking it,
God is a foster child playing with his erector set.

You grin with as much conviction as a dented automobile,
breaking the months of silence to say,
"I miss you."

We can never fold these road maps back the way they came.

Somewhere existentially above this moment, there is an asterisk
that confirms
you- are here.

There was a younger version of me that you never got to meet,
he was here once,
stupid as a slinky.
Shaken like an Etch-A-Sketch.
Crooked as the question mark that punctuated his voice.
I looked good in hydroplane,
my eyes- bigger than my belly,
so I drank my weight in promises- I knew would be hard to keep within arms reach.
I also knew an encyclopedia's worth of how it felt to lie to myself.
I did it for twenty-three years
until I finally let go of stupid and held on to reason.

At some age I wrote letters to my favorite musicians,
using the sloppiest side of my penmanship, I'd ask for answers
and my mother, like a paperclip, used to tell me - she'd say,
"Kiddo, just because they don't respond
doesn't mean they didn't get the message."

She kept her chest of hope upstairs, away from the living room.
She only opened it on the hallow end of October;
that's where she kept the blankets.

Shy, I kept my hope chest covered in a T-shirt-
at the very least.
I never opened up.
I emptied my toy box of all its fiction, filled it with voices.
Deployed an army of rubber wrestlers, martial arts amphibians
and those inanimate toy soldiers with plastic parachutes attached
in search of the confidence I knew was supposed to belly-flop inside of me.

It hid, unfound for decades.
Until you entered.

Hawaiian domino effect, circus of chain reactions, avalanche of affirmation, chest-plate yielding gravity mouth speaking brightest anything forever night light, all apex and eyelash and cheekbone.
You -from big island- broke me.
I opened like the dry side of an umbrella, kept my back turned for shielding you.
I showed up for love on time, like a subway train in echelon city
wanting these arms to feel less like turnstiles.

All my sign languages were in waves.
All my ceilings turned to skies.
All my jitters packed into my hunger stomach.
Typing hyper with caffeinated hands
a swarm of nervous words bee-hiving in my butterfly chest.
Something like a hummingbird
when I finally drop your name like an alarm clock whisper
my lungs empty like cathedrals on the day after Christmas.

I brought the sermon to your Sundays,
you brought the choir to my masses.
We built a church around these esophagus bell towers.
Held ourselves up to the stained glass and showed off our light;

I swear I don't believe in a lot of things, God knows,
but there's always a but,
so much as I believe in the eternal depth of everything,
so much as I believe that we'd have plenty of water if it weren't for salt,
so much as I believe in eight marbles rolling around a gas lamp,
I believed we'd find a way.

'Cause in all the ways my sky could never hold you- and I mean this-
I believed in you- same way some people believe in Jesus.

Because you never judged my albatross mouth when I said things like,
"Self deprecation is the new love."
You kissed me-
less like doorstop,
more like lighthouse illuminating windmill.

You were a merry-go-round pivot decorated in Kona coffee beans, Christmas lights, cough syrup, paper mache pineapples, plastic dinosaur bones, a collection of worn-out Asics, board shorts and a dubstep remix broadcast through the static of a blown-out rotary phone.

You were everything I could get my hands on-

A full-tilt action-packed kaleidoscope jungle
with blender tongue and volcano heart.
I looked good in your sad panda coat tails,
teaspoon swallowing my doubts
while you Tarzaned my ability to breathe,
gave me ocean view and weak knees.
Is that sea breeze in your aftermath or are there already tears in my happiness?

You came camouflage out of my blind spot dressed in magnet armor,
diving board and drum set.
We passionbent cymbals into cannonballs.

I found comfort between your breastplate and your shoulder blades,
where you held me like a promise
when all my wishing was for want
and all your wanting was for wishes

Granted,

I know that there were days when you couldn't help but wake up like gorilla speaking Pidgin
and I couldn't help but waking up like an abandoned highway with a chip on my shoulder-
some maps don't show this much detail, Google Earth-

Which is why I always came through for you like a well-lit citrus truck stop
pressed against the dusk in your moonlight life crisis.
We only saw stars.
From our moon base.
In bewilderment, in our hunger, we learned
that if you hold me to my vending machines you'll get what you pay for.

So here it is, the truth, as I have always known it,
delivered to you on the outskirts of an echo,
my voice, supporting my existence like a monolith.

I'm standing in the middle of a you-shaped hole.
It's as wide as a promise crater-
we built it together.
It's not my favorite place to stand
but the exit strategies are made in the shape of a me that I haven't constructed yet.
I had a lot of things planned.
I referred to things as "ours",
when I really meant "please".

Bury me in your time lapse.
When your emotional excavators discover me in your sediment
they'll find me all pterodactyl-
wings spread wide as potential, sky-diving toward forgiveness,
forever.

Truth is, I'm wingless.

We met at a stop sign.
Our paths crossed.

There's a lot of accidents at some intersections.
Maybe it's because that's not where those two roads were supposed to meet.

We can't time machine argue with the way things landed.

We weren't an avoidable accident.
We were just two cars that really wanted to dance.

I don't know what I'm trying to say but I know when I mean it.

There's a tyrannosaurus rex cradled head-to-tail just behind my curator heart-
all fossil spine, monster teeth, jaw head and piano hands.
His presence says a lot about the past.
There's an asterisk on the surface,
above this moment,
that confirms with absolute certainty,

˚something wicked awesome happened here.
The (˚) is supposed to be an (*)
You can hear me read this here: http://tumblr.com/xft51gwrf0
Reece Mar 2013
California highway buzzes and the searing sun shines on the beach towel as I stroke Walt Whitman's beard
Transcendent and alive, but dead, still dead as my brother and his brothers, the 19th Century posse
We know the world better than them but are less learned, as the schools are a failure
and the business is us, but not the same as the industrial business of yesteryear
We are here to consume, consume and as we're dying of consumption , we consume more.

Alcohol, cars, phones and laptops, tablets, tablets, pills and more pills, condoms, liquor, ***** and brews, women, men, more women, more men, razors, lasers, heaters, coolers, snacks, rucksacks, ex lax and nick-knacks. They sell us dreams and nightmares, movies and bomb scares, they sell us news by the hour and power as they exert their own power. They give us gifts and incentives, draw us in so they they can stick us with a pin or a bracelet, and we too can sell to our friends on group hangs or as we stand still listening to our favourite bands. Billboards scream for our attention, or the buses stop at the intersection, and we're supposed to open our little phone and buy whatever is advertised. Why? Y?

They call us the Y generation too, why? Perhaps we ask the question  too much, perhaps we haven't asked enough. Perhaps the X generation simply ponder why we are so consumed with the technology they feed us. Why? Why must they question us, when we are the next great generation, we do laugh at that too. The internet is the new religion, bow down before Google and drink from the pixelated chalice, my child. Any question one could need answering is answered by the internet. The Bible is irrelevant in our society, burn it and download a bible app on the latest smartphone, the Qur'an too, hell, try the Tanakh, the Smriti and the Pāli Canon, for we are enlightened ******* It. And we want more.

[email protected]
RE:PARTY TONIGHT!!!!!

Hey yo mane some warehouse downtown has this dubstep DJ from like ******* Iraq or some ****. *** down, gonna be hella ******* there
xo

What music do you like?
All of it
Films?
All of them
TV
I don't own one but I watched every episode of The Wire on Netflix
...
I am a pansexual being riding the ever changing dunes of the Sahara, like so many great poets before me.

Digital immigrants and immigrants of empathy too
How serious do you believe us to be?
I am not using sarcasm as a form of wit for I have no wit.
Stoicism and rejection of education, employment and training.
We surly are the neatest generation, how can we make a mess if we are not awake most days?
Save for the endless party that is life, as we throw used glow sticks at women we desire
and ***** over car windows before getting blown on the lawn

lol dat wuz cray last nite
xo

Die young poets we have no desire for your kind, pacify us with Kerouac and Ginsberg so that we may emulate intelligence and impair the senses, for we care not about the real world either
Our world is the only one that exists, yours will soon crumble
We have trained for the end with extensive views of zombie flicks in coffee houses

@SomeFacelessJerk Follow for follow

Hey OP, you are a ******.
Why yes, yes I am. Does that bother you.
No, OP. You see I too am a ******.

Do away with your hurtful words they have no meaning today
White man died and lost control of his precious dictionary
We are here to save language by replacing all vowels with X's and O's
We are here to consume and in turn consummate this marriage,
the marriage of ignorance and bliss.
I feel as if I lost control of this particular piece and in turn lost control of myself
The snow is falling and I decided to freeze myself to death
The snow as I learned is a fantastic insulator and so I only served to warm my spirits

Addendum
I am not a poet

Footnotes on The Addendum
All people are poets but only a few are talented enough to shine like [insert simile here] and cause the world to [insert hyperbole here].

Addendum to the Footnotes of the Addendum
xo

Additional Notes
Apathy is the overriding factor in our lives, or at least that's how it seems to me. The trust fund kiddies in their beach houses are bored because Mommy and Daddy have no attention to spare them. The kids without parents in the projects are bored too, bored of the death and poverty, they're bored of the trust fund kiddies playing gangster, buying ******* from Mad Jack the Black Mack on Smack on the corner of 3rd and 15th. I am bored by the words I write, you are bored by the words you read, and we are all bored of the capitalist agenda that serves only to perpetuate boredom amongst us and bleed our pockets so that we have no choice but **** each other for their amusement as they place obscene bets on which child will 'win'.

*******, I have More Notes
Take this work for the post-post-post modern-proto-futurist-pre-apocalypse ******* that is. I have attempted to put no substance into this piece, apart from grams upon grams of ******* I brought from some guy some place, some time ago. It doesn't really matter, and we all stopped caring.
Trevor Gates Apr 2013
Walking back onto the street around nine O’clock
Pizzerias, Clubs and white guys with dreadlocks
Moving like sea urchins with an urge to mock
Hey 2 for one at Roxy’s for black rubber *****

I’m carrying two bags of groceries; One with a pie
There are no stars in the city. Just the moon in the sky
I move lazily and tired as evening joggers pass by
“God I wish I was more active.” I say with a sigh.

I ascend the stairs because the **** elevator is broken
One flight. Two flight. ******* wood surely is oaken
2 minutes of climbing the obstacle that’s unspoken.
I suffer for being the Asian, the part-Korean token.

I reach my apartment, music playing through the wall
I feel worn out and about ready to fall
But I walk in and proceed, feeling anything but tall.
The time has come. I walk to the kitchen from the hall.

I live with three roommates: Sam, Dean an Owen.
Sam is shut in his room. He’s a DJ and I think Samoan
Dean is weird. Don’t ask about flagellated protozoan
And Owen is a reader and blogger. Just plain Owen.

I place the groceries on the counter, I stumble.
Owen is reading and I hear him mumble
“Did you say something?” I grumble
“Wrong Pie.” He says, his words fumble.

“What?” I don’t understand

   “Wrong pie.” Owen says again.
I point towards the pie on the table. “What, this?”
    “Yeah.” He says.
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Everything.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, it’s the wrong pie.”
    “How?”
    “It’s apple.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “But I thought you were going to get cherry?”
I shrug my shoulders, “Yeah but they were out.”
    “Where did you go?” Owen asked, but he knew.
    “Just that corner market.”
    “Well why the hell did you go there, you know they don’t have **** there.”
    “Does it matter?  I got most of the things.”
    “Yeah, most.  Not all.  You didn’t get the right pie.”
    “Does it matter?” I tell him. Owen closes his book.
    “I think so.”
    “At least I got a pie.  You guys said, ‘Hey man, make sure you get a pie’. You didn’t say get a ******* cherry pie!”
    I try to calm down, but the blasting of dubstep remixes warp my thinking process.  Owen leaves the kitchen and knocks on the doors. He tells them I’m back and that I ******* up the groceries.
“I did no such thing!” I yell, “You ***** think you told me what to get but you’ll all too into yourselves to ever know what the *******’re saying and you come off as ignorant over-privileged *******! Yeah Owen you’re so unique” I mock sarcastically, “Must be why you dress exactly the same as every other hipster here, going online and vlogging about the same **** a 12 year-old in suburban America would talk about and his ***** probably haven’t even dropped.”
    Owen’s eyes are wide, never seeing this side of me before. Sam and Dean open their doors to see all the commotion.
I walk back in to the kitchen and grab the pie.
    “Here *******!” I toss the pie as hard as I can so it hits the ceiling. The tin tray falls to the ground and the apple crusted pie is splattered, stuck to the ceiling like an IKEA fan made of butchered apples.
    I open the door.  “Dubstep is just edited noises of transformers having ***!”
I slam the door and leave, walking back downstairs and onto the street


Roommates ******* ****. I was tired of their **** and rules.
They used me for their homework, Working me like a mule
I’m barely able to pass my classes, let alone graduate from school
So trivial to help them just to earn my cool.

I flipped up my hood and rushed through the streets
I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t care who I’d meet
A slice from Death Metal Pizza, a drink from Fat man Pete.
I need to let loose. Relax and take that invigorating leap.

I stumbled upon an old movie theater, playing classics, new and old
“I want tickets for all the shows.” To the box office I told.
I bought popcorn and milkduds. I think my chair had mold.
And watched as Al Pacino was out of jail; being paroled.

Carlito’s Way, then intermission
A glimmer of previews then Pulp Fiction.
Ezekiel 25:17 and blasts of omission
From Jules’ and Vincent’s handgun ammunition  

After the credits roll I get three hot dogs and a large soda
Next movie: The Evil Dead, enough to put me in a coma
AH ******* demons Killing like the cancer of lymphoma
Scaring me and making me spill my watered-down cola.

Next was the Monty Python to ease the chills
Ensuring talking fish, puking and hilarious thrills
I really enjoyed the collective animation stills
I was relieved from the films and I had my fills

Now I had a good place to come and let loose, relax and laugh
And I wouldn’t have to display my clustered, boiled wrath
To my ******* roommates. Maybe I’ll move out on their behalf
We’ll see how it plays out. I’ll write a “*******” graph.

But thanks to them I found a new way to survive
Which is better than the alternative; a desperate suicide
Watching movies late at night is better for me than to die
All ascertained from the incident of the wrong ******* pie.
Please forgive me for that middle section just being a straight narrative.  I thought it would add comedic effect. This whole thing started out as a short story. I was converting everything to the rhyming scheme but I just loved what I originally had for that part that I just kept it like it was.

Lot's of fun in this one. i couldn't help but laugh to myself some of the ridiculous rhymes (or lack of) I was trying to squeeze in.

Good references in here to Pulp Fiction, Carlito's Way, Monty Python's The Meaning of Life and The Evil Dead.
Lydia Samantha Aug 2011
And the beat drops me alone
It drops
It drops
It drops
And it echoes
In this tight space
Full of my belongings
Screaming solitude
sigh
And that echoes too
Matching with the rhythm
Of the bass
Trying to escape from the speakers.
Like I'm trying to escape
From this solitude
From these people
And like that
******* bass
I can't escape
I'm not equipped to escape
I can't be let out there.
Alone.
Even with people
I can't do it.
I don't know what I'm doing
Or what I want
But I know I'm hurt
And I can't tell you where
And I'm not sure I can tell you why
But I know that as long as I have this
Playing in the background
Overpowering my senses
Itching it's way into my scalp
I can forget.
I can forget.
I can lose myself in it
And forget the hurt
And forget the confusion
And forget everything
As long as I have this
**music
Kirsten Martin May 2012
Who else felt the night coming off the tracks,
When we first stepped into that crowded, 1 bedroom apartment,
For the 21st birthday of a guy we knew (his friends, we didn't)?

Strangers derailed and built up drunken tension.
That settled once he found the smoke,
You found the beer,
And I brought the ***.

I know my regrets.
But do you still enjoy the white line you crossed...
Off the counter top,
Before we left for IHop?

You hit me, held my hand, and made me promise in the stall,
(where I held your hair just last week)
That I won't tell.

I won't.

We loaded up in the car to go back,
But got stopped along the way.

Two pipes, one baggie, and an open container later...
Maybe birthday boy became a man,
Sometime between when he got cuffed...
And when he apologized.

Was it just me or....
Were the State Troopers cutest when they lined us girls up,
Looked at us,
And let us go?


Just in time for Mother's Day.
... Oh, and we went to Walmart at some point.
Hallie Bear Jul 2012
Synergy slides like a promise from thick whips of fingers
Griping me and sinking thorns in but loving it all the same
Twitching with them 
Epileptic ecstasy 
Slamming and combining. Pure unadulterated noise 
Lapping at the shores of nonsense 
Wildly uncontrolled but watching it looks like perfectly harmonized marionettes 
Punching sounds in and flowing reactions 
Spinning swooshing, dancing like the Nike sign. 
We are Just Doing It all over the place
Hands spread and flower 
Seeming endless heartpounds swim below 
Feeling the need through the floor
shattering up bones and jerking bodies into movement 
Wicked entertainer creating blooming false patterns 
Blood lining where it hasn't before, yet it's already planned 
The electric noise makes you think inspiration but whispers command.
React??
Lucy Tonic Jul 2012
You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, *******, trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
******-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?
Martin Narrod Mar 2015
basilisk ****
nonparticular inexecrable exit
art ****
the lips on for breakfast
twilight zip entanglement
meticulous bending and sensual telepathy

fever-sickness
rock 'n roll boo-boos
lilting black 'n blues on the caboose
puppeteering every tasty ***** loose

chews the collar
thighs and necking room
bustling bussers it gives ifs
gets down with

daisy, dior, dkny, grapefruit(purple) to narcisso and pink sugar too

Bliss tainted madness
playing tug-o-war with
January's vacuum
Years of passing down groupies
to the most recent djs playing bad dubstep tunes
and that sickness of seeing iloveyou's abused
argument groupies arcticmonkeys rap hiphop lyrics January in March dubstep tunes dj iloveyou you i love s apostrophes and apotropaics not amused thefeverbythecrammps use kicking being used abused musedandabused lust dkny dior daisy marcjacobs fashion neon blinking ******* black and blue blackandblue red fever booboos ouies ouch basilisk magic eit bending ****** telepathy sensual i'm cramped thecrammps
Tabitha Oct 2012
you click the button
you drop your eyelids and darkness engulfs your vision
you listen to your heart faintly beat, preparing yourself for the drop
you open your ears but shut down all outside noise
you take a deep breath, inhaling what feels like clean air
you let it slither out of your lungs
your minds feels at ease
your ears swallow the first tones

it beings

the base beings to to slowly spark up
you feel the music engulf your body,
lifting your mind to a higher place
the build up leaves your body tense
it starts to speed up
faster
faster
building the intensity
sending
shivers
down your
s  p  i  n  e
then
    it
               STOPS
you feel the excitement boiling out of you
as you await it....
it seems like centuries
but is only seconds
then it happens
                       "LET THE BASS.....DROP"
it

d
-r
--o
---p
----s

you get covered in goosebumps
your breath escapes you
your eyes pounce open from
the bass pounding waves throughout you
you see the the sweet wubs
create ripples of color in a blackned room
you grin and sway to the bass

and as you get that look on your face

                                            thats when the music makes you feel good
                                                            ­                   makes you feel
                                                            ­                         ALIVE
KrystalTears Mar 2013
Electronic sound waves that I hear,
overwhelming base lines,
to my head from my ear.
Reverberant drum patterns and unique designs.
Some of this music may make you tear,
others make you see the sun's shines.
140bpm, it's very clear.
Emotions combines,
the drop is near.
Listen how it divines.
To let yourself go,
find a meaning of your own.
Feel the music flow,
as your mind is blown.
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
The narcissistic urge flips eggs now.
Our ex-veteran father-figure gets a hamster, calls it Snuffles.
The thing you don’t know until the end of the script of the Tarantino-twist is that our protagonist sits
rocking back and forth in
a barren room inside a strait-jacket.

Meanwhile, our enemy shouts
something along the lines of:
"grab a spoon
I hope they don’t wash their hands"
The stones fallen off their strings,
gunshots hotwire themselves away from
a dubstep kind of drilling, the pipe dream
of an intimate email relationship.
Shout again,
"I hope you never feel those clammy hands.
Blaarghh"
Your diner eggs stink
I chucked up
In the kitchen bin.
Snuffles, a weird poem from my collection: 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY AND BRAIN FARTS FOR UNSOLICITED MICROWAVE HEADS' (again, yes all caps)
Lucy Apr 2013
Look up Hipster!
We see who you are.
Unique!

(placing yourself neatly into a distinct group, now no one will mistake you for something your not.)

I wear flags around my belt!
And balloons!
People talk to me.
I am beautiful.

(makeup stained around my vains, clogging my pours, worrying about my un-curled hair)

And I am wearing a dress!

(portraying innocence)

But I dance like a ****!
I am just the right amount of easy.

Yes!

*** for fun.
And a place to sleep,
for I am without a home.

Hello Alejandro!
I am happy to hear you miss me!
I miss you too.
And you..
Maybe tonight we will finally
make love!
(if the others don't find out that is)
I saw you acting a fool today.
Ha!
In a land of fools!
You are not crazy to me.
whatever the mass has decided.
**** them.

(They alter and sway as a release of energy cycles throughout creating a sealed force. You can feel it as you pass by. It is pulsing. Our bodies have created one.)

One.

It was Dubstep!

Hello water!
And air.
I Love you,
for you only have one way:
Perfect
and moving
like the cycle of life.
I am glad you are here
to remind us of you.
Yes!
You may be touching our skin,
but we are often blinded by your beauty.
Sorry.

(My perceptions alter and change floating between different variations of happy-)

then sad.

I worry,

then lay.

Allowing the sun to sink through me
recharging, recharging
all that I have.
I watch as the others do the same.
Floating consistently
up

then down.

We are Angles.
Jon Tobias Aug 2011
Gag gag and gargle
Draggin’ through the muck of
That place you said you’d never go back to
Screamin’ like a devil in the dark

The bump and grind of his *****
Bump and grind
Got you buckin’ backwards like a
Bulldog
But we both know you should’a’ never brought a dog
To a gun fight

Too late for tears darlin’
Bite lipped quivers never saved a soul
Can hear the fear in the breaks for sobs

The door to his apartment never beckoned
But you broke down the doors
Like you had something to prove
Bent you bilaterally like
The corner you backed yourself into

So perfect in your symmetry
Till you left me for him
Now you got the heart-sag
Jaw dropped
Dope fiend look

Tearing up at the sky
And the flowers
White powder pluggin up your nose holes
Can’t smell the **** on your knees now
Or the muck you got stuck in

You said I wasn’t as fun as he was
As he is
I never wanted to save you anyway
I just thought it was beautiful
The way you praised me for the things I say
And the way I say ‘em

Ya know
I got blasted backwards
By the backlash of you leaving
Kicked up so much dust in the rubble
And left me dizzy with the rumble
Of your feet fleeing the song of some ***** stomp
Headin’
Farther and farther away from safety

At least I was safe
I wasn’t bitter
Even my bite was gentle
Kind enough to remind you I still got teeth
But I won’t use ‘em

So before you leave me
Again
Take the burden
The baggage
The weight of my shoulders
The wait for the phone call sayin’ you finally
****** up and died on me
The mix tapes
The t-shirts
The memories of every moment my heart kept sayin’
“She won’t stay
But hold her for as long as she’ll let you”

Take it all
And go
The reason for the title is that I was listening to that style of music (dubstep) while writing this.  I wanted to put into words the way the music makes me feel. As a good friend of mine describes it "*****" and "gritty". I wrote this for him.
JJ Hutton Dec 2010
I eyed you from across the room,
Tim was yak-yakking about some drop D heavy metal band
he was drumming in,
But I was tired of socializing,
I had only come to drink,
yet I was overtaken by you.
I'd seen you prettier, livelier.
You looked so blue
decked all in red,
in your worn out ****-me-shoes.

I think my mouth was still agape,
when your gaze turned my way.
We both were locked.
Getting headsick from the smoke,
waiting for the flame to catch up.

You'd never seen me so unkept.
I hadn't shaved in a couple months,
my hair was to my shoulders, and
my body was drowing in wrinkled,
secondhand, early 2000s high fashion.

I walked over. Leaving Tim talking about
fusing dubstep with his metal ****.

You were working at a bank,
making three bucks more than minimum.
You changed your major.
Your relations got too public,
so you're shooting for journalism.
Haha me too, or something like that,
is what I said.
Your smile became parasitic to my clumsy words.
You said we should hang out for old time's sake.
"I won't take no for an answer."

"I'm too sober for this."
I walked off, grabbed the flask from Tim,
spent the night strolling under streetlights,
and hoping to have a revelation.
But all I had was a dwindling buzz,
and a divine gravity pulling me
away from remaking the same
mistakes.
Copyright 2010 by J.J. Hutton
Womp,
                        vroom.
          My lights fill this room,
                      fights trips mind is a doom,
  you sink right in your chair,
  cant blink.
                  hard not to stare...........
            quick flash bright like a flare,
          Lsd be scared of a dare.,
                   or lost aroma,
                                  Filled with my happiness~
peace with out the sappyness (  0  _  0  )
                                                           
                                                                  Love Jesse  
*Mckush
JM Jan 2013
Look at where we are now.
We have **** stores on every corner.
Our fifteen year old pipe dreamers
just collectively **** themselves.

We have dubstep finally.

Who the **** needs
an instrument
or training
or talent
when
I can steal fruity loops
and make my own ****?
I make dope beats at the same place
I
"write"
"poetry".

A cold fog is seeping into the park
across the street and I like to say "****" a lot.

Google makes me feel like a ******* king,
ordering my minions
to go and fetch me
the whys and wherefores of
how butterflies communicate.

Why?

Because *******, that's why.

We have countries revolting
against *******
who have been in power
for decades
but now we have
Facebook,
*******!
Take that!
You can't get away with ****.
Ask Osama.
How long will it take before peace sets in?
Will it take as long for the machines to take over?
Both outcomes seem inevitable.

We have as much ***
as we can download
and pretty soon

our reality will be completely virtual.
If you got the money, honey.

I see our white bloated
underbelly
sagging and scraping
****
against ***** beer stained floors,
a crimson trail,
bodies in the swath
of decadence
and a most
revolting pursuit of debauchery,
Thank God!

It's fun to go off the grid sometimes,
like when cable
and the interwebs
become that luxury
that you can't justify,
you know, reality.
Ha! What a joke.

It wont be long until some clown
figures out time travel
and we all burn up in
the resulting feedback loop.
That's what the big bang was.
Some other clown,
some other place,
figured **** out.

It's not gonna be me, Jack.

I'm on the cusp.
Not really, I am a full on scorpio,
*******.

But

I was lucky enough
to remember
rotary phones
and lite brites
and playing ******* outside.
Sounds nostalgic and sweet, right?
**** that,
those hours I spent
burning some heavy metal logo
into that stump outside mom's house?
With a ******* magnifying glass
*** we didn't know what cable tv or mp3's were?
I was dreaming
about **** shops
and making weird ****** up
noises that sound alarmingly
similar to fuckstep.
**** YES!
I was bored as ****
and couldn't wait for a day
when I could plug in a new
******* universe,
my universe,
my way,
I create the characters and the storyline.
My internal apps do the rendering.
Get it?
I was thinking of that ****
way back when,
so it makes sense that
someone
a little more ambitious
and well funded
was making that stuff,
even back then.
The farmers don't let the sheep know much, do they?

That's all well and good mate,
but how happy are you gonna be
when you lose all your **** because
some 22 year old knows more about
binary than you do?
How ******* awesome is your pabst
collection and your dad's old 45's gonna
be when you are *** out because you
thought you could become an internet
billionaire and your sister just got tired
of carrying your ***?
This world is ******
and we are growing out of our pants too fast.
Even the smart ones aren't gonna be able to keep up.
Have fun mother *******.
Do it now,
NOW!
Get laid as much as you can
with as many as you can,
but love them all,
and mean it,
you *******,
this **** isn't gonna happen again.
We are on the cusp of the singularity
and it's gonna be one hell of a ride.
lyrical rhymes, beats in epic time
dance around ten times the dime
that's beats per minute, 100 plus
wonderful noises reminiscent of us
dark poets sing of ravens and owls
while I sing of roars and howls
serenades in escalades, roll down the powershades
Dubstep beat-drops, guitar string heart-throbs
all of them blast through my Skullcandy's
dance the dance of wine and brandy
drunken and wild and not so mild
spark animal instincts, to hunt and mate
mangled sheets and broken beds
lie below the newlyweds
as the saxophone and trombone
softly sweep around their home
Deadmau5, Skrillex and Nero
party hard to Guitar Hero
while I slave over my laptop
listening to the beat drop.
SES Aug 2013
You're too far gone,
so I guess it's the end
and I'll quit holding on.

A wise man once said,
"You only lose
what You cling to."

Heartbreak has existed ever since
the world has been turning-
for so long, for so many breaks.

Mine may mean nothing.
It may be forgotten with time,
as time heals all wounds.

As I yearn for the times
where that will be true,
I lay awake late to think.

I think of many things,
including a new break-
Who will he be? And why will he be mine?

Even a new break would be...
well kinder than You,
because You forgot.

You forgot how we talked-
about shows and shopping,
and a silly thing called Dubstep.

You forgot how we bonded-
over church and annoyances,
but never about pain, that's saved for now.

You forgot how we acted-
the stolen looks and the obvious smiles,
and the awkward us.

That was the beauty in all of this-
I was awkward,
and so were You.

That was the irony in all of this-
I was smart,
and You were... not.

That was the fun in all of this-
we could have been perfect,
You and I.

We could have had those marathons,
and dressed up on Halloween,
and gone to those movies.

You could have played guitar,
and I could have been breathless,
and written a thousand words.

You could have taught me to skateboard,
and I could have taught You math,
among so many other things.

The things I would have done for You,
The girl I wanted to be for You,
You have no idea what You caused.

The feelings I felt for the old You
were like nothing before
and nothing since.

You messed me up, even broke me.
I can no longer talk to anyone
other than You.

You don't want me,
but no one else can have me.
How is that fair?

So I am scared.
Scared that I fell to hard, to young
and that only time can heal this girl.

I was never the girl to think
that all the guys must like me,
quite the opposite.

But with You it was different.
With You I knew.
You had to have liked me.

At some point in our short story,
You decided I was beautiful-
I was worth it.

At some point in our short story,
You forgot I was perfect-
I was unwanted.

I will not say I am here crying,
because I am not.
I am wallowing.

The thing is- I'm tired of wallowing.
I want time to give me a remote
so I can fast-forward to the healing.

I am tired
of falling again and again,
over and over.

I fall for your smile each time,
I fall for those blue eyes,
as much as I wish to fall into beautiful water.

I fall for your wierdness,
I fall for your awkwardness,
I fell for You.

Then
You
Changed.

So do me one favor.
Please clean up your life.
You could be perfect once again.

I see You now,
and really I'm not mad,
only disappointed.

Not just in us, but in You.
The You that could have been,
I'm afraid he might be long gone.

I always thought pain
brought people together,
as something to cling to as they fell.

But pain, I believe,
was what drew us apart-
separate pains at the wrong time.

I had my troubles and fears,
and though You stayed silent,
I know You did too.

I saw it on your face,
but time only made it clearer,
Not healed.

They say time heals all wounds.
So maybe, just maybe,
it can heal You as well.

But what if I am wrong?
What if time will heal nothing?
Only open the soul to more of the dark.

I desperately hope I am right
and time will heal both
me and You.

I know what they think.
How could I wish You the best
after the breaks You caused?

My friends see smoke
when they see You.
They only want the best for me.

And the best is no longer You.
I still wish You everything
regardless of the eye rolls.

Because it's true, maybe Someday
Time will end,
And we'll see each other again.

Promise me that You
will have your guitar,
that the nights will not rob You.

Promise me that You
will still have your taste in shows,
that the 'friends' will not rob You.

Promise me that You
will still have your skateboard,
that the pain will not rob You.

Because pain should not come
like a thief cloaked in black
ready to plunder.

Instead it should come
before the healing,
after time.
The memories I have of us could fill pages. The words I need to say could keep coming. But at some point I need to stop; because that is what this poem is really for, to tell you goodbye. The longer I write, the longer I hold on. So I'm done and I need to stay done. This one's for you, let's have it end here.
mj cusson Sep 2013
They keep on talkin’,
but the circle has spoken.
There’s no recession, no progression.
just inevitable repeatin’
Repeatin' repeatin' repeatin'

You run away to not be like your parents.
all the relentless vents
but they did the same.
and now you have the worst of names.

It’s inevitable,
Inevitable.
It’s Inevitable,
The Circle.

Dubstep has no soul,
punk and rap has anarchy as the role.
rock is about ***, and so is the slow songs
why can’t we right any of these wrongs?

Now, your mess on your drugs
buying useless things like your Ug’s
lost in a calm that is perceived as bliss.
When in reality it’s not caring at all. tsk. tsk.

Well, we will do this,
we will get out of the pit.
Rise to be with kings of eden,
just to keep inevitably repeatin’
Repeatin' repeatin' repeatin'

Dubstep has no soul,
Punk and Rap has anarchy as the role.
Rock is about ***, but so are the slow songs
why can’t we right any of these wrongs?

It’s inevitable,
Inevitable.
It’s inevitable
A Circle.
Cut it, cut it down,
Break it, break it now.
Kimmy-Nichole Apr 2011
oh yuh
***** dubstep bumping like an 808
partying like a rockstar

marijuana molly ***** nyquil ativan adarall
baby bash
waka flocka bumping super H E L L - UH loud
the party downstairs

will be raging with under age kids all night -
here we go again

the peeping land lord- and the drunnk guy outside my bathroom
the sketchy anti social other room mate
the 2nd story appt
and the kids downstairs partying like i did when i was 19


wait a minute

i am way to old for this ****
some make up to see who you gotta be,.
others off in sight to say what they "thinks" right,
make you have a choice.,
won't let you speak you're voice,
make you out be tall.
take them out and ball,
whooty foo,
grubbin dubbin,
I'm just thinkin around,.
cause it's hella loud my minds in some cloud
to my out side sound.,
pookie Feb 2017
The vibrations rocking your skull,
The bass trapping your thoughts as your body catches up,
The power of pure bass collapsing all thoughts of moving,

Raw power
Pure emotion
Raw bass
Pure vibration.

Dubstep watch you drop as the bass hits.

— The End —