Twenty Six Fucking Miles.........Bobsled. 4 fucking hours.......bobsled. Allow me to comment on the upcoming Apocalypse that is to be Bobsled. If you ever doubted, hit up the Verizano, Bklyn, Queens, or the Hattan and check out Bobsled prove why he is THE Commando. Sucka is running the ING. Yeah, the ING NYC Marathon. He is has been respectably discreet on the subject. Handsome isn't discrete. Bobsled is running the fucking Marathon.
Two days ago I went to St. Marks Church to some poetry party, celebration of the anniversary of the death of Allan Ginsberg. As I found, this guy was a pretty profound mother....He practically invented free speach beatnick style. An old hippy bastard told me that the Beatles spelled their name BEA....instead of Beetles because of a tribute to the beatnick movement. Not a bad thought, huh. Anyhow, this guy covered some serious lyrical ground. He invented the poem about nothing that filled 10 minutes of rediculous monologue of detail, distortion and retardation. I couldn't help but to think of Busta Rymes. No seriously. Have you listened to this guy's poetry. Fast, insane, specfic, graphic, American! I dare you to know what I am spillin' Let me give it a try:
Verizano with bobsled
steel iron pittsburgh
Kenya, Ethopia, Harlem
Muttled Death Sunset
Wheelchair Race Arms S
weat Hell Not Me
Bobsled Track to Bedsty
Hot Sunflower Whiskey
Asphalt Asics Endorphin
Twisted Colon of Hurt
Black Bosum of Nas
Scrotum of Peter
Open up While Folding
Bumper Pass Out
Miracle You made it Busta
HBCC Hustla........
Ok, so that was my tribute to Mr. Allen Ginsberg and the great running legend Bobsled Commando. Prefontaine can suck my back shorts!
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