XXX. ft Kendrick Lamar (Uptown A Remix)

[Bootleg] Uptown A

The Complex Collective

Original Track: XXX. (DAMN, Kendrick Lamar, 2017)

“The Rescue”

This hearty soup uses tumeric, garlic, and beetroot to help boost the immune system and ward off oncoming attacks.

This is not a simple soup to throw together once you've already come down with a full-on cold or flu, as you may not have the energy to gather the ingredients and for preparation, however— this soup is more meant for helping to boost the immune system in the beginning stages of coming down with a seasonal bug, or as a preventative booster. This recipe's complex blend of vitamins and minerals from greens and root vegetables keeps its ingredients' wholesome nutritional value high by first oven roasting the vegetables in a medley before adding them to the pot rather than boiling them; the prep time for this recipe is about 2 hours, with an additional 1-2 hours of cook time to simmer for flavor and for the raw chickpeas to reach the ideal texture before serving— the blend of herbs and root vegetables will add a layer of immunity and protection against any oncoming disruption to your normal level of health, and is hearty enough to be served alone, or with a side dish of salad or even a half sandwich, if you're feeling up to it.

You will need:

½ medium size had of cauliflower

½ medium to large yellow onion

½ red onion of the same size

½ white onion, per reference

1 whole celery heart

One fresh turmeric root

1-3 beets worth of beet root and leafy greens— you will only use the root for this recipe and can save the beets for later

1 stalk baby boo choy

3-4 medium sized carrots

¼ green bell pepper

⅓ pasilla or Anaheim pepper, per preference (one is milder than the other, but for heavy sinus congestion I suggest the Pasilla pepper, which is a bit spicier and will decongest easily, especially when including some of the seeds into the medley)

⅓ red bell pepper

⅓ yellow bell pepper

⅓ orange bell pepper

½ can stewed tomatoes with onion

½ can stewed tomatoes with garlic

(This is for broth flavor)

One whole vine ripened tomato

5-8 cloves of garlic (per preference)

About 3 tablespoons of fresh ginger root (a thumb tip's worth)

3 cups chickpeas, pre rinsed and soaked overnight

½ cup finely chopped fresh dill

½ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro

¼ cup finely chopped freshoregano

½ lime

½ lemon

Crushed red pepper

Sea salt

Thyme

Black pepper

Part II

Spirit says music was first, then words, and after actions—and then all of time is just acting out the stories that were told in the beginning as art

and…

Something tells me

Something's not all the way right with my head

I'm

Lost in my mind,

I'm

All the way here,

But I'm still

Somewhere off a bit

Velvet, the skin,

I'm just as sick in my head as I ever,

Recovered sex addict, and by definition of nutrition

—this handsome nigga smells like red licorice.

(It's actually cherry ludens with pectin.)

Zeroing in and away, heroing hard

For your heroine,

Heroin veins,

Pigs on the wing,

Singing your song

Hearing your cry out

Fly out my miles, my son

Come into my arms, mine oath

The love, some trouble

Heavy was her heart,

Lied to cover

Still shattered,

Ravine ions, cosmos farm

And Wanda's black eye

Timmy's wishes and

SpongeBob's shallow grave,

Oh, how high I got

That Arnold's lost love

Was actually

Strangely enough

Also his narcissist,

Probably also practicing witchcraft

And exorcisms of him.

Scissorman, Scissorman—

Get a load of this one;

Frog and toad, a couple laughs

Behind the masks,

For this world.

Would you honor?

Give your blessing, butter

Different wages paying,

Listen, shallow author:

You would write but then not follow up

About the actors?

The actors!

The actors have had it.

I'm

Just

As

Badly

Damaged

As

I ever was

And listen, Awesome told me

Your story

I chuckled

All the way

Up until

The literal punchline

Now,

Go home;

Go hike Runyon.

For a few hours, we can pretend.

That old haunts

Don't boil up

They always have, of course

But you know

Nothing quite as pungent as

What's become of yours

[I love my son.]

There it is again,

As if something had called her,

There, more words

But less of them than the tongue could offer

Swear you, listener,

Past this message sits the wilted thumbs of wilderness,

and weary travelers,

Song pigeons and mismatched audience appearances

For pleasantries

And of course,

Dessert trays.

Cause I wear—

—We all know.

If anything happens these days,

It's because I'm a comic.

(At some point)

Sunglasses before the sun's up;

Eat candies before it all melts

Warm something as download comes

To fight or fold,

To win or die

To live or lose

Whatever then

First time flying

And I've got

My mind blinding me out

Deciding for once

That I'm not the whole world

Just to have the experience

If being surrounded by others

In some way.

The runway lights up all blue, and I'm in love with you.

The subway cars opposite collide, I wish I died already.

I should give some time between myself and my writing, I think.

I really shouldn't end things the way I'm thinking of ending things—

But I'm thinking of ending things.

How selfish of me.

First time flying

Sunglasses before the sun comes up

Halls on my tongue

And vitamins in my pocket,

I shuffle over and over in my mind,

The millions of dollars

And all that I go through

Just to skip post,

And go home to no one.

But—hello there

No one's looking over your shoulder quite so hard as

This poster is,

So aware of what's there, and near you

You've begun to fear it

Well, then,

Hands in my pocket and down

Dawn to dusk,

Shaking my head,

Drunkenly, but stone sober

Really no one told me about the poetry,

But a whole world opened,

Inside of your notebook—

Which I stand holding.

Pleasentries, sick dissent,

Indecent exposure.

And body odor this early in the morning;

Gotta love country folk

Supposedly no judgements, but as I grow I older,

The slower toad I become, and discover my bird eye—

Here's to hopes

The Hellicopter is all I know

From here to Hell and back

Westward bound,

The Sun rise behind us

Sunglasses and no sun yet

My eyes reminders of times

I remember

Sure you did, sir

I been there

Suffered the whole coast

And I'm still not sure

You realize you're face down, ass up at an international airport right now.

They say this airport is known for its art installations.

You don't say.

Grandiose to escape the algorithm,

Tapped in with the captains hats

Fit six of my guieapigs in the business

1 transsexual,

And 6 women

3 biracial non-bianaries

Some accused extra terrestrials

You left me home, but —

Nobody washes the whites without me.

It's OWSLA again.

[The Festival Project ™]

It's mid week in midtown

I fell asleep at a business meeting,

Thinking in sequences,

Drinking in increments,

Sweet, sweet music,

Death and television

Television

Celebritism, star power

And no wonder

Early October vacations

From power fortunes tied to us

We want Redbones,

Resonated chambers,

Thankless sacraments of disaster

Are you archived?

Damaged and the flatline

Comes at such a heavy decibel

Your arms grow numb and

Start to stiffen;

No wonder you're not paranoid

Inside of our religion

The Eye

See i,

Excuse me miss—

Did I miss it ?

Plea, I

Give thanks,

Again for

—this is our tradition

Me, I,

Seek I

—-meaning to make sense of it but,

The might,

She died, I guess

The center of my kitchen

Distressed from attention deficit disorder

Sure, Marsh

—Whatever doctor .

He was just the type I like

Milky silky white

Sunglasses

Slicked back hair

Thick round thighs

High fashion—( l)

Sun baked

Pose to take a selfie, right?

Just the type I like;

Milky silky white

There's the girl that'll do anything for ya

But she's no body

With nobody

No good, I

In fact

So ugly l you could choke on just the thought of her

Even with beer goggles on

But she'll do anything you want

And like it—and it doesn't cost

She'll fall in love with you

(For not even a single dollar.)

[The Festival Project ™]

Now that we —

{Enter The Multiverse}

Ahem.

Part III

Day trip

Take a nap

Change the map.

Pet the cat

Let the dog out

Run a lap

Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat

I Pitty Pat

I Pitty Pat

Broh what up with these Dillon Francis clones tho.

How do you know they're clones?

They can't all be multi dimentionals.

They could!

You never know; they really could.

I run these robots

Into dark corners

Just to honor me

They come scurrying and ugly to annoy and ponder upon me, all the while praying l, my mind on

Don't mind those, they're broke bots

I haven't l l stopped my work to finish

Work on

[The Festival Project ™]

I'm sure by now you've noticed

The only people in

Champion sportswear and

Jansport backpacks

Are ugly, slow,

And weak

L E G E N D S

(I have noticed.)

If attention deficit is forsure your destination

I'm you're designated courier, or carrier pigeon

This isn't ingidgenous reparations or explicit subliminal messages,

But if it is, this is suggestive your direction is correct and attentive

Listen to this shit:

Case dismissed;

Next time I'll fly direct

Hit my line if your eyes are dilated

I'm miles high,

So if it rejects,

Just leave a message

(Eject!)

All of a sudden,

I'm somewhere else

(With him)

He pulls on the rings

On the back of my

—what was I wearing again?

I should have stayed home in the first place

(You don't listen)

I should have stayed home in the first place

(You don't—)

I should have stayed home for awhile

Cause before hand, and I'm wild

Random foreplay,

Orgasm,

Desire you,

You're right, I don't listen.

All of a sudden, I'm gone with you.

Those women in Santa Monica,

All perfect and in hoards and by the handfuls

The type celebrities get

Celebrities need,

Celebrities want—

A shrill reminder

Or what I am,

And can often lose focus,

Drawing back on icons,

Sifting through the skin I feel,

Entrapped by circumstance

And perhaps, even

Some terrible curse, or

A shield of protection.

—the deathly hollows.

It almost felt as if I'd never write again, but here I was

Nearer somehow to a strange fame,

The end of famine

And feast of none—

Doubling back upon

Something I had recorded

In this experience,

Alone and awakened,

Moving in automatic,

Chaos and charismatic,

felt, but never intertwined

In the awesome circumstance

Of wanting, no—

Needing to be loved,

And never having been;

Needing to be touched, and never having felt

The grip of sorts,

The higher bar taste of something I had become famished,

The sense of a calling so sacred,

It beconed to my sea,

The only one,

A diamond in starry skies

A night of dawn,

But dark, the thought

The ever present one,

Never loved,

And shallow kind

Shallow breath,

And putrid thoughts,

Reckoning the wilted flower,

The springing seed,

The calling of another and yet,

Here I was,

Tolerance,

At her mercy—

Fearing none but knowing,

By the handfuls they come,

And drawn like magnets

Into my being,

A focus,

Nonesuch art none otherwise known as

My hell

The bodies of women

Perfect and priveleged,

Sunbathed and worthy

Of everything I wanted and needed

Without working at all.

I wondered harder, fasting.

Soft lips upon his Adam's Apple,

I drift away in his chest,

Dreft, the smell of michielf managed,

Then, the music of songs loved

And garnished with sprouts of June

In the coming of spring,

Does form another,

Again, my love

I call for mercy

The pain of yours needing born

And my heart estranged

Mercy

Her eyes were darkened circles

And body brittle;

As I admired her courtesy, charm

And delicate stature,

Arose to connect this,

A tune—

So sung to tell a story

Of Rocky Racoon

Irish spring to lather his back,

In bar form;

His burgundy Mercedes Benz has had parked in my garage,

And I, not able to trust his drunken judgements,

Captured his keys, as my mother and I

Had worried for him,

Dissappeared again into the night, and yet—

At least the keys and the car

Were safe with me, at home

As was his,

Whenever he wished to return

My strange and far love

Nearly since almost nothing

Screen doors and Fischer Price

Office calls and casting agents,

Honey bees and biopics

Telephoto lenses and

Semi autobiographical pornography

Marriages and suits to match

A name for Vegas wedded lie,

A love bloomed from birth,

Cherished insights in the water

Reservations and yamakas,

Simple and sacred,

The undone village,

The thought of nothing but one

Until another does pull the string

To which I had once known as harness,

But had since cut,

Only watching to strive,

Seeing the dance one makes for one to distance,

But only dangling, seeing not that I

Had come free and was wary of

All love, by now.

All men, indeed.

[The Festival Project.™]

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