PT.

Don't get your knickers in a twist.
Aint talking bout physical training.
I'm chattering about pity man.
Pity for thou.

Joyous was thee.
Before grease became glee.
Became attractive,
it was but addictive.

Thou never had attention
Not worth a freaking mention
But when thou rise demons thou met
At the end of it all
thou broke more than a sweat

High men
Low men
yellow fellow
black swallow
gone was thee common sense
out with thy innocence

Pity
thou cant get me
but its ok
ill try to smile for another day

Rites of passage
coming of age
i hope as thou live longer
thou will become stronger

thou deserve the best
that cut above the rest
tho' it might slice and dice
all it's trying is to be nice.

refresh your memory
to that month in january
where lovebirds roam
and to thy beach we comb

i am a dog
not a mere bitch
treat me not like a log
and if its thou ill never ditch

im atop a tower
with me binoculars
ill get down with a flower
together we'll chase cars.

it's been choppy
that i wont deny
its time to be happy
cuz my love is but benign.

Throttle.

You know something's not right when you rev the engine and all you get is a whisper.
No matter how hard you throttle it'll move, but it'll remain silent.
You finger the brakes, thinking should you halt.
Or should you stop,
grinding through the asphalt.

My bike is in good condish.
But some parts still stinking like a fish.

Hide.

Raw Hide.
Love that song when the Blues Bros perform.
But with what you did.
I've a feeling youve something to.

Madness to sadness.

It's been a totally mad week.

Rushing assignments, fulfilling work obligations, hell i'm not even trained son!
Maybe the early morns, the late nights and the dearth of sleep is taking its
toll on me.

Feeling a phlegmatic lump in my throat.
Feeling warm under the air-conditioning.
Feeling dizzy after sports.

It's just not gonna get any better, I guess.
The inamorata is unimpressed.
The football team just lost.
And im sick boss!

Another outing beckons.
A void ensues.
Golden silence.
Indifferent expression.
The denials.
The awkward touch.
The awkward letting-go.

Lets just fuck life in the face and order a deep throat.
I said lets order a deep throat muthafukka.
Lets just be happy.
Forget the dirty bit.
Get down, do the roger rabbit.

Star, or not, i shall shine and sparkle.
Baby, I will twinkle twinkle.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XSVFXBjgtA

Finally

... the Jack has come back ... HOME.

Damn right, after almost a freaking two-year hiatus --
the JACK is BACK!

Lemme just remind you who the fuck gsj is.
I go by many monikers, depending on boobs, mood and massage parlours.
But Daniel Bapakko and Jack stands out like a boner in the Playboy Mansion.

I was born in the 80s, in the Year of the Dragon, so go figure.
I use to waste my parents' money in Innova Jc and waste the government's --
as a senior officer in one of the Home Team Agencies.

I love girls and they never fail to fail me.
Emotionally, physically, spiritually -- the lot.
I do have a dependent now, though.
So girls, it's time for me to fail you!

I love chicken more than girls, but not even for a mill would I bone one.
No, not the calcium kind, I'm talking 'bout the meaty kinda bone.
Laugh it off.

As much as I like it to be, my life is not an open book.
In other words, I dont splash my dick pics all over facebook.
I wished my life was more f***book than f***book.
Guess which is which, bitch.

Oh, and did I tell you for the love of The Game?
Nein, not Neil Strauss' Magician razzmatazz!
More of Pele's football, Lalas' soccer.
That's right -- the game where an obscene amount of full-blooded men run and hurt one another to get a sphere and put in the opposition's net.

Come t' think of it, it' like chasing girls too.
But that, shall be an independent discussion on another day.

Now that you know me enough to call me Jack,
I shant say much further.
I dont wanna be called J. Nor JoJo.

Though I find it imperative I blog my personal growth.
So that in a few years time, post-hiatus, I can re-read my posts
and chart my growth index.
When I say chart, I mean write.
I aint no seafarer, nor a mathematice.

Last I checked, I did not have the licence to kill, w-what, drive.
I did not have a girlfriend. (read: dependent, heh)
I did not have a job.
I did not play regularly.
I hated Apple.
I had fuck-all in my bank.

And I was complaining of smoking.

Here's the dealio, mi amigo, whoever you are.

I'm attached like juke and jive,
And I'm more than allowed to drive;
I use an iPhone not the Android,
And since early Jan, I was employed.

Money come, money go,
Bitches here, i'm rolling the dough;
All is fact, the truth, no shitting,
Fact is, i've quit quitting.

Bear with me,
cuz' i do compre-;
frowns -- show your dismay
at least this isnt as bad as Reb's Friday.

So, there it was.
A wrap to the rap.
And Reb.

Til the smoke clears and dust settle.
My name is Jack.
Thank you for not smoking.