<original version>

~ 4,500w // ~ 50 Hours

 

Here is the complete and unabridged original version of The Quatrain Laws.

Enjoy!

 

OVERTURE:

 

Every day, repeating simple phrases
Life’s just a maze, going through my phases
My hands are failing, the world’s a little blurry
Or maybe it’s my eyes, I’m consumed by worry

 

Drafts and edits, there’s always another revision
But I won’t stop; I’ve got carpal tunnel vision
Detailed in rhythm and clause
These are the Quatrain Laws

 

VERSE I: The Narrator’s law

 

However, maybe the opening stanza was terrible
Emphasis everywhere, put your focus on the wrong syllable
Are the rest of the laws like that? It’ll be unbearable
You want, you demand an explanation
But from me, you’ll get no narration

 

A painting, a work of art, shouldn’t use words
Spoken aloud and explained to all the birds
Despite clarity, no matter how splendid
To explain meaning, and what was intended

 

Rather, this idea I will maintain
That it should be used to explain
That which spoken words can’t comprehend
And to explain that which I do not understand

 

However, these laws are for the prevention of insanity
That’s the explanation I am presenting to Posterity
Inscribing the minimum, four lines a day
Owing debt to the chameleon I cannot pay

 

Because, we live in a twilight world, and the dawn is still dark
Everyone’s gone by morning, and there are no friends at dusk
Detailed in rhythm and clause
These are the Quatrain Laws

 

VERSE II: Rules for Snitches

 

People, they rhyme like this
We act like we’re all impressed by this
You are, but this is just poetry divided
Into another stanza, this I’ve decided

 

Wrote this in four minutes, just some words to a line
Constant loop, song on repeat, longer to refine
Hours of editing, so don’t build me a shrine
Maybe all of this was pointless and a waste of time

 

You recognize some of this, don’t be a snitch
You and I both know that Plagiarism’s a bitch
One we’d all like to be with
Until she leaves for another wordsmith
Taking your soul with her, stealing your life
And Texidor’s stabbing my heart with his knife

 

Maybe that last stanza was worded harsher
Than I intended, or you expected
But other words were in number sparser
There’s a saying upon which I’ve reflected

 

Expectations are a hell of a drug
While you’re high on it, don’t look so smug
You want, you even demand an explanation
But from me you’ll get no further narration

 

VERSE III: The Fifth Way

 

Repetition makes it stick, and makes it snug
So, again, Expectations are a hell of a drug
While you’re high on it, don’t look so smug
And don’t hide the truth under the rug
Covering the bottomless pit you’ve dug

 

Don’t hide things in the depths of an ocean
Where the waves wash up, with a sickly motion
Up on the pale sand of a dark windless shore
That’s where the seductive call is hard to ignore

 

But there’s another way, the fifth way
Beyond the dark ocean, past the spray
It’s harder to find, and challenging to follow
But it’s the best way to pursue today and tomorrow

 

Back is the way forward
That is what we should aim toward
But there’s some nuance here, it’s not back to sleep
Back as awake beings, that’s the path to keep

 

I could always fly home, fast asleep with my eyes closed
It’d be pretty hard to see, but that’s no surprise though
I wouldn’t know what I’m missing, if that’s how I spent my evenings
Back is the way forward, not back to sleep, but back as awake beings

 

Ted Lasso understands, he’s the embodiment
At least the most well-known argument
Still some flaws in practice, the constant call of amnesia
But that never works, there’s no honour in nirvana

 

The Buddha claimed to be enlightened, that he reached the heights
But how can you be enlightened by turning off the lights?
It’s the most real thing, that pain still exists
Even if it doesn’t, you insist

 

VERSE IV: Beaver’s Law

 

Beavers build dams, to keep the land dry
They don’t stop to think or ponder why
He runs across the land, in search of water
He never stops, in his pursuit he doesn’t falter

 

He doesn’t stop till he finds a shore
But does he even know what he’s looking for?
If you asked him, maybe he could reason
And explain rationalizations, each in season

 

But those reasons aren’t correct, they’re not the real answer
He never set out to be a swimming pool enhancer
If you took all his reasons away, he would still acquire sticks and mud
He builds dams because he’s a beaver, and it’s in their blood

 

Why do you write, or do the things you do?
I offer rationalizations, none true
Good reasons, all of them
Dreamed and thought up afterwards, again

 

None of them are really what’s going on
I know it’s an odd and strange phenomenon
With as little control as over dreams of a cephalon
But still, that’s the only thing my defence is based upon

 

Beavers build dams to keep the land dry
They don’t stop to consider and ponder why

 

SECTION TWO

 

<ANXIETY’S INTERLUDE>

 

My anxiety called, left an invitation
Said we’ve got dinner reservations
Whenever I’m available, he’s not particular
Whether I arrive early or late, he isn’t a stickler

 

Because unlike me, he’s not terribly insecure
After the meal, do I give the bill my signature?
I can’t tell if he’s paying, or if I’ll offend him by asking
It’s time to choose, but my decisiveness is lacking
I’ve got no confidence, and he’s already packing

 

Looking at his face, I can’t tell what expression is there
He’s got a blurry face, or maybe it’s just his hair
Gnawing on the bishops, don’t know what move to make
I’ll be revealed a fake, this tension I can’t take

 

He leans over the table, to whisper in my ear
Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear
I wanna tell you, but let’s keep this on the low
You’re the furthest thing from perfect, out of everyone I know

 

VERSE V: Mind’s Quatrain

 

A transition so smooth, you just might
Think I wrote this during a Tokyo Night
He was yelling back in the day, but who’s this Morris?
And why is it only the real ones who go to bat for us?
A transition so smooth, you just might
Think I wrote this during a Tokyo Night

 

I wanna quiet the voice in my head
And give myself some peace instead
He says he’s me, that he’s my thoughts
And the keeper of my emotions, however flawed
But I’m not so sure, he might be an imposter and fraud

 

That voice never shuts up, there’s never a quiet moment
Rowdier and more chaotic than the British parliament
All I want is silence in my head, that’s my fight
My efforts are to give my eyes some rest at night

 

Beavers build dams, but all this to quiet my mind
I’m trying to remove some stuff so I can unwind

 

That twisted knot like a dam holding back the flood gates
Can’t untie it, now overflowing, it’s far too late
I just want some peace and quiet, I’m on the brink
I need to make some room, to allow me to think

 

Room to process, problem solve, handle information
It’s been an observation, to my great consternation
That I struggle to just have a regular conversation
Without a slow and meandering deliberation

 

It’s just simply too noisy up there to process
Anything properly, with some knowledge I cannot access
He says he’s me, my soul, thoughts and consciousness
That with Me, Myself and I he’s synonymous

 

But I’m not so sure, I can’t tell if it’s real
Internal tension, I don’t know which way I feel
All this is an effort to remove the stuff cluttering my mind
After which, I’ll be able to see what’s up there and find

 

Out the truth about my internal weather
Patterns, and begin to predict better
Which way my winds will blow, and how fast or slow
They’ll go, that is what I hope to know, although

 

I may never arrive there, but the only way I will
Is by removing items through this electronic pen or quill
And onto this electronic paper, and cloud storage
And I’m free at last, or at least I’ll be able to manage

 

VERSE VI: Gym Laws

 

Many claim the title of the hardest rule
One such challenger appears: Be the Mule
To keep the gym sacred; exempted, lifted, suspended
Are the pressures of action, the Quatrain Laws amended

 

I’m always trying, always stressing to get stuff done
In the gym, nothing is allowed, or to the weights I’ll succumb
As an addict with a pen once said
Nothing kills a man faster than his own head

 

The gym must remain sacred, so thinking is prohibited
Thinking causes injury, turns you into an invalid
The gym must be kept sacred, in all actuality
An alternate universe, an alternate reality

 

Rep the set, gotta rep the set
Molly, Percocets, Molly, Percocets
Yelling out mask off, like I’m being chased
Over the Atlantic, making sure my core’s braced

 

Push it through the pain
Push it through the pleasure
Push it like a rookie to the game
Like a rookie to the fame
Like no one knows my name
And I’ve got everything to gain

 

VERSE VII: YellowJacket Jet-Sweep

 

In rhythm, never use anyone’s given name
Instead, a trait, or maybe how they deal with pain
Say what they really are, use their true title
Or a euphemism, or whatever, this is vital

 

Think you recognize someone’s given name
It’s not them, its someone else, it’s all a game
I would use a different way of referring to what they became
If I don’t know them personally, there’s some exceptions for fame

 

Some might say, he knows them, and used their name when he wrote about them
I’m preemptively saying I didn’t, and that idea I condemn
I’m never that direct, Pre-snap misdirection, that’s the creed
Tyreek Hill, jet sweep, the YellowJacket with the straight line speed

 

Lush life, summer crush, crushed under the pressure of performance
Cold lake air base, another jet sweep, a linebacker’s grievance
Twenty-five flat, Remastered, Revisionist history
Another look at what happened down in Calgary

 

Lush life, summer crush, bend before the spring
All eyes on me, some good memories still sting
Look, there’s a bear, from my past, flying through the air
I wanted to stay in touch, but life’s not always fair

 

Toque falling off, the sun didn’t shine
One throw in, faulting the next five
Watching her pull away in her corvette
That’s when I realized I was out of my depth

 

It was a rush, but the second time is once too late
Next year never comes, only one chance to change your fate
Patrick McKeown, he saved my life, I’m in his debt
I need a grant, to pay him back, but I’ll never forget

 

Are these real experiences, or just stories I’ve written?
I’ve scrapped what feels like half the laws, and everything’s rewritten
Speaking in riddle is hard, but I don’t mean to complain
It’s just that I’m boring, and my nature is to be far too plain

 

But now I’ve got hidden references, double, triple meanings everywhere
I’ve disguised everything, if look hard you could find it somewhere
Detailed in rhythm and clause
These are the Quatrain Laws

SECTION THREE

 

<THE IMPOSTOR’S INTERLUDE>

 

Anxiety walked in, put on a disguise
Pushing through the crowd, now he’s standing to the side
Of the podium you’re on, feeling so high
He asked to say something, and didn’t wait for the reply

 

You don’t belong there, you’re a fraud
Your very existence is obviously flawed
Everyone can see you’re not one of them
And you shouldn’t be there, so I say again

 

Everyone’s talking behind your back
Talking about you, talking mad smack
You don’t know what to say, or how to act
You can’t dress to blend in, standing out in the worst way
Because of that, no one listens to what you have to say

 

You’ll be lonely and isolated
At first, then eventually alienated
You’re trying too hard, and it shows
You were asked a simple question, and you froze

 

It’s easy to tell that you already know this, I’m reading you like a book
You started second guessing yourself right from the first verse, have a look
My Interludes were the easiest quatrains to write
Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m no white knight

 

I’m simply the only one who won’t stay mute
I alone have the courage to tell you the truth
The truth being that you don’t belong
You’re not smart enough, or maybe you’re not that strong

 

However, maybe some people haven’t yet taken that view
So it’s not too late, that’s why I’m trying to help you
You need to leave before they find out
That you’re a fraud, and a fake filled with doubt

 

You’re like a chameleon who’s using the wrong shades of blue and grey
You yourself say that sometimes you can’t even tell the night from day
Go be a hermit, but even in a world alone
You’d still be outcast and unknown

 

VERSE VIII: Solo Stanzas

 

All this to lay a foundation for an empire
Sean McIndoe, ominous foreshadowing’s the headliner
I created this world just to feel some control
Destroy it if I want, completely and whole

 

Always remember it doesn’t need to be long
I just need to keep the word count strong
Always remember that length is optional
Only use as many words as possible

 

A single line of dialogue, an expression of faith
Answered the hardest question, with an acceptance of fate
But it’s not an excuse to do nothing
It simply tells you to play your part

 

When you’re flowing
Just keep going
All laws suspended, keep your schedule clear
Keep going, till awareness leaves the higher tier

 

When your body’s falling apart, all tragic
But you’re just rearranging deck chairs on your titanic
What do you Dubas all day? That insinuation
Is a random, yet always pertinent question

 

When I get it, I’m never going back again
If I said it then I meant it, every one of them
However, I’ve got a limited vocabulary
So all this time was stolen by bad poetry

 

VERSE IX: Fake and Toxic

 

By nature, I’m cynical, sceptical, and cautious
Never trust a perfect person and never trust a song that’s flawless
I don’t like being played, and I’m suspicious of songs and people
That are overly polished, and I don’t think that’s trivial

 

Don’t believe the marketing, and don’t believe your own hype
Mass produced, Hollywood polish and glitz is just not my type
It’s not real, in a real sense, and what’s fake is toxic
That’s goes for everything, whether it’s people or garlic

 

Can you trust an unhealthy doctor?
Or a psychologist who doesn’t talk about lobster?
Can you trust a thin or obese cook?
Is a weak strength coach a crook?

 

VERSE X: Chameleon’s Law

 

Intervention, Interpersonal and Social Rhythm
Ghost and Rylin, sunlight, grinding in the gym
Or was that a Jinn Particle, endlessly circling?
Maybe one day you’ll know what I’m referencing

 

Forwards and backwards, all the same no end to mortality
That is, a strange, artificial and accidental immortality
This abnormality got me surfing the waves
Of a terrible ocean that’s claimed both knights and knaves

 

Stumbled into, with endless experimentation
All this to get me in the proper integration
Detailed in rhythm and clause
These are the Quatrain Laws

 

<GOLDEN OWL’S INTERLUDE>

 

I listen to heavy metal for meditation
Some lines I borrow without hesitation
Her last man was the father of Adonis
Or maybe I mixed them up, but regardless
Avoid hubris, thinking you’re the son of Apollo
Even the strength of Sparta had their last days follow

 

VERSE XI: Visions in a Folder

 

A refrain from another place
Tempted to make it disappear without a trace
A remnant, of all the things never said
Terrors of the past, visions of the end

 

In a conversation with Posterity
Can the future reply, offering clarity?
If not, then what’s this? I was told how long it would last
Once I realized that these weren’t dreams of the past

 

But it’s all locked away, in the great abyss
A folder with a title, where I reminisce
All the things I never said
If you write something that’s never read

 

Does it even exist, or will you shy away?
A lone fool, out in the sun-light of the day
Just like an I love you, that isn’t words
Like a song he wrote, that’s never heard

 

VERSE XII: Chlorine’s Law

 

All of this was fueled by chlorine
Keeping the oceans of my mind pristine
And everything that preceded this
Fueled by the same chemical bliss

 

Stronger than a dose of morphine
I’m just sippin on straight chlorine
Or I once was, now weaning off the toxin
The bottle’s label never had warning jargon
Telling me to proceed with intense caution

 

Breaking the addiction to the toxic cleanser
Was not something I did for fun or pleasure
If I really ever did it at all
Instead down like September I’ll fall
Like I’m frozen, and trapped like a thrall

 

It’s a hard transition, to a new fuel for my ambition
In other places, extensively I’ve written
About my search for a new fuel
To replace the cleanser for a pool

 

This currently is a paramount mission
Find a new way to fuel pushing past the friction
It’s a hard transition, to a new fuel for my ambition

 

<NEON’S CHEMICAL INTERLUDE>

 

While I’m on the touchy subject of chemical influences
Here’s another lesson I’ve learned during my experiences

 

Expectations are a hell of a drug
While you’re high on it, don’t look so smug
You want, even demand an explanation
But from me you’ll get no further narration

 

Reading this, alone is a privilege
Many of these rhymes is beyond my knowledge
To fully grasp even, let alone explain
Succinctly to anyone, please don’t complain

 

That’s all I’m asking from Posterity
In the future, you’ll write things differently
Fueled by chemicals less caustic,
In another world, in that I’m optimistic

 

The man who sees too much would agree
With the one called Clancy, that I guarantee
The end of a song, a hopeful goodbye
Perhaps we should change what we hold so high
Find your grandparents, or someone of age
Pay some respects to the path that they paved
To life they were dedicated,
Now that should be celebrated

 

SECTION FOUR

 

The Identities of Inspiration: Verses 13-14, Stanzas 76-108

 

VERSE XIII: Part One

(The Identities of Inspiration)

 

Ending with the beginnings of inspiration
Filling me with words like an inhalation
Lengthen the exhale to deal with my asthma
Here’s the first one, worthy of a triple stanza

 

Young Sinatra, soul food flow as smooth as gravy
These next few verses might be driving Miss Crazy
Name like royalty, and among his peers
He’s known as the man of the year

 

Like him, I’m always feeling Under Pressure
Anuka, I don’t set the measure
Only my fate bears responsibility, No Pressure
That’s the sequel, if you need a refresher

 

Entering the bar, up on stage with No ID
Grip the mike and kill it, bars like candy
Retired, now he’s back again, like he never left
Nikki’s still messing with him, just had to take a breath

 

Bonus stanza, because like him, I’m a free man
He’s never worked with Travis Scott, that’s the plan
Born as a king, but will he die a slave?
And can he face people reading that on his grave?

 

The short king with dope flow
Once said, for you and everyone else to know
He’s five foot something but his bill’s all paid
Still got leg room, flying economy from L.A to the Bay

 

I think you understand; I don’t know me
Subtlety’s an art form, even if you’re savage, keep it low Kii
Whippin in the car, remembering that spring day
Chillest anthem you’ve ever heard, on endless replay

 

There’s a difference between body and mind
I would take it further, but it doesn’t rhyme
Fifty-plus edits, I didn’t write this in one take
I’m no Juice, polished till it shines, but I’m no Drake

 

What do myself, Ashely, Kanye and Robin
(Careful, it’s a riddle) all have somewhat in common?
Putting on weight is hard enough, no illusions
Don’t be losing calories jumping to conclusions

 

The world’s a little blurry, but I’m happier than ever
Or at least I’m keeping myself together
But it feels like yesterday was a year ago
And I don’t want to let anybody know

 

We’re opposites, me and the odd one with a pet tarantula
Yet many things in common, understanding the same esoterica
Pondering the same existential questions
It feels so real, these alternate dimensions

 

Living in lucid dreams, that scene in the chateau
When we all fall asleep, where do we go?
And if I knew it all then
Would I do it all again?

 

Don’t say, when the party’s over
Only after hours is when you’re sober
I could say I like it like that, pure white
Suddenly everything’s pouring out, like black sprite

 

My heart’s a muscle, only eleven minutes to wait
But it’s still not strong enough to carry the weight
Of the choices I’ve made; I used to be on fire
But now I’m standing in the ashes of this pyre

 

You recognize some of this, don’t be a snitch
You and I both know that Plagiarism’s a bitch
Through all this, I’m introducing some characters, so pay attention
You’ve met some before, and others I’ve yet to mention

 

Pablo Picasso, pistol full of blanks
Carried as a way to say no thanks
In reply to questions about the meaning
Of his paintings, and inner dreaming

 

There’s a nihilist outside Ollie’s door
And he says that his words you shouldn’t ignore:
I’m so lonely, I can’t take it, it’s too much to bear
There’s dead dolphins in the ocean, and no one seems to care

 

<NORTHERN NIGHTS INTERLUDE>

 

It’s 12am, I’m driving in my DVSN
The NAV on my GPS says take a left and then
I’ll be in the Plaza, over there is the OVO palace
This Canadian Dubai claims the center of our Black Atlass

 

Anders taps me on the shoulder
“It’s 4am”, Darci says “how’s the weather?
Where’s your coat? The sky’s not even Manila Grey
I’m always wanting, but I never play

 

Because everyone’s such a bore
But, I guess, that’s what the drugs are for
All of us yelling out XO till we overdose
Always Never there, always never till we’re comatose
It’s always XO till we overdose

 

VERSE XIV: Part Two

(The Identities of Inspiration)

 

Every year, I come alive in the fall time
But I’m not the king of the fall, like the pine
And just like Party and The Weeknd
I’ll never have any time to party on the weekend

 

Maybe it’s the seasons changing, but I don’t remember
Anything, except that I wanted to fade away, like November
I’d stop if I could, but feeling is just too much emotional
Effort, for this beating fist in my chest to stay functional

 

Zed sent the beat, said light it up, let the embers glow
There’s so much more I could say, but now it’s time to go
There’s not enough hours in a day, Valerie and I both agree
Mou5etrap, Monstercat, did you expect it to be drama free?

 

I’m jogging, you’re racing, no time left to spend
Hours and hours, every day, months on end
Jazz asks, when he’s searching your soul
Was it worth it, on the whole?

 

Cyclothymia, hitting the highs and lows
Anxiety’s antidote; I need another dose of XYLO
Maybe I said too much, or maybe I didn’t say enough
Regret every word, I struggle when I speak off the cuff

 

Running out of time, couldn’t think of any references
For these next two, so I’ll mention their residences
Both self produced, a storyteller from Bergen
And the other one is a young Albertan

 

Ending with the beginnings of inspiration
Filling me with words like an inhalation
Lengthen the exhale to survive my asthma
Here’s the best, worthy of a quadruple stanza

 

He’s an Addict with a Pen, and there’s a migraine in his head
Lyricism second to none, in every word he’s said
Fueled by Chlorine, addicted to the wind
Fueled by Ramen, there’s a debate in his mind

 

There’s a giant neon sign calling, but that’s not his plan
Only if you understand, don’t mess with the message, man
He learned levitate in seventh grade, all serene
I learned to fire breathe when I was just thirteen

 

Reminded of Aftergold, then Mr. Kitty
And After Dark, one day I will leave the city
Don’t worry, I’ll be here tomorrow
But it’s the end of today
And of my ways

 

Replace that flashing grave with another aphorism
In a line I’ve already borrowed from Miss Plagiarism
I won’t fall in love with falling, that’s defiance
This is another one, but now I just sit in silence

 

The enchanted songstress, who breathes music and mountain air
Says that while the dawn is still dark, do not despair
In a moment this will end, and you’ll depart
The next stanzas contain the final ideas I wish to impart

 

VERSE XV: Last words

 

I hope that with you, this resonates
Or maybe I only wanted something to rhyme with disintegrates
Don’t take this the wrong way, with the wrong view
But this wasn’t written for you

 

Fifty-two laws, fifteen verses, two hundred and twenty-eight rhymes
Five months and countless hours; I polished it till it shines
One hundred and fourteen stanzas, but the world’s still blurry
Is it breaking the four wall to provide a summary?

 

I know this is coming off as disjointed rambling
But, this is my world, and it’s only a sampling
Of my thoughts and patterns, leaning schizophrenic
Like the polecat, the world of the esoteric

 

My experience tends to be psychedelic
I’m not asking or wanting you to be sympathetic
Towards my attempt, just don’t view this as pathetic
I hope my request here was polite and diplomatic

 

Perhaps these laws appear seemingly unrelated and outdated
Poorly punctuated, and written by someone partially sedated
Sort of like any other set of laws
There’s a few flaws, yet I’ll pause and wait for my applause

 

Some laws are strange and hard to understand
The challenge is in deciphering what is legal or banned
Yet all of this is still detailed in rhythm and clause
Because these are the Quatrain Laws

 

<END>