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by buster wolf

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Are you okay? Buster Wolf! What... you ... really...worried... for?
The bottles left their quiet stains on the tables where the liars were fed their sedatives to architects for human houses. Stitch skin over calcified and fractured marrow. (The others) still sleep a stone's throw away and hardly show their teeth. You could've sat amongst carcinogens and sweet unwed things with unmarked hands aimed at what is and what is to be exposed. Eyes sewn stay tethered and tied to the red bird, til lungs purified and I've come to caffeinate the awkward shape that occupies my line of sight. She never met the one that gave her the eyes in her head. I'm often frightened by the songs that children make. Boasting the most sagacious of gashes. Keeping mirrors in my throat, retrieving red gypsy lungs in little paper cities. We draw our names on walls and frozen floors. So paint me a portrait of ropes and I promise to tether my tongue to the sun.
Dried to the scale. Light a match on his mask to spark the pilot with, Serpent skin molted to the marrow and his dry lips bit. Start in with the rhetoric, that “no man is an island” shit, and left a laughing skull and bones like jolly roger pirate ships. Turncoats scattered and ragged, leave limbless. Simpleton, you’ll swing and miss the castle for the princess. Finished. Considered it a chance to test the litmus. Consistently contingent on that lack of common interest. If the husk fits, I rock that shit, walking. Talking like a crow in time to greet the pale morning. Grayed plumage pinned to the pavement, god’s favorite. Slated to be famous by exhuming ancient, 8-bit. Ape shit, on some Donkey Kong chucking a barrel shit. Bludgeoned by the same stones kids were killing sparrows with. We all know bird bones break brittle hollow. Bottle brim with bitches brew, we take a little swallow. Follow friends in lemming lines to cities where there are no skies, topple the metropolis and pluck the roses from your eyes. Cuz it’s the same pulse the blade stopped, the grinding halt machines screech to, now the elders finding fault with the gears, belts, and innards of mechanical scapegoats framework shattered. Some scattered, most stayed close and volunteered to gather up the skull and bones from lion’s dens and uttered not a single word against the stones that martyred them. Found the pale phantoms dancing on the lives wires singing silent, patient as the wives of engine drivers on a long run drawing cuts across the continent to where the sons of men don’t bear their teeth to shoe their dominance On some I can ride a mammal’s back ghost’s spine, camel packed water down oasis muddyfaces tuck yr laces back I’ll remain a faceless act chasing after aces congregating where the faithless at… where the faithless at?
I’ll see you in another life, when we are both cats… I’m twice plucked metal string tethered to train tracks backpack strapped, haphazard, rap facts relevant to present circumstance, I dance past in torn fabric armored in plastic say hello to mechanical wingspans and paper halos worn on tilt - a vacant voice that sings sick stones at your vitals smash bones on arrival, worn white on a blacktop we danced on them crack blocks. hit the lights - we break bread on cold corners glass legs stretched to drink the last bottle I battle shadows with cracked clavicles, sing snake rattles bring blades to parades to cut a swath with lips to kiss wasps with. legs are windowless buildings stride like bent knives knees buckle, belts tight, right? waists worn lazy - wake, waste time, my lady. I blame Hades’ kinetic trickery. We all masqueraded, didn’t we? The ball drop, the block pop, the dream stops, my cheek bones are cheek rocks. But brittle bones break stellectric patterns fractured, till we chewing on the splinters migrate with a feather for the winter fairer weather, life’s simpler and I’m older but I pack a punch and stamina, right? Psyche. I might drink myself dry tonight if I don’t get it right we never rewrite otherwise I’m taking flight, pigeon I’m gray throated. Often misquoted. misapprehension fill pitchers in blue living rooms till you’re welcome, throw my ashes from that 30 year roof and lets the cats lick the dust of me from the gutter, motherfucker.
Simple L 01:01
Lullaby 02:25
On some Terry "are you okay?"/ spam plasma/ buster lone wolf alpha/ drift with a vagrant, spit abysmal/ ballista whistles/ through a brown lung/ my sound dumb/ dreams like mestizo Mensis/ +5 melanin/ kill the nicotine dependency, don't let 'em in/ raise my HP, love done crafted/ cosmic cthulus and Mephistopholes/ now i'm croppin these selfies/ so you only see the skeleton/ what? we better than these bitter men/ props to you brought up by single lioness/ guzzle yerba heat seek/ sweet speak cypher/ walk with moon scented ambiguity/ props to lunacy/ the 8 bit is soothing me/ pale blood moon make me howl 3 times like I'm Thirstin/ can't comment on the cops without this hollow heart burstin/ quietly composed the kid aint clueless/ take the stage and get down right fierce like hadoukens/ I riposte with true finesse/ son, I'm subtle/ sanguine sky plus beast blood/ bust, swallow dust, bones crushed/ the imagery was born in Brooklyn before the wars/ brandish beast claws/ i'm Labeouf on all fours/ I'm currently direct, rap game Nick Tesla/ presently impermanent, Avalokitesvara/ inadvertent burner, end to end/ on metal zeppelins/ 30 year veteran/ word to backbones and the dunks that I'm stepping in/ fear the old blood and give me insight/ eyes on the inside/ and bugged out thoughts that make the pen glide/ stupid
Viaje 02:28
hooded harlequins step slow/ thru broken pixels/ jubilated jesters juking jakes/ seem blissful/  til the masquerade halted /by the sounds of pistols/  abeyance allocated/ frozen swiftly with a fistful/ unmuted equalizers/ spit a whistle - bleed missiles/   the taciturn communicate with color coded signals/ officially dismissed by the dismal/ deleted by the not so delicate/ pellets punctuate the predicate and I'm like -  "Why'd you even show up?" doe-eyed devil  sans dave and and xavier pluck them petal faces,  singing for their thorned savior my place is painting pigment,  poured my bucket on the planets wig  brandishing all thumbs  raging at the cable management even revenants recede at the specatacle glimmering guts to paint the floor with miss the trees for forest and this isolated fortress guards-me-not pardon me, the silence is startling  and I'd prefer not to bartleby,  the incredible hunger artist fasts foward cloak and dagger choke the spoken chatter roamed til the home of the lead wing sparrows bones brittle, unseen blood in the marrow brothers borrowed words scrawled barely legible  both ikkyu eyed only spied the skeletal bus windows have cataracts - I chatter with a banshee -  brazen - catapult the consecrated - pissin on your  palanquin - shield bash paladin, tanking -  the elite  mob - death by day job - chained to desk - under the  radar - the kid view screens , eyes dark like vad-ar-  from the save point I stray far  - buster lone wolf no  cub, no car - walk like an art star - leave mics scarred  - with enough crooked imagery to rival getty -already  home scribble poems eat food already -
Vamos 02:20
I dream cousins float free thru coliseums of mummified birds. decayed cities bleed brown water when bells sing soft like radio nostalgia wrapped around a broken ear. see those rats found ways to slip unseen when the lights burn. these four foot skeletons don’t learn without the visual. those cats on the corner are not rolling for criticals. i suppose these fire escape dreams have their own expiration so i sit and breathe in jail cells waiting. mutter something like white noise melodic coughed thru caffeine lips and nicotine nostrils. some bums never have enough to look fresca , so we sit in allies with evil laughs like kefka. in red robes the only spells we cast are charming glances nullified by mothers eyes poisonous lullabies. wait, dude - just what is it you wake to? is it solo with a single spit ray of sunshine thru the blinds? is it a bed full of phantoms with eyes like knives? kill it. i can only sleep well on broken bottles. wind blown backwards. friends with insects, birds, werewolves and matter factors. i put my own ghost on blast and sit back with a bottle laughing at the aftermath. we carbon based snakes sans the daddy deities dancing on rooftops with pills for the tooth rot. pills for the lonely. pills for the nights when when i got no one to hold me. so hold me down like ten times gravity. migrant - moving to where time tics slow to keep me vibrant - louie's in the skyship with diamonds looking vibrant. but deader than than the eyeless-cadavers keep a steady beat. ghost train pulls up with a grin to welcome me. and these - the few that stuck around to watch the city fold. city boy was told to migrate before the city's cold. and that's really all there is to tell, son. just keep bleeding these fucking ideas on paper till you sell one.
Bones 02:22
Red and then blue. Walks like you do. Even when I stop to tuck the laces in my shoes. Run back to catch the ending. Man I hate that. When you got a cast of phantoms. Don’t you hate that? Aint nothing like gliding by parades beneath a canopy of earth bones, trailing ladies mouths like cigarette smoke. It’s autumn and the library kids are stealing bicycles. Welcome to our city say their hands. So let’s dance on the back on the bus with sleeping mothers. In the welfare line with little brothers. On the project staircase, on syringes. Let’s dance like it’s no ones’s fucking business. Wood brown eyes burn backs on the regular. Sad like a robot that can’t do math. Rather watch the city sink slow from Spanish class. the beauty never lasts, in fact, in fades fast. Elephant graveyards and cigarette ribs. Paper bones. Waylaid at the ghost zone. Eat the dead eat the dead eat the debt. On earth, we pay good shells to have our skin covered. Wrapping every inch till you can’t see the color. Suck on animal bones for nourishment mother fucker. We crack to marrow and lack poise. Pinned to the planet. Constructed -“pinned to the planet.” I conducted my own continent from chalk and pavement. Names on these phantom trains till we famous. Stray aimless. Hi. My name is other. Stained hollow. Endeavor to sever self, come the morrow. We the rotten ones used to regulate aversion. Forgotten sons are not the ones to demonstrate a person’s willingness to take part and break hearts when lakes start the dragging. The same heart we gave shark teeth for gnashing. It’s shark week. Catching ratings now. On my paper route. Eating vapors now. Wow. Mainline el veneno. Hold that L in your chest. Under duress. Under these trees my bones rest. Couldn’t pull the nerves up from under the shell. Legs shook. Fully crumpled. Bled out in the cell. In full lotus, I wrote this with the blood on the soap dish. Note this. Operandi Modus. It’s the closest most kids hover to hope. It’s the locus of graves of those that died hopeless. Counter clock docked still on Escher steps. We looking real good and the letters spell medicine. There is no bed that holds my head and Rome was never real. There is no bed that holds my head and bones were never peeled.
Problemas 02:24
Sally Brown 02:22
I’m the specter in the nautilus shell. Tread well. Word to Timothy. Plus 10 affinity for criticals. Shouts to wizardry. Sucker for the symmetry. I’m Death the Kid with 99 souls. Blindly I go. Vejigante got 108 horns. Run with stray dogs. Stay gone. Stone tongue say songs. Indiscernible against the wailing trains, I’m gonzo. Maverick Hunter S. You know nothing John Snow. But know now, the flow sound profound. Don’t sound pro. Rather pound lo-fi percussive static magic. Silly rabbits. Galactus swallow planets. I’m ultimate. Miles Morales. Gentleman Bastard in a Lock Lamora fashion. On a flagship playing Bastion. Snacking on Lembas bread rations. Hitting one frame links while these mother fuckers are busy button mashing.
LM: You’ve been made a fool, but for what it’s with, I’ve been made one too. And I only wish that I had been made a fool earlier when I lied. BW: I breathe the grayest dust belched forth from city sores and pores. Seemingly certain of my place before this marble curtain draws. When in Rome you roam alone with no back to call your own. Rock your armor when you leave the house or risk some broken bones. Spoken poems go unheard by vagrant ghosts in open zones. Hope alone will not ensure you find a subway token home. Your walking husk will find it’s joy by poking holes in mason jars to free the fireflies whose lighted fly could not be taken far. Fill as flask with phosphorus. Fling it at the pharaohs. Finally you’ve learned to overcome their slings and arrows. Pocket full of sparrows. Hollow bones, hidden marrow. Infants sipping gutter milk. Nourished within shadow. Doubtless daddy kept silver syringes in the garden. Haunting project staircases. Now he’s trying to beg a pardon. If pardons never come then the ghost commence the wandering. Crying from the catacombs. These folks are not for honoring. And you can tell the phantoms from the foragers with ease: by the way they rock their ashes and masks of displease. If pardons never come then the ghost commence the wandering. Crying from the catacombs. These folks are not for honoring.
Dragon Quest 04:18
This is a dragon quest. I grab my best flame resistant vest to avoid its flaming breath. I’m capped level 99 with no need to grind. Equip my artifact weapons. All job classes mastered. From tank to damage dealer to spell caster. On mission for the dark elves. They got me delivering a chest containing an elder wyvern wing to the chief of the village of mages - to trade for missing pages of the sealed grimoire penned by seven sages - who ages long past, sealed away a darkness that threatened to encompass the land. Took their staves in hand to wild elemental spells but on the end, they all fell. Still my thief agility stats are unmatched. With stealth abilities holy relics get snatched. No materia slot ever gets left empty, plus my blade earns double experience points so don’t tempt me. Dualcast luminaire then mega flare and summon espers. Undead opponents resemble lepers. Jump through time portals, swing my blade of the immortal. My broadsword enormous. Chasing goblins in the forest. Ogre battle: march of the black queen. Slinging axes, ranged attacks, kid. I plunder dwarven hollows where no goblins dare to follow. So fuck a 20 sided die cuz I die 20 times and respawn with my stats and epic gear still intact. In fact, I navigate a sorceress labyrinth with no map. And a pouch of purloined potions. Never purchased. Never perish. Cast cure spells on undead. Clever. Nourished with heal berries that restore more depending on your level of alchemy. Mine is 99. A higher level you cannot possibly find. Level 99 with no need to grind. Level 99 with no need to grind. Buster Wolf is Level 99. Level 99 with no need to grind. I mine ingots of mythril and orichalcum to forge a sword, peerless. Forever fearless. Deep in the forest realm do I delve, to seek fame in the fortresses of High Elves. Lock pick the chest with a high success rate. Obtained a spell book from the elder days. Incantations summon the heat of the sun to scorch tongues. A ranger, I, With eagle eye abilities will rarely miss his target, especially with enchanted arrows. Strike your bone marrow. Stone shadows are golems manipulated by Necromancers. Requiring higher level magic to escape disaster. Debuff your toughest adversary. Loot the treasure and take all that I can carry. On my next quest for the sandals of Hermes or relics that cast infinite haste. I am indeed intrigued. It was once believed a gryphons talon would leave your MP permanently increased by 27 points. A channeling skill will decrease your casting time by 10 percent. Cutting orcs until my tempers vent. A black hood that shrouds my face. A black beard. I lack fear. With dragon scale armor that cracks spears. Attack whatever’s near. In a clearing in the forest of no return. I did learn the Ents will not suffer to burn. I slay the eldest wyrm with a blade that survived the mother fucking cataclysm. Casting status spells that cause aneurysms on my dragon quest. I’m capped Level 99 with no need to grind.
Mi Burro 01:44
Bang beats out on bellies. Keep the beads on bed palms – piss under bridges. Plains pale by burning candle vein. Ice bricks trap raptor fangs, fancy. Miss tongue kissing spectral vapors, tricky. Swallow not the bird, the smoke ghost, parallel phantom dance in a brown box. Ties tourniquets with angel wings and kite strings. I was born on broken bottles on a Brooklyn park bench. Cut teeth on concrete in canyon fissures, Spoon-fed spiders in a spiral of snake bones. Cake in his pockets, can’t wait to say grace though. Wake so congested in space the weight is glacial. Grief me to the marrow. Jesus talks you speechless, Star-bellied sneetches, parfait with peaches, Tied to the ocean pulse on beaches II Recipient of new city, walked home With boxes in pockets, shot water in wrists, Wrote home about this, we write home about this. What’s this about, right? We home now? Walking blood ghost dogface brown dick In see through fabric like cat coats. See me? I see you. I’m Jake Sully. Fuck strange with nerves braided. Drift water on wood, Zatara with a pocketknife On a sandy, salt shore never more over pages And fruit. Straws for juice. Draw stars for you. On roofs in youth. Wrote coat hanger bangers In corners for the kitties, corpses just as pretty. Please git yr geetar and sing me a ditty. I never ever heard that chord before. No, really. III Months ago, I was a rock with a fleece robe, Cross-legged in a jail cell – didn’t have to shout Shit at god – we simply watched my breath. If I had gills I’d resurrect – I don’t mean gills on the neck. I mean the blue and red. I mean soup in bed. For sinews and coal, silver and gold. Father mother’s blood in visages. Now cut? The morning, the what? Burnt bread in my last visit from that same phantom. We push princesses into shallow ocean When we drink we think we awful. I just – nope – no. I just this: I just hope they’re watching and listening to all Those frightened animals under the bed. Lord, I just hope they nourished.


Vejigante was made between 2008-2015. A little bit of old and new. I guess if there was a theme it would be "identity" and growing up. At the end of the day, it's just a collection of songs I made because it was fun. I hope you enjoy it.


released August 22, 2015

8-bit Vejigante mask artwork designed by Lee Bretschneider (www.adventuringcompany.com)

All songs written, produced, and recorded by Buster Wolf Garcia, except "Fools," which features Lorén McCutcheon on vocals (soundcloud.com/lorenthestupendous).


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buster wolf Tallahassee, Florida

cats, 8 bit dreams, liminal space. skeletons. self indulgent - always sorry - never mean it - CITRONELLA ROOM _ 間もなくインターネットと現実の世界にやってくる

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