“What the hell is that?” she asked. “Who the hell are you?” I asked I have an idea. Genius. This is official PROJECT ASTRAL poetry -Raphael Baldaya AdvertisementsRead More What the hell is that?
TIME MACHINE POET OF THE WEEK MAC MILLER Born Malcolm James McCormick January 19, 1992 Point Breeze, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, U.S. Died September 7, 2018 (aged 26) Studio City, Los Angeles, California, U.S. I became a fan of Mac Miller via his features with AB Soul, Curren$y, Freddie Gibbs and Wiz Khalifa; I started to look more […]Read More Mac Miller
TIME MACHINE POET OF THE WEEK FREDDIE GIBBS Born June 14, 1982 (age 36) Gary, Indiana, U.S. We are now announcing only the second time we have named a living person for our “Time Machine Poet of the Week” tribute. Hailing from the streets of Gary, Indiana; Freddie Gibbs has created his own stylized flow, equipped […]Read More Freddie Gibbs
TIME MACHINE POET OF THE WEEK Wolfman Jack Born Robert Weston Smith January 21, 1938 New York City, U.S. Died July 1, 1995 (aged 57) Belvidere, North Carolina, U.S. Although I didn’t grow up in the realm of Wolfman Jack; I remember DJ Cousin Brucie replaying snippets of Wolfman Jack on Sirius XM satellite radio on […]Read More Wolfman Jack
Door ENTRANCE. And she’s stationary waiting for the invitation to extend And she walked with scarlet cloth, through the hallway of records SILENCE. Jung archetypes adorn asterisks gently on rooftops Freudian textures teaching Tamas TRAIT. Mirror gazing projects her to a conscious reflection Reflection of consciousness projects her onto a mirror TWO. And she’s tempted […]Read More Door ENTRANCE (AUTOMATIC WRITING)
Door EXIT. And she’s in the next room staring through a stained glass window And the paint is peeling from the frame between here and somewhere STATIONARY. Parallel pyramids project her shadow on mute Euclid angles architect antidotes of a plane laced with pores FACE. Pineal paths drift her along a Phatnitic water Arrayed asterisks […]Read More DOOR EXIT (AUTOMATIC WRITING)
It was a Wednesday. ‘He’ didn’t feel like getting up. ‘He’ was cold to the touch. It was a Thursday. ‘He’ felt like getting up. ‘He’ was too late. This is official Project Astral poetry – Raphael BaldayaRead More I AM DEAD