Tyler Durden's blog: "Brass Knuckle Poets Society"

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

 We brush off the flakes, Forward-looking BKs, with goggled-covered face, we do not hesitate, to sleigh down the mountainscape sideways, like we were on borrowed days, time is fragile like freshly frozen lakes, Cali kamikaze is the chosen way.

Cú Chulainn - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

So-Cal steelo meets the Tao of the Bay. So cold, that we numb to distaste - adrenaline rush and it feels fuckin' great. Speedin' over powder, and it's powder to the face. Red Stripe on the mountain, like we run this fuckin' place. We don't need a highway to heaven; we hit the freeway to play. We go hard in the paint. We side hard on the mount, 'cause we been drivin' all day. Against B.K., you look like a fuckin' stain. The speed is the rush; who gives a fuck about the pain. We some moguls hittin' moguls; you can kiss the fuckin' taint...

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

We shoot passed traffic like rushing river rapids, Rant.one with the Savvage, where we're seated is heated, so life is love and lavish, a smooth dude, goin down on the slo' like she's a bad bitch, we riding mapless, and there wasn't a trail that we haven't had licked, just 2 rad kids, Ready to dip, the minute we slid off that lift, these pockets mad thick... with cabbage, a G worth of Cs, but please- I'm not on that material rap shit, but I've been known to have it, plus I always pay with plastic, like a habit, grab it, out the wallet and I slap it, countertop for my ticket, collect platni miles for the slick kid, holdin my beer with no fear up in here, cos these lifteez know my status...

Cú Chulainn - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

Adept wit' the Burton aparatus. We dip off the lip of the lid, and let 'em have it. We sick wit' this shit, like we rabid... choppin' through the soft white, like a cleaver through sad cabbage. The delicate balance of the razor's edge dictates the Savv's passage... Drunken Master - skilled like Caradine wit' the jack-it... gear and the graphite wit' the graffix. I'm higher than Aspen, giggin' while I'm passin'. The Mad Hatter, wit' the hat to the back an', I'm yeein' and I'm laughin', givin' the Homie dap an'... we up in Tahoe, doin' it real Mount Shasta. I'm ghostin' like I'm Casper; eyes on lobster, like an albino rassta... slappin' the rap at high speed, seemingly impassive... beastly jurassic, slicin' the white like a raptor. It's the the Silver Surfer rippin' and splashin', harassin'... wit' the Iceman; the Spaniard be smashin'.

ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

Dip out in the wagon, the kid is out boastin and braggin, flippin out, trippin and laughin, actin in no particular fashion, throwing snowballs at random, these dudes is bad men, running around saggin, people see we're what the fuck that's hap'nen, and want to be a part or a fraction of the action, cool-ass fool came through and is askin, if we had'em, No? well take a drag then, puffin magic dragon, while cars in the lot kept passin, I'm in the cut, with a brew on my lap man, doin it real Captain, eyeballin the pleasant distraction, snow bunny attraction, but it's time for extraction, so we slide out like we were losing traction, on the Outback again...