Introspective: An Existential Rap
Sitting in a little place known as Smoke Park,
Sucking on the blunt while I read Jean Paul Sartre.
Don’t know what he means by existence
Precedes essence.
It means I’m born without meaning,
So throughout life I be feening,
For what I be seeking,
Looking for the path,
I don’t know what I have.
It’s time to experience life,
Though suffering may be a strife.
It’s only through experience, I can tell
That you’ll be able to find your true Self.
Which brings me to Schopenhauer,
He ain’t Nietzsche,
No “Will to Power.”
The suffering of your voids, you gotta face,
That’s when time and death give you a taste.
And while my page is buffering,
I can sit by myself and face my suffering.
Fear of death will make you a slave,
But it’s inevitable that you’ll face it one day.
Or night,
You’ll be out of sight.
And some people think that it ain’t right.
Does something happen after death?
I don’t know.
Cuz I ain’t in the position to say so.
Now back to Sartre,
Hell on Earth,
That perception is a terror.
Yoni’s nauseated,
He can’t look in the merror.
Antoine Roquentin is his name,
Separating essence from existence is his game.
He can’t help it so get off his back,
But when he looked at the chair he saw it smiled back.
Now I can’t forget my man Kobo Abe,
The only Eastern dude at this Existential party.
Now his absurd story, it ain’t historical,
But you gotta remember that it’s allegorical.
So the sand ain’t sand, yo it seems like death to me,
But Niki Jumpei don’t want nothing but fame and money.
And I’m conscious and aware time,
It can blow my mind,
Cuz on any given day,
I’ll be rapping the same rhymes.
I feel bad for the people who take comfort in routine,
You can see that my rhymes, out of nowhere, they be clean.
I take refuge in my dreams cuz I want to know what they mean,
And by the way allegory means nothing’s what it seems.
Not sure what I’m doing here,
So let me seize the day cuz my life is so dear.
Even though life is the best,
Death may render it meaningless.
Don’t know if something is beyond the bend,
But all I know is that this life is gonna end.
Beckett says there’s no God waiting for you,
And Kierkegaard says that the crowd is untruth.
Establish that personal connection with God,
And isolate yourself away from the mob.
Just take off your collective facade,
And isolate yourself from the congressional nod.
All these cats are really out there,
And I ain’t no paper knife or some pre-determined cook ware
This ain’t a front, this ain’t just pretend,
And as does life, yo, this rap is gonna end.
Tomorrow may never come cuz nothing’s guaranteed,
Caleb on the mic with this Existential stampede.
I feel like a little boy prancing around,
And one day that little boy will be six feet underground.
Now the burning blunt is reaching its end,
This Existential street prophet is about to ascend.
Death is something that we all go through,
And I accept that it’s gonna happen,
Do you?
