City Scene-Peter Beda

Abstract shit
convert legit
inate legal action
posing for a fraction
get a piece of the action
day and night sirenes
electric prostitution
contemplated billboard games
people play
in the centre of things
                             lies, fear
western hemisphere
weed and cash and other trash
stay discrete
smiling faces leave no traces
be a lot going on beneath
the code of the streets
psychiatric evaluation
in a diversity of places
unique fysique, expressions
only to be found in different
social cocoon-communities


Step into the city scene
where masks hide age and death
vacuum smoke beauty
bading in radioactive tar
multi-racial scars
afro pharaoh pollution
garden botanic can’t stand it
cerebral intersection
chasing clouds in sheepsclothing
as the wind
welcomes warm rain
incredible mind zone
from the ground up
incredible mind zone
fighting natural laws
incredible mind zone
animals without claws
will fight or share food for shelter


Internet parasite
high insights
drawn to artificial submissions
eclectic rites of pure promiscuity
“Does anybody live in the city?”
Step into the city scene
a self-attracted universe
no velocity
no reasons left to leave
the beauty of blacks and blues
young Turks, Moroccan Jews
headwrapped Arab schoolgirl
Eastern beauty with a Western twirl
           interracial intercourse, of course
mingle white lies with pale faces
rituals as absurd as religion
small-time thinking everyday
          well, anyway
blind to facts, looking
to the right and left
and back again


Step into the city scene
the sky stays closed here
minds have no spatial thoughts
no motion in the shadow of secured buildings
Europe as a continent
is closed, content and rigid
so unlike downtownamerica
where space is thinking
a void is a contemplation
and destruction equals creation
             : ba da bing
boom bap
Step into the city scene,
the crowd, the traffic, the scenario
intense contact lense agression
              we will survive
tribes, gangs, organised conventions
this is the anti-ark
where everybody boards alone
nobody leaves home his phone
where every night the last specimen
of human civilisation
attends the final party
with poor spunk quality
please police, protect me
as the city holds species endangered
yes master, no servant
gymnastic breakglancing
didn’t realize it was a dance
until it was finished
diminished, lost
attitude indifferent
tombs of non-motion
Chinese warriors
heroic standstill


surprisingly, at the debt of the abyss there is
juggling verbs like Ishmael Butler
apocalyptic descriptions
of voluntary fictions
at your service like helicopters
on rooftops
naked upper body and rolling thighs
seeking exhaustion
bringing Athens the news of victory
as too many messengers seek
triumphantly senseless seeds
social media breeds the message
              becoming the message
approaching the finish line now
save ass, delete
one love, disabled
the dream is over, yo
TV shows are
political programs
translated into grafitti:
              I tag therefore I am
free resistance publicity
proof of existence
strange signs of weakness
anonymous achievements
evidence without purpose
under the surface
incorporated transportation
 the fourth dimension is
a special effect
super infrastructure
excessive underground
speaker implosion
Step into the city scene,
the comedy of catastrophy
laugh at me I’m harmless
decadent superficial threats
laugh at me I’m heartless
every morning is a miracle
violent expressions
technical obsessions
common sense BMW buyer
there’s no shame in human sacrifice
circulation roulette
we’re all game
absorbed in impersonal roles
urban characters
ideal demonstrations
ethnic organizations
naïve mutations
morfologically moral
concrete hate
forms of wealth and power
puritan hygiene
but mostly useless yawning
the dawning of a new world
                     “Oui, je sens de l’amour toute la violence…”
darwinistic survivalism
from one timezone to the next
from departure to arrival
                      saliva frantic
transatlantic atmosphere
raising high eyebrows
the sun is coming up now
this city could burn me
                    -end of journey.

Peter Beda (°1972) is a Belgian writer, poet and MC/singer, currently based in Brussels. He has released several musical projects under the name 72 Soul, Lazy Rebel and Pierre Citron. He has been published in Maintenant 11 (A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art) and several underground zines. He writes in French, English and Dutch and holds a master degree in Comparative Cultural Sciences. 

Peter Beda brings a new voice and vibe to the art form of rap, autobiographical fiction and poetry, using a spoken thought method to shine light from the mental darkness of doubt and confusion, which he understands as an element of hindering personal progress.
“Love your life, live your dreams.” 
Connect With Us:
Follow by Email

Comments 1

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *