And if you go to their forum on d12online, there is one crazy member who has been ranting to themself for literally years, writing weird ass poems. Example:
I had a dream last night.
My father was collecting money in that basket in church.
He spoke to Dre. all-tho it was left silent.
I had 5 for that basket, my father could not find change.
I got it, I said.
Dre. was with some young black gentleman.
A picture in my head, that Dre.'s mother was with him.
After church, about 2 black people I knew ran up to the car.
Just verifying there cool with me.
The Rumknee I spoke, however you spell it.
Got me an angry reply back, from outside of your car.
Now, I was playing when I said Dre would probably die from a fly by.
For he sure is looking like King Kong.
It's harder to express myself when I type.
Type is lacking in so much gesture.
And my sarcasm, gets misunderstood.
I awoke a few nights ago, speaking on the phone.
On some supposed detective, he was slandering me with some great lies.
I'm a sleep walker at times & I do get caught off guard.
At rehab, a guard has found me sleeping in another room, in another bed.
Anyway, I awoke with some tears in my eyes this morning.
I want to say, in my later teen-age years, Dre was there.
The conversations in my head with Dre are now but a blur.
But back then I could fend for myself, with keeping my mouth closed.
Now the prop with the mortician, rest with a plaque.
It's funny, my father always had a tooth pick.
I'm lacking, while my neighbor always used to wax those cars. I hate it when I feel compelled about speaking about money because it's about, what you do.
Sincerely Yours,
From Another Portal,
The Dream Dumpster