Do you want something funky as hell?

I think you may.

BlakRoc - Blakroc is one of the finest hip hop CDs i've ever listened to. Its the Black Keys doing beats and backup vocals, and a lot of rappers spitting on top of it (Raekwon, Mos Def, Jay-Z to name a few). It's got fucking SOUL, my friends.


Gospel: spread.



being home is weird. That's all. For all my misgivings i don't know that i ever belonged here.


semi-adult thinking about lost time

I'm recently single, two months out of a 2 year relationship. I'm 22. I'm not really sad about it, i'm just angry most of the time, i haven't grieved or cried since it happened. I deal with things pretty quickly, there's just a bunch of bile left over that i'm still working through. So i shouldn't be getting into a new relationship right now, i know that. I don't have any real desire for that. Some people hop from one person to another, that seems to work for some (it's been recommended to me) but i'm not that sort of person. I just want to be single for a while, and not in a "playa" sort of way, just autonomous. I feel like i've earned that.

The problem is that i don't know how, really. My entire context, the life i've built for myself, or the one i fell into and marinated in for the past two years, is over now. My life wasn't about me, it was about her, and now she's out of the picture and i've got this mummified, neglected self to contend with now. It's like waking up from a coma in a lot of ways. I haven't developed as a person at all, i've really just wound myself around another person and lost time. The cost was high, and i'm not presuming it wasn't for both parties. But i'm only worried about myself.

So how does a person deal with this? I think a relationship would be about the worst thing i could get myself into. But i know that edging away from women and pulling back into a shell is also the worst thing i could do, cause i've been doing it and i feel like i'm disappearing.

I need help, i think. I think that's what i need. Do i rely on myself here? Clearly i didn't know best before or i'd have never let this happen, what's to suggest that i should trust myself now? And other people? what the fuck do they know?

Am i just coming back into focus, or have i been cut out of the background? Should I Stay or Should I Go? I hate to suggest it, but from a developmental standpoint, i may have wasted the last two years of my life. I feel like i've explored the idea of a "sunk cost" on here before, it's when you invest money that you cannot get back. How much energy did i spend, how much of myself did i channel into it? I almost don't want an answer, it would be too humiliating in light of the complete failure it amounted to. All is well and truly lost now. There's no getting it back, no past i really have an interest in returning to, no deeper knowledge gleaned. No growth occurred. I'm exactly the same 20 year old i was at the beginning, but now i can buy liquor and my GPA is a full point lower. Where, indeed, have i gone? What have i accomplished? I haven't found anything worthwhile in the aftermath.

They bailed and bailed the water, because they liked the shape of the boat. But nonetheless it sank beneath the waves, its crew and cargo swallowed, its investors jilted.

This is what a movie must feel like when it's been on "pause" for a long time, and doesn't want to start up immediately when you push play. Maybe it's just time, i've got to spool up a little bit here, get my feet on the ground and my head on straight. Maybe. I don't know.


Body Parts

His hands are on his thighs, and his mouth is closed, his tongue is still between his off-white teeth. A tired wisp of hair lays impotent on his forehead, hanging out of a black knitted hat. The moles on his face make constellations, the rhythm of his breathing is steady and slow. His glasses have grease on the lenses, his shirt has a stain and his shoes are pointing inward, like a novice skier slowing down. His thick-veined, meaty hands continue to hold his thighs, a heartbeat barely perceptible from beneath the muscle. The arteries in his legs are as big around as surgical tubing, those in his heart as wide as a garden hose. His lungs are inflating and deflating, diaphragm flexing and relaxing, nerves firing in a symphony, time kept by the metronome made out of meat at the base of his skull. His jaw muscles twitch as a drop of water falls on the end of his nose. His eyes aim themselves at a broken Walkman on the sidewalk, exposed wires limp against the concrete, the circuit board laid bare, gray plastic husk gathering rain.

A drunk man’s mouth is shouting into a cell phone, feet pacing in front of the bus stop. Cars slice through the murk and leave glowing trails behind them like in overexposed photos. The rain pisses down out of the indifferent, slate sky. Pitter patting can be heard on the roof of the bus stop enclosure. Kids move by in clots, their feet tromping though puddles, their twisted little mouths trying out curse words, their eyes glancing over their wet shoulders to see if anyone’s ears heard.

Meanwhile his eyes shift their focus up the street, they survey into the distance, looking for the glowing orange symbols on top of the bus. The bus is nowhere to be found.

The Walkman has not been repaired, it’s full of rain. He wonders whom it belonged to, and why they didn’t throw it in a trashcan.


Working Again

I, myself, needed photographic proof, so you can have it, too.

Feeling better than i have in a while, like my only limit is how much paper i can find in this house. Gonna order some more newsprint now.


Slick sweat, and i can't see her face.

All chances of newfound joy have been outgrown or exhausted, strip mined from the crust to the mantle to the core to the neutrinos to the quarks to the fucking soul of the particle. So fuck off for the foreseeable future, i will be busy busy busy slashing at the fixtures.

I'm drunk on a monday, pizza is coming and so is a nap. Then work on a big ass assignment and then maybe failure, no matter how hard i try. HA HA!

-defeated blogger.