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brass monkey

4 Jun

“Ummm, bag check.”
+ Those are paintings in there.. I have like 16 mini 4x4s as a birthday present.
Well damn. Ignore me then, fine. Asshole.

More whispering.. “Yea. Bag check. Something’s in here.” And of all things, my tiny clutch was taken behind the table. I watched in awe as I had never really surveyed those x-ray screens. It’s the coolest shit ever: clothing shows up as peach-orange outlines, metals show up opaque green, and other hard stuff shows up cyan blue.

Did I get stopped for the weed in my jeans pocket? No.
The lighter in my patent chain clutch? No.
The glass pipes in my LeSportSac duffle? Pppffftthh.


I get stopped for my 3-finger ring.

“Miss, these are brass knuckles.”
+ Those are completely not brass knuckles, lady. They totally have rhinestones on them.
“These are brass knuckles. And if you want them you have to check this bag.” This bitch.

Beyonce’s pianist, Brittani, gave me that duffle in exchange for a painting. Fuuuuuuck no. Plus, what the hell do I look like paying to keep my own shit that I’m so-called not supposed to have.. that makes no sense lady. That’s legal robbery. Niggas, please stay in school and learn your way around shit like this.

*For further clarification on what a niggard is, Webster’s Oxford English Dictionary says it’s a stupid person.

+ Lady, you just said those were weapons, why would I pay $25 to keep my weapons on me? Just confiscate them and you can pay me $50.
(They were $18 each from Urban Outfitters, but dammit I had to pay tax.)

“IF YOU WANT THESE YOU HAVE TO CHECK YOUR BAG.” Like a bitch would say.
+ If you just want them you can keep them, I just need my $50 and everything’s okay, I dared her.

I think that pissed her off. They ran my bag once again through security and I think every single person in the lines was waiting for me to act real colored.. but I learned to let shit go a looooong time ago.

Right after I coolly asked the guy at the x-ray computer who was planning on writing me a check for reimbursement, that rude lady walked right up behind me and threw my rings at me, yelling “MY MANAGER OVERTURNED MY DECISION” and stomped off.. like I ruined HER day.

I said it out loud: “That’s what I fucking THOUGHT!” and I left it there, because you can get arrested just for looking like a crazy motherfucker these days.

You know what I got stopped for last time? Forget that I had weed residue all in my macbook hard case.. They were more fixated with the fact that I had put some flip flops in the same big ass bin as a computer. Like I’m just stupid enough to put my plans of mass destruction in my fucking shoes. I think to myself all the time: shit, if people want to get at you, they will. So you gotta make sure you live your life right and accept the things your ass can’t change.


**probably a random shot from a NiceGuys party last year

How dare she?

21 May

“why?”
I turned around.. “Did you just ask me why I don’t have spare change?”
“Yeah, why?!”

I was looking into the beady eyes of this old black lady. She looked a bit glazed over, looking my direction but not looking at me. Her hair was slicked into a neat ponytail, she had on clean pink and orange lowtop Creative Recreations, and she was in a convenient corner on the stairwell of the train station holding a dirty white cup.

How dare she; how dare she wake up before me, put her clothes on starting with underwear, use her two feet to get her ass to the same train station I do, plop down with her two completely working arms (I looked, they had hands attached) thrusting a cup in my face–and question why I didn’t have money for her ass?

I hit a man the last time I was angry like that. I blacked his eye, destroyed his glasses. Wore a hard ass 3-finger ring with hard ass rhinestones.. that left a severe little imprint.

(What? He called me a bitch.)

Anyway, that’s what transpired during the last time I fumed like that. And today I had on my big gold owl ring. In order to make sure I didn’t knock her head against the tile wall, I walked away and tuned her out.

And got on my train.
Mad.
And laid down.

And realized I just got mad at a schizophrenic lady. Or at least I will convince myself she was fucking crazy to ask that. God bless them, because once again I didn’t see her for what she was: a woman who had lost so much confidence in her worth and intelligence that she’s reduced herself to a state similar to the barnacles on a whale. She didn’t harm anyone or forcibly feed off anyone, like a true parasite. Just like barnacles that stick out their feather feet to comb the ocean for plankton, literally along for the ride on whatever whale they land on–she spends her time weaving her hand between peoples’ faces while she focuses on nothing, exhaling demands for change while inhaling resentment towards her from the other pissed off people mouthing “This bitch.”

Really?

CNN: The Antichrist (but I call everything the Anitchrist)

7 May

Yall know I get to thinking when I sit stationary for longer than 3 minutes. No I wasn’t high at the airport today.. though that would have been the experience.

You can tell we’re in a recession because they have the most under-qualified, no-common-sense-having motherfuckers working everywhere cuz all the overqualified people are too proud to check my damn bag. Shit, I’m not above working for a dollar. That’s why I went and got a summer job (well it was really so I could buy myself nice speakers.)

Anywho back to this security check-in fuck’ry. So I put my macbook in with my boots from LF (that were probably stolen for me by that skinny white girl who workED there.. matter fact I know she stole them because her ass was trying to tell me how much I’d make if I sold acid. At any rate I didn’t pay $200 for them).. my tiny French Connection chain clutch, and that weatherproof Gravis bag I invested in at Karmaloop on Newbury. Sounds like a big ole party right?

Yea it fuckin was. These idiots saw the biggest issue with my computer being in the same bin as my shoes. They went so far as to scan the actual laptop.. I got a little nervous cuz I break down trees on my laptop so I thought they’d find residue and stop me. They pretty much made this big fuss and had everybody in all the security lines looking over at the skinny black girl with all that goddamn blonde hair sitting down without shoes on because those IDIOTS were spending all day ONLY CHECKING SHOES AND COMPUTERS. Like I would be enough of an dumbass to put my plans of mass destruction inside either.

On to the next one: So I sit at panda express and try real real hard to eat this nasty rice and this nasty chicken (times like this I wish I was blazed cuz it would taste like PF Chang’s and I wouldn’t know the diff).. sadly I ate three forkfuls and pretty much threw $10 away. I make my way over to Gate A7 and of course CNN would be blaring on and on about really dumb shit. What the fuck is wrong with this:

-black guy on trial for paying a prostitute $300 (yes only $300.. She needs to get up with Kat Stacks).. like every celeb or politician doesn’t pay for sex. Come ON. Oh, wait.. they all have sex addictions. Man people will make up diagnoses for anything! Show me in some history books where famous people had raging sex addictions!

-Taylor Swift pledging money to the Tennessee flood, damages up to a billion.. and every molecule of my body wants to say FUCK TENNESSEE, WHERE IS YOUR KATRINA MONEY or maybe a little bit of HAITI ISNT FIXED YET ASSHOLES. I can hear it now: “Oh yawl, let’s gone on ‘head & help all those peoples out thurr stuck in all’lat stuff.

-some new bill being passed that would strip SUSPECTED terrorists of American citizenship (when really, we need to strip the KKK members of that. Or the crooked cops who get caught. Or how about child predators? Wouldn’t that make a little sense?)
All I know is that CNN’s timing is pretty goddamn convenient, showing me images of a beautiful man from Mesopotamia and trying to convince me he’s suspected of some bullshit RIGHT before I get on the plane and sit next to a whole beautiful Mesopotamian family.

I guess I wrote all this to say: I hate the idiocy of CNN. And I especially hate that it’s on huge plasma screens throughout all these airports, imprinting idiocy in our heads so it’s the last thing we’re programmed with until we touch land. Does nobody notice that there are no rmeotes to these things? No buttons, not even a goddamn POWER button?

Read a motherfuckin book.

On another note, congrats to all my friends graduating from TEXAS SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY AND BERKLEE COLLEGE OF MUSIC! LOVE YOU GUYS! PS: I’m crashing all your parties.

THIS bullshit. talk about 2012.

4 May

THIS bullshit is literally directly across the street from my school.

lawdamercy.

lick it & stick it

27 Apr

lick & stick the STAMPS.. what the fuck did you think I was talking about?

Apparently, nobody told the mailroom guy at my school that even though he never had an education at a fine institution like mine, he was completely entitled to it.

He looked at me and said “Man, all I want to do is play the bass guitar. I can play it, I just can’t read.” But under his face I could see his blood rushing around in his head, trying to really picture himself a student at my school. It baffled me, this very man who sits in front of every student while they sign for their retarded pound cake care packages..

He’s usually always quiet but I always make him laugh out loud. This time he was stunned while I spoke to him. If his mouth had been open any longer, his tongue would have shriveled up and broken out of it.

His eyes were like plates when I told him about the world of FAFSA, grants, FastWeb, and how to maneuver around the financial aid office.. and what really touched me was that he was SO thirsty to learn at the very institution he separated mail for. He had no idea he could appeal for more money.

He made no excuse as he explained that he had two kids. I told him that was fine, and you can shadow me when I got to class this summer. They aren’t bass guitar classes, but hey–

and the professor wont get upset? Nah, I dont want to show up to their classes.

But I would clear it for you, I told him. I’ll just email them and boom come to class with me!

Really? he asked. It wasn’t the incredulous really.. it was the earnest, bright, wide eyed “really?” that made me realize.. DAMMIT.. I take life for granted.

I told him everything I knew.

The Artists: Mother Speaks

21 Apr


NO pitch correction on Erykah’s new shit; the offkey notes came completely out of her human heart. I needed to deprogram my autotune-conditioned ear–I needed to love those notes to know I’m human too.

Man I can’t lie. I wrote this post completely stoned. I jammed Miss Erykah cuz this is the only time I’m completely open to the world around me. I needed to hear Mother speak, at least she’s my mother now. My real mother was like Lauryn Hill, actually. I think they could be kindred spirits.. I don’t even think I’d mind if my mom was deep enough to have a non-sexual lesbian relationship with Lauryn, cuz then I’d have had two genius mommies. I don’t talk about mommies anymore.

She says so much with so little; and she sings notes that wouldn’t marry each other if you forced them with any other instrument. Underwater is where you have to place yourself to listen to this shit, because artists like that can’t fuckin talk to anybody while they’re “sober”. They’e still thinking about how much they just spent on her album. They’re thinking about their cell phones and who they’re gonna text to tell about song #4. They’re completely unfocused. Artists can only talk to people when people turn into sober artists. And a sober artist is a slightly inebriated soul.

We’re all born artists. Then the world forces us to drink ideas until we become drunk with the “reality” that we’re adults now. What’s really going on is that we are reared to accept lies about who we can look like, what we can only buy for a limited time, and how we’re supposed to think if we’re a certain color. Some people become extremists; those are the addicts. And the rest of the people tread the line between naturally sober artists under the moon and drunk, non-artistic adults under the sun. And those are called robots.

And then there are the people whose souls remain highly tolerant to the consumption of those lies. We are called the artists. Some of us are victims of believing too many lies and we become prisoners of our own love; but most of us share what our souls look like to the rest of the world. But nobody really pays attention, and some of you try really hard to but our souls are written in a language you can’t decipher, so you admire the handwriting. We artists know we can’t reach you because once you do get a glimpse of our souls you forget about what you saw the instant you hear a new lie.

So the only way people can listen to artists is when they’re completely sober; back in their natural state as artists–their birthright. And what’s the only way to become sober? To forget all the lies. What makes you “sober”? To reverse your condition with the most natural means of releasing inhibitions: blaze one, motherfucker. And look at my soul.

So anyway Mother still sings. Miss Badu is baaaaaad.

High, everyone

18 Apr

I keep a diary.
Whaaaaaaat
Yeah, I do. Anyway, I found this old entry. I was having one of those “days” and it cracked me up so much:


“April 6
Whatever the fuck i smoked has me so high i feel like my feet are missing. Earlier i felt so high i was being grabbed by a million invisible hands forcing me down into the earth, as if i weighed 12435324000000 lbs. right now i feel so dazed it feels like 1980.
i always feel like i died young, i was a woman from the 80s probably born sometime in the 50s or late 40s. and then instantly reincarnated into another baby. and whenever i’m high these feelings inensify so much more.

my hands are cold as shit. i’m also ready to be home. i think this entry is particularly odd because i am only stating close ended phrases, and there is not one open ended sentence in it.
i said that wrong. i think this is particularly weird because each of the sentences in this entry is a closed phrase of thoughts, instead of leang room fo a follow-up, explanatory sentence.

i am hella stoned. and ready to go home this girl over there has blue heels on and they look rigid but expensive. like louboutin or miu miu. she is wearing flesh tone tights. her heels arent too high but they are higher than what i would normally wear.
ughhhh this high is making sections of me really cold and heavy. and paranoid. i’m so annoyed!!!!!!!!

asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;
asdfjkl;asdfjklj;asdfjkl;asdfjkl;asdfjk;lasdfjkl;asdfjl;sdfjkl;
asdfjl;sdfjkl;asdfjkl;asdfjl;asdfjkl;asdfjkl;sdfjkl;asdfjkl;
asdfjklasdfjkl;asdfjklsdfjkl;afjl;dsdfjjdfl;

i think ths lady up here knows how high i am. my computer keys are ridiculously soft and they are definitely massaging my fingertips.”

PS: my roomie’s Siamese told me to tell you she’s fuckin kickin it.

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