Same Old

"A Rant For All Seasons"

Nine crimes, rootless trees, coconut skins, accidental babies; a fugitive with two attempts. Self-reliance, avoiding the silent Judas train wreck that is the hypothetical parenthetical, and such a couple more, are the reasons I awe Ma. And while I don't think it was her, someone somewhere taught me that I didn't have to be that bitch blowing a baller in his drop-top Lex to hear words of undying love. But don't get me wrong: I love fucking and constancy and OMG I am sooooo hard over their new hybrid SUV!

And while you are right, I am not the king, I have faith in my competency so I still might buy me the saddest vacant commercial lot I can find and start up a car wash, wax, and detail shop. For real, G! Start up a realty! Not to be confused with it's hotly debated cousin, i after l, (reality, for all you slow studies, backsliders or neophytes, not that they are mutually exclusive terms.) I only speak to the things that I know because it is my most fervent belief that you have to be a valid person to be a valid artist; harping on hard knocks when you never even had a penitentiary chance at jail. And how can you be a valid person when you spend your days and nights staring off into the smoked out space of your rarefied saferoom while working on your unrealized film script, "Dusk at Cubist Castle" written in colored ink of the proprietary-est formula.

Speaking of, I don't have enough ink in my fucking pen to detail the ugly things you disguise. But I guess everybody is looking for something: validation, Daddy, encouragement, first place ribbons, etc., if you can think of it, someone somewhere didn't get enough of it; pendulum swings the other way, too -- now get out there and sublimate, kiddo! And if you're actually well-adjusted? Well, I'm sure you'll think of something.

Bravery? Oh, god, I'm too tired, okay? And I think we're out of Pepto, which would most def be a pre-wreck for this sour burp of a conversation.

Look, Kids:

stay in school
set the highest standards
maintain the lowest expectations
sow your own row
keep your tail between your legs
but stand as tall as your bone structure will allow
(tiptoeing through the hood, nigga, is no good, nigga)
(and this whole place is the hood)

Everything will be so disco superfly for you! Me? I'll be over here, with my proverbial ear to the colloquial ground, deciphering the low rumble mumbles of the marks' markets, toasting myself with a very pretentious Chateau Petrus, taking it any way I can get it, and enjoying the immortalizing feeling of my blood pushing deeper into my heart when, for the first time, I see the scion made of one criminal to one terrorist.

You did deserve the apple. Just not the cherry.