Hey, I wrote a song. It’s called “beautiful.” It’s about misogyny, fat shaming, emotional labor, and defining someone’s worth based on sex appeal. It has one explicit word and one mature theme.
Mostly it’s about what I learned about gender in my family when I was a kid, some boyfriends I had many years ago, and an imagined cultural representative undefined. It’s not addressing a specific person.
I had recorded religious songs in Bengali and Sanskrit and a couple covers. This was my first time recording a song I wrote. Now I want to record all the songs I ever wrote.
1. monkey babies
2. ten thousand feet
3. El Capitan is our friend
4. it’s your birthday today
5. Mr Poopy
6. poop tube
7. happy fun cake
It’s funny like there are the songs I wrote, and then the silly songs I wrote. Then the songs that are like–does that even count as a song? What about “peanut butter oatmeal” and songs like that?
Maybe that’s a song. Hmm. Something to ponder in the shower or what I can’t sleep.
Oh, I wrote the Bumblebee Song, of course. Is that a song? It’s more like a state of mind! Hahaha! No, yes, it’s definitely a song. We sing it, right?
Guess I need to record that one next.
Ming broke the knife cutting open a white pumpkin. It was my favorite knife too, the one I liked best for smashing garlic. The large, blue-handled knife.
We’re cooking the pumpkin so I can make pumpkin bread. We bought it to cook.
Oh, we had a photo shoot before cutting it. “You always hurt the one you love,” I said.