Hey, I go through phases where I listen to a lot of Joanna Newsom. She is powerful medicine for me, as well as a freakin genius. I can pick it up but have to put it back down again.
I want to listen to Milk-Eyed Mender over and over. It can be very stabilizing for me, but then I cross a line where I’m tempted to get overwhelmed by it. Fall into it and stay there–soak in the warm pool of that weird music forever. “Peach Plum Pear” was my favorite song for a long time.
Partly I would like to push my own thoughts out of my head and take that music as my thoughts.
I see the wikipedia article calls her music psychedelic folk. Wow, it’s the psychedelic idea again. I wonder if she did the trippy drugs, as I did not.
She’s at least as brilliant as Sufjan Stevens. But she’s a small lady with a weird voice, playing harp, so I don’t think she gets as much money. She doesn’t wear her baseball cap at that jaunty angle, that I have seen.
Lately I want to hear “Time, as a Symptom” over and over. Not a good idea though–it makes me feel crazier. I need to feel less crazy these days. So I stopped, for now.
I watched three epic rap battles tonight. I had seen a Gandhi one, a couple years ago. They can be scathing and very clever, but the misogyny tires me. I don’t think they are perpetuating badness, but they do report it, repeat it, which is painful enough.
Makes me sad because I would really like to be a rapper. I don’t think I have the right attitude. This has been a dream of mine for so long.
I’ve been asked specifically not to rap, I think by my students, long ago. Sad. I pick out a new rapper name periodically. Names can be powerful medicine. Sometimes I listen to rap, but it doesn’t go in my head right.
I read the wikihow on how to rap. That must be the most non-rapper way to try to learn how to rap in the entire world. I’m a dork.
Is this the time to talk about Awkwafina? That’s hard to spell. I love the idea of “My Vag” and its spirit. But wow, she says mean things.
The song is setting up a series of comparisons. It’s so cool for us to talk about our body parts not often discussed. She’s iconoclastic, which I have to admire. I love her attitude with its irreverence. And she’s so clever and has such pretty hair.
But this gun moment shows–her values are not like mine. And I got really ouched, hearing this song “My Vag.” The good vag is hers, and the bad vag is me! She says “fat and on disability” is undesirable. Wow! Ok! I’m the undesirable thing. Oh well. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t make it ok.
Also, cabbage is great–cabbage is amazing. And PBS specials–I dunno. I can think of worse things. Best supporting vag seeems ok. I don’t mind a smaller trophy.
Running a 7-11 might be sad. But someone’s gotta sling slurpees, right? I don’t think 7-11s should exist, ideally. But United Statesians need their cigarettes, plastic lighters, and Big Gulps. Potato chips, mini powdered donuts, and hot dogs that roll on hot dog rolling machines.
I can be clever / funny, but I don’t have the rapper attitude. The urban area I live in does not help me cultivate the right brightness-style.
If anyone reading today wants to give me lessons or take me under their wing, hit me up.
“Ok, I’m asking the universe for rapping lessons,” I told Ming, by way of warning.
He looked at me sleepily. He drew a rectangle in the air with his fingers. It represented a present.
“Not that kind of rapping!” I said, laughing. “You calling me a square?”
He danced a little dance, looking cute. “Yeah, that kind,” I said.
Then he opened the fridge and looked inside, then opened the freezer and looked inside. Leaned against a wall with his eyes closed. Stimmed and stumbled around half-asleep.
Narcolepsy is not all they say it is. If you get offered narcolepsy, say no. There’s not powerful medicine powerful enough.
Now he’s eating veggie chips. They are sweet potatoes, beets, and exotic veg. He clipped the binder clip to the bottom of the bag; he dips his hand into the top of the bag and pulls out chips to munch.
Now he neatly folds the bag top and clips the binder clip to it. Not bad, for a half-asleep person.