this poem starts with a spoken accent and a reverb
for idk four or five stanzas of two by fours, then
im dropping some urban clank beats,
something like a semi truck bang conk,
and not a boom chuck or a boots n pants,
this poem also has six accadian meat pies,
and some star shaped spritz cookies in the oven,
im wearing a long sleeve tshirt right now
and nothing else at all,
hopefully thats not a creepy detail, but
more like a sex sells thing, look
i’ll use any technique i can to
make this poem stand up and go out the door,
okay true, this poem is free but
wouldnt it be great if it made me rich,
or if it wrecked someones life bc after reading it,
they couldnt imagine writing another word.
that would be perfect.
been in stuck in head for days.
this video just convinced me to go see them tomorrow night
a. it looks like he’s whispering but it sounds like he’s yelling. b. i have a better time understanding busdriver when i can see him.
Thanks to the internets, someone saved one of my best/worst teenage memories. This is the Ramones being booed off the stage at the St. Paul Civic Center in 1979 (I still say ‘78, video footage backs me up) opening up for Foreigner. They had just played Surfin’ Bird, coincidentally, written by the St. Paul band the Trashmen in the ‘60s. I went with HS friends for Foreigner and was blown away by the Ramones. I was dumbfounded by the audience’s reaction. Why couldn’t they recognize genius? I already had Clash, Sex Pistols, and X-Ray Spex vinyl/8 track purchased at my hometown Pamida store but this was my first face to face with punk rock. Shortly after this, the basis for the Cretin Hop was formed as the Ramones noticed the Cretin Ave. street sign and a high school with Cretin in it’s name and tied it into the crowd’s reaction. Yeah, you can’t stop them from hopping. Seriously, who brings fruit/vegetables to a show? FYI, Foreigner sucked even my farm town friends were complaining.
i went to that high school. my grandma lived on that avenue.
seriously what in the fuck. crazy writing, great devotion, impeccable execution.
a long read on the movie whiplash and race and jazz and virtuosity vs devotion
One is the idea that people often use the term “race” when what they really want to talk about is racism. When commentators emphasize “race consciousness” or “race relations,” they make something that’s about oppression into something about identity.
A classic example is the tragically common refrain, “They shot him because he’s black.” We all know what that means, but actually, the sentence doesn’t make sense. Black skin doesn’t attract bullets. The color of someone’s skin does not cause them to be shot. That’s oppression that causes that to happen. That’s racism, not race.
Barbara and Karen Fields use the term “racecraft,” evoking witchcraft, to describe an ideological fog, a pervasive mental terrain, in which all of this operates. One of their most provocative arguments is that well-meaning people often end up recreating the ideas of race in their attempts to be anti-racist. For example, by trying to find in ideas of race something to do with culture, or something to do with identity. But Barbara and Karen Fields point to the example of Amadou Diallo, an immigrant from West Africa who was gunned down by New York City police in 1999.
If the police had known that he was an African immigrant, and not an African-American, would they have thought he was the same kind of threat?
Amadou Diallo didn’t get to define himself in America. They define you. Black is something imposed on you in this country. It’s not a self-definition. Look at all those court cases of people trying to define themselves and being told, “No, you’re not that.” Native American tribes have gone before United States courts for generations, explaining that they define tribal membership socially (that is, as people who live on tribal sites and perform tribal practices), not genealogically. But time and time again, the court insists that bloodline is what matters.
…
The official stance of every institution is antiracist and in favor of “diversity” and so on. But we know at the same time that all of these institutions — every university, every school, every prison — has a tremendous pattern of racial disparities: who gets punished and who gets rewarded, who gets opportunities and who doesn’t. These tremendous patterns happen at the same time as a high level of official denial. And the court has ruled again and again that the pattern isn’t enough, you have to show intent to demonstrate racism.
i read this a few months ago and remembered to reread it. very powerful. very informative.
There are 11 students in the class. All of them are white.
Our discussion is lively and intense; everyone seems impatient to speak. We talk about language, history, and identity. Most students say “the n-word” instead of “nigger.” Only one or two students actually use the word in their comments. When they do, they use the phrase “the word ‘nigger,’” as if to cushion it. Sometimes they make quotations marks with their fingers. I notice Lauren looking around. Finally, she raises her hand.
“I have a question; it’s somewhat personal. I don’t want to put you on the spot.”
“Go ahead, Lauren,” I say with relief.
“Okay, so how does it feel for you to hear us say that word?”
I have an answer ready.
“I don’t enjoy hearing it. But I don’t think that I feel more offended by it than you do. What I mean is, I don’t think I have a special place of pain inside of me that the word touches because I am black.” We are both human beings, I am trying to say. She nods her head, seemingly satisfied. Even inspired, I hope.
I am lying, of course.
what is that rhythm!
i would like to nominate this for best song of the year. get a copy of the record, put on some headphones, close all your blinds and windows and doors, turn that shit up, and lie down on the floor and close your eyes.