Let's shake hands and forget about tomorrow.

This is generally on loop when I get home from work. And by generally, I mean I've listened to it in its entirety twice today. It's a story, pure and simple. Um, a persona. I'm a proponent of persona. We all have one, especially writers. Ahem. This album is so disarmingly honest, genuine and authentic in both its production and consumption. The word play is on fire, you're going to constantly be hitting loop to hear DOOM spout gem after gem. It's noir. A movie, bad guy vs. bad guy. You hang on every beat in drenched-face anticipation, every single word is somebody's thick fingers ringing tighter and tighter around your neck.

The best hip-hop album of the last 10 years. Easily.

**


I don't even need to explain myself here. Umm, a smart-ass, dry witted milkshake who lives with a carton of fries and a meatball that turns into an igloo, hotdog, and bridge.

Supplement.

**

There's this one girl, too. I've talked about her a few times. She has a blog. We've been "together," whatever that even means, for three months today. She's my best friend. She's probably the only person I've ever met that instantly makes me feel better when I see a picture of her, when she texts me, when she leaves me a voicemail.

I've been in other relationships, all of his have. There's an unavoidable desire to rate your partners. We both do it, subconsciously, sometimes incorporating each other to help do it. A majority of the time, it's a refreshing chance to offer your current situations perspective. Other times, painful reminders of mistakes, blown chances, whatever.

We're humans. It's instinctive to squat over maybes and grunt until you either forget about them or decide they're worth keeping in a satchel. It's our fault. Anxiety folks, hello, there it is. Baggage. It's why we need to travel with what we're wearing and what we can fit in our pockets. And I think now, finally, after two-ish years of trying to get myself to board a train and go, I've finally gone.

I'm in love, and that's all that matters. I've found a nominal sense of love and understanding. I'm contempt. I wake up, piss and think about love. Love for music, writing, Master Shake, Katlyn. Um, those things matter. Like, there's a see-saw in my head. Those things are on one end, and a the word love, in that terribly cliche Warhol font is on the other sider. It's even four different colors, how cultured! 

But they're sitting dead even. The wind doesn't sway either side. This would be a boring see-saw for a kid. I'm glad I didn't have the mental capacity to care like this in high school. To care about the random people I had sex with, or even my last relationship. Being able to live in the now is extremely liberating. Honestly, I don't know how many other people can, probably because it rarely works. 

For me? Shit works. Thankfully. We're moving, we're happy, I'm content. And just like that awesome scene in Babe at the very end when he stands with the farmer, and everyone is screaming and cheering because he was able to lead the sheep into the pen, I'm sitting here in my bed saying, "That'll do pig. That'll do.:"

**

I didn't move to the city

The city moved to me,

and now I want out

desperately.

So please, let's shake hands and forget about tomorrow.