I'm back, officially.

I needed that two weeks off, folks. No worries, I was writing, reading, listening, etc. That two weeks, I was putting shit together like k'Nex.

Like this? Like thattttt.


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Starting a life is hard. You have to start paying attention to things you'd regularly ignore. You buy expensive vacuums with filters instead of bags. Filters? Those are for fish tanks and cars. I've spent money on pots and pans, baking soda for the fridge. Spent money on toilet paper, and money I've spent on things has ended up toilet paper. I've bought new records.

Skrilla. I bought myself a gigantic TV, photos to put on my wall, frames to put them in. Blankets, towels, an ironing board to hang on the back of my door. Conserve space! This is like...this is like 700 square feet.

**

I know I'm getting older because I'm devising methods to vacuuming. Patterns, you see? The carpet needs to look a certain way when I'm done. Half comb-over, half bedhead. My music gets louder as the night wanes. I supply bass as if it were warm water for showers. I'm a water heater VIA bass.

I obsess over MF DOOM like your mom may have been over David Cassidy. He climbs in your ear like the whole ball of wax. MMMM, see, here's the thing about hip-hop. Well, music. It's all a throwaway. We've heard it all. Everything's been done. Albums about food, albums with no sound, no lyrics, about Oprah, whatever. We've heard it. But DOOM....um, DOOMMMMMMM, he just, he does it. Everything is an infant with him: brand new, sunrise, freshly sealed lamination around the poster.

Please readers, wade your way into hip-hop. You need it. You need it a lot more than you need a new Grisham novel, or a Misery movie. Fuck that stuff.

This is what you need:


Just like the air your breathe, the food that spoils in your fridge, he's necessary.

Also, I'm working on a hip-hop essay. We'll see how it goes.