November 28th, 2004

Elitist Bastard

I broke, like the water...

After a few listens now, I've come to the conclusion that the new Sage Francis album, available in Feb 05, is perhaps the best hiphop album I've heard yet. It is not for the weak of heart and ear. In fact, I don't think I'd let anyone in the "Beginner" stage listen to A Healthy Distrust because this is solely intended for advanced and expert listeners. I've also got the new Eminem album. Listening to it yesterday made me chuckle at just how immature and tame it seemed comparitively. There are a number of "good" tracks on his album, tracks that actually have some depth and soul, but he's cutting himself with safety scissors while Sage spits with a mouthful of razor blades. It makes me sad for anyone who hasn't found their way past MTV-hop and into the light.

How did OUR oil get in THEIR sand?

Once upon a time, The Grimace came to White Trash Town and brought them scissors with which to cut the noose. The Hamburglar ratted him out to Mayor McCheese in hopes of being let off the hook for his vampiric addiction to the greasy veins of Middle America. Now The Grimace pays penance every day, tied to a rock high atop the corpse of the American Dream, his liver eaten from his body by machinery that reprocesses the meat. Every night, while haunted by the terrible visage of Ronald McDaterapist, his liver regrows, only to be eaten again and again and again. Every day, that machinery is there to pump out more Big Macs to feed the Hamburglar's habit and keep everyone blind to the terror wreaked in the name of Justice by McCheese and his gang of Fry Guys. Forget about all that and have yourself a warm Apple McPie.
into this night i wander

I'm not afraid of dying, pieces of me die all the time...

There will come a time. A time when I'll finally tell you off for all the pain you caused, to me and to those that love you. A time when I'll break down and serve you with the dose of reality that might wake you to the world you've created for yourself. A time when I'll be able to apologize for all the things I did to hurt you out of fear of admitting that I still loved you, for all the things I did out of fear of what would happen if I let you back in to my fortress of solitude, for all the things I did when I should've known it'd only make it harder for us both to move on because I didn't want to move on. A time when I'll stop letting my past failures kick me in the knees, when I'll step through that door and become a real person again. A time when everything I touch will reach up for the light and thrive for life. There will come a time when the words will pour forth from my mouth and woe to those who should hear them, for the bullet wounds will run deep and will leave scars that even time will turn it's back upon.

I'm afraid. Thoughts are making their way to words, making their way to paper. Keeping my forked tongue held captive behind clenched teeth becomes more difficult as the days pass. The skeletons are clamoring for a coming out party and the invitations just need to be dropped into the mail. Hydrogen-fueled weapons of mass disruption, just in time for the holiday season. I never did find out what kind of glue is good for putting back together a broken face, but I'm told that 40 days and 40 nights of drinking and self-medication can numb the pain. I'm no masochist, but I've never been one to need something to drive out the sting and I'm not about to start now.