ahh damn

I should have something to talk about. I've been up all night for no reason listening to and finding new music and I should have something to talk about. But that one domed me out and I freaked out about the hour. I can barely read the cnn ticker, which seems remarkably out of place rattling off the contract terms of the Islander's restricted free agents signing 'pacts.' I'm concerned about the civilian casualities in the new war and wonder if hezbollah really exists. Wait a minute, the blowing of the fan in this would-be sweltering apartment is definitely affecting my typing. It's like being in the opposite of outer space. Plus my brain hurts, and the hold steady rocked it. They did it with their guitars and their relevant lyrics about rocking and slacking. And skateboard p (dude better be ill) made a brief appearance cause i got it like that, off the inter-net net. I signed up for the fifty free jawns on emusic and went crazy so i didn't forget to quit before the two weeks of freeness ended. and there are apparently two kinds of free songs on the server so i cant keep count of my fifty. ahhh whatever. dammit, typing is so hard. yeah, its the fan but im sore as a whore after the dodgeball the other day. its not like normal exercise. its all running and contorting and throwing you body out of whack like only little kids in shape should do. my muscles ache. good gangster wheezy, they ache. i'm gonna throw on that this heat reissue and sleep it off. cause i got it like that.

SATURDAY NIGHT

THE SKINNY TOM HANKS MAFIA IS THROWING THE ILLEST AFTERPARTY FOR SIREN WITH THE NARRARATOR AND THE END OF THE WORLD AT 3RD WARD. STAY TUNED.

you ain't nothing but a car theif who must be stopped

So I’m trying to turn up the heat. You know…turning it up. I decided that I’m sick of screwing around. I’m just like constantly hanging by a thread and when something goes wrong, I’m destitute. I hate to be a downer but my karma is in trouble: some ignorant piece of shit broke into my car last week even though it was parked right out front of Union Pool, that freaking clubhouse. Jesus, it’s a cop clubhouse too. Dig this ignorance: my mini glass panel on the driver’s side was still duct taped in from the last smack job who broke into my whip but the culprits thought about it and decided that it was probably better if they smashed out the driver’s window too. Its like the intersection wasn’t hot enough already and they needed to up their adrenaline or something. I mean, that area is just so crowded all night and there are always cop cars parked along the triangle somewhere. Some sissy hipsters must have seen something go down but were too busy pissing in their pants to do anything ‘cept run. But whatever, I guess I deserved to get broken into for the...let’s see…sixth time. Man, I gotta have shit luck cause this is just unreal. And they finally got my bass out of the trunk this time. So that’s three cd players, a fat book of my mostly burnt discs, and one bazooka tube. Plus they got my ill aviators. Bunch of savages in this town.

But it’s just sad: I worked my ass off last month and was finally going to have some extra loot to put away for the first time in a year. I was psyched. Rent check written and $200 left. But that money is gone. Spent at the junkyards in southwest Philly and my car still looks like shit. My A/C is fucking dilapidated now and I’m stuck with a 9 dollar Wal-mart boom-box. But that’s a wake-up call: I gotta hustle. Everyday. Snoop Doggy Dogg need to get a jobby job.

I’ve been enjoying helping my uncle plumb in Philly but the time away from home and on people’s couches, even if they are my family’s, is beginning to wear thin. Plus my uncle dissed me last week and asked my cousin help him because he claimed he couldn’t get hold of me. But I call bullshit on that so fuck all these hoes. Now that my girl might be staying, I need a real a 9-5 to seal the deal. I do alright freelancing but if I have a full-timer she can’t try and get me to move anywhere. I don’t want her to go but what is really killing me is the uncertainty. I gotta put my plans on hold til she figures out what the shit she’s doing. If I did bounce, it would surely not be to the yuppies infested north side of Chicago. I’m talking an ill row house in Northeast Phila. For 8 houndo a month, I get three floors and a backyard. It’s calling my name.

But then I go and catch an ill Les Savy Fav show at the park and Brooklyn regains some luster. Fuck man, the more I talk about this the more I don’t know what to do with myself. I better just stay put and hustle myself to death.