bring it on/what the fuh

back in portland i always thought about taking a boxing class with katie, even though her boxing teacher sexually harrassed her and totally like, put his hand down the back of her tank top while spotting her w/crunches or something equally creepy. boxing is, of course, the least subtextual means to release aggression, hostility, anger and / or whatever-whatever, and back then i had a lot to emit. ACTUALLY, I still do, but I try to soften my release with an amiable combo of exercise and music– like when I’m jogging and people on bikes are taking up the run lane, I will rap “Move Bitch” in my mind, and then me and Luda are there, jogging together, our personalities on spotlight mode, exerting our right to take up space. I love music qua music as much as i love it for its connection, that it can create the illusion that you’re not alone even when you are terrifically alone. I am not talking some existentialist aloneness, exactly, though what i mean does not preclude it. I think it’s just about the weight of voices when you are terribly used to silence, or the metronomic clicking in your own mind, like tearing your hair out, and i do mean tearing out your hair. Someday I shall tell you about it, in detail, but it is too special for here. These things I have to tell you, they deserve the gravity and the permanence of paper and ink.
What I initially meant to say is that I love Sqad Up’s song “Parking Lot,” particularly the intro and the way its chorus straight shoots: “bring it on! what the fuck!”
in a similar vein i am getting malice’s lyric “when u want a bentley, a porsche aint’ shit” tattooed across the inside of my eyelids, i think. it is, of course, a metaphor, and it is, of course, the saddest lyric ever.
cynthia mckinney issue—i wrote about it today for the mtv blog, viewable…?.. also what the eff is up with tom delay talking about bringing “ethics charges” against anyone. way to distract the public from yr pending disappearance.
and, we are having a party.