In the middle of my wage slave day job day Im secretly pining away for the city’s slums and other places I know only through the fictions of hip-hop. Tell me what it is, tell me what it feels like: I want to know what its like to be brave and cool enough to rule the school. I want to feel TRUE feeling escapist joy at the onset of her alcoholic afternoons, I want to watch the glow of the fluorescent lights form halos around Fitz’s head while he strolls department store floors for hours blessed out on crack. I want to suffer Sterling’s insomnia that sends her out into the city canyons, I want to vibe on her Nighthawk James Dean Steez as she bops along from silver diner to ashen subway stairs, limping as though she might be one of those dykes who keeps packing even when she goes outside. I want to cold study on her bad ass look and spiky hair, her swagger and ability to keep a toothpick perched on the edge of her lip just so. I want to take it in like the Grand Canyon: a single person, with her complexities stretched wide for miles. I want to see it ferreal: hidden within its design. I want to enjoy the strange silence of standing off to the side that i MADE.

I turn these bright light fantasy creator and created conversations into slices of dialogue that I slip into posts. Economy is everything as a blogger: nothing gets wasted.


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