I get the rage sometimes. I have it tonight: I am angry at the world, at the state of things, at the whole cancelability of having an opinion. I am sick of it. Like the great Kendrick says in For Sale, ‘the evils of Lucy are all around’. I like Kendrick, To Pimp a Butterfly is a great album. He has a jazz soaked soul. He doesn’t mumble. Not mumbling is a good thing in a spoken word musical beat poet. I put To Pimp a Butterfly on over supper. The boy, used to me insisting on ‘dinner music’, looked at me quizzically. I can’t explain it. A man painted in voodou face paint, his hands chalked white too, sat in a stoop, peering out. Everybody crossed the road to avoid him. I don’t know why I did it, but I gave him a smile and walked straight past him. He nodded to me. This is our part of town. We both live here. Undead. Hyper-alive. Existing. Not wanting to self destruct. The horns are laying down a circular riff behind Kendrick’s powerful beat as I pick at my squash. I cannot cook. The Boy can. I am grateful.
He is mouthing the words to Rigormortus as he taps the table. ‘Amen’ I echo. He laughs, “Ma…you are….” he moves his hands expansively…..”cute.” I go and change the music, in one of the most extreme about turns in history, I put on Stevie Nicks. The brakes being applied and the bow line heaved upon, you can feel the energy in the room creak under the pressure. It was an unsatisfactory change of pace. She makes me feel nauseous.
I have never been cute. I am contrary and difficult. I cannot share my space with another adult person that I didn’t give birth to. I am not sociable. I am not communicative. I struggle to feel comfortable with others. It has been so hard for me to smile recently. Too much. Too much of everything.
The rain smears the windows. I try listen to Donda again. It sounds a little better than it did last time I heard it, it still is perplexing. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I find myself worrying about Kanye. He is a sad brilliant man surrounded by toxic women. I hope he finds the peace in life he is looking for. It is one of those days when no music sounds really good. I can’t find what I really need. Everything is tired, everything is unsatisfying.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better. Perhaps it will be just the same. Please, universe, don’t be worse.