All I know is that I don't know.
All I know is that I don't know nuthin'.
Links and whatnotBlogs and Friends
Just Cheap Dirt
Jack Jackson's Dirty Pictures 2000
Funny, yet true
Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog
Get Your War On
A Softer World
News and stuff
Music and Art
Pitchfork They Might Be Giants
Rate Your Music
Rocket From The Crypt
The All Music Guide
Tha Friendly Gangstaz Committee
The Wooster Collective
Star City Scene
oh my god
The Zyklon Bees
Lone Prairie Records
Genuinely Useful Stuff
The Straight Dope
The Free World
Mail me AIM: RawkStah
My MySpace Space
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Hola, amigos. It's been awhile since I last rapped at you, but, rest assured that I am still alive. Merely uninspired.
First off, I wanna give a shout-out to my homie Pastor Jeff and his taller, older family.
Secondly, I wanna give some props to the weather, for feeling like it should.
I love springtime, because everything comes back to life. I love seeing the greening of the grass, and the buds of leaves and flowers. I love the way everything smells fresh and new. I love how everything feels clean and innocent. Seeing tulips, seeing the sprouting of peonies, seeing all the cute baby animals...
But, I think I love autumn more. There's a part of me that, even though I hate emo fags, is fascinated by the way things die. When I was a young lad, before I got into Stephen King, I was fascinated by the books of John Bellairs. The stories were never really all that scary, but they were atmospheric. Think Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes -- gently creepy, but, you know it's all going to work out in the end. Perfect reading for a chilly October night, curled up in a quilt, lights within reach (just in case things get too scary.
This is the same part of me that, rather than looking at architecture, would want to see graffiti and urban decay. There is beauty in entropy. Entropy is entirely organic. There is no pretense. Entropy is what it is. Seeing bombed-out factories, collapsing creamery buildings, overgrown gardens, stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center, and it's all beautiful. Something wonderfully primitive, something so reliant on things other than technology (as I write this using my computer, reliant on lord knows how many tons of fossil fuels to make the black pixels show up against the white, listening to Radiohead), so willing to accept spirits in the woods, so eager to accept the first plausible explanation that happens, so insular, yet so trusting...
Is this what it's like to be a "man"? To be torn between wanting to grab a down comforter and a girl and sit and watch movies on the couch all day, and wanting to build a big ol' bonfire and see what future the shadows cast?
Comments by: YACCS