Sunday, July 31, 2005
What It Is
This weekend was pretty good albeit unmemorable. I gave Glueman a project for his namesake, watched one of the hottest scenes in cinema featuring Teri Hatcher, and flexed my pimp skills (yea right). What was most interesting what another racial observation; this one a lot more positive. I'm going to describe it the form of a poem because that is just the way it felt.
What It Is
What the deal is, bruh?
I feel you
you got that beat bangin' in your dome
the hi-hat and bass drum in unison from one earhole to the other
you point your chin in the direction of the beat
as if teaching a class of audio-sensory deprived students how to feel dat(n'yamean?)
but peep this, bruh
you aint got no music, man.
there aint no boombox
just you in the back of a pick-up truck
your clothes a testament to your daily labor
city traffic surrounds you
the waste of automotive emissions fills your nostrils
and all the while you are oblivious
because you have
It's all to the good, baby
what it is is what it is
'cause I got it too
you like me, me like you.