Top of the World

I found this picture on the photoblog of my ex Japanese teacher on my highschool's website. It was in an album of pictures from when he brought our class to a Japanese Mall in New Jersey. I was the coolest kid those Japanese people had ever seen.

drunk post

It is 4:31 a.m. i went to my friend ben's house at 11. My friend brian was there. Then my friend daniel was there. We talked and listened to music. It was cold outside and the snow had melted then frozen. We went to an empty bar and watched football highlights while the music we chose from the boombox played. My friend john showed up suddenly. He was drunk indeed. He left. We left. We ate falafels in a tasty place that unfortunately had a mouse infestation. Listening to the mice squeak to one another, I finished my falafel, we left and I split a cab home and now I'm on my couch reading the blog posts of my vassar friends that were once all in one place and are now stretched across the country. Sam! Kira! Kenny! your posts are partying with me and abbey road. I hope youre all sleeping deeply and having special dreams.

B.I.G. - Ready To Die

I have recently realized that of all the music genres to listen to while writing tired, rap is the best. And of all rap, Biggie Smalls are Tupac Shakur are number one. And between Biggie and Tupac, Biggie is king. So, having realized this, at 7:30 in morning, two days ago, tired as a dick, I walked to the deec, set Ready to Die to repeat and buckled down for five hours of coffee-foggy work on my lit non-fiction portfolio, due that afternoon on the floor in front of my teacher's office.

For five full hours Biggie's voice pulsed in my head, throbbing like a heavy syruppy heartbeat. The continuous pounding beats matched with Biggie's thick muffled verses marched relentlessly around my brain, leaving me lost in a cocktail of confused shifting moods directly linked to the disturbed and disjointed emotional architecture of the album. Biggie's personality, in all it's self-loathing, schizophrenic complexity, rung in my head for the rest of the day. And I got really into all the contradicting thoughts and feelings that had settled themselves in my mind and realized once again how amazing and weirdly complex this album is. In light of that, I decided to try to make a nice map of all it's parts. Here is what I came up with:

Tech 9. Mach 10. .22's, .45, glocks, shotties.
Fuck bitches. Party. Fuck bitches. Girls are objects for my pleasure.
I'm going to kill everyone. Get more money.
Clothes, party, money, prostitutes.
Get high. Rob. Steal.
I love being a gangster, I love toting guns, I love fucking.
I hate myself. My mom hates me. I'm a piece of shit.
Girls all want me. Make love, make love.
I'm rich but I still pack gats and I'll kill anyone.
I have a big dick. I want a piece of steak. Get High get your dick sucked.
People want to rob me, I'll shoot them all, dog eat dog, dog eat dog.
My mom wishes she had a motherfucking abortion.
My mom is dying.
I hate my mom.
I love my mom.
I hate women.
I love women.
I love myself.
I hate myself.
I'm ready to die.
I deserve to die.
I hate this life.
I love this life.
Get high, fuck bitches.
Shoot them down. Get Money Get money.
Fuck heaven and fuck me.
I'll kill anyone.
I'm a piece of shit.
I'm ready to die.
I can't take the stress,
I'm ready to die.
I deserve to die.
I can't take it.
put your guns in the air.

things i didn't like about today:
-found out a paper i thought was due next monday was due last monday
-i have a cold, and i've been sneezing and getting germs on everything i touch but not telling.
-i had to say goodbye to some homies.
-since i had no clean socks, i turned the pair i wore yesterday inside out and wore those.
-i considerably freaked out about work.
-i haven't showerd in three days.
-i feel sick and dirty and lazy.

things i liked about today:
-I got two extensions by email.
-I didn't go to work.
-I listened to Ready To Die the whole way through three times.

"...last time you were nicer, look at you now."

xcc

I watched the big man fall from my room.

He had lost his shirt to the humid air,
and without it, the warm ground,
like a surgeon,
touched him directly.

His small daughter walked limbly
by his side, and
turning at the tumble
hiccuped with cries cries at the sight

And on the hot iron-gray street,
the freckled man beat her like a drum.
And her little body rung with the blows
hollow and echo like the barrel of a gun.

...look at the sky, homie.
what?
look.
what about it?
wow.
wow what?
i dunno...wow.
...
son, that goes forever.
so? I can't feel forever.