RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Tuesday, November 30

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown – October ’10 #7: “Syrup Thighs” by Roach Gigz

Before I switched my itunes over to the new computer, this was about to hit #1 with a bullet on the J.J. Krupert listdown, because seriously, whenever it came upon my shuffle, I’d play it like 7 times straight. Roach Gigz was the flavor of the moment in the rap blogosphere there for a long minute – San Fran whiteboy fuck-up rapping about fucked up drug abuse and general hopelessness. To be honest, this is the only song by him I’ve really pumped heavily, though rap blog nerds would try to convince you he’s like the next Eminem or some shit. I just love songs about drinking cough syrup to be honest with you. Trying to be non-drinking has been odd at times because most of the time it’s nothing. Like you know you’re better off not doing it, even if I wasn’t as bad as most people who need to quit. Really not bad at all. But like last week, when I had a five-day holiday and money in the bank and everything was peaches and cream, it was like a clenched fist underneath my heart in my gut, that’s how bad I just wanted to get fucked up. Not drink a few beers but plow through a 12-pack and just wobble myself up right good, underneath the big moon, feeling good to the world. Why would I want to do that though? It’s like we’ve been trained to fuck ourselves up when things are good, cultural conditioning to keep us where we came from I guess. I don’t know. All I know is that shit was hard last week, hard to the point I thought about being like “fuck it” but also hard enough that I realized even though I didn’t have a real problem with things, it was probably more than I originally thought, if it had a hold inside of me like that.
I actually contemplated taking halves of some hydrocodone with a cup of tea for half a second as well, and then was like, “yeah, whatever, that’s a brilliant move.” Talk about lateral moves. It’s been 30 days, which ain’t shit really, and it’s not like I was ever drinking to the point I was a bad Hollywood movie character, because I swore off liquor years and years ago, kinda like realizing you don’t know how to slow yourself down so you put an intake manifold on your personal carburetor. But still, I realized that Christmas Day will be 50 days perfect, and if I get that far, that’s probably the most days straight without drinking I’ve had since I was like 13 or 14. That’s pretty fucking sad.
And on the other hand, most things in life I do not completely understand how to navigate this way. Friday nights? Very confusing now. First day of a 5-day weekend? Pain in my gut for a refrigerator full of beer. Like even typing this stupid shit right now has me tensed up inside to the point I think I’d be better off just going outside and walking around the yard a few times.
That’s also the thing – I don’t want anything to be a crutch or a key. I don’t want to think that I need to be loosy goosey to write until 3 in the morning, or I don’t need porn or pills to make my dick hard, or I don’t need anything to make anything else happen. It all should be inside my goddamned mind, to unlock and open up and all other things. But I’ve been telling myself I haven’t been writing as much (and I haven’t) and that it doesn’t meander the way I’d like it to when I do. My ol’ lady says it’s more focused but still my meandering style, and she says I’m much more interesting with the shit I talk about now. In my mind though, I’m far less fun to be around, far less creative, and just a general everyday asshole who goes to work and comes home and does normal people shit and then goes to bed to get up and do it all again. I can’t go out like that, so it’s like I’m trying to justify to myself (of course this is all different parts working against each other for control of the whole) that I need to be fucked up, so as to not be like the rest of this crooked ass world.
It is very funny when you deep down to your heart believe some total bullshit to be true, and you know it’s bullshit but still believe it. I would assume this is why most alcoholics recover themselves by falling head over heels for Jesus. One crutch for another. I am thankful holy rolling ain’t inside of me so that even while not doing thangs to alter my outlook, I can appreciate a guy rapping about having sex with two different types of cough syrup, as if they were women.
STEAL “Syrup Thighs”
Good fucking rock music from the nowadays!

1 comment:

Steph said...

I like this and it makes me realize I need to get off my ass and get back on my blog, and write stupid stuff about how it's so much easier to light a cigarette off of a stove burner than trying to stick my head in the toaster.