SONG OF THE DAY: Take Me To The River

Sometimes you just want a slightly blander version of a great song… not necessarily bad, but Levon Helm ain’t Al Green. You can’t always go sit by the river on a Friday afternoon. Sometimes you gotta do it on Tuesday, too.

SONG OF THE DAY: Going Down to the River (kudzu'd)

Been a while since I wrote one of these, since I'm doing them for the slowed down 45s I post and nothing else. I don't love this one, but I also don't hate it, but also it mostly make me wish I was sitting in the river, or at least dipping in it right quick to let the cold blast shock me to my better senses. Shit, I should've made that part of the sonnet.

To reverse negative stream of consciousness flow, 
occasionally boom baptize the flesh in fresh 
river water, to let the mind's dirt and grime go. 
No body resists immense threat of life's immesh 

amidst the tangles of physical existence... 
our nature is complicated (yet simply so). 
The tumbleweed of perceived traumas' insistence 
snarls thinking up in squiggly lines, which seems to grow 

as our dreams let go. But the river carries hope 
in constant trickle which cuts through the thickest rock. 
This superficial life becomes too hard to cope 
with, but dips in Rockfish and James maintains my cock 

surety to survive uncertain universe
another inhumane day, for better or worse. 

SONG OF THE DAY: Out Of My Reach

One day I'll have a G-body sitting on 20-inch chrome wheels, hopefully a garish paint job on it but even if not, I'll ride that rust all the way back into the grave. And I'll be riding down by the river on a Sunday afternoon, blasting the smooth old jams nobody ever knew but were perfect the whole time, just nobody made us know. And I'll sit there by the river, watching the train pass, riding the vibes that unclog your soul and keep the heart pumping love in all directions.

B4PT1Z1NG MYS3LF 1N TH3...

baptizing myself in the 
wild; grounding myself in the 
woods; keeping myself rooted 

R41LR04D TR4CKS 4ND R1V3R B3DS...

railroad tracks and river beds 
keep me of a simple mind 
(but even that was “progress”) 

M4N V3RSVS N4TVR3 1S 4N...

man versus nature is an 
intellectual fault line 
we build hopelessness upon 

VS N4STY VND3RCL4SS WH1T3

us nasty underclass white 
asses have always baptized 
ourselves in nearest river 

SONG OF THE DAY: Xuduud Ma Leh Xubigaan (This Love Has No Boundaries)

The algorithms lack natural rhythm, that's why everything is so fucked up. I've been checking the river for trending topics lately and it's really been beneficial to my psychic state. The river is way less likely to lie than an algorithm, at least as far as I've seen. Rather than building walls around my fears, allowing them to ferment in dark madness, the river washes a lot of dumb shit away, and my heart can think more clearly to let my brain know when it's tripping out on some bullshit.

SONG OF THE DAY: Telling You The Future

Mostly when we think of “futuristic”, we think of flying cars and robot highways and shit like that… all very shiny and stainless steel and space age if “space” age means exploring external space as far as possible. But I don’t know, there’s a lot to see already within the small corners of the Earth (which are never actual corners) that we overlook because we get those big global eyeballs and miss all the beautifully woven details to our lives. I’d hope the actual “futuristic” my great grandchildren gets to see has more sitting on a rock by the river than rocket ships to other planets. I mean, for most of us, they’re not gonna let us go into space except as servants anyways, so why the fuck bother? Stay here, sit by the river, listen to the ripples and not give a fuck about all that other “we need to do” ass stuff. Progress is a myth. And if you think of the moral arc of the universe as a rainbow, it’s just bending back down to where it started, so might as well keep it caveman simple. That’s why I do paintings on all the walls of my house.

SONG OF THE DAY: Riding High (chopped and screwed)

At some point, I’d like to do a deep dive into all the funk classics (or reggae) that made DJ Screw mixes. A friend sent me the new DJ Screw biography, and I enjoyed it for the information it had, though it didn’t really reach a good conclusion (symptomatic of academic-style books according to another friend). It inspired me to start fucking around with my record collection again. Simultaneously, I’ve been on a hardcore Rick James kick lately, so really having a Rick James jam riding slow with its wings fully stretched off a grey tape has been an absolute constant in the dinky Corolla soundtrack rotation. In fact, I might have to blast this bama this evening after work and go to the train yard, for a little me time, down by the river. It’s what Rick James, and DJ Screw, would’ve wanted for me on this day. And any day.
The amazing thing is, much like "Be Thankful For What You've Got" being mislabeled as the more popular Curtis Mayfield instead of William DeVaughn, "Riding High" is not even a Rick James song. It was done by a group (or dude) called Faze O. But damn if it don't sound like a really great Rick James song. 

H1GHW4Y 15 4RT3RY...

highway 15 artery 
intersecting James River 
blue vein - that X marks my spot 

SONG OF THE DAY: Introduction

People are always like, “robots and technology make our lives better!” but I have literally never in my life ever heard of a robot even once going, “You know what? It’s a beautiful fuckin’ day, let’s go to the river.” How can you trust that shit? I mean, what’s the best example of robots talking in our ear right now? Google maps or GPS shit, which is always so methodical. I mean you can select options and avoid tolls and highways, which makes it a little better, but even then, it doesn’t have important on-the-ground information like, “Oh shit, there’s that awesome abandoned hotel with all the graffiti!” Google maps don’t know that shit. Fucked up thing is, even if it collected that data from you for future suggestions (like it does with actual google or youtube and shit), it’d still have it wrong, going, “And turn left on 460 West, remember the abandoned hotel on your right 2.3 miles with all the graffiti,” and I’d go, “Man, fuck that, my boy Cody almost got stabbed there the other weekend, what the fuck google maps.” Artificial intelligence is always artificial. And shit, even in humans, intelligence is stupid as fuck half the time. Anyways, fuck robots.

MY 3NT1R3 L1F3 SP3NT ST33P3D WH3R3...

my entire life spent steeped where 
western culture first tendriled 
against river’s native flow 

SONG OF THE DAY: Me and You

 

I was thinking about how stupid capitalism is and how streaming services switch around the shit they show so if you want to watch something you have to crack a fucking internet code to figure out if whatever of the 5 of 13 things you’re paying for has it, or you can borrow your partner’s (current or past) password for 5 of the other 8, or if it’s on one of the three streaming platforms you haven’t sexed your way into access to yet. There’s a digital campaign of some dumbass in a canoe called The Streamer where said dumbass goes to a campsite and streams a bunch of Disney shows. I keep blocking it but it keeps showing up. The concept of streaming and actual streams and rivers made me think how fucked up it would be if cool ass spots on rivers actually switched their streaming services, so like you wanted to go to this spot on the James where there was a graffiti railroad bridge and a nice swimming hole with some really amazing lounging rocks, but you mention going with your friend and they’re like, “Oh it’s too far of a drive, that spot switched to the Rappahannock River at the beginning of the month.” And then you start thinking about whether you want to drive all the fucking way to the other river, or just settle for some shit that’s not as exciting by the river you’re already at. I mean, essentially Netflix’s entire business model is built on the fact you’ll settle, because you’re already there.

Continuing the over-etymological analysis, what a thing, to “settle” for some shit you don’t really want, because it’s where you’re at. That in the context of rivers and streams and settling is even more fucked up, since I’ve been thinking about the James River basin’s initial launch of American culture at Jamestown. See how fucked up life gets when you start pulling the strings? It all comes unraveled and you have an existential crisis where you wish civilization died. It’s better just to stream fucking The Office and ignore the dystopian darkness of it, laugh at the stupid man doing stupid things, haha that’s just like my real life.

Except that’s not real life, even if you experienced it. Me and you should go to the river, the actual river, to those rocks I spoke of. They’re still there, because rivers and streams aren’t like “streaming services” and in fact THERE’S A WAR GOING ON FOR YOUR SOUL. I know a cool bottle dump I found down by the river too, the other day, walking the dog. Let’s go.

SONG OF THE DAY: Hands

Sometimes I still miss Richmond, but then other times I also tell myself it’s nothing like it used to be. They’ve gentrified the gentrification at this point. I was thinking about how so many suburban punks who went to VCU became the first wave of gentrification from the late ‘80s through the ‘90s, and how that forever altered Richmond in ways that most of the folks probably don’t feel complicit in. In fact, the former lead singer of Avail constantly says “Richmond not RVA!” as if the RVA shorthand itself was guilty of gentrification alone, when it really was just building off the foundation that all those punks laid down previously. The city was hyped as the Austin of the East Coast or the Portland of the East Coast multiple times over. The only reason I probably didn’t help contribute to this gentrification then was that I didn’t have any familial wealth to borrow off of to buy a house in Fulton Hill or Southside or Northside or wherever the fuck else all those punks bought up places together. Gentrification has fucked up so much of America’s urban environments, and yet almost everybody who is directly involved in that gentrification process somehow feels like they’re completely innocent of it, and it’s other, wealthier, less cool people who did it. Being a fortysomething punk is about as bourgeoisie as it gets most of the time. The American pyramid scam – you never see the people below you you’re standing on top of; you only look up at those above you who you blame for having it all. 

SONG OF THE DAY: Qualified

I am highly qualified to sit around listening to the river, or waiting for a train to pass in the middle of nowhere, probably passing a little time by walking a few miles, snagging a few cool railroad spikes laying around, but then my cargo shorts pocket got too heavy so I throw them back out, and then sit down again. Lot of cool rocks for sitting around on out here on this planet. I saw some shit where they said there’s probably life on other planets nearby. Hahaha, could you imagine being so self-important that you thought there wasn’t life on other planets? Like you just think, “well I’m the most special shit that just happened to come together in the universe, and there couldn’t possibly be anything like me. In fact, whatever created everything probably created ME to be like HIM.” Haha, it’s some foolish people out here thinking CRAZY SHIT to hype themselves up. Sit down by the river for a little while, and listen to a real player spit game.

H0P3 T0 W4LK TH3 HVNDR3D-PLVS...

hope to walk the hundred-plus

miles to mouth of Chesapeake,

to undo some western steps

TH3 R1V3R K33PS 0N R0LL1N'...

the river keeps on rollin'

just on the other side of

the progress (which can't be fought)

SONG OF THE DAY: Shaky On The Phone

Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvrism is way different than old dystopian movies foretold. No hovercrafts or spaceships or teleportation. We’ve got abandoned power plants being reclaimed by mimosa trees and honeysuckle vines, and we’re just setting up autonomous compounds of communal lounge along the old Richmond and Alleghany Railroad line. The James River subdivision and Rivanna subdivisions are about the midway point between the Clifton Forge to Richmond railway, and this past weekend we had our big once a year soccer match like we always do the Saturday/Sunday closest to June 27th, with “goals” set up at Clifton Forge and Richmond (69 points each), and at Natural Bridge and Columbia (13 points each), and we kick it off with two teams, western and eastern, and play to 69, starting at the Gladstone yard, where we have a giant cookout the whole weekend long. Nobody down there gives a fuck anymore, as the town is crumbling back into the river little by little. They tried to save a community center to make it an actual community center but CSX just demolished it instead to save themselves the liability. The Natural Bridge and Columbia goals are only 60 miles from the kickoff, but it takes five of those to break the 69 point total you need. Going the full 100-plus miles to the outer goals in Clifton Forge and Richmond ends the game with one goal. I was there for the opening kickoff, at noon on Saturday, and played all the way through Sunday night about 7:30 pm, before I had to come home for work today. I might call in sick tomorrow and join the game again, wherever it’s at. I slept along the river Saturday night, with a dude who called himself “Gee”, but said it didn’t stand for anything. We were talking about what was going on in Richmond, and playing a bunch of Fly Anakin & Big Kahuna OG on my iphone before the battery died. The river was just rolling along, like always. Not sure where the ball was when we woke up – seems like it had moved further west with other people playing, but my phone was dead so I didn’t know, and Gee was involved in some sort of argument with his cousin via Signal text. I love these annual soccer games, which usually last maybe a week or two before the last people quit. I don’t think anybody’s ever actually gotten 69 points as far as I know, but I’m on furlough next week from work, plus the 4th of July holiday being Friday, so I’m gonna figure out where the ball is Thursday night, and fuck it, gonna spend my furlough week kicking that fuckin’ soccer ball along the railroad tracks all the way to the Clifton Forge goal. I figure if I can do ten miles a day, I should be able to make it. Hopefully everybody on the western team has given up so I can actually do that ten miles a day goal. You’d be surprised how difficult it is to dribble a soccer ball on railroad tracks, while somebody is trying to take it away. But it might be the first time in the history of Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvrism somebody actually wins our annual Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvristic Super Cup 69.

SONG OF THE DAY: Drown Yourself

The only time people really kill themselves in a river on purpose is by diving off of a high high bridge way the fuck up in the sky. Rivers are mostly known for baptismal rebirths if you go to drown something there. And even if secular, rivers are a hot spot for power of lounge escapades which strengthen the soul even if you are not committed to believing in god or gods or goddesses or spiritual forces at metaphysical levels in any way or shape or form or none of those. You just go to the river and wash away the world's bullshit. If I were a giant rich asshole, I'd waste my money by taking long boat trips on the longest rivers in the world, definitely the Nile and Congo Rivers in Africa, definitely the Amazon, and even if I don't end up a giant rich asshole, it'd be great to float down the entirety of the Mississippi on a boat. Do they do that? Can I get on a boat in Minnesota and go all the way to New Orleans? I don't want a fucking cruise boat either; I want what's basically a privately run Econolodge on floating steel barge, where even though I'm a boat somebody is selling drugs three doors down. I am of the class of human being where it's not a real vacation unless somebody is selling drugs three doors down. I mean, are we vacating life or just living in sheltered oblivion? We're vacating life you assholes. Sheltered oblivion is no way to travel the entirety of a giant fucking river that's been fouled up by human's industrial bullshit yet somehow still maintaining an innate beauty as the artery of existence on this 8-ball planet.