SONG OF THE DAY: Queen of My Double Wide Trailer (kudzu'd)

I dedicate this song to every big strong woman caked in dirt and mud wearing raggedy ass jeans, but then cleans up real nice in a beautiful sundress, and doesn’t dry off after their shower, so the dress is clinging to their cleavage just right. C’mon girl, let’s go listen to them spring peepers, and stare up at the stars, and if we’re lucky, go try to knock the master bedroom end of our Clayton home two-piece off its foundation blocks just a little bit more.

SONG OF THE DAY: Down Low (Nobody Has To Know) (kudzu'd)

The perfect Easter song!

SONG OF THE DAY: Feel Like Makin' Love (kudzu'd)

I don’t know how highly you think of Roberta Flack, but no matter what it is, she’s still underrated. Born in the mountains of North Carolina, steeped in life in Virginia and North Carolina, and yet another graduate of Howard University (the Harvard of Black Folks). When the Fugees used that one sample, she gained some fresh notoriety, but it still ain’t enough. Black Mountain now has a mural of her up, and I wanna go see it. I love the Thelonious Monk one in Rocky Mount… like I think about downtown Rocky Mount and that mural and the old furniture store and the trains coming and going in that big CSX yard and the wonderful pile of bricks from a torn down building my one kid used to always make us go see. I hope Black Mountain is all fucked up (in the good ways) like that, too.

SONG OF THE DAY: Turn Off The Lights (kudzu'd)

People usually just think “Turn Off The Lights” was a sexy ass song that Teddy Pendergrass made because he was a sexy ass man, but it was actually CIA-funded, and was pushed on urban American radio in the summer of 1979 in response to the Islamic Revolution in Iran, and the rising energy costs America was experiencing as a result of that. The song was released by Philadelphia International Records, the label run by the famous Gamble and Huff songwriting tandem, who had helped usher in an era of pro-Black pop soul in the decade before. But by 1975, Gamble and Huff were caught up in a payola-related scandal, and recruited by the CIA, much like the Iowa Writer’s Workshop MFA program, to help engineer mass-consciousness. This ushered in an era of songs like “Turn Off The Lights”, The Jacksons’ “Enjoy Yourself”, and “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now” by McFadden & Whitehead. “Turn Off The Lights” only got up to 48 on the Hot 100 Billboard charts, as Teddy’s voice was too sexy in a primordial sense, so the song’s effects on mass consciousness were thwarted by the feral sexiness of the track. The CIA handlers of Gamble and Huff had toyed with the idea of using the song with Michael Jackson’s still childlike voice, though America was perhaps not ready for that level of sexualizing a well-known child singer, albeit him now being an adult. Plus, Jackson was in the process of being moved to a solo career, moving from a soul-specific CIA operation, to a larger CIA pop music project beginning with Epic Records around the same time. But Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” was created in the same secret writing sessions of the late ‘70s as “Turn Off The Lights”. In 1982, as Pendergrass was finishing up his sixth album, he began to become frustrated with his label’s handlers, and had threatened to name some names and start outing the secretive efforts to control pop music in America. This led to a “mechanical failure” in his Rolls Royce causing an accident which left the singer paralyzed. His sixth album was released, but without the same push behind the scenes, and thus was his first to not go gold or platinum. The label (and CIA project) used up the rest of his recorded material with Philadelphia International to release 1983’s Heaven Only Knows, also without any push behind the scenes, and that finished his contractual obligations with the label, with Gamble and Huff, and with the CIA handlers who helped make him a superstar.

SONG OF THE DAY: I Wanna Sex You Up (kudzu'd)

This is such a corny song normal speed, and still might be slowed down, but I enjoy it. The thump has more thump (classic bass thickening from shifted pitch). Slowed down the “tick tock you don’t stop” adds layers of suggestive metaphysical meaning. At least to me, it does.

SONG OF THE DAY: My 45 (7 Inches of Love) (kudzu'd)

I still find myself craving the approval of earth tone normalistic Whole Foods faux witchy white women, but I also realize that's enculturation meant to instill self-loathing in myself, not actual love. It's just grudgelust at this point, so I've learned to not try and act on it, and it makes me happier. It's not uncommon... most of us tend to sow our own failures, seeking the approval of those we already know don't want us. We're all pretty heavily steeped in wanting what doesn't make us feel fulfilled, those of us trapped in western culture, which is actually a lack of culture that channels your cultural hopes into consumption instead. You gotta buy an identity, and if you can't afford one, you feel like a piece of shit. And if you can't afford a new one now and then, whenever the old one loses its shine, you also feel like a piece of shit. Luckily I've realized my craving of normalistic witchy white women of a certain earth tone presence and that lavender mothball vaginal smell is a distraction meant to have me crash on the rocks of failure. It's the siren song of quirky conventional attractiveness, to feel like I've accomplished class transition and the granddaughters of the wizards who were slaveowners but "the good ones" have finally accepted me as worthy of their love. It took a long time to refine my love from that poisoned grudgelust though, and along the way, I'd mistakenly believe I was attracted to crazy women. But I'm not; I'm attracted to wild women, actual wild not pretend wild. I like fucking on picnic tables and watching an ass tattoo jiggle after I slap it. I also like to lay there together watching the little prisms on the windowsill make rainbows in the cobwebs at the corner of the ceiling, while softly rubbing your thighs and stomach. I'm a lover, and as a lover, lovin' only makes me stronger, in the heart muscle but that's a pretty dope muscle to be flexing and growing, without the aid of synthetics.

SONG OF THE DAY: Overnight Scenario

I am older now, so when I hear the timetable for “Overnight Scenario”, it’s absolutely exhausting. Like, I’m gonna have to be in a crazy fired up mood just to make it til 3 at the pancake house. But we can eat quick and get to the house before 4. And a whole ‘other hour before the lights go out? What the fuck are we doing? And sure, six in the morning, hearing her start to shout is a great notion, but to be honest, can’t we just come home early, fuck, then go out to breakfast, have a couple café con leches and think about doing it again some other time? There ain’t enough energy drinks my chicken grease constrained heart can stand to be pulling this schedule off anymore.

SONG OF THE DAY: My Key Don't Fit

Is this a euphemism? (Everything is. Always.)

SONG OF THE DAY: I Wanna Sex You Up (kudzu'd)

C’mon girl, let’s take my time machine back to the jacuzzi room in the 1996 Comfort Inn just outside Myrtle Beach. Bring the coconut oil, and that lime green silky outfit I love.

SONG OF THE DAY: I've Been Having An Affair

If multiverse theory is true, somewhere in the endless expanse of universe, there's a whole planet full of humanoids who all look like Latimore. I wanna go there. That has nothing to do with this song, other than Latimore and Tonya both recorded for long time Mississippi record label Malaco Records. But a planet full of Latimores probably gonna have some hilarious cheating scenarios too though.

SONG OF THE DAY: I'm In The Mood

I used to have a knockin’ boots situationship with a woman who always dimmed the lights down low and played old blues music, like every time. It actually was nice and created quite the vibe, plus her bed was small, like an old school twin bed which is great because you gotta get serious, no room to escape and dilly dally. Because of this cellular memory in my physical body though (with serotonin exclamation marks), when I hear certain old blues music, it gets me all riled up. And of course it does, because just look at this song. That was sexy ass music, designed (by divine minds not actually purposefully designing too hard with the brain) to make one inclined to do just what we was doing while we was listening to it.

SONG OF THE DAY: Some Woman's Bedroom (kudzu'd)

Been wanting to fuck strange and perhaps crazy women, just to sabotage my life. Sometimes shit gets too stable feeling and that goes against most of my early cellular memories, so I gotta fire some chaos into the mix. Used to be when I drank or got fucked up, it brought all the chaos I’d want. But now that I’ve been sober so long, and held down a job at the same place for over a decade, there’s not a lot of random chaos in my life. You’d think this is a good thing (and it is), but it still makes you (if you’re like me) feel kinda fucked up, like something’s not to be trusted, or just don’t feel right. Do they got healthy chaos? I could use some.

SONG OF THE DAY: Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll (kudzu'd)

Big fan of thick women who roller skate. Maybe it goes back to childhood and random roller derby scenes sneaking into my subconscious… I don’t know. But somebody who could skate into my life and then crush me, all while smiling and wearing sparkle tank top with a tattoo of a leprechaun smoking a joint on their shoulder… well, it’s a pleasant thing to encounter. I hope that’s how I die.

SONG OF THE DAY: What I Am (kudzu'd)

You know how in Friday when Craig and Smoky are looking at Mrs. Parker looking all Instagram milf reel but ahead of her time across the street, and Smoky goes, “Mr. Parker just ain’t hittin’ that right”? Any time I listen to this slowed down “What I Am”, I think to myself (and sometimes even say out loud to the cats), “Mr. Simon ain’t hittin’ that right.” But another thing about rich dudes who do that “I keep getting older but they stay the same age” thing IRL is that they gonna be dead and have passed on their wealth to a woman my age. So maybe I still got a shot. Maybe I still got a shot.

SONG OF THE DAY: Come Go With Me

I am a natural born Aquarius, and in fact perhaps the most possible Aquarian of all Aquarii because I was born on Valentines Day. But I have a shameful admission to make, despite all those blessings upon my born day. I have never once slept in, much less owned, a heart shaped waterbed. It feels embarrassing to even admit. A man like myself should've been well into his third, maybe fourth heart shaped waterbed by now, having outgrown a smaller version, and blossomed into a full larger than king-sized one by now. But nope, just sleeping on a regular ass mattress like a Virgo or some shit.

SONG OF THE DAY: Smother Me With Your Love

A face sitter aficionado’s secret anthem, thus a degenerate classic. I think I’ve convinced my girlfriend that should I ever get old and be on my deathbed to smother me out of my misery in this manner. It’s a shame we don’t live in an actual progressive society which could respect my wishes. Instead, I’ll likely be separated from everybody I love, and kept alive against my will hooked up to a bunch of goddamned machines that will drain whatever meager coins I have saved in my pitiful life right out of the possibility of sliding into my children’s hands once I’m gone. What a disgusting world we’ve built, and I say that as somebody who began this paragraph talking about women sitting on my face, lovingly.

SONG OF THE DAY: Drip Drop

Another Cadillac spaceship banger perfect for time traveling because the audio is skewed ever so wonderfully as the 4th dimension recalibrations happen upon re-entry to earthly atmosphere. If you've never experienced it, it's like the sound of having done 17 whip-its all at once, but it doesn't hurt your head and feels like you just dove off a cliff into deep mountain spring. Pretty great, except for the realization that, "Oh fuck, here I am back to my normal base life, back to work, no more playing dominoes with 1971 Pam Grier lookalike in Dayton, Ohio, motel." Hate that shit.

SONG OF THE DAY: You Need Help

So I had one of those lucid dreams the other night where it feels too real to just be a dream, but I guess it was a dream? Although perhaps it’s the not-so-distant future, I’m not sure. I was living in some sort of collective resistance group near Grafton, West Virginia, though the word “resistance” makes it seem dumb. Language is very limiting at times, to be honest. But we were working to further undermine an outside government’s influence over us, as a large chunk of Appalachia had apparently become an autonomous zone, occupied by antifascists, but not really run by anybody so much as sharing resources. But apparently, whoever was still in charge of the actual American government had developed cyborg technology, and were sending women cyborgs in to intercept plans and locations and all that type shit. The cyborgs had flesh-like features though, but were still built with patriarchal philosophical foundations, so they were quieter – expected to be seen not heard, so that they could hear more. I didn’t know all this at the beginning of the dream, but was informed of all this, because the people I was living amongst had way more detailed information than me. I was just a guy living there, trying to pitch in and not be useless. But apparently these cyborg women drone spies, for the most part, felt entirely real in all ways, and it was nearly impossible to figure out they were drone cyborg robots sent in by the authoritative United States of America, looking to squash our regional autonomy. And I’m not really sure how somebody figured this out (maybe I’ll find out in later dreams if I’m so lucky to return), but the one way you could tell they were drones was through giving them oral sex, concentrating on the clit, because they were programmed to simulate excitement, but the clitoris, when stimulated in these cyborgs, became dangerously hot – like burning hot put blisters on your tongue warmed up. So a defensive trick developed by the resistance was to get into a sexual situation with these potential cyborgs, start giving them oral sex, and find out if they were real or not. The cyborgs, again due to patriarchal philosophies of those who constructed them, was that they were willing participants in sexual situations if certain criteria were met. There was a relatively new woman in the camp that I was supposed to perform oral sex on, and find out if she was real or not.
My dream actually began with me eating her out, and all the rest came to me as memories of things that had been explained to me, mostly involving this little dude named BB (or Beebee, or B.B. but just two “b” sounds… I never saw his name written out, just spoken) who had two little splotchy and poorly done bumblebees tattooed on his left cheek, like teardrops kinda dripping from his hazelnut eye. But I was performing oral sex on this woman, who was very attractive to be honest, and her clit was warming up, nothing abnormal yet, but it felt like it was warming up to where it was going to be abnormal and I’d be certain she was a cyborg. But what fucked me up in the moment was remembering the conversations with BB where if that happened, I was to kill her. This seemed really fucked up to me, to go from oral sex with this sexy woman, to choking her to death, as I was told to do. I didn’t like it, even if she wasn’t an actual woman but a cyborg, even if the oral sex clitoris stimulation test proved this. To me, as a human, it was going to feel like I was having sex with a woman – who for all intents and purposes appeared and felt human to me – and then shifting into killing her. I couldn’t do it. But her clit was definitely heating up like a stove element, so I quit, and moved into regular sexual intercourse. It was nice.
Afterwards, BB was asking me, and I explained that it felt like she was warming up like he said a cyborg was, but I wasn’t comfortable with killing her, so I didn’t go through with it. “What? Fuck man. They’re programmed for sexual loyalty so there’s like a three month bleed out time before we can try it again with someone else with her. That’s really bad op sec.” He was really pissed at me, which also felt weird as fuck, and I was just standing there (actually sleeping here, seeing myself standing there), feeling horribly conflicted, because I didn’t want to choke somebody I was just having sex with, even if they were a fascist cyborg drone spy creation of some sort. And I didn’t really like being in this alleged autonomous zone getting yelled at by this weird little dude mad that I didn’t choke a cyborg I was fucking to death. But I also got his point, because it was bad op sec. I remember standing there in the dream, with BB kinda going off on me in a subtle but aggressive way – not really passive but not overtly aggro either – and I was thinking to myself about all the abandoned coal cars outside of Grafton still, and how I just wanted to go draw on the coal cars maybe if I could. But BB was chastising me in long form about not killing a likely cyborg, who I had just had sex with. So I was feeling fucked up that I really enjoyed sex with a cyborg too, but also didn’t wanna fuck her again because she had to have been a cyborg, and if I fucked her again (which is what BB was trying to convince me to do, to avoid the sexual loyalty programming bleed out time), I’d have to kill her. It was all really fucked up, and I woke up thinking that the future is going to be really fucked up, just not in the ways we automatically assume.

SONG OF THE DAY: Daughter of a Railroad Man

I need me a daughter of a railroad man that can tell me all the nice siding spots they stash all the boxcars I don't know about within a 45 minute drive. Fuck it, make it 90 minutes. Holler at me girl.

SONG OF THE DAY: Stage Fright

A weakness of mine is shitty ‘70s rock that definitely was solid American step between British Heavy Metal and metal blowing up officially in America as well. Shit like Legs Diamond that sounds like you’re trying to get genital warts. It’s just a wonderful genre that sadly was murdered by grunge, and at the time, all the shitty dirtbag white people were shamed out of owning guitars, so started rapping instead. Now, all we have is bourgeoisie indy rock left, and it’s all so Trader Joes-y and there’s zero chance you’re gonna do anything fun enough to risk an STD.