Your Old Droog is like an overpriced indoor flea
market that’s probably more borderline thinking of itself as an antique spot,
in that there’s a ton of cool shit going on, I really enjoy walking around and
enjoying the vibe, but I ain’t buying shit.
Friday, February 7
Thursday, February 6
SONG OF THE DAY: I Heard a Voice, Pt. 1
what a blessing
to hear a voice
of spiritual
significance
inside your own head
all the poisons and
pollutions and
toxicities put
into your own head
by this culture
which apparently
you accepted the terms of agreement
by being born
what a blessing
to still have a morality
your heart can throb with
not compromised by
the brain’s misalignment
by the poisons
injected from all angles
the blessing of
hearing a voice
that makes far more sense
than all these
fucking
rabbit
holes
Wednesday, February 5
SONG OF THE DAY: Shake
I am magnetically drawn by the specific composure
of my human atomic build being composed of stardust derived from Epsilon
Aquarii, Zeta Aquarii, and Gliese 876, to love the natural born artists upon
this Earth ball who work constantly and consistently and without doubtedly all
the while mostly in obscurity, because most of our civilized world is
moth-brained attracted to the neon flames or iphone glare, and can’t see all
the amazing human creation all around them. Today, that means Count Bass D.
T0X1C PSYCH0L0G13S L1K3...
toxic psychologies like
roosters in a chicken pen
flapping their colorful wings
Tuesday, February 4
Monday, February 3
SONG OF THE DAY: Baldwin
It’s too bad you can’t read through memes because
there seemed to be a sudden explosion in James Baldwin memes the past couple
years. I really love the notion of people absorbing some James Baldwin
philosophy, but I don’t know, memes feel hollow in the long run. Being meme
woke is not much better than being red-pilled, which is not much better than
being a grandma who believes Nigerian prince emails. Maybe I should just recreate
Going to Meet the Man in full through memes, which I post on a dedicated
twitter account. That’d be wonderful – spend hours upon hours upon hours to
create an elaborate workaround to just reading a book for an audience that
likely won’t ever pay attention to it. The internet really is a Rube Goldberg
machine for intelligence.
Sunday, February 2
25-Man Metaphysical Roster: WEST HAM UNITED FC
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SONG OF THE DAY: One More Mile
"The last hour is the longest" is a thing I've thunk while riding Greyhounds or Amtraks home. The landscape shifts into what you know as "home" in that cellular way that defies logic, and you become anxious to get off the traveling contraption. All of us are going nowhere in life, always, it's just we leave a lot of shit in one place, and that becomes home. It's still nowhere. That's not bad. It's better to live nowhere than somewhere anyways. If you live somewhere, a bunch of other people come through gawking at shit, trying to get you to take pictures of them standing in front of some dumb shit, and just generally clusterfuck up everything about a normal day with some abnormal not-from-here ways. Living nowhere is a blessing, because you can swing the door open on a warm day, and look out upon all the beautiful nothing, and nobody's fucking it up with cranes or bath and bodyworks or median strips or chik-fil-a zoning approvals. Just a big ol' fat wondrous nothing. I love nothing, and wish I had more of it in my life.
TR4D3D 1N W0RK B00TS F0R 4...
traded in work boots for a
cubicle, and been dying
upon the vine ever since
Saturday, February 1
SONG OF THE DAY: Where She At
Sometimes I realize I don't live in an apartment building with picnic tables in the center area where we hang out and play dominos or spades because the apartments are hot as fuck and all they have is window units but they're old window units and plus that's expensive to run so the cost to comfort level is not that good, but also you can't leave the windows open all the time because lolol this is America, motherfuckers will take your shit when you're not paying attention, so we hang out at the picnic tables, hoping for a breeze, enjoying when the sun is setting down behind the building top so we're in the shade, enjoying our shared existences. Normally I don't ever think about how that's not my life at all, but whenever I listen to Z.Z. Hill, it comes to mind, because I imagine we'd listen to a lot of Z.Z. Hill sitting out there when it's too hot to be inside.
F0CVS1NG 0N G04LS, 4LL TH3...
focusing on goals, all the
while stumbling downwards as the
rings grow around my torso
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