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.

C3L3ST14L D1SC0NN3CT...

celestial disconnect - 
finding full moons in late night 
unscrolling of smart phone glare 

SONG OF THE DAY: Balkan Teleskop

I often daydream in my mind how the universe inside is as big as the universe outside. Ain’t no telescopes pointed into our universes though; in fact, it often gets obscured and blurred and fogged out in order to encourage us building material identities instead, and when we get sick of a material identity, we just start piecing together a different one. Kinda fucked up actually, because there’s never satisfaction involved. I hadn’t been able to explore my internal universe all that easily lately, kinda in a fog myself, feels like everywhere I’m wandering internally is places I’ve seen a whole bunch already, and no real meandering into unmapped territory yet. There’s also spaces which I know I’ve been but I don’t got no recollection about so am afraid of accidentally stumbling back into some shit that my internal cartographer (utilizing universal magnetics) aided me in forgetting about, and I’m gonna remember some shit that fucks me up even worse than I already am. (Some things are best left forgotten to be honest – knowing all doesn’t make us more functional all the time, in fact, the history of human progress is pretty good testament to the fact knowing more actually creates dysfunction.) I don’t rightly know how to point a telescope into my self that easily – used to be substances helped, but I try to not fall down those hills anymore. Gonna try just sitting in the yard I guess, because even if nothing comes from it, sitting in the yard is good practice, especially if nothing comes from it.

WH3R3 N0B0DY 1NT3RS3CTS W1TH...

where nowhere intersects with 
nobody, I seek nothing much 
more than little bit of peace 

M0R3 C0NN3CT3D TH4N 3V3R...

“more connected than ever” 
the wireless pollution tells 
us as we stare off blankly 

TH3M TH4T D0N'T 3SC4P3 TR41N WR3CK...

them that don’t escape train wreck 
penchant can only hope to 
sit half-broken in sunshine 

TH3M TH4T'S B0RN T0 D3NT GV4RDR41LS...

them that’s born to dent guardrails 
make games of self-destruction - 
stubbornly prove survival 

S0VTH3RN G0TH1CC FVTVR1ST...

southern gothicc futurist 
philosophy ain’t attached - 
go where you must to best thrive 

N0 M4TT3R H0W P3RM4N3NT...

no matter how permanent 
you build a foundation, the 
whole damned Earth might shift beneath 

SONG OF THE DAY: All Over But The Crying

 

Time to throw on a track suit that doesn’t actually exist, and drive a car I can’t actually afford towards a horizon I’ll never actually reach, just blasting this, until I drive off the edge of the fake earth like the Duke boys, landing in the hay barns of universal reality.

L0V3 41N'T N3C3SS4R1LY...

love ain’t necessarily 
blind, but it sees with something 
better than biased eyeballs 

SONG OF THE DAY: Shuckin' The Corn

I saw some banjo academic fucker did a song called the ballad of Kyle Rittenhouse and it was well-done but also so fucking stupid it made me sick. Then I looked up the guy that got killed that the right is like “sex predator/classic leftist” and it’s a guy who had tried to commit suicide twice, just got released from the hospital that day (was literally carrying a hospital bag) and ended up in the protest by accident, having been denied his meds because the pharmacy was closed due to shit going on. Dude goes and starts picking fights with guys with guns, because he was in mental health crisis and wanted to die, and of course the dumbass teenage guy whose mom drove him to the protests with an assault rifle is stupid enough to oblige. Other protesters see this, assume the dead guy is just a protester, so come running in, and another gets killed and one injured. And after all that, because of some guy with a documented criminal history but documented mental health issues as well, wandering the streets untreated, in the midst of a powder keg, featuring a lot of people looking for trouble, shit blows up. We’re really lucky four or five people aren’t killed more often in situations like this, everywhere. We are such a fucking stupid country right now, and heavily armed too, out in each other’s faces, mad about everything, not even mad for real just pretending to be mad because we wanna argue, and hope somebody starts something. We’re one big nation fucking around but yet to find out. Anyways, the dumbass bluegrass shithead who made a song about Kyle Rittenhouse is the perfect example of how academia can go too far, and also made me sad, because the entirety of Americana/newgrass/singer-songwriter shit is privileged kids cosplaying redneck, because all the real creative degenerate rednecks are just writing raps for their next mixtape while in regional jails. Actual white trash can’t afford good acoustic instruments, which means Americana music is now like American soccer, and only rich kids can even bother with it, which waters down the quality, and also makes it all boring as fuck. You can’t get enough quirky tattoos and derivative Americana merchandise from old logos and stereotypical visions of what America was at a Howard Johnsons in western North Carolina in 1966 to give yourself soul. Fuckin’ devils, in every goddamned direction. Y’all don’t even know what shuckin’ the corn means, even though you’re doing it. Quoth Raven, y’all are forevermore shuckin’ the corn.

D3NY1NG D34TH'S 3MBR4C3S...

denying death’s embraces 
thus far - creating nonsense 
as often as possible 

0N TH3 D4Y 1 D13, 1 PR4Y...

on the day I die, I pray 
folks celebrate with wild 
laughter at stories of me 

R3M1ND1NG MYS3LF T0 CH4S3...

reminding myself to chase 
happiness, not perverted 
notions of what success means 

SONG OF THE DAY: Old Man Plants A Coconut Tree

IN A TIME OF GREAT NEGATIVITY, HERE IS A SONG ABOUT AN OLD MAN PLANTING A COCONUT TREE.

BLVRR1NG TH3 W0RLD 0N PVRP0S3...

blurring the world on purpose - 
when reality feels too 
sharp, folks will wanna get numb 

SONG OF THE DAY: Alabama

I still have goals of Southern Gothicc Futurist haiku slams starting up again, and getting a title belt made for our champion. Stylistically, I think the best title belt to base things off of is back when Adrian Street won the Southeastern Heavyweight title from “Wildcat” Wendell Cooley in the Alabama territory in the ‘80s, and painted it pink. That belt had giant crowns sticking off the champion logo, plus even a confederate flag emblem as one of the flags on the belt (which was not uncommon at the time in southern wrestling). Adrian Street’s gimmick was always that he was effeminate but masculine, had a female valet, and tough as shit. He painted the belt bright ass pink, which of course just infuriated the mid-‘80s pro wrestling attending demographics of Alabama, who back then would’ve hated Trump too because he was from New York City. That belt would be the basis of a Southern Gothicc Futurist Haiku Slam Championship belt, without a doubt. Might go lavender in color, but pink is always a bold choice, and good for challenging simple assed people with their brains full of poisonous muck.

TH3 M4J0R1TY F33L L0ST...

the majority feel lost - 
digital smoke and mirrors 
keep everything in place 

"H3LP W4NT3D" W0RDS P3RV3RT3D...

“help wanted” words perverted 
by what work means - struggling and 
juggling to survive each week 

SONG OF THE DAY: All For You (slurred and blurred)

My man Brilly sent me a whole bunch of slurred and blurred Janet Jackson at one point, not sure what we were gonna do with it but I know I downloaded the zip file and bumped the fuck out of this song for a good part of the summer. I miss the old music blog styles with download links. Even I gave up on this and do youtube videos now. My kids don’t do shit but stream, and they’ll skip through the same 19 songs to get to the one they’re trying to have me hear. And when we hit dead zones, it blanks out. I guess what I’m saying is steal music, download that shit, so that if your streaming service eventually goes bankrupt (even after not paying artists), you can still listen to the shit.

R3TVRN T0 T3RR3STR14L...

return to terrestrial 
paradise as simple as 
letting go of all this want 

SONG OF THE DAY: I'm The Only Hell (My Mama Ever Raised)

A little known fact is Johnny Paycheck’s birth name wasn’t Johnny Paycheck. It was actually Zachariah Paycheck. He assumed the name Johnny after winning it in a cribbage match while on tour in South Wales in the early ‘60s.

1MM0R4L SYST3MS L4VND3R3D...

immoral systems laundered 
through these “cream rises to the 
top” meritocracy myths