#nerub

That’s the order I like them in. My cycle begins when I leave work and feel truly alive again. And then I slowly succumb to Mr. Sandman who drags my eyelids like a homeless man dragging his giant stash of recyclables along the sidewalk.

reading muzak: 

In case you didn’t notice it’s not Cole Porter. Still good, though. And it’s actually not muzak, either, I just like the word. Too bad muzak isn’t a thing anymore. Now it’s all earbuds in the elevators and awkward shifting to avoid looking one another in the eye. What is it that makes us so intensely averse to looking someone in the eyes?

Today I decided to do an experiment, where I looked up and gazed intently at someone to see what would happen. One woman looked at me with disgust - "oh another misogynist.” Or maybe I’m just ugly. Another attempt cost me two dollars - don’t look homeless people in the eye. The vacuum of their eyes is entirely soul and morale sucking, and then you have to pay for the ride. (But really, please help the homeless, unless they look dangerous - listen to the flight response).

The final attempt, it was in an elevator, where this poor bro in a pink polo could not get away, and finally I had to speak, to not look like an axe murderer. “What are you listening to?” “Lil’ Wayne.” “Wow.”

There’s something wonderful about mainstream rap (but I hate it). For one, it’s deliciously meta. A lot of people, rapping about getting rich, while getting rich because rapping about getting rich is in vogue, which makes them rich. Yo dawg... 

And number two, it’s a perversion of the counterculture that rap had been born out of. It’s so revolting its hard to look away. And somehow by rapping about that perversion, it spawns a continuous counterculture of underground rap that scorns and eschews it. Gotta have both, night and day.