I have a very chinese phone; it is so chinese that when I reboot it three times the first two language options are in Chinese, I’m now assuming to be in Mandarin and secondarily in Cantonese before finally succumbing to a regretfully admissionary Englsih.
The secondary OS software option is then one that runs on a “not-exactly-Google” based Android OS. My American Microsoft Windows version of Spotify tells me it is “listening on Wallace” directions on what music is queued next.
This sounds like nothingness but assuredly I have grand opinions and fears based on that small bit of information.
I am listening to Kendrick Lamar and can tell you that he is a very “Black” artist in the sense of that which you (Milly, -And I” am not.)
Very black like we are not. Because “Black” is the sort of thing that it sucks to be, in the vernacular of our peers.
Milly I’m going to go out on a limb here and call you out as white and middle-aged–
therefore the music I am linking is going to be violently against your power-structure, (And I am going to ask a large favor here of you//believe you to give me the benefit of the doubt), to catch me here},
to truly, really, push the limits of your grammatical functioning and see if I can still make sense;,
-to say thank you for really staying–.
To say, “I’m not this smart.”
—It is 1:23 AM and So I have stopped editing;
She’s gone; I’ve got to admit that.
This next piece is about fathers: something we all deal with;
I am trying to find the shop a new “me,” a new Oh Zee,
A new kid that has seven years to kill to find himself;
to get his bachelor’s.
-My DNA Not for Imitation;
My biological father wondering when I’ll find myself, stabilize myself, spread the family name.
I’ll show up late to work tomorrow; right on time tomorrow. And I’ll care for my niece and nephew tomorrow; not spend my night in an airb&b.
-My latest muse is my niece
she worth living
see me on the tv and scream
that’s uncle kendrick.”