4/10 diary:
The world is ending;
Suva has cancer,
Pretty soon she’ll be hairless
And pretty soon I’ll be staring at the ground in
My backyard,
Where she used to run rampant—
Full of life
As a little puppy,
Where her body and bones will decay,
About six feet deep in the ground.
Grandpa’s memory is
Becoming more spotty with
Each passing week;
And Mother’s
Face hasn’t looked
This beaten down
Before.
Diddy is about to become
Free;
Our president is a pedophile;
The rappers we were raised on
And looked up to;
Turned up on the list of
Island voyagers.
Rap is dying;
Instead of an art form it
Has turned into a yearly cosplay
Convention
With mostly every new rapper
Wanting to imitate an era
Of the past,
Recreate moments,
Create some illusions of
Aura,
And ultimately, use it
As a stepping stone
To delve into fashion
And become models and
Influencers,
And forget about the music itself,
Because ultimately,
It inevitably becomes an afterthought
Once one reaches a certain height—
A necessity for a cash infusion
To keep funding the vacation.
I often times look at these two
Sky Ferreira vinyls
That were gifted to me,
By someone who would go on to
Spit in my face,
As well as my work,
And think,
Why am I here?
Why are we here?
Is there any hope for society?
Is there any hope for art?
Why are things so dark and
Dull?
Why is everything a recreation of the past?
2026;
The 2020s;
The least impactful decade
In all of history.
The world is ending;
Suva has cancer,
Pretty soon she’ll be hairless
And pretty soon I’ll be staring at the ground in
My backyard,
Where she used to run rampant—
Full of life
As a little puppy,
Where her body and bones will decay,
About six feet deep in the ground.
Grandpa’s memory is
Becoming more spotty with
Each passing week;
And Mother’s
Face hasn’t looked
This beaten down
Before.
Diddy is about to become
Free;
Our president is a pedophile;
The rappers we were raised on
And looked up to;
Turned up on the list of
Island voyagers.
Rap is dying;
Instead of an art form it
Has turned into a yearly cosplay
Convention
With mostly every new rapper
Wanting to imitate an era
Of the past,
Recreate moments,
Create some illusions of
Aura,
And ultimately, use it
As a stepping stone
To delve into fashion
And become models and
Influencers,
And forget about the music itself,
Because ultimately,
It inevitably becomes an afterthought
Once one reaches a certain height—
A necessity for a cash infusion
To keep funding the vacation.
I often times look at these two
Sky Ferreira vinyls
That were gifted to me,
By someone who would go on to
Spit in my face,
As well as my work,
And think,
Why am I here?
Why are we here?
Is there any hope for society?
Is there any hope for art?
Why are things so dark and
Dull?
Why is everything a recreation of the past?
2026;
The 2020s;
The least impactful decade
In all of history.