soldiers are marching, they’re writing brand new laws.

triathlon in march, so running is important now.  i’m up to 30 mins continuous on the treadmill, increasing with each session.

self-imposed deadline for album is steadily approaching.  i just had a breakthrough in regards to the cover art:  all i can say at this point is casta (hopefully i can convince frohawk two-feathers to develop the idea with me).

beats need to get made, movies watched (manderlay) and teeth pulled.  gotta find a bike, sheepskin rug, plant life, desk, studio equipment, remaining records from the old house and a ton of other things that i’ve decided are very important.  i also need to pickup the dresser from the shop (it’s deep aqua).

the theme for now is green to blue range + peach to red range; it’ll slam.

below is a good track from an album i really enjoy, but don’t enjoy as much as possible b/c there’s a track on the bootleg that didn’t end up on this version:

the song is “difference bt”

 

 

i don’t like winter, but i seem to get a kick outta doing you cold…

persimmons are my favorites.  they’re in season now.  i watched a woman at work experience one for the first time yesterday.  her face lit up with delight, but recoiled, seemingly disappointed that no one had shared this beautiful secret with her sooner.  i need land so i can plant grips of these trees.

jay dee, “?”

 

the rest of us get stuck because of things we do not know…

do u lie?

you have to know, that YOU are a genius, too.  luminous in every facet.  you must know that you are not only capable of transmitting light, but you are, in fact, the light.  your time is infinite until the moment you confirm to squandering it.

eddie harris, “a child is born”

x)

 

“Four cents may be all that they’re worth…”

this, the epoch of days-old vengeance,

an assurance that what is malleable, contorting actually,

will see the end of glorious eras

sprouting into even grander opportunities for pain.

in these, a comfort.

atlas sound, “difference bt”

 

“But he’ll be parking with a dent in the side if he stands me up tonight…”

new songs:

Ether Cash

14k

Real

also, my pompadour is off the chain presently. it’s singing “the boy with the thorn in his side”.

 

“We can dream of color if we look into the sun…”

Still swept in stronghold, here are two offerings.  Notes to self, if you will.

‘The Dramatics’ n nem got a catalog that runs deep, but this has got to be one of my all-time cuts.  Thanks to my pimpin’ ass Uncle Corey, I was put up on game several summers ago while sweating in his stupid backyard performing Latinoesque menial tasks.  This song, along with “Ecstasy” by the ‘Ohio Players’ and a reimagined listening of Morris & Co.’s “The Walk” (picture the same exact song with ungodly levels of Alpine super-reverb), were some of the standouts from this summer of memorably humiliating work.

Peep.  The bawse-est line of all heaven and earth comes in the form of “Awww girl, I put a hold on yo check!”  It’s a magical moment that should remind the meekest of humans that there is a pimp-ass TRILLionaire that lay dormant within us all.

The Dramatics, “Treat Me Like A Man”

Blossom is just Blossom, so please don’t pay her no mind.  She be fucking niggas up.  Think I’m playing?  She’s got her own post coming, but I wanted to include something of hers as a bonus cuz I’m trying to be all uplifting and find my inner-hope and beauty and shit.  “Booooo” to feeling better.

Blossom Dearie, “Try Your Wings”

 

“Don’t need no reefer, don’t need cocaine…”

These days ain’t hitin, so for the next couple, call me on the yacht.  Unfortunately, slave mentality is prevalent in them circles I frequent…s’why I’m square.  Grizzly Bear on Saturday, Troubadour.  Should be what it could, by then.  Seckle:

 

“Oooh, I swear to god, my suit was hanging fine…”

God made dirt and dirt don't hurt.

Dirty Projectors have just recently landed in my life and I’m not looking back.  Dave Longstreth has probably the most distinct and interesting voice in music since Mica Levi, another recent discovery of mine, and he can write the shit out of a song.  Rise Above was Dave & Co’s 2007 album, described as Longstreth’s attempt to reconstruct Black Flag’s Damaged album entirely from memory.  Banging.  I’m not even finished digesting it all and these pricks decide to put out another excellent offering.  Well, “excellent” isn’t warranted yet.  I’m knee-deep into Bitte Orca (June 9, Domino Records) and am stuck in the shit that is “Two Doves”.   Vocalist Angel Deradoorian sleepily breezes through lines like “your hair is like an eagle” and “our bed is like a feather” making me pray to that Big Bird in the sky that someday I will nest-away with someone as dovelike as the person she is describing.

Dirty Projectors, “Two Doves”

And I didn’t say “On The Wings of Love” once.  Boom!

 

“A picture of a woman with a drink in her hand…”

Brother Kids

A new jam by Jamz and Bobby Evans.  Me and Nash come through and blast the sloppy seconds.

Brother Reade and The 87 Stick Up Kids are blowing up…like a nigga smoking at a gas station.

Brother Reade, “How I Really Be” Feat. Nash 9000 & Micah James

Wolves!

 

“Wanna hold you every night, I’m so horny and you’re the stuff…”

NYC, 2006.  I’m visiting Genevieve and Charlie, staying at the apartment they share downtown.  What I’m really doing is testing my New York-living skills, navigating through the very early stages of a plan to move out East.  I decided to stay for three weeks.  Far longer than I’d ever been away from home at any given time.  It’s also the first time I’ve ever spent my birthday away from fam.  At this point, though, I’d never celebrated my birthday, so there was no big to-do I was missing out on–just the comforts of having random friends feel awkward around me, not knowing if it was acceptable to tell a Jehovah’s Witness “Happy Birthday”.  I never minded.

In trying to acclimate myself to the city, I figured I’d better start participating in some of my more routine tasks from back home–familiarizing myself with all the places I’d be visiting in order to continue on with these traditions.  Number one, at the time, was records.  Oh, records.  Thank the lord for Karding and Ryan and ‘The Beat Market’.  It was the best after-school hangout spot and I expanded on my love for vinyl and music and self-inquiry and loads of other shit.

It was evident that if and when I did move the New York, I would NOT be taking my humble, yet sizable record collection with me cross-country.  I’d have to start fresh.  A chance for a clean start.  I could now meticulously arrange my collection according to bpm, instead of alphabetized, as I’d done in LA.  I could buy ALL originals, preventing the taint of dodgy represses that plagued my first library.  Word.

I went all over the city, ducking into spots that were mostly overpriced, but usually never lacking in selection.  Like real good shit.  Like the record this post is about.  Rasa’s Everything You See Is Me. I can’t remember the store’s name, but could take you there if we walked the streets of the LES together.  I walked in saw the cover with the sun and bird flying through it and got that tingle.  I put it on the courtesy deck and was blown away.  Everything was so smooth and perfectly placed.  The singer’s voice so familiar, but in a “voice of God” kinda way.  I’d never heard it before, but knew it like an old Golden Girls episode.  The subject matter was all love and romance, but in a spiritual sense.  Swedes singing about the perfect love that one would find when they allowed Govinda into their hearts.  I’m bugging out at this point.  So I drop like $13 and I’m on my way. 

Quick aside:  This record also earmarked my transition from cheapskate record buyer, to moderately priced vinyl semi-fiend.  At any time before this, $13 for one record was simply NOT going down.  When I heard this piece, though, it became real clear, real fast that $13 wasn’t shit to get my head blown.

I did end up moving to NYC the following year, but only ended up staying for two months.  It was fresh, but life had other plans.  I’ll be back, I’m sure.  For now just seckle.

Rasa, “Everything You See Is Me”

“Of lights, I am the sunshine

Of stars, I am the moon

I am the splendor, I am victory

Everything you see is me

Of life, I am the living

Of death, I am the time

I am the seasons turning

I am flower-bearing Spring

I am the splendor, I am victory

Everything rests on me

But still I am free

I am the wind, I am the sea

All beings are in me,

But I’m not in them

Of secret things, I am the silence

Of sounds, I am the ohm

I am the wind, I am the sea

Everything you see is me

Of men, I am the monarch

Of strength, I am the strong

I am wisdom, I am memory

Everything you see is me

I am the splendor, I am victory

Everything rests on me,

But still I am free

I am the wind, I am the sea

All beings are in me,

But I’m not in them

I am the splendor, I am victory

Everything rests on me,

But still I am free

I am the wind, I am the sea

All beings are in me,

But I’m not in them”