Limbo again...

So, I was booked to play the Placard Headphones Festival in London today. I am not playing the Placard Headphones Festival in London today.

I am in Limbo, currently listening to this Sleepy Jackson album. I appreciate the scope of the man's vision, but the only good bit came half way through track 11, when he ripped a Cat Stevens melody.

"Ooh, I think it's gonna take a long long time..."

In Limbo I have $15 and have been wearing the same clothes for three days. But I had a fucking hardcore shower, and I smell nice. My clothes are less nice. But I am nice.


I got my first food in 30-odd hours this morning at a meeting. That's how we rappers roll, in Limbo. I nearly blew my cash on a movie, but that would have been too stupid even for me. I am going to get a bar job to tide me over these next few weeks or whatever it's gonna take to make sure I don't spend the next decade banging my head against a pebbledash wall screaming.

Just as soon as Jeff rings this landline, and I can drag my nigh on uncontactable mobile-less ass out to enjoy the sun, and walk the streets.

And get a job.

Ah ha!

Dizzee laugh.

Limbo at this exact second is Sioux Zee's chamber on East 16th. It is full of brilliant records. She has Carter's '1992'. I assumed no one in America had that.

Oh God. That was 12 years ago.

This Sleepy Jackson shit is doing my head in. They're on some, 'I wish I was Bob Dylan in The Waterboys' right now. They cannot pull it off, for they have not the tunes.

Hang on.

Dizzee is on now.

So, I wrote my first real time rap song last night. I was wandering New York, as I do, and I stumbled into Union Square, and sat my ass down and wrote for a couple of hours. Shit is crazy ass astounding down there. It's like a big playground or something. I was interrupted by numerous cats, and I wrote them down too. In sequence at one point - kid, crackhead, dimebagsalesman, tramp, kid. And so on.

But, like I said, I am waiting on a call. So I've been mooching about the internet, listening to Brother Ali, Preemo beats on the excellent, meaning to answer my emails, daunting and lengthy as they are...

I bust out Mothboy's raps yesterday. I wrote them sat on that firehydrant the other night, innit. Incredibly, they fit the beat (which I'd not heard) super fire. I go out on some screaming shit on that one.

Yo, they got a chapter from that house Of Bush, House Of Saud here. It is pretty funny. And chilling. Ice cold. michaelmooredotcom is on some next shit.

For some gay ass reason I can't type this shit straight into my content manager system in my website on this computer. Or see my website. This shit is hating on flash. SO! I gotta find a way to get it uploaded. I think the boy Zef is away or some shit.