"If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom, and deprecate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightning... Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will"Frederick Douglass
This fucking stupid hotel desk is too fucking high and the chair's too fucking short, or perhaps I am, so I have fucking chronic neck and shoulder-ache from being hunched up clattering at it all stupid day. I would apologise for the language were I not in such tremendous discomfort.
Anyway. Mary said I need balance and write nothing but depressing BLAH nowadays, but I can't think of anything cheery to report, so maybe I ought to keep my fat mouth shut. But I went out to get coffee and food earlier, got the coffee, them went to the ATM to get foodey money, and lo, it was EMPTY, woo-hoo. I do have a bagfull of quarters, so if I can get over the embarrassment of paying for a sandwich with a bagfull of quarters I shall. I shall have to see how I feel later I suppose. Maybe if I go to bed now I can just delay the whole eating process until tomorrow, when I am sure aid will come, and I can stop my pitiful blatheirng. I did write two songs today. And having done that, I decided to cover Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues, which cheered me rather until the neck thing started to really get at me. At least I am very handsome today, as the mirror at my desk reports with some gross regularity.
Apparently Narstie was on telly earlier voicing concern about how his lyrics affect the young ones. When I first met Narstie he rolled into The Dairy to sell me weed, and freestyled at me, "this is a message for the young ones/why do you like guns? Why do you wanna be the hype? Why do you wanna be in the limelight?"
Later, when we came to making a song, he spat, "I've got 40 guns and 40 clips, wow, I'm from Brixton," rounding off with some stuff about how famous he wishes he was.
I love Narstie, bless him, he is at war with himself constantly. As are we all, I suppose, unless we are swine, and think ourselves to be perfect. Narstie said he has two phones so as not to look poor for the fans. I understand how he feels - not wishing to affront the darling New Yorkers with a bag of quarters and all - but I have never had much of a problem with appearing poor, since I always HAVE been poor, apart from a few brief spurts between last month and Summer 2000, which have tended to find me wasting my New Money on rounds and rent and records. I went through a period of buying a lot of Wu Wear and fake gold, actually. I shall pay for that I am sure.
One time, when I was young and in trouble with the law, my probation officer helped me achieve a grant from Prince Charles and his Trust. It was purportedly to buy musical equipment. As it went, I think it went into drug debts, or something similarly unpleasant. Men with pool ques will win over creative ambition, in most instances. Always I am ahead of my means. But it all worked out in the end I suppose. Those years will fuel my stupid songs for many to come, I am quite sure, since I don't actually have a life these days, dwelling as I do between violently furnished hotel rooms and well-insulated studios. And if I do go out I get so wasted it renders the next few days unbearable and the "memories" dead as doornails (and what is so dead about them?). It is no wonder people's second albums are always so poor. It is a good job I did all my drugs in my so-called Youth, as I would be all but doomed by now.
Anyway, that Narstie TV show was about the power of the cursed "N" word, which I have had all manner of arguments with upper middle class/lower-upper class DJs about. I would advise you to read this, it is very good, and sums it all up rather well. Hate tends to breed hate. When we were at school we used to call each other "cunt", and look at how we turned out.
Wade and Daffid mailed me. They have invented a new kind of music, which they call STUNNK (also a way of life, they say. I shall have them fill you in tomorrow), and are both In Love and have Mottos.
"Trim and healthy is the new getting drunk every night and love is the new sleeping around."
Does love fix necks and nightmares? Probly not. I have no idea.
Hey, get this - I just worked out how to raise my seat. I have been squatting like an invalid quite needlessly all weekend. I am unsure whether to laugh or cry, which pretty much describes my whole disposition right now. Die dulci fruere.