Hate alone is not enough to nourish. But there’s rage too.

My pops decides to come to Brooklyn and hang out with his eldest son. He’s really getting into this biking thing which is good because he doesn’t really have any feeling in his legs and walking just won’t do. I’m glad he finally came up with the idea on his own because my previous suggestions of procuring a bicycle were shot down like a prototype plane pilotted by John Denver (no bullets required).

I was feeling a little under the weather (not the Irish Flu this time) but I couldn’t waste the 1 on 1 time, so I took him to my favorite wings joint.

A song comes on and I ask him if he listens to this particular artist.

‘Dem sez: “it sounds like a white Joe Jackson”

I search the synaps for a black Joe Jackson but the only Joe Jackson (associated with music) I can muster is

I and I: “the only Joe Jackson I know is white.”

‘Dem sez: “you know, the guy that was big last year with the tune about big feet or something”

I and I: “you mean ‘Bubbly Toes’ by Jack Johnson”

‘Dem sea: “I guess.”

I and I: “That’s who we’re listening to”

I’ve adopted the policy of making a concerted effort not to have direct communications with her. It’s against my instincts and truly impossible due to our financial interests. I just got the urge (one I’ve had a few times over the past few weeks) to just IM her and say what’s up. I don’t know if it’s me grasping at straws. Gasping for air? I don’t exactly know who this policy is aimed at. Me or her. I feel like it’s not fair for me to be contacting her. Giver space. It’s also to see if it does anything for me. I’m stubborn. So there’s actually a possibility that I won’t let go just because I’m stubborn. But it sure feels like I miss her and want to be with her.

I guess it’s been a week or two since I did this, but I wrote a song. Not that I’ve never come up with something, but this was the first time that I sort of came up with a guitar part and threw some ad-lib words and melody in and rode it out. I got three verses done and they sort of reflect my mood about life over the last half year or so. I put it down verse by verse onto the laptop. Real Ghetto. I’d changed the strings recently and never cut off the ends so you can hear them jingling around and then there’s the trucks going by outside the window. All the more reason I got to set up that box my brother put together for me. It’ll make the recordings better and I can multitrack.