Daydream nation.


1. People, it was the chopping off of the “I” in “imagination” that did it.

This week in 1971, “Just My Imagination” was at #1. Eddie Kendricks was the main man, the glory-grabber, the point guard on this one, plus I heard Kendrick Lamar was named after him*, but Paul Williams was the assist leader with those gravelly vocals on the song’s bridge.

In ’71 it was Vietnam and Manson all over the place. I bet pretend womanly love was nice to think about, a dreamy distraction, if you were driving around back then and it came on the radio. Yesterday it came on at CVS and I got a few minutes to myself for pretend time, imagination time–no stupid fears about radiation levels or keeping up with coke slang. Just my ‘magination on the hook, Eddie Willis’ guitar, or the whole string section: not sure which one jabs my warm beating heart the most, but all together they made the best valentine ever to looking and wanting.

*I did not actually hear that. But I feel like it might be true.

2. Am I a bad person because I like that Weezy/Game song more than I should and that Lil B/Grae/Phonte song way less than I should?

God no! I’m a bad person because I just heard about the time Fear was on SNL (“It’s great to be in New Jersey”) and that’s no way to retain my nerd championship belt, because I think my sweetie pie Curren$y looks stupid in BBC gear (although I’m too nice to tell him, which I believe makes me a pretty good person), and because I crave rewards just for being born–kind gestures and material items. I want all these things for my birthday (03/29), starting with item a above. I am requesting an adapted version of the shirt, though–a girl’s cut, please. I need one that hugs a too-skinny-but-still-curvy ladybody.

b. Just like my beloved Ghosty doll, this is something that I would make fun of if you had it on your bookshelf but it’s something I’m totally allowed to have and be braggy about. (I’m adorable!)

(I couldn’t wait on you to get me the poster.)

fancy-lunch-in-Santa-Monica attire is similar to “church clothes” except I’m a heathen so that phrase means nothing to me. (The invitation actually said “ladies must wear stockings,” because it’s 1948-?)

c. A nice high-res version of that photo of James Baldwin and Nina Simone–individuals whose combined presence in a picture on my bookshelf shall, I hope and pray, bathe me in epicness each day. Get up out the bed, turn my somethingsomethinglalaswagswaggolfwanggolfwang/Take a look in the mirror and say whassup, then kiss my first two fingers and press them onto the Baldwin-Simone photo for luck as I run out the door. Framing of the photo is not necessary, because I’m not greedy and I’ll be happy with the photo alone, and because frames are expensive. Why are frames so expensive? (I’d like the answer to this as a birthday present). They’re made of, what, wood and glass?

d.

This was yielded from just a regular ol image search, and I realized, ha, it kind of looks like one of Kanye’s covers.

Spice 1, Avey Tare, Jay Reatard and Hodgy on the remix.

e. Roberto Bolaño, The Return. Vibrating Porn Stars and Two Chileans Arguing about Knives is the name of your next mixed tape.

f. A new Curren$y collection of carburetor/naked flesh/sticky & citrus-smelling raps, now rather than later. NOW PLEASE.

g. Derek Lam’s ram-head-clasp bag. Even though astrological signs, like Jesus and message boards, are just another attempt by humans to make sense of the world and judge each other*, the fact remains that Aries is my sign/I know that I can rhyme. Additionally, sometimes I rhyme in riddles/Plus I make the honeys** wiggle.

*astrological signs are also useful when it comes to naming OutKast albums.

** just myself. I make myself wiggle–haven’t you seen my driving-in-the-Civic dancing? (yesterday it was Snoop’s “Gangsta Luv”). There’s no room for anything but wiggling in a Japanese compact.

h.
THE JAGGERRRZZZZZ. All those z’s are because 2-3 times a week I feel like I’m dozing through life, drifting along in a haze of Power 106, oatmeal and tea for breakfast every morning, rent checks, cops asking me how my day is going in obvious attempts to get me to have sex with them. The people across the hall playing cumbia on Sunday mornings is pretty nice, but it’s not enough to save me from the daily sleepwalk. I need this round black piece of vinyl to feel alive again. And to feel closer to Curren$y.

i. Soft furry pelts and boots (not made from anything that once had a face, obviously; I’m not a monster), and a room that’s sunny all the time–and empty except for a bed. I’d prefer not to have to trick for any of it but who am I kidding. Sorry, Mom.


My ideal man gets me cruelty-free fur and lets me be Frank Lucas’ side piece in my spare time. Here’s Diane Kruger, livin the dream.

Bobby Womack – “Across 110th Street.” Just found out Bobby’s got a brother named Friendly and that’s real funny ’cause friendly is what I’d like to get with some sheets and fur in a room that’s sunny all the time (and empty except for a bed).

mp3.

3. “I was just pondering about the vibrato.”

Who posted this on a guitardork message board? Was it you? And if so, why haven’t you called me? Christ I’d like you to call me, please–I am daydreaming about you. I’d also like you to warm those hands up, chief, ’cause you’re bout to give out lots of backrubs. Not to brag, but I’m down in all the best possible ways and my love is heavenly when my arms enfold youuuu, so I think you’ll be very happy. I like discussing weird factory mods, and how Eddie Willis is known for his signature style of muted riffs. And I’ll call you the don before during and after _______ (various things we take part in together).

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