For the dreamers who can never stop dreaming, I stand along side you. Your perpetual thirst for the intangible inflates your heart and quickly lifts you off the ground. You’re afraid that eventually you’ll drift too high and forget the voices below you, but you’ll never be high enough to rest your feet on the clouds.The life of a human helium balloon, one day your knots will come undone, and you’ll have to decide for yourself If you still want to be tethered.

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Thoughts come to you for a reason. Each discarded moment represents a seed for potential, You let it go so it can replant itself behind your eyes, sprouting before you and reaching fruition only at the peak of its maturity. A flash of an Idea, fleeting and bright, bursting forth only as you decide to relinquish the tension between mind and hand and let the words over flow out of your soul and into the pristine cleanliness that is an open page. We were born to think, we were born to write. 

What this feels like.

Music is a journey in itself, it refuses to let you fall into silence. It is one of the only forces that can move you through the entire spectrum of human emotion by asking for only your ability to listen, if only for a few moments. I love being home but sometimes I feel more caged than relaxed, no ones fault, but I hate the feeling of stagnancy and knowing that I cant be anywhere I want in town whenever I want. I developed a sense of cabin fever over the last few weeks which was quickly resolved when I recommitted myself to writing and jamming out to some of these recent favorites. This is what these albums make me feel like.

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Yuna- Yuna

Feels like: Watching the first time you fell in love except this version is much less awkward and without that entire phase of wondering where you should put your hands in the movie theater. Also in this version you are much more attractive and you look a little like Mila Kunis and you run through a lot more fields.

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Childish Gambino- because the internet

Feels Like: Being stuck on repeat in a digitized version of your world  only to realize you’re in a nightmare but when you wake up you kinda want to go back to sleep just to try and make sense of it all. Also at one point you think you may have purchased a typewriter.

Oh but read the screenplay while you listen to the album, it enhances the entire experience and I personally think the mans a genius. (www.becausetheinter.net)

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Jhene Aiko- Sail out

Feels like: Floating through a crowded, smoke filled room and finding yourself sitting on the beach at the end of the night watching the waves. Also you want to be as cool as Jhene Aiko. And have her booty.

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Blood Orange- Cupid Deluxe

Feels like: Walking through New York alleys in the 80s/ 90s and being that one dude with the long trench coat just observing all the people who make their living at night. Also everyone is wearing bell bottoms and I don’t know why.

Recess

We recycle friends like old passwords.

We talk whenever we need to be talking.

But what about all the space in between the words. That we never talk about.

What about all the secrets, you whispered to me

Long ago.

I knew them so well, we sat there on the red swings

Swinging into the sky.

Wings growing from our outstretched hands

We flew so far high and drank the clouds

Woodchips on hands, crashing against our teeth

We lived in between each other.

And crossed rivers flowing from our minds.

Bridges were caves

Trees were castles.

seven and alive

We were the kings of that glass world. 

Fictional

Lick the lies off your lips, you’re better than this. You think I can’t see them? Trying to wipe them on the backs of your hands like ice cream. Like we’re 11 again and no one cares that you use your hands as napkins. We grew out of that, you didn’t. We learned how to clean our messes up, you didn’t. You think that because you’re broken you get a pass? We’re all broken, all pieces of glass. But you, you’re still sitting on the swings at recess wiping your snot on the back of your hands, expecting someone to pick you up when you fall, not caring that we cut ourselves in the process. How many times can I pick you up with my bleeding hands? How many nights do I have to kiss my own half opened scars? When we we’re little, you would fall onto those disgusting dirt roads and your fat tears would roll down your cheeks and I would hold your hand until you stopped. You always picked yourself up and kept going.  I know your problems are bigger now, but so are you. Please, pick yourself up this time, I know you need me here but I cant stay anymore. We’re not kids anymore, my life is moving and my back burns as I try to move you with it. All those years of my waiting, and you picked your life over mine every time. Every time I tried to leave this town you pulled me back, I stayed because of you, breathing the same stale air year after year, praying that maybe you would wake up one day and love me enough to let me live, to let me go. But you didn’t. I can’t wait for someone else to love me anymore. I need to love me, I need to leave.

But what if?

I woke up today plagued with a case of the “what ifs.” What if I wasn’t here anymore, what if my whole world turns upside down and I don’t have the time to catch my breath before being tossed into a life where I can no longer cling to familiarity. What if I don’t do this, what if I do. What if we grow and turn into different people who want different things, what if we don’t. Everybody gets them, a feigned affliction of the mind in which we wrap ourselves to escape the unanswerable and irreversible. We’re always thinking about things that have a minuscule chance of happening, crunching the numbers, trying to beat the odds. But what if we threw away probability and accepted spontaneity? Am I the only one whose tired? Tired of worrying about the what ifs and the worst cases; tired of fearing death while we live and expecting life when we die. The what ifs will always be there, but if we acknowledge them we empower them. I want to live with my head in the clouds, if only for a moment. Maybe there i’ll find the answers to the questions that no one ever wants to discuss, like why do the good die young, why do we loose pieces of ourselves into the wind and straggle like strangers in the dust. What makes one life worth more than another. What if there are no happy endings and only happy moments.  So many what ifs wrapped into each other, today I leave them behind in my search of what is.

“And Lord knows…

“And Lord knows she’s beautiful
Lord knows the usuals, leaving a body sore
As she bust down like a 12 bunk on tour
She suddenly realized she’ll never escape the allure
Of the black man, white man, needed satisfaction, at first
It became a practice, but now she’s numb to it
Sometimes she wonder if she can do it like nuns do it
But she never heard of Catholic religion or sinners’ redemption
That sounds foolish, and you can blame it on her mother
For letting her boyfriend slide candy under her cover
Ten months before she was ten he moved in and that’s when he touched her
This muthafucka is the fucking reason why Keisha rushing through that
Block away from Lueders park, I seen a El Camino park
And in her heart she hate it there but in her mind, she made it where
Nothing really matters, still she hit the back seat
And caught a knife inside the bladder, left her dead, raped in the street”

For the real rappers reminding us that their poetry addresses more than we give them credit for.

Kendrick Lamar- Keisha’s Song (Her Pain)