This rainy weather shit has me down a little bit.
It was so nice to have a few days of natural warmth and some sunshine that didn’t have wind or gloom attached to it. Don’t get me wrong here – I like the gloom, and I love Winter – but enough is enough. My body craves the warmth. And after getting to soak in it for a couple of weekends, I now feel like I’m 14 again, and I’ve been making out with some girl that has been rubbing her hand up against my crotch through my 501s, and then her older sister showed up at the park to take her home.
Spring-time will always bring the Blue Balls, just like those little Catholic Schoolgirls that used to love pissing off their parents by fucking around with a Jewish punk rock kid like me. Not that I’m complaining about it, because I certainly have some fond memories of making out in the backseat of some girl’s Jetta, roaming my hands up underneath that plaid skirt and getting told “NO.”
Summer, on the other hand, is the dirty fucking College girl who just moved out of her house and came to realize The Power of Pussy. Summer is like that girl who was sort of an awkward duck in 7th Grade who suddenly realized that rocking a tanktop and getting some contacts would bring all the dogs sniffing around her ass. Summer is The Grime. Summer is The Sweat. Summer is like a Raekwon album – just enough nasty to keep your head bobbing along.
“The Ice Cream Man is coming!“
I sure could use me some Summer right about now.
My creative juices flow a lot differently with the seasons, which I’m sure happens to a lot of people. My choices in what I listen to shift as well – Summer is much more apt to have me reaching for Hip-Hop or old ’80s Hardcore, whereas Winter is definitely all about Metal & Jazz endeavors (undertakings, really – think HUGE BOX SETS of shit that is just “Out There,” and you’re rolling with me). Spring is a mess, just like those Catholic schoolgirls, and Fall is usually all about breaking out the Miles & Coltrane, getting my head into the proper space for the seclusion and heady nature Winter usually holds for my psyche.
I could probably break all of this down Astrologically, but that might go too far over the edge of reason, even for my shit.
All this shit about seasons & weather is funny to me, because I never had to deal with this when I was living out in The Desert. That wasteland didn’t have any seasons – it just had varying degrees of the same thing, kind of like putting on any Top 40 radio station and letting it play for four hours – you’ll eventually hear the same twelve cuts at least three times, and all of them will suck.
Moving back up here, to The City, was the inevitable Truth for me. If I had stayed out there any longer, I’d surely be dead by now. I mean, after all the stupid shit I’d done over the years out there, I’m surprised homelessness and being a drug addict were the worst things that happened to me. Sure, I avoided jail time, but that’s only by the grace of The Universe. There were plenty of times my ass could have been locked down, and I can only imagine what that shit would have done to me.
I’m going to try and stay on my game and on point this Summer. I’m going to work hard on my shit, and do what I can to get it out there. I spent a long time woodshedding, honing my “craft,” if you’re so inclined. And it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to be spouting off about all these Cornelius Fakers making way if I just sat on my hands and didn’t get some of what’s out there for my very own.
Cat, get the fuck on up out of this bag.