shitsaidinharlemhigh

Originally published online in Sula Collective Issue 13, October 2016

 

I like the meatness of the banana i.e. the mild sweetness. You would survive in the wild cuz you have a natural penchant to conserve and you’re solid and shit; I would survive in the wild cuz I’m bool w everybody. ‘Naw he good let em get some water what’s up lil nigga.’ Deadbody says ‘all your fault #8.’ Alternative thrived in the fucking ‘80’s. Some Lacrosse player has a shitty goatee under their all-white helmet. Deadbody says ‘her only emotion is mildly annoyed.’ I add ‘while tryna be sassy on the low-low.’ That’s a part of my life I’m not in anymore. It’s the past breh breh. Post Malone should just make different versions of White Iverson. I want his discography to be White Iverson 1-680 i.e. Iverson at every stage of his career. (Fuck Context.) This shit’s pretty tight. Do you think you could build spreadsheets in Excel coherently on acid? No lol. You gotta be on acid yourself to understand what the report is spittin at you; you gotta see the lines wavin at you lol. (States of Undress: Russia is on the TV): ‘how can you go thoo your life being a professional hater? Like, hey, I hate for a living.’ Switching to NBA playoffs: ‘slow-motion makes everything sentimental.’ Sentimental. I leave at around 11:30 p.m. East Harlem is chilly af, enough so that my maroon fleece is zipped mid-throat—but shit! I forgot my iPhone charger & change directions thinking fuck it, I guess we finna smoke again. We do, then minutes later on 125th I see a mangled pigeon & Snap it. I vowed to Deadbody to Never. Stop. Snapping.