What rhymes would Jesus spit?

Oh man.  Such a Monday.  Tired as hell.  Actually got a seat on the train this morning, which appeared to be some sort of karmaic start to my day…..until the preaching started.  Yep, the innocent looking lady at the end of the train had to go and start telling us how much Jesus loves us (which is not such a terrible thing to hear at that early morning hour).  But those of us who are way past our subway-riding prime know good and well it never stops there.  Nope.  Then come the Bible verses and the more Bible verses and the mini-sermon and had I not known who Jesus was before that subway ride, this lady’s early morning of invasion of my quiet space would have made me want to swear him off for eternity.  If Jesus was on the downtown Q with me this morning, I’d like to think he would have given up his seat and provided me with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee.  Not distracted me from a really good book and made me wanna beat him over the head.  Just sayin….somethin to chew on.

The beautiful combination of Spotify and the new Bon Iver album have been keeping me from completely losing my shit in this post-grad school, pre-professional, present malaise of a place.  I am thankful for art and all the ways that it heals and all of the lives it takes on after its creation.  It’s like this living, breathing life form that becomes so much bigger than the artist.  In the past month I’ve heard two poets say similar things about their work.  On a panel I recently attended, Brooklyn poet Kahlil Almustafa said that he never has expectations about his art.  For him it’s always just been for his personal healing process.  And then there was this CNN article about one of my favorite rappers and poets, K’naan: “He targets no audience in his composition.  He writes songs for himself, he said, to answer his own frustrations.  Any acclaim only bolsters his notion that it’s OK to be personal in songwriting.”

True artists.  Capturing the essence of killing superwoman.


 

 

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