Month: August 2014

Exhausting.

Fascinating to witness how the news deployed:

– A young black man killed. Black people lose their shit, white people stay mostly silent.

– Militarized police takes action, fucks the press over. Black people lose their shit, white people too.

Just this shows how race and lack of empathy are connected –not my race? I don’t feel anything- and it is so blatant and widespread it’s hard to watch in real time at a large scale.

I keep thinking of those white mass shooters, incarcerated and not killed on sight. I think of Christopher Dorner black ex LAPD cop who went on a rampage on police officers over “abuse allegations” (like it’s not plausible with any PD in the US). Burned down in a mountain cabin like it totally makes sense. Black life has no value on this planet.

I keep thinking of Mike Brown’s mom words: “do you know how hard it was to get him off the streets?” And she did, for nothing. Her son was executed. The situation could be so much worse down there. There is such a monstrous brewing anger in all of us black people watching this shit unfold for decades, dozens of Mike Brown after dozens of Mike Brown. You have no idea.

My white family that I love is completely out of my black experience, so hard. They don’t want to know, I told my sister she’s not even moved or feel for me. They’re fine sticking their heads in the sand, in their bubble being like “oh that’s why you’re sad?”. Jesus fuck, man.

I moved to CA. I just got my temporary driver’s license. I’m so scared to get arrested. What if I had just a little too much fun and the night ends up like the worst nightmare or even the End? I’m a target. At the same time I know it will probably not happen because I’m wary as fuck, I’ll use Uber as much as I can and unlike this poor guy I knew. But hell, that constant vigilance shit is exhausting.

I’m in Atwater Village for 3 weeks which Wikipedia tells me is 1.4% black. I live now in a 93% Latino and black neighborhood so the change is felt, people don’t look at me the same way here, courtesy is pretty dry. Always disappointing to experience first hand. The first days walking the dog, wearing my hoodie, I wasn’t feeling great. It’s beautiful around though.

I’m so tired of this constant anxiety. Nothing makes sense, nothing matters when you are in the position of potentially getting killed by the police knowing they’ll get away with it. Nothing matters.

When waiting a bit before commenting is really useful.

Robin Williams had Parkinson’s.

Now I totally get why an overworked and alcoholic actor who had an amazing life would end his life at 63. I don’t feel like he chickened out he just had enough of our bullshit, knew it would just be awful for the rest of his days. His body, his thoughts, his rights. The environment made him do it, not him. Would he have been able to change his surrounding and be unknown again without a terrible disease creeping up, I’m sure he’d be riding his bike up to 100.

So many people go “check your mental health!” but never question the very environment that makes us think of doing something brutal and definitive. The amount of horseshit in this world coupled with an incurable, painful, slow disease are very strong and valid arguments to end this all on your terms.

Having taken care of my grandpa slowly dying for 10 years of Parkinson’s I even think Robin was brave. Thinking ahead, generous.

It is heavy, man. I was at the restaurant with my only black friend who wanted prime ribs when I break the Missouri news to him via Twitter. The restaurant is super dark and calm. Before that we were chatting outside in the sun and he was telling me how happy he was to have a black friend with whom he can talk about tech and economy and business models because all of his black friends don’t give a damn about all that.

Dissonance. Trying to keep it positive though. I know, a black student dies, riots, white people crying Gaza kids and a famous actor like they’re part of their own family while being completely silent over stuff happening to US citizens, the usual.

Staying focused. Trying to. Sometimes it’s just so damn hard.

I’m living in Atwater for a little while. I have slept in 7 different locations in 3 months, it could be 700 and it wouldn’t feel weird.

I’m in a cute condo with a lawn an old dog, a fish and a Roomba. Tons of visual art in every room. Yeah, I’m starting a new trend of using visual art to describe  what is commonly called art. So that I can tell people “I’m not making music, I’m composing art thank you”.

Things are a little crazy, change of routine. The other day my Uber driver had a Tesla Model S (my verdict: a bit space-douchey) which is weird because you’re not supposed to drive anyone around with a car that expensive. Dude might have been fired, I just understood that he had just got divorced. Awkward silence after that but I had arrived at my destination.

Speaking of driving I’m going to the DMV next week. So frustrating to pass tests when you’ve been driving for almost 20 years with no accident ever, in most weather, with an incredible density of assholes (Paris, périph!) and that you’re back to the basics. I should be OK I guess. Then I might start driving a Prius and drop people all around the county because that’s what people do now.

I keep seeing the “omg kids dying!” headlines and I’m always surprised. Why the fuck do you think we humans are mostly against war? It’s because civilians die with them, weaker people die first with them, women get raped with them and people get tortured with them. War is that big nasty package and if you’re stupid enough to believe that we can have “respectful” wars, with soldiers –aren’t they too young to die too?- following “rules” and UN laws, I want the name of the drug you are using. You shouldn’t use that shit anymore.

“Don’t you know that a hard dick and an empty wallet don’t match?” is something I’m telling myself these days, it makes me chuckle and then I feel better.

It’s been a week that I’ve been working on my jump shot a hour a day. I mean a week going to a playground and work those dead shoulders of mine, locked in front of a computer or locked by playing bass.

It appears that throwing your hands in the air like you care to put that ball in is good for you.

I feel fifteen again, only with mad experience. Everything is open, adventure time. I’m 35 and grabbing that rim, still (I’m 1,74/5’9 shut up), I still can swish from downtown on a jumper. Fear of injury is making us weak like motherfuckers but our bodies are not dead at all once we pass the triple decade, who knew?? Everyone? All right smarty pants.