After the jump, Kellz takes it back the old school.

This Shit Is Baby Soft

I’m gonna put down this can of energy that I’m drinking and look you in the eye. You, there, night after night, Thursday after Thursday. I’m right there with you, side by side in the darkest of haunts. We tip the same bartenders, confess in the backseats of the same cabs. I get closer to you than anybody you’ll ever fuck. Your friends are too smart. They say I can read lips from across the room.

And those, they some lips.

You’re there for the pussy or the rooster, the body heat, the bottled spirit. Music education, fashion retrospective, it’s all included. I come for these, but I’m not pacified. When we snake back to our respective apartments at ungodly hours, you black out. You’ll do it all over again tomorrow. I remain intoxicated. My blank stare of the bored is a lark. I am invested. I recall word-for-slurred-word those conversations, the fabric of your t-shirt, that sweaty guy who I will stand clear from until he no longer maintains residence here. Any decent storyteller embellishes details, but in Philly, the reality is always gold. You’re a performer, baby. If you remember what goes down, you can’t be bothered to admit it. Or less, write about it. Doing so implies that your night is more than a liquor trip. It’s not supposed to be work.

Why I gotta act like a cracked-out poet about it, huh…

The way I jerk around the words, you think I fool on your nighttimes. That I find nothing there but nonsensical afterthoughts. Like I’m out to get you and have no foreseeable plan for our future. You don’t see my cheap love for what it is. But I appreciate you.

I’m there later if you are. And if it creeps you out that much, I won’t read lips.

En Pointe

White T’s White Belts at the Arts Garage, hot enough to type out. Who knew that so many useless white kids were into Freeway? Or that they don’t always get lost when they wander away from Temple? Still can’t dress themselves or hold their drink, but baby steppin’, oh yeah.

It was amateur model night. I could have looked at a few of you twice.

Freeway shows up on time, that’s 2am to you and me. Was Sigel & Peedi Crack a surprise for anybody? The set lasted longer than my bubblegum and wasn’t wrapped in security.

Hello, two.one.five mag photos. You move Mexican-fast and post pictures the very next day. Keep this up, and I’m going to expect overnight delivery on everything.

So this is what Jay Simplefly was hollerin’ on about when he said something about a party and Yo Majesty the other week: 4 A.M.

Town Watch

L&I shuts down McWhitey’s Bar in Port Richmond. I was just about to blow that spot up, too. Can we get a party in The Rich and have a shuttle that takes us there?

I’ll be fucking around in Paris for the next week. I ask that you keep watch and guard my drink. If you see my stunt double, dance her up. And do KIT. Get your hands in. Email me all propers, hearsay, and critical evaluations for Talkin’ Shit Anonymous. Stay game, and remember, I still XO you from 3700 miles away.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 11th, 2008 at 11:56 am.