they ain't sayin nothing

I've been hearing how full of shit they are in their voices for a very long time. News analysts, anchors, politicians, poets, it's not just in one area of life, it's now permeated everywhere, this dissonance. Sometimes I don't know how anyone can bear to listen to them at all. I certainly can't. I just can't. Not being mean, I simply can't tolerate listening to their voices. This has been happening for me for a very long time (ok, maybe always). People I've loved deeply, friends and lovers sometimes had this quality in their voices. Maybe it's a matter of frequency more than tone or pitch. It's not the actual sound of their voice, that's just what I'm calling it.

It's probably not them, it's just me. The way I hear things. The fact that I'm wearing 2 pairs of noise cancelling headphones right now in a dark room with curtains drawn over closed blinds with many blankets over my head to make a tent– no, it's definitely not you, it's me. Only I love me so fucking much now. At this old age, I finally know there's nothing wrong with me and I have enough support— friends and people who care about me who are in agreement: I'm not the problem. What's going on? It's not me, actually, the problem is you.

Sike. It is me actually, I've got gate 57 getting pinged all the time, hearing in the moment, which means I'm particularly sensitive to frequency. Hearing is one of the strongest portals for me and I hear what's beneath and around, in between what people are saying. (It'll probably keep both of us alive.) I'm hyper alert to frequency which is why for me, this revolution has everything to do with song. I've been singing and dancing for days— can't stop, won't stop. I love it so much. For all the AI music and brainrot filling the internet, I still trust my body, this vehicle. Teach me how to Enya changed my whole day. May have changed my life. (Thank you, Hannah.) I'd been vibing on Megan Thee Stallion for awhile, ("I'm an open book & your man probly read it") but hearing Meg x BeeGees in yesterday's context slapped (props, @touchoffunk). I've always loved a good mashup and right now, it feels particularly human in its creativity, very us. I don't think the klankkers have learned how to do this yet. Can large language models calculate whether or not something will shake that ass? Make the heart soar?

Dreams are already gone because some other sounds got in. My first word of the day was a curse. I would love to stay where the dreams are, but now that I'm here, it's pretty dope inside my warm and cozy tent too. What I do remember was something like a train crash. Not a crash crash more like a clip. Like trains passing each other at high speed in opposite directions, forgetting to pull the side mirrors in. It sucks to lose your side mirrors. It really sucks, I know. I've had mirrors ripped off, stolen, smashed on the highway at high speeds, anything can happen. If this happens to you, just let me know. I've got a guy. He'll hook you up. Maybe not in the ways you want, but, he's got access to mirrors. The side mirror on Serena now is a perfect match for make and model: 2001 Acura Integra is a beautiful car, she's served us so well, very reliable. The mirror matches the car, but not by color. Serena is champagne. Papi's mirror is white. It looks a little strange perhaps, but the mismatch doesn't bother me. Different doesn't bother me. Everything about me is different, I'm differentiated. Me being me and not someone else is part of how I know I'm alive and doing what I'm here to do— experiencing life as fully as possible while I can. All we're really here to do anyway is to just be. Just be staying alive, hot girls doing hot shit.