The summer breeze sends an ease down my spine like a glass of wine. Going through the motions of exploring my hopes and fears, channeling rage in stages—a combustive build up that will ignite before twilight. But something is brewing.
Big little lies keep me up at night to the Twitter feed of the latest JAY-Z cd. Could it be his answer to Lemonade? And why am I so distracted by it?
Lemons can be powerful—the acidic properties can do wonders on the completion, by erasing away the sun damage after some time has passed. Or how about a Lemondrop martini, it can quench any thirst in the sweltering heat.
But approaching my third Tidal membership doesn’t compel me to sign up again. I’m not the biggest JAY-Z fan but I’m addicted to excellence—Black Excellence: where we work twice as hard for half as much.
Using my Twitter to tear down Tidal has me feeling Trumptastic. But spewing hate drained me faster than a bad first date.
It’s been two days since I’ve seen my boyfriend. I thought about him sporadically, moments would hit me like a movable feast. The distance would inevitably make us closer. Or will the distance make him disappear? Perhaps, this is a good thing. But somehow those thoughts didn’t manifest into a phone call. And is holding out masquerading as strength?
Our technology-driven society where everything is a new opportunity to spend money. My latest obsession: an iPad Pro to replace my yellow legal pad for under a thousand. It’s amazing how commercials can convince me that my computer is now obsolete. Let’s obliterate the bullshit and focus on the real shit. And why I’m not writing?
Perhaps I blame it on Twitter, whoring for followers because my Facebook page is disabled. Fuck Facebook and your censorship. Apparently, my posts are too salacious for the social site.
I may not know what the future holds but at least I’m writing again.
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