Trapped In Between the Lines
I know a few understand what I'm talkin about
It was love for the thing that made me wanna stay out
It was love for the thing that made me stay in the house
Spendin time, writin rhymes
Tryin to find words that describe the vibe
That's inside the space
When you close yo' eyes and screw yo' face
Is this the pain of too much tenderness?
To make me nod my head in reverence
Should I visit this place in remembrance?
To build landmarks here as evidence
Night-time spirit shook my temperament
To write rhymes that portray this sentiment
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
And we believe in the promise (love, love )
Yes yes y'all and we don't stop
-Mos Def
Deep, deep in the writing process right now and it's making me extremely moody. Like I'm some high school chick in love for the first time--one minute it's all sappy sentimentality, like "Ohmigod, this is the best, most meaningful thing ever." The next it's "I can't believe this shit. This is sooooo not worth it."
This morning it was the latter. Moping around Starbucks reading the paper feeling sorry for myself (cause traveling around the world checking out hip-hop is such a tough pill to swallow, right?) and drinking a London Fog (for you yanks, that's earl grey tea, steamed milk, and vanilla syrup; very Canadian-tryin-to-be-British).
Came across Leah McLaren's column. Normally, I'm not a fan. Her stuff tends to revolve around banal, upper-crust Torontonian concerns, like working on her summer cottage, or dumping some much older, well-to-do boyfriend, or the social pressures that come with being cute, thirty, and still single. I suspect she fancies herself to be the Canadian version of Bridgette Jones. Which is pretty played out by now. But anyway, today Leah really nailed it on the joy and pain (and sunshine and rain, keep in comin' now... remember that track?) of trying to write a book. So, sending kudos out to the T-dot socialite scribe.
As for my own writing, I was in a major funk by lunchtime, and had to call up one of my best friends who happens to be studying in Indiana right now. I gave her the teary rundown. She gave me the perfect ass-whuping (with loads of love) . So now I find myself back at the computer, trying again to get a first chapter out that doesn't deeply embarrass me. The word grind doesn't even come close right now.
It was love for the thing that made me wanna stay out
It was love for the thing that made me stay in the house
Spendin time, writin rhymes
Tryin to find words that describe the vibe
That's inside the space
When you close yo' eyes and screw yo' face
Is this the pain of too much tenderness?
To make me nod my head in reverence
Should I visit this place in remembrance?
To build landmarks here as evidence
Night-time spirit shook my temperament
To write rhymes that portray this sentiment
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
And we believe in the promise (love, love )
Yes yes y'all and we don't stop
-Mos Def
Deep, deep in the writing process right now and it's making me extremely moody. Like I'm some high school chick in love for the first time--one minute it's all sappy sentimentality, like "Ohmigod, this is the best, most meaningful thing ever." The next it's "I can't believe this shit. This is sooooo not worth it."
This morning it was the latter. Moping around Starbucks reading the paper feeling sorry for myself (cause traveling around the world checking out hip-hop is such a tough pill to swallow, right?) and drinking a London Fog (for you yanks, that's earl grey tea, steamed milk, and vanilla syrup; very Canadian-tryin-to-be-British).
Came across Leah McLaren's column. Normally, I'm not a fan. Her stuff tends to revolve around banal, upper-crust Torontonian concerns, like working on her summer cottage, or dumping some much older, well-to-do boyfriend, or the social pressures that come with being cute, thirty, and still single. I suspect she fancies herself to be the Canadian version of Bridgette Jones. Which is pretty played out by now. But anyway, today Leah really nailed it on the joy and pain (and sunshine and rain, keep in comin' now... remember that track?) of trying to write a book. So, sending kudos out to the T-dot socialite scribe.
As for my own writing, I was in a major funk by lunchtime, and had to call up one of my best friends who happens to be studying in Indiana right now. I gave her the teary rundown. She gave me the perfect ass-whuping (with loads of love) . So now I find myself back at the computer, trying again to get a first chapter out that doesn't deeply embarrass me. The word grind doesn't even come close right now.
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