The Path to Paradise Spins Upon a Sacrosanct Turntable

In the techno afterlife
You watch ghosts of BPMs wail down the street from a neon tree strung with incandescent wishes
You have no idea what the other side is

In the techno afterlife
You clench your jaw and you lick your lips as you say it's just the same
You have no idea what the other side is

In the techno afterlife
You jump with infinite madness at it all for the next million years but there is no one there
You have no idea what the other side is

In the techno afterlife
Lasers and smoke fill the opioid emptiness with options and opinions and well-lotioned gargoyles
You have no idea what the other side is

The Path to Paradise Spins Upon a Sacrosanct Turntable

Listen of the Week: Shabazz Palaces

Quazarz Born On A Gangster Star & Quazarz vs. The Jealous Machines, by Shabazz Palaces

“[I]magine an alternate universe where the trappings of success lead hip-hop’s anti-heroes to devise their own trap. Sound too close to home? Well, that’s exactly what the protagonist encounters among the ‘ethers of the Migosphere here on Drake world.’ But Quazarz hasn’t come to destroy; he’s come to deconstruct and shine a light.”

http://www.npr.org/2017/07/06/535282090/first-listen-shabazz-palaces-quazarz-born-on-a-gangster-star

 

Listen of the Week: Shabazz Palaces

What Were the Skies Like When You Were Young?

i’m listening to the orb
since 1992 i’m listening to the orb
for 25 years i’m listening to the orb
for more than half my life i’m listening to the orb
and i’m so bad at math and so easily
distracted
it took me more than 20 seconds to work the numbers out
but when i’m listening to the orb
i’m reminded of everything that’s ever happened to me since 1992

and i’m in an office now
reviewing documents for someone up above
but in my head it’s 1992 and 1993 and 1994 and 1995 and 1997 and 2001 and 2007 and 2017 all at once
and early tears well in my eyes just waiting for a nudge to spill
for all those behind me years
that somehow still exist buried between the lines
of the story i tell of myself to myself like:
who we were at midnight on empty, suburban streets, an orb album on repeat
who we were at midnight on a cold, hard futon, curled up in a confused panic, an orb album on repeat
who we were at midnight on another’s sofa, sleeping after a shift, an orb album on repeat
who we were at midnight on a windy Christmas eve, drinking whiskey alone in the dark, an orb album on repeat
who we were at midnight on a still, star-filled lake, talking dreams of coming futures, an orb album on repeat
who we were at midnight on a faded, rusty rocker, with a swaddled baby swaying, an orb album on repeat
who we were at midnight on an empty, suburban street, doing dishes left from dinner, an orb album on repeat

and on my screen are these words you’re reading now
sitting in front of another’s words you’ll never read
and in my ears the lazy lilt of ‘back side of the moon’
for i’m still listening to the orb over and over again
and i’m looking out the window
and i’m so high above the ground here, now
but not as high as those above me
and i want to jump through that double-pane wall of melted sand
shatter glass everywhere like a sharp-toothed rain
but i never want to fall when i’m listening to the orb
considering a crash
no, no, no

in every year i ever was
i ever am
listening to the orb
i just want to go on forever

What Were the Skies Like When You Were Young?