for some reason i feel like i’m in the sixth grade. if i pay too close attention to the present i become 10 again looking at the light shining through the blinds, a serpentine pattern painting the shadows across my room. my brother slept next to me then.

i still can’t believe i’ve grown up as much as i did. i’m okay with the words becoming harder to say, write. it’s okay to feel as if typing prose is like etching marks into marble. does that make sense? finding what needs to be said should be difficult, even borderline impossible, with every wrong word a proxy for the right one. does that also make sense?

even then, i had no attachment to a city. none of the sprawling urbanism or the promised techno-utopia or the chloroplast hued foliage appealed to me. i never spent time placing my fantasy on a map.

i didn’t finish the essay.

i knew that i had the words in me. i have too many thoughts not to.

the written word remains my greatest form of representation—communication—even explanation. words are everywhere for me to discover. of course, words are everywhere. it’s a natural code.

the words leave me.

i’m selfish with vernacular—not easily giving it away even to those i love. i’m sure everyone has a personal lexicon.

…

i didn’t bother buying anything for my dorm since the cost of lugging it to campus would be beyond anything i could afford as a freshman, so i made peace with the fact that i’d be digging around the 7th page of results on facebook marketplace, all ready to make conversation with an eccentric, geriatric man living at the corners of the mission district. i’d practiced (more like rehearsed) my spanish during the summer to prepare. although i was making my way through grammar books, i was more so motivated by completing the exercises cover-to-cover rather than the opportunity to label myself as quote-unquote multicultural.

…

the air was colder than i remember. the hairs on my body stiffened as i made my way to retrieve the rest of my bags farther down the cart. i don’t remember the last time i traveled alone. i often rejected my mother’s offers to visit during her writing residencies outside of florida. “it’ll be exciting!” she’d exclaim, “you’re precious cargo!” she’d joke. there was something so juvenile about being escorted by flight attendants between gates. why would i want someone (let alone a person i know) to look at me and think i’m helpless codependent child on the way to to see their mommy? i’d rather die, full stop. i don’t care that i legally need airline employees to vigilantly monitor me like i’m an escaped (now detained) criminal in intra-precinct travel. and besides, my mom would only be gone for two weeks at a time, definitely not worth eroding my dignity for.

…

i first read wendy brown when i was 16 and in search of an answer for something substantial. the world was in need of a knife to cut it in two, a knife to start the autopsy for its growing coldness and ill will. what if i’m tired of smiling knowing i’m capable of committing evil to get my way in a system that allows it? anyway anyway anyway. brown treated walls less as physical barriers and more like function of capital. i obviously knew what this meant abstractly, but i cared more when she said it, feeling as if she’s verbalizing a lesson made specifically for me. yes: neoliberalism is a disease that is eroding our institutions from the inside out. yes: we are living on borrowed time on all axes; the doomsday that awaits us is not a future we can push away with abstraction, it’s here metastasizing. i subconsciously read brown as a exposure therapy for the unearned positivity i was surrounded with at the time. my father celebrated were had when i left my room to sit on the couch with him—i didn’t want to talk to anyone. maybe my house felt like a small political apparatus, our rooms designated as safe zones. i devoured books to arm myself from potential attacks. i didn’t care what i learned. i cared that i could defend myself. my worldview became a shield. my words a dagger.

…

my lyft driver had a cross dangling from the rear view mirror, a picture of his daughter sat on the dash, his wife on the phone. what else could he have wanted?

…

maybe it’s because i feel like i can write more freely? then again, when have i ever stuck to a strict schedule for hobbies such as this. i spent most of my adolescence with the head in the ground like a fucking geologist. i was ashamed. what for? really, what for? maybe my memories fail me and that’s why i didn’t write sooner. the desk was too small. the room too compact. the supplies not to my liking. i couldn’t comb over drafts like a vigilant mother tending her daughter’s hair, working out the kinks upon each rewrite. the words wouldn’t even come to me even though my internal monologue spits out descriptions miles a minute—i was raised to always have an opinion. i couldn’t prune that! let alone as a child! i feel like i just got ahold of my tongue, my voice remaining free even with the presence of a critic with a crimson pen meticulously marking my words before i could begin my defense. the critique feels fairer, less pressure, more space.

…

i’m aware i’m motivated by forces that are not my own, that i’m a slave to my subconscious. i’ve become too aware in fact. it’s like that one quote from mating where denoon laments about everything being swamped with narrative. it’s true. every human we encounter has a story to tell us. he asks if anything can be innate. a love for silence does not equate to a miserable childhood. for god’s sake we daydream and it’s narrative! the basis of therapeutic evaluation is to change the story you tell yourself. how were you as a child? no, but really? what was your mother like? we reenact storylines through partners searching for vestiges of the past not yet worked out. we always looking back for answers, a signpost or warning for the future ahead.

…

as i write i realize i ask a lot of questions. i’m not even sure who i’m wanting to answer. the readers says “you… obviously…” and i stare, immobile.

when it happened a third time, i called my mom (catholic turned christian turned bruja) (i feel like that’s common nowadays) (mom if you’re reading this i’m joking i swear) to give me the actual, acute rundown of what was going on spiritually. moving past the interpretations i mentally ticked off only a couple days ago, i went to the worst: what if that means the world’s gonna end? am i a clairvoyant tasked with telling the greater toronto area about their fate? can i spin this to add purple heart recipient to my résumé?

i avoided the possibility that i’m somehow enlightened enough to be a channel for apocalyptic truths yet to be told, because i’m, practically speaking, not built enough to handle that information in my body that’s awaiting an ocd diagnosis.

anyway, i was advised to enjoy this transition period. but transition from what to where? who even made up the concept of chapters anyway? why can’t everything be free flowing? we’re adding too many addendums to the already long list of exceptions we must abide by because we’re human. everything always evolves—at least it should. like entropy, we’re moving through time with cells that are shedding in the most biological sense of the word, and a natural proclivity for randomness and disorder.

in general, looking towards Industry artists as a signpost for quality specifically is misinformed because a) you will likely be disappointed and b) it’s a little disingenuous to believe that artists coming out of atlantic or columbia records are going to be doing a service to the genre they are occupying. and if i’m being honest, i don’t even necessarily agree with the premise that i’m working under. the bar for what constitutes as Good Music has been rising since access to the tools to make music are becoming easier and the veil of quality production is lifting, especially after hyperpop entered the zeitgeist. music artists, especially producers, are more keen to share tips and tricks they’ve learned along the way, understanding that the Industry (as we know it today) notoriously gatekeeps pertinent information from those that need (want, rather) it.

i’m not a boomer that puts 90s rap on a pedestal or genuinely believes that radiohead is the best band ever (let’s not open that one up), it’s more so rooted in the reality of ai-generated content on the internet and what that means for music consumption at large. we (unironically) live in a time where natural language prompts can create so-called artistic artifacts, with details on its training regiment becoming news covered by pitchfork and fader magazines. there’s a lot more onus on us to sift through content to ensure we are not consuming something made by a machine, and while that does seem like nightmare fuel, i use it as an excuse to spend more time curating and honing my own taste through deep exploration. if anything, this aversion towards ai swings the pendulum back, with artists wanting to make it abundantly clear that everything in their process if human-first—no technological intervention needed.

as the internet becomes increasingly bloated (non-pejorative), we have to work harder to find the art we care about. we have a lot more agency in our creative discovery than we realize; algorithms and recommendations from other content creators we deem with “good taste” only goes so far. when was the last time you listened to an album in full? listened track by track? the last time you went to a record store and didn’t immediately look for albums you already know? do you frequent non-streaming services for songs? what about youtube or vimeo—have you gotten lost in a rabbit hole of related videos, somehow ending up watching content in a language that’s not your own? of course, some of these methods of discovery assume your proximity to them, but there’s only so many addendums you can add to your complaints before it becomes obvious that you don’t really care about finding something worth your time.

it’s trite to say at this point, but we live in a time where literally everything is at our fingertips. entire ecosystems of music from other countries can easily be accessed given enough time searching. somewhat similarly, it’s not difficult to be a surveyor of counterculture via social media, routinely observing what artists are doing in the underground before we deem it cool enough to enter the mainstream. it’s easy to write off the entirety of a genre simply because it’s difficult to find artists within it that you connect with—but because something is difficult doesn’t mean the existence of what you deem interesting is completely out of the picture.

keep it to yourself – love spells

this is a musical answer to the question: are men still yearning?

i’m most drawn to the songwriting where love spells tells his partner no, i’ll take the blame for their eventual downfall, even if no intimate details can be shared with curious bystanders. he even guards their relationship with pride telling us to worry about ourselves if we push our inquires too far. the music video paints this picture of pushing and pulling away from a relationship that shouldn’t work, but with sheer, white-knuckled will, any opportunity for breaking up is closed off. in the visuals, love spells dances his way to the door of his lover (very manakin-like tbh), declaring his love publicly for her knowing that people will be peering outside curious to see the finalé.

wink wink – charli xcx

idk why i’m so intrigued by this era of charli’s career since she’s by no means making the same waves as she was two summers ago. when i first read on instagram that this was going to be a rock album, i kinda rolled my eyes and kept scrolling because i knew a) this decision was likely not motivated by pure artistic expression and b) the “backlash” this genre choice created will only serve to benefit the rollout. are these songs quote unquote rock music? sure. the elements are there: guitars, steady drums, stepwise melodies—all with a tinge of glitched out production. but does it truly feel like an earnest attempt at Rock Music? i’m gonna have to say no.

i think that answer is rooted in my biggest gripe being the songwriting. because of her stardom, everything she talks about regarding fame feels a little… plain? ok that’s too harsh. let me try again. there’s only so much you can say about being provocative and giving into the desire to seek attention. she’s made statements on this exact thing professionally and within her art for the past couple of years now, but using rock music as the vehicle for this doesn’t seem exciting as it should be. everything is ironic with charli now. the glamour of it all seems to fit her well and i think that commentary she wants to verbalize via this project looks interesting on the surface, but in the context of her career and how she’s approached discussing her prominence previously, idk if it’s landing the way she wants. like why do i have to believe that she’s the new arbiter of coolness for the general western population? who even gets to decide how culture moves? is it something akin to a dynamical system? our individual opinions on celebrities end up moving like liquid across internet, with true delineations between who said what, attributions, and ownership become muddled beyond comprehension.

charli xcx is undoubtedly a cultural icon now. her words on music, fashion, and film are taken seriously by those with social capital. brat proved she has what it takes to handle the lofty responsibilities of being a pop star in the new(-ish) 21st century. she can stomach the surgical-like dissection of her body, music, relationships, and everything in between. the conviction was there the whole time. going from true romance to charli within the same decade is a feat her contemporaries could not have pulled off with the same resources. she can now ask prolific artists to pose for her album cover. they seemingly deem her worthy of their time, and whatever their opinion might honestly be, charli gets a tasteful stamp of approval by the mere presence of their likeness on her creative work.

deep end – josie

there’s not much i can say about this song other than i love the fact that josiah is releasing music on his own. while basically all anecdotal, i’m seeing a lot of band members branch out of their collectives and create a new artistic identity away from their long-time collaborators (e.g., not for radio, jon conway, etc.). one of the main reasons i was into greer’s music was because of josiah’s falsetto vocals and satisfying melodic choices, all of which are displayed on this single.

…

more scattered likings – various artists

• will – ear
• the lonesome border, pt. 1 – dear nora
• hollis prozac – exum
• on the very low – ivan ave
• don’t kiss me – maple glider
• spiral/disco (outro) – mike

we lust life but god'll stay along 'fore they crush us it's one dice, you gotta use some charm and some structure and sometimes you gotta use the arm of your brother dumb pride, i learned to be the calm in the thunder and sunrise

i started listening to lush because i wanted to post a spotify link of my favorite song on twitter, all in attempts to get a like from a hot guy i (briefly) met at a house party. that aside, these two songs are some of the best indie rock to come out in recent memory. i’m most impressed with jordan’s guitar playing, switching between pretty abrasive strumming patterns and intricate finger plucking seamlessly. these songs also pair narratively: speaking terms seems to have the narrator assert their agency over an unloving partner insisting that they have unknowingly gone too far. despite this, heat wave starts with (presumably) the same speaker, waking up in their clothes having dreamt of them. we also can’t forget:

and i hope whoever it is holds their breath around you 'cause i know i did

on an oddly specific personal note, this song represents expansion. i remember looping this album as it accompanied me walking in between classes my freshman year of college. how crazy was it to be free for the first time?

detour / need for speed / basketball — kim petras

she needed a win so bad that she pulled out an unreleased sophie demo… this shit means something to her!!! no but seriously, i was really impressed with this album in an unexpected way. granted, i’ve been off kim petras since feed the beast came out with lackluster reviews, all of which she probably agrees with given her intentional (and 100% initiated) move away from massive record labels that have stifled her creative vision. even before that… wasn’t there an n-word scandal brought up by old tweets?

aside: i think we forget that miss petras was at the center of hyperpop before its transitional period to becoming that much more mainstream. this was back when charli xcx was signing douches at meet and greets after concerts and every self-proclaimed Twitter Gay was sending mine by slayyyter to all of his mutuals.

anyway… i’m glad she was able to independently create this project with a series of top notch producers like frost children and margo xs given that classic bubblegum pop sound with bright synths and opaque percussion was flattened by previous collaborators in her record label projects.

funny — broncho

i listened to this song when the weather just started to get warm in toronto after winter overstayed its welcome. spring was eclipsed by subpar temperatures and the need to put on a sweater every time you left the house in early may—basically an attack on my entire bloodline who lived in dewey temperatures for all of their lives. ryan lindsey’s lyrics washed over me as the sun hit my skin not as a relief from cold but a reminder of warmth re: take a moment / for a moment / and i liked it.

the feeling — steve lacy

his voice has persisted throughout his progression as an artist. even if the production value increases, the writing remains honest and unique to lacy. i’m often wondering if the narrators in his songs are aware of their ego. in the feeling, he asks if he’s still cared for (am i your baby?) and states an eagerness to rekindle a toxic relationship (i’m not scared to bleed, you know our history).

the video for this song reminds me a lot of what he did for playground—a dreamy sequence of scattered, colorful visuals punctuated with lacy singing to the camera right in the foreground. he needs to keep kathleen heffernan on his production team ALWAYS!