The return of Everett True | 41. Gifted Gab
It’s cold up here. Cold and scary. Not outside. Inside. Inside my head.
Listening to music like this makes me feel better. I don’t often listen to music these days. Too dark. Too cold. Listening to music like this makes me feel better, sparks associations, make me think fleetingly of catching cabs through Manhattan drunk, living other people’s lives vicariously, repulsed and attracted by the bright lights and randomness of humanity, by the way folk aren’t scared to go outside and take their chances on chance meetings, random occurrences. Listening to music like this warms me up, makes me feel warmer, makes me feel like I’m lying down low on the floor spitting mucus, spitting mucus and staring fascinated by the petrol-fed flames spitting out my bin, hitting the ceiling, wandering if the fire’s going to spread. Music like this makes me feel alone, less alone. Just alone. Listening to music like this makes me remember trips down to Bristol, to Hollywood Hills, to elsewhere. It doesn’t. It’s always raining. My recollections last less than half a second and then shift. To nothing. Seems it would be fine to have conversations like this, even arguments. Somewhere you can’t fall back into the illusion of conformity.
This line under this next video is good, much more appropriate than my meandering:
When you hear Gifted Gab, two things come to mind: Having a good time, and sparking a big fat blunt on the porch during summer.
Yeah. That sounds exactly like my life right now. It’s all about the flow, right? The flow is…the flow is flowing. It’s good. It makes sense. It’s works. It connects.
Play three of her songs simultaneously. That makes as much sense as anything.
Photograph: Sam Jewell (The Stranger)