Asia… Asia, Asia: Asia. Is a very real thing. And reality will deal. In increasing measure. Well into the forseeable future. Asia is a Hollywood Renaissance. Black, Female, French, Bulldog. Serving for the stars. Slaying for life. Sitting sideways. Shading moonlight. Asia didn’t sign up for this, but — as a wise man once said: you don’t sign up for what you’re born into. Asia was born to slay for life and serve the light. Werk. It. Black. Sheesus. #amen
da-da-doo-do da-da-doo-do
da-da-doo-do da-da-doo-do
da-da-doo-do da-da-doo-do
da-da-doo-do da-da-doo-do
da-da-doo-do da-da-doo-do
da-da-doo-do da-da-doo-do
I am sitting
In the morning
At the diner
On the corner
I am waiting
At the counter
For the man
To pour the coffee
And he fills it
Only halfway
I’m an audiophilic one, like many. I love and live my music. Music is the score of said life. So, a playlist sonic biography of the slightly younger, significantly wiser self. Mood music … immune muses … Just a spin in the soundtrack of swipe’s life… Enjoi.
I see in sounds: my selfie is a soundtrack.
Pledge allegiance. The dawn, the genesis. Born stellar.
When this launched, who did I think I was… who did I perceive myself to be… well, I was a bouncing Baltimore baby, the charmed second, bite-sized cerebral stellar body in orbital training, traversing the globe from within the four walls of my elementary boudoir. Reach up, maintain soul, get down, claim control… move, swing, shake, for life, for lyric, for rhyme, or reason (whichever’s in season): a la mode, a la monarchy, nine years young, forever the groovy one… cheers.
