Entertainment is changin’, intertwinin’ with gangsters
In the land of the killers, a sinner’s mind is a sanctum
Holy or unholy, only have one homie
Only this gun, lonely ’cause don’t anyone know me
Yet everybody just feels like they can relate
I guess words are a motherfucker, they can be great
Or they can degrade, or even worse, they can teach hate
It’s like these kids hang on every single statement we make
Like they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinum
Now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?
From standin’ on corners and porches just rappin’
To havin’ a fortune, no more kissin’ ass
But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you
Fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you
To get they hands on every dime you have
They want you to lose your mind every time you mad
So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon
Any dispute won’t hesitate to produce handguns
That’s why these prosecutors wanna convict me
Strictly just to get me off of these streets quickly
But all they kids be listenin’ to me religiously
So I’m signin’ CDs while police fingerprint me
They’re for the judge’s daughter, but his grudge is against me
If I’m such a fuckin’ menace, this shit doesn’t make sense, B
It’s all political, if my music is literal
And I’m a criminal, how the fuck can I raise a little girl?
I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be fit to
You’re full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you!

They say music can alter moods and talk to you
Well, can it load a gun up for you and cock it too?
Well, if it can, then the next time you assault a dude
Just tell the judge it was my fault and I’ll get sued
See, what these kids do is hear about us totin’ pistols
And they wanna get one ‘cause they think the shit’s cool
Not knowin’ we really just protectin’ ourselves
We entertainers, of course the shit’s affectin’ our sales
You ignoramus, but music is reflection of self
We just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail
It’s fucked up, ain’t it? How we can come from practically nothin’
To bein’ able to have any fuckin’ thing that we wanted
That’s why we sing for these kids who don’t have a thing
Except for a dream and a fuckin’ rap magazine
Who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long
Idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs
Or for anyone who’s ever been through shit in they lives
So they sit and they cry at night, wishin’ they’d die
’Til they throw on a rap record and they sit and they vibe
We’re nothin’ to you, but we’re the fuckin’ shit in they eyes
That’s why we seize the moment, try to freeze it and own it
Squeeze it and hold it ’cause we consider these minutes golden
And maybe they’ll admit it when we’re gone
Just let our spirits live on
Through our lyrics that you hear in our songs, and we can—

Eminem (Excerpts from “Sing for the Moment” by Eminem)

Danielle Badra’s first full-length collection is beautifully heartbreaking as she writes candidly about the loss of her sister. “The Short Way,” in particular, brings tears to my eyes as the image reminds me of my own mother’s last day on earth in ICU. I also love the lyrical beauty in “Pianissimo.” Furthermore, Badra received an MFA from George Mason University.

Replacing the dead headlight bulb is super easy. Once again, YouTube rocks for these type of DIY. I followed this short video. I bought a new bulb from Toyota dealer for $38. I should have bought the two-pack from Amazon for $24. Oh well, lesson learned.

She died
within a week.
Over her bed
in the ICU we prayed.
We sang the body plastic.

We who loved her,
we watched her tremble,
we dabbed her dry mouth.

We waited
for her eyes
to open again.

For her to see us
holding her,

saying, it’s ok.

Danielle Badra

Hands inclined
ascending along lines where
notes fall inside a sanctuary.

Love
a nervous staccato
nearing atonement.

Leaning away
from an epic étude
she improvised cacophony
escaping into decrescendo.

Her ear
an effortless tempo
solely her own.

Her illness was graceful
as Rutter’s Requiem
yet she offered no harmony.

Danielle Badra

The real reason behind the acquisition of Parler falling through is that Ye is broke as fuck. As his divorce settled, he has to pay $200,000 per month in child support. There goes his deposit for the conservative social media platform. Thanks Kim!

Amy Qin, writing for The New York Times:

Many families still seek out professional advice. In interviews, college admissions consultants spoke about trying to steer their Asian American clients away from so-called typically Asian activities such as Chinese language school, piano and Indian classical instruments like the venu flute.

Maybe we should save money by not sending our kids to piano private lesson. Qin writes:

Many consultants said that, when it came to elite college admissions, it was not enough to just be a well-rounded student. Differentiation is the name of the game, regardless of race.

Part of the problem, some college consultants say, is that there are kernels of truth in the stereotypes of Asian applicants. Within the communities, violin and piano are, in fact, oversubscribed activities, the consultants say, making it difficult for most students to stand out.

“I often tell families that instead of playing violin or piano, which is something almost every Chinese American can check off on their profile, try a different instrument,” said Shin Wei, the founder and chief executive of IvyMax, an admissions counseling company based in California.

Sure, how about trying different sports like rollerblading or skateboarding. Qin reports:

Lap Nguyen, 20, a junior at Harvard, had also leaned into generational themes, writing about his love for the language of his birth country, Vietnam, and his experience teaching that language to his little brother.

I am glad Lập Nguyễn wrote about his love for Vietnamese and was accepted to Harvard.

I must admit. I enjoyed reading Stevenson’s Human Resources even though I didn’t understand everything she has written. Her poems are modern, lyrical, and accessible. I appreciate “Work From Home” and many more if I re-read them again, which I will since it is a slim collection.

It seems as if the top has determined to migrate off MODX to a CMS that would provide a live editing capability. MODX has been great to work with for over a decade and has proven to be a solid content manage system. If I were to make the decision, I would not switch it to anything else. The decision, however, is not for me to make; therefore, I will let it go.

On the positive side, I will no longer have to maintain the system, which was part of my responsibilities carried over from when I was still a web developer. I won’t have to worry if the site needs upgrade, goes down, or gets hacked. Until we migrated over to MODX Cloud several years ago, I lost countless nights of sleep worrying about the website. I was stressed out because it was on my mind the whole time. I still bear the responsibility of the website, but I feel less stress because the site is now managed and secured on MODX Cloud.

When we move off MODX, I will focus my attention on being director of design and web services without having to be hands-on like I am doing now. So yes, let’s bring on a new CMS to replace MODX. I am all in.

Before the morning chill burns off
I’m in front of my computer screen

and somebody on the internet needs me
to look at them. Working from home

is just like working in outer space, I imagine.
I go to the bathroom

just to go somewhere. I hear my neighbors
through the wall, and my heart jumps—

there are others. Their faucet runs.
They’re in there together, laughing.

I return to my workspace and my coffee needs to be reheated
again. Because my mother raised me

to outlive her, I used to stand in another room,
away from the microwave, but now that I’ve taken

to the practice of mindfulness
I leave my hand on its door handle

and pay attention, like my niece when she plays
Microwave, zapping soda cans

in her plastic appliance labeled Just Like Home.
The waves pass through me—

my soft tissue lighting up like phantom vibrations
in a dead landline. Until the sun goes down I orbit

between my workspace, bathroom, kitchen, bed,
taking conference calls about artificial intelligence.

First order of business is to define what intelligence is,
then how to avoid a dystopian eventuality.

We hold our phones away from our ears,
speakers on high, because we all read

the same headline about radiation.
When somebody’s dog barks near the phone

somebody else’s dog barks back.
This is the best part of my day.

Ryann Stevenson