Females rappers exploit sex as well. Hood Hottest Princess is Sexyy Red’s soundtrack to PornHub videos. Back up by pounding productions, Red gets freaky and filthy as fuck on “Mad At Me,” “Strictly for the Strippers,” and “Pound Town 2” with Nicki Minaj. No crime in that, I suppose. Most of her lyrics are too explicit to be quoted, but I find her some of punchlines hilarious. On “I’m The Shit,” she talks shit, “Bitch, you ain’t tough, I’ll slap you in the head / How you sleepin’ on me? You ain’t even got a bed.”

Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks.
Now, I remember only the flavor —
not like food, sweet or sharp.
More like a fine powder, like dust.
And I wasn’t elated or frightened,
but simply rapt, aware.
That’s how it is sometimes —
God comes to your window,
all bright light and black wings,
and you’re just too tired to open it.

Dorianne Laux

Jim Jones, a Vietnam combat veteran who served 12 years as a justice on the Idaho Supreme Court, opines:

[Leonard] Leo has not overlooked other members of the SCOTUS. majority, making perks available through affiliates, such as Scalia Law, George Mason University’s law school in Virginia, and other gatherings where the justices can rub elbows with conservative business titans.

In his Pulitzer Prize winning memoir, Stay True, Hua Hsu writes (p.15):

Opium Wars devastated southeastern China, right around the time when cheap labor was needed in the American West. In the 1840s and 1850s, shiploads of Chinese men left the war-torn Guangdong province for the U.S., lured by promises of work. They laid railroad tracks, mined gold, and went wherever they were needed. Yet this was the limit of their mobility. Sequestered in the cities’ most run-down districts by byzantine legal codes and social pressure-and without the means (and sometimes desire) to return home-they began building self-sustained Chinatowns to feed, protect, and care for one another. By the 1880s, the American economy no longer needed cheap foreign labor, resulting in exclusionary policies that limited Chinese immigration for decades.

These dynamics of push and pull were still in play when the Immigration Act of 1965 relaxed restrictions on entry from Asia, at least for people who might have something concrete to contribute to American society. There was a perception among policy makers that America was losing the science and innovation side of the cold war, so the country welcomed grad students like my parents. And who knew what the future held in Taiwan? In the New World, things seemed in a constant ascent. My parents weren’t drawn to the United States by any specific dream, just a chance for something different. Even then, they understood that American life is unbounded promise and hypocrisy, faith and greed, new spectrums of joy and self-doubt, freedom enabled by enslavement. All of these things at once.

Mr. George Freeman is obviously living The Good Life. At 96, he still swings “Up and Down” on his guitar with his band. His low notes are airy and hypnotizing. Even he plays the blues on “Lowe Groovin’,” he never used feedback or vibrato. He just keeps it cool. “Sister Tankersley” is another blues beauty. On the title track, which closes out the album, Mr. Freeman showcases his intoxicating fusion chops. I love every track on this album.

Enough of osseous and chickadee and sunflower
and snowshoes, maple and seeds, samara and shoot,
enough chiaroscuro, enough of thus and prophecy
and the stoic farmer and faith and our father and tis
of thee, enough of bosom and bud, skin and god
not forgetting and star bodies and frozen birds,
enough of the will to go on and not go on or how
a certain light does a certain thing, enough
of the kneeling and the rising and the looking
inward and the looking up, enough of the gun,
the drama, and the acquaintance’s suicide, the long-lost
letter on the dresser, enough of the longing and
the ego and the obliteration of ego, enough
of the mother and the child and the father and the child
and enough of the pointing to the world, weary
and desperate, enough of the brutal and the border,
enough of can you see me, can you hear me, enough
I am human, enough I am alone and I am desperate,
enough of the animal saving me, enough of the high
water, enough sorrow, enough of the air and its ease,
I am asking you to touch me.

Ada Limón

A couple of weeks ago, I lost a pair of my prescription glasses. Yesterday, I lost another pair. I am at the age where I need the string to stop me from losing my glasses.

Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now:

I see the island
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:

Wave of sorrow,
Take me there.

Langston Hughes

Coi takes it back to the old school with a new twist. “My Body” is Leray’s reinterpretation of Lesley Gore’ “It’s My Party” with the chorus changed to: “It’s my body, I could fuck who I want to.” “Players” is a rejuvenating sample of Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five’s “The Message.” Leray has filthy-ass lyrics to go with her dope-ass flow: “If you ain’t gettin’ money, I ain’t fuckin’ with you / Go and grab your calculator / Go and pop that pussy like a percolator.” I can bop with that.

My biggest summer worry is that the boys will spend the whole day on their devices, especially Đạo and Đán. Xuân is on a swim team and he goes to practice every day. He competes almost every Saturday. He likes to go to the skatepark with me. He also wants to join soccer camp; therefore, my wife signed him and his older brothers up as well.

Đạo and Đán protested so I made them a deal. Instead of playing soccer, they have to write everyday. Đán has to write at least 300 words. Đạo has to write 500 words. They can write whatever they like. They can write whatever on their mind. They can curse. They can talk shit about their dad. If they quit writing, they will be banned from their devices for the rest of the summer. They took the deal.

I am looking forward to reading Đạo’s and Đán’s daily blogging this summer. Of course, I am writing too to keep up with them.