Decline and Fall

Dear Wall Street,

Please, babe, get better. Do you remember that stock market project we did, back in the good old days? You know, the 90s? I miss that.

Yours,
Aries

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Rebel Diaz, playing at the Sco, was so good. They were three singers, two of them siblings, who sang political populist hip-hop. The lone woman of the group was one of the tightest, most amazing rappers I've ever heard. Their beats were dance-able- if they hadn't been such a powerhouse performance, I'dve been rocking out in the back, trying out what I learned at SPARK.

SPARK was demented in a good, life-affirming way. Hip-hop is not my traditional domain, but I do like it. I didn't get a shuffle-step, but I got most of the rest. I'm a fan of top-rock; I'm not looking forward to pikes, except in the awful-bits that like when I fail at things. I take a long time to learn movement styles; I need a lot of repetition and things don't come naturally to me. Expecially... uh.. hard things. Like anything that involves balance.

Post-Diaz, we went to Agave for the coffee and burritos. It's nice that something other than Downtown Pizza and the Feve stays open past midnight on a weekend. Especially when that thing is Agave. Blessed Agave.

Clean prose.

In Novella class, we just discussed Hiroshima by Hersey, which appreared in the New Yorker in 1946. When it came out, "Hiroshima" took over the entire issue, there were no articles or cartoons. It sold out within hours. Hershey follows 6 survivors of Hiroshima and writes in an old-world literary journalism- not gonzo, or pretentious. It's not a long read, but it still takes a while time to get through. By page 20, I was bawling. You know the stage of crying when you lose control of your bodily functions, and express your sentiments in infant whines and moans? That.

After reading it... I've never felt more guilt of being an American. For the earlier atrocities (Middle Passage, genocide of Native Americans, slavery, imperialism), my family wasn't here. But in WWII, my grandfather was in uniform, an immigrant proud to fight for his new home. He was one of the first men to land in Osaka after the Japanese surrender. Grandpa believed he would have died without the bomb.

As I read, I kept thinking, "We all deserve to burn in hell." The discussion was excellent.

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