After intense writing, I
like to relax, read some African-American Urban Fiction. You know what that’s all
about. Usually
the authors have me laughing out loud at the truth of their creative English,
what Fred Moten and Stefano Harney call “eloquent vulgarities” and “mutant grammar.”
My Besties: The Come Up by Asia Hill wasn’t as druggy
and explicit and nasty as most, but still I enjoyed the tone. Here are some
samples:
“Feel me? We rode hard in these streets.”
“He took care of me. He always made sure I had the best
video games and the newest Jordans.”
“Something told me that she was a rotten bitch on
the inside.”
I laughed out loud at the description of a young
woman wearing an all-white outfit: “Tiki over here looking like a glass of
whole milk and shit.”
Then a pivot to T.S. Eliot and his Four Quartets.
And then Art Pepper (“I see where I wanna go, it’s
just trying to get there.”) kills it with this:
And where I left off is no longer there
And neither I nor there are the same as when we
both were.
