a sort of preface or something/ i'm a natural writer. i don't write too eloquently, but only because i don't read the dictionary in my spare time and my vocabulary can fit in the smallest of uhaul trucks. but i can do it almost fluently. writing, i mean. it's almost as though my fingers work as a better extension of my mind than my mouth. also, i don't curse so much when i write. almost like it wastes time. that's not to say that every once in a while i don't get writer's block and curse my way through, idonno, a synopsis of an opera i might've experienced or anything. this page has been neglected for long enough, strap on your jelly belly scribble berry
Funkadelic - Maggot Brain/
the poetry that parts the album's sweet wet lips and invites you to slide right in isn't the kind of bullshit you see printed neatly with fancy ass font with a pleasant picture of nature beside it; the sultry as hell solo that follows almost immediately gets one tingly inside the brain cells.
funkadelic being the name of the game, it's hard to say that these jams are chill as fuck. i mean, there aren't many dull moments in the whole record, they've always got something going to keep you on your toes; these people don't let you get too comfortable.
after the weed's kicked in for a while (and you're just sitting there or kicking it or riding your bike on and off the sidewalk or cruising to taco bell for those crunchwrap supremes and soft tacos) and the lyrics and mind-blowing guitar licks and lemons melt and fuse with your ear wax, they'll hang around when it's over and you'll think about the soulful revival you experienced with funkadelic. and you will smile.