barry gets an abortion

something's been eating at me today. and not because i'm necessarily having a moral dilemna, altho i mite be... it's more of the splinter in my finger; the shard of wood of which i am aware (it itches and gently throbs) but i go about my day as if there isn't tree in my flesh. what the hell am i talking about ?!

feline abortion. cat abortion, for the layperson.

seriously, let it sink in.. cause it's real, as real as prosthetic balls for your dog. (no, seriously, don't let your best friend lose his balls and his pride, add some prothesti-testies.) but i digress. feline abortion. cat abortion. it's been the eyelash on my lense, that proverbial sliver. i don't know if it would've bothered me if i had only read about it. i found out the hard way:

a friend of mine adopted a feral (not to be confused with sterile) cat. a wild, trailor-park-running, free-as-the-wind cat. but the cat was emaciated. so, starving and probably delusional, the cat wandered on to "barry's" porch. so barry, being the kind and generous old soul that he is, fed the cat. but if you feed a feral cat, they just keep coming back.

so the next morning, the cat (now named "karen" ...never name a stray, that's the first fell step down a slippery slope) returns, of course, for breakfast. after several days of this entire scenario on pavlovian-repeat, karen will let barry pet her while she eats. ...days, and he can pet karen even when she's not eating. she comes around just for attention.
and then, like in every other seemingly-harmless-bum story, the cat decides that she wants to move in! and barry, he's a good dude-no joke-we chill with him all the time, let's karen barge right into his life, like a red-headed psycho ex.

well, you've heard the tale before: all goes well... for a while. karen has transformed, from a gutter cat into a house-cat. she plays the part alright! ..but after a few weeks, karen starts to go stir crazy.. the wild wind is calling, the dumpster cats meow in the distance... and she's in heat. yeah, she needs a good romp, you know? some wild tomcat rapesex, you dig? don't recoil in disgust, it's natural in their order of things, you see.

so if this entire time, you've been shaking your head, like, 'yes, yes!' ...if that is you, reader, then you know what comes next: yes, karen comes back. she's sorry she had to run off like that. she's sorry she's been neglecting the food and milk that barry was putting on her table! he didn't have to take care of that bitch! she was a guttercat before she met barry. fucking ingrate, i say!
but if you're saying in your head, 'i've been there, barry-' -if you're saying, i know a good dude like barry, then you know that in this story barry is the character who could be expected to do nothing other than to take back karen. it's true, barry takes karen back into his house. he nurses her sex-starved-sex-satiated feline body back to health--yet again.
now, karen is soooo sorry. and karen is doing muchhh better. she's purrrring and rubbbbing and salivating on barry, as in, 'yes barry, you're my human! you are mine, barry!' and barry gives karen milk, gently warmed, and feline food, and tuna (fresh from the can! that's a good tuna-salad sandwich barry's giving up for that cat!) and water.

but karen still has a secret. the plot thickens: karen's pregnant! ...an on-again-off-again homeless, feral cat...a wild dumpster cat, now inpregnated by some feral, homeless alley-cat, no doubt! so what?! so, barry let's this irresponsible cat make life?! re-create!? let karen single-handedly re-overpopulize the feral kitten market?!

"she's got seven in there," the vet tells barry.

"oh god," is all barry says in response. "oh god." barry's new girlfriend squeezes barry's arm in tight, then muzzles her nose into his t-shirt. he smells of catfood and his clothes are covered in inch-long white hairs."isn't there anything," barry's girlfriend says at long-last, "ANYTHING, we can do?"

the vet looks at the young couple, and he sees so much potential, love and hope... so, he procures a card, hands it to barry's girlfriend, "i know a guy," the vet says. barry looks up at the vet from his frozen stare on the floor tile. "doctor blacops," the vet says, "works for the animal control board of pennsylvania." barry takes the card and reads: dr. blacops, animal control board of pennsylvania. and then a local phone number.

it was later that night when barry called doc blacops. a smokey-grey voice on the other end of the line, "yeah?" barry's all, "ummm..." he said he could hear doctor blacops kissing the butt of a cig in the silence. then it all came rushing out: barry recounts the whole story of he and the feral cat, the dishing of milk, the petting, the adopting into his house, the runaway, the heat, the sex-starvation, the runaway--and now, the kittens.

"uh-huh," the doc says, "and so you're calling me," he says, "cause you want to get a feline abortion.""what!? no!" barry gets defensive on instinct, then goes, "i do? i- i can get one of those?!?""well you can't," doc says, "but your slut cat can.""she can?" barry asks-says, then says, "she can."and then the fateful words, "i want a cat abortion."

now, don't get it twisted, i'm not trying to make lite of abortion. this is--obviously--only a true story, which barry told to me, and i told to you. don't rush to judge! don't go bombing the animal control board's abortion clinic, cause that's not even the organization's real name! it's just something that's been bothering me: cat abortion. and now that's it's off my chest, you're free to wrestle with the moral and ethical reprocutions.

in closing, i'm happy to report that karen is doing just fine these days--sans kittens. barry is back to the every day grind, so to speak, and he lets karen come and go as she pleases. and even when she's gone, barry leaves a bowl of milk, gently warmed, on the porch.

them irie vibes are calling

had an unbelievable recording session at the commune home studio the other day. didn't feel unbelievable at the time... just some freestyles and some manic-page-turners, jamming some rhymes together and what. baptiste blessed the commune that morning (as he does every morning) and the irie vibes must have vibrated thru-out the commune home-walls, richocheting in chaos all day long. the vibe was undeniably good, just me and ves bound within the body-warmed recording room. stuffy and hot, grimy sweaty shit. tom manned the kitched (as he often does) with a waterfall of mountain lightning and gnosh.

i had a legal notepad filled with ideas and ideas for ideas, lyrics and phrases and rhymes... it seemed like chaos (on paper). and chaos always tends towards chaos... i scrawled and squinted, lyrics in low-light situations, bedside manners cast to the wind; i wrote with a pen, an unusuality in my instantaneous, button pushing-on-command, problem-solved lifestyle. i can't remember how to cursive. not properly, anyway. that was third grade or so! my loops and dips, droops and lower-vs-upper-case intertwine and intermix in my head. instant lysdexia. i digress, but that is how they were written; carefully, organically, sloppily. and chaos always tends towards chaos. but not in the studio, or not on that day.

the pre-game looked like a triangular syphon, passing at three axi; me, treble (who had stopped by to antagonize, chill, scavage, and rhyme) and the commune's tommune, tom. syphon and circles, for one-one-one.. two and no bogarts. treble started in on some freestyles, and soon, trailing the cypher (not cyber) smoke were the rhymes, usually one-behind. "i stick siblings' silverware straight into old outlets- neon-glow eighties shit in brazen bold outfits..." laughter eruption. 'don't break the syphon!' chuck says to ves, who had materialize behind the woodshed and elbowed his way into the cicle. 'gotta get me in on that,' ves mumbles, 'i'm on the boards!'

after the session with chuck and tom, and then ves, i moved solo into the studio. just me and my shadow producer, vesuvius. i was warmed from the cicle, already rhyming and finding a cadence in my head. from clicks to wraps, in two measley hours, we managed to track five sets of vocals. the energy was high, the room stifling, and it all felt good. i'm not sure that we'll even release any of these sessions, but that's not the point. it felt good to rhyme. it felt good to manage a mess of freestyles on a mono mic, no popscreen.

i'm meeting party at the commune south tonight. we've got some rehearsals to jam over, some preparations to be made for upcoming live showups. i'm still riding that high vibe off of preceding days events, so i'm up for a long-into-the-night rap and then rap more. we'll let you know how it goes off.. catch us soon at that stop.

hy.