I write English like how it’s spoken at the Wilton house — the way it feels right. Chris Ransom in general is a fucked-up homie, and James Hollywood is a muthefuckeh on sherms. They sell anything out of the Wilton; hash, crack, powder, ass, and what have you.
I’m definitely sure the LAPD keeps the Wilton open just so they can hit it up every other night. And to the Wilton, LA officers are just another bunch of gang bangin ass muthefuckehs in Long Beach. Crazy vibes reeks out of this shit-house all day, but it’s the only house with a piano in all of the neighborhood.
I have sat behind every piano in every stage, hotel, restaurant, bar, mall, and antique shop in Long Beach. If pianos in the LBC was women, I would be the biggest slut in town. I got me a different connection with the piano at the Wilton though, It’s a piano with personality, a piano that when played right, allows prostitutes to genuinely smile, Mexicans to get bluntted with blacks and James to shut the fuck up about his 10 second acting carrier in the Pirates Of The Caribbean.
I like my English the way a rhythm is played at the Wilton; you skank it, we start bubblin, a rim shot, 3 counts and you slid it in. I’m a fin for the fillin, the rest, I gives a fuck less about. Here I am now in grad school in Philly, and who the hell knows how the fuck I got here. And sooner or later, I have to conform. Sooner or later I have to find another piano and start not sayin fuck so much.
Sooner or later, I will be saying shit like “historicizing it with specificity,” or words like fuckin in “conjunction” and shit. But I will always at least think in English like how English is spoken at the Wilton, and rhythms are played on the Wilton piano — the way, that feels right.