Tuesday 02 January 2001
CHILLI AND RHYTHM
i tried: i really fucking tried, all day.
i washed up,
cleaned the bathroom,
played arabic music,
listened to radio 4,
cooked vegetable soup,
i am a good girl, domesticated. i clean; i CLEAN, look at me
clean; i like it here; you're the one that i want...
i listen to bowie. bowie's ok. bowie's allowed. bowie is cultured.
i drink coffee in the bar in the afternoon while the boy drinks
beer. i am good. i am good. i am GOOD.
i cook again:
look at me, i love the domestic sphere, i like it here, you're
the one that i want--
then he goes out.
'i like women with cornrows and manicured toes/ i love it when
you make your knees touch your elbows/ and break it down low to
the floor / every time i bust a rhyme somebody shake it to the
door/ somebody started shouting 'cause their bitch got hit/ bring
it down, nigga / to the break of dawn, nigga / etc etc etc, nigga
I'm jiggling, twisting, dancing in the kitchen: shaking out the
tea-towel in time: stirring the chilli in time: heading back to
the stereo again and again to twist the volume dial. He's out,
he's out! There's nobody to flinch at all the bad words, to ponder
the state of our culture, of their culture, of culture. There's
no culture in my kitchen, just chilli and rhythm, y'hear? Just
CHILLI AND RHYTHM! HAH!
When he comes back I switch them both off.
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