Channel the Fat Boys: Darren Robinson’s flatulent beatbox. Maybe it was him-the subject, Earl, Thebe-seeing as how the rest of the song is delivered in the first-person. That “somebody” committed this social transgression seems defensive. With “OD,” it’s easy to confuse adolescence with adulthood. The near-homophonous commons and comments scan hysterical. We laugh along with the concatenation of m and n phonemes. The sonics of “ tooted” and “s tudent” are twee, giggle-inducing. The discomfort of the crowd exchanged for the solace of solitude. The public humiliation replaced with a private self-possession. He can walk right up to your avi and diss you. He “went home and argued in the comments,” channeling his embarrassment elsewhere, talking shit ( shit) on the internet behind the safety and quasi-anonymity of a screen-an odd facade. In about four seconds, the student will begin to post. “The bell rang,” and the accused student was spared the prolonged opprobrium. So he sets the adolescent scene: the student commons. Remaining a kid until the moment he expires, apparently. He wants to welcome you to the romper room, ha. He doesn’t want his expression to be too mature, ha. It’s a deliberate gesture toward juvenilia. An array of scatological options were ignored. We tee-hee and titter as we hear that “somebody tooted in the student commons,” tooted being the most puerile word for gas he could have chosen. So when Earl looks back on school daze, as he does on “OD,” we look back with him (though ours is often an imperial gaze ). What is asked of me is not to ascend but to descend.Įarl Sweatshirt’s arc, swerving and dervishy, isn’t difficult to see, as we’ve witnessed it with him-we’re either interlocutors or interlopers, both with questionable motives. bell hooks, “Teaching New Worlds/New Words” (1994) I suggest that we do not necessarily need to hear and know what is stated in its entirety, that we do not need to “master” or conquer the narrative as a whole, that we may know in fragments. Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952) The white man had found a poetry in which there was nothing poetic….I had soon to change my tune.
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