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The White Album (For Joan Didion)

from The Buggy Jive Mixtape by Buggy Jive

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lyrics

PART ONE: "Rules and Thangs"

They don’t want: “It’s like...”
No similes. No metaphors.
They want the thang, baby.

They don’t want: “I remember....”
Memory’s just personal fiction.
They want the thang, baby.

These are the rules of engagement.

They don’t want: “Tell me why... I wanna know...”
They did not come to you for questions.
This ain't Jeopardy, baby.

They don’t want: “I feel...”
No one gives a damn about the way you feel.
Everybody's feeling feelings all the time!
It's the All-American Crisis of Empathy™.
Everybody be like: “But what about me?”

These are the rules of engagement.

They want the thang.
Give 'em the thang.

For the poetry and prose of it
You can't get too close to it.
For the path of real resistance
When you find gold, keep your distance.

PART TWO: "The Center Cannot Hold"

Another night, I'm all alone.
Just documentaries and chill.
And I recall how in old photographs
She stood so very still.

Malibu cool.
Arms akimbo.
Han Solo patio.
California limbo.

But now she’s moving y'all.
She is moving!

She's like a prizefighter
Swinging at the carriage of a
Typewriter.

Swinging an arm with every syllable
As if her words ain't enough.
She be swinging them delicate arms
Like the conversation has come to fisticuffs.

Uppercuts in uppercase
And italics and a giant font
And boldface

And I'm feeling like I'm on the benzadrine
Cuz her arms be reaching at me through the screen.
And I wanna know what it all means.
And I wanna know what it all means.
I try to take her hand; she takes a swing at me.
And I am down; and then she sings to me
Words of wisdom while standing over me.
Like a prayer. Like the rosary.

Standing over me, she is scolding me,
With no effs left to give
She be sayin it like this here, y’all:

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

credits

from The Buggy Jive Mixtape, released May 11, 2018

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about

Buggy Jive Albany, New York

BUGGY JIVE is a soul rock singer-songwriter quietly uploading music from a basement somewhere in Upstate New York.

Equal parts Zeppelin and D’Angelo and Prince and Joni in sound and sensibility, his lyrics often mine the literature of the past to make sense of the present – from Ellison to Morrison to Eliot to Didion.

“Literary Kravitz,” as some say.
... more

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