Guess who’s back? Back again! 

It’s been a hot second since we’ve posted here. The Young Alcoholic has been getting some consistent pussy and has moved out of his mom’s basement and MilesLark has doing his muffuckin’ thing in Seattle, so I guess that just leaves me as the loser who needs to blog to find purpose in her sad, sad life. Aight, then. 

I read through the old articles and missed you: the possibly-non-existent reader I’m speaking to through this screen. I’m not even sure this website is even live anymore. No matter; I’ll talk to you anyways because why not? Perhaps you’ve missed us. Perhaps you’ve been bothered by our sudden departure. If so, sorry. Life happens. But I shalt not ignore you further. #yourlifematters

Tonight, after drinking a bit, I listened to Alicia Keys. If you do not know who she is, pop on YouTube and give her a listen. She’s a pianist goddess who fundamentally shaped my childhood. I’ve only been to a small handful of concerts in my life; hers was the only one that has moved me. Her soulful voice, her unbridled beauty, her effortless cool factor; I’m still totally enamored. 

Her last full length album was 2012’s Girl on Fire which did well commercially, of course. But, in the course of discussion, we’re not referring to that. We’re referring to 2001. I’m about 9. Songs in A Minor dropped. A pretty, talented, songstress rocking immaculate cornrows with a deep, raw, and passionate voice crooned her way to multiple Grammy awards. All the while being the Fedora Queen. Take that Jason Mraz and Bruno Mars, you little bitches. Take notes. 

Her first album soothed my burgeoning soul. It takes me to a place of serenity; where I was young and naive, in a good way. It reminds me of a beloved friend I spent countless hours with in Brooklyn, NY, whose body is resting peacefully. It reminds me of my father, whose relationship has been carefully mended and still in the process of healing. It reminds me of me; before the anxiety and the responsibility of young adulthood. When things were simple and all I had to think about was how I could braid my hair to look like Alicia.

I’m 23 years old. 23 years old. Ahhhhh! I can’t tell if that is old or young or if I’m just insanium in the cranium. All I do know is that I’m struggling to find purpose, struggling to collect my notions of self, and that Alicia Keys is a fucking goddess whose music I love so much and I wish she could give me a hug and tell me in her beautiful, crisp, smoky voice that everything will be okay. 

You, dear reader, don’t have to reblog, tweet, share, or like this post. Log onto Spotify or YouTube, and type in Alicia Keys. Even if you’re not into this particular genre, give her a listen. She speaks to everyone; it’s cathartic. It’s like she wants to help you. Go ahead, make her day and mine too. And, I’ll see you later. 

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