#p.s.118

[slicedbeetsdotcom-blog]

When Mom calls just as the party gets lit....

[roughcustard]

This is a song i've been working on for a bit for my band P.S.118.

It's called "Put The Hot Dog Up" some parts are really rough cause its not final yet but i felt like recording it so hereyago.

[lodestar-24796-blog]

The knife (part Three)

When I was thirteen years old I had already been pushed back a grade. Don't get me wrong-- I'm not stupid. But to me the work always was, it was always a waste of time. I skipped school a lot, too. I think the only time I ever had a good time in school was the year I went to kindergarten. My family wasn't able to afford sending me to one of those fancy preschools, the kind of place where crackers and juice are the norm, naps, all that. I was kept home where Ma could keep an eye on me while she hand tailored clothes from the Chinese laundry she worked at under the table. I guess it should come as no surprise to you that my mother was an illegal. She couldn't get a job in this country, even though she had been trained as a nurse the 3 years she spent living in South Korea. I used to ask her the name of the village she came from in the north, but she said it was too sad a place to even mention its name. She had been a refugee and that was enough, she said. How she ended up in the U S of A I haven't a clue. While she worked she taught me things, mostly through song. When I was small I was fluent in Korean, just like English, but when Dad caught me talking to Ma in her native tongue he beat both of us. "Don't speak fucking words I can't understand!" he screamed between slaps and punches. Ma stopped educating me on our culture after that. But she didn't stop teaching me everything else-- math, ABCs, shapes-- that was considered safe. So when I was finally enrolled in P.S. 118 I was considered advanced, I knew everything already. I was the star pupil, I had friends, everything was normal within school walls. When summer vacation came I didn't want to leave. I was safe at school, I felt respected and revered-- something a 5 year old rarely gets to feel. Come first grade I was already slipping, my boost from homeschooling already used up, and I had to make an actual effort. That's when it all started going downhill for me at P.S. 118.