Kind Of Tense

Racial tensions are so high, I can’t even purchase A Tribute to Jack Johnson by Miles Davis without getting serious attitude in return from a sister shooting death stares through my smiles Miles loving soul like I represented the Jewy, parasitical, record executive in every Spike Lee film. Who left Miles with nothing but Wynton Marsalis’s dry cleaning bill, a half eaten bag of stale Cheeto’s and the wife beater on his back, no pun intended. Miles Davis only beat his bitches whenever they resisted his request to iron his suits in the nude while his former bandmate John Coltrane played a live version of My Favorite Things in the original, safe space shoot up place of it’s day. Also, you can’t blame Miles Davis for beating his bitches with religious fervor because he was harassed and assaulted by a cop outside Birdland for helping a white girl to her cab, with his name being on the marquee because he was a blacker, less cross over friendly Chris Brown of his day and Michael Jackson never let him forget it, especially during his oversized space shade phase throughout the eighties, early nineties during the height of Arsenio Hall fever.

Michael Kornbluth

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