Notes from an unaborigine daughter

The Original Document: Interpolate The Clark Sisters' classic into your set, move your body like a sanctified snake while gettin redemptively low and holy ghost happy and I'm sold. Watching/Listening to you, my hatred for Joss Stone metastasizes exponentially.

The Hop: Your Thursday night 'burg residency now ensures that I can respond in the affirmative to Phife & Tip's enduring question.

Good Friday: Right after I tell all who will listen that--all things being unequal-- Conjure Man and you will sing at my wedding. You cover "Brown Sugar." I don't know how to behave.

A Burst of Light: Headachy from two nights of club crawling, a week of hosting always welcome out of towners, and a couple of hours waiting to interview an artist who never shows up, I slide into the Nuyorican way past colored folk late for your event and witness your triumphant embodiment of elements of Oprah, Michael Eric Dyson and James Baldwin all dwarfed by your own unique extraordinariness. Real talk. (P.S.-Don't forget the cool people later in your blownupedness)

Babylon or Bust: Did it real big, before and into dark, in the park. Black folks do read and write and my friends are the best!