Languid love growing paltrier everyday
I remember the day that you stopped loving me altogether
Nautical winds turned and the tide fell- without waves
Going to sleep is now twice the effort
Utilizing those strongest passions
I have straightened the map
No bee drowns in honey
I am sure of that
The inauguration of Cullah to the office of established name takes place as small wood violets bloom in the north woods. It is impossible to go down streets of Milwaukee without Cullah’s voice drifting out the open doors of the residents of Riverwest (a vibrant small neighborhood that represents the infusion of eccentric socialist intellectuals, DIY punk anarchists, and afrofuturistic creatives). Cullah has not only created and released a truly awesome amount of tunes; they have traveled the distance. From Milwaukee’s own Cactus club in Bay View, and to as far north as Sweden and as far south as Chile; Cullah’s cultural footprint has been painstakingly engraved. It’s alright if you haven’t heard of Cullah before. Like Milwaukee, he has been underrated and sometimes even written off (not enough “it” factor he was told). His iconoclastic courage told him that only he could tell his story. Therefore, he has kept total creative control of the production of his work. You can see the singular vision of the artist unify in Spectacullah.
Spectacullah has shown off Cullah’s unwavering and broad talents, as well as pulling his sound from the things most personal to him. “I Want you to Be Kind to Yourself” is written to his mother, who has been experiencing health problems. Cullah’s new album represents the month that he was born in. To that season of new growth -he has pledged to dedicate the fully-formed creation, execution, and manifestation of his virtuoso. To understand his capabilities you only need to listen to “Love You Gotta Be” this particular song incorporates three different key signatures and the wild heart of his sister’s songwriting. To only call him technically talented- that would be underselling. To call him the next greatest artist – that would be only logical.
This morning
I awoke to my mother
leaning over
me
and shaking
me
we are going to church
she informed
me
A hot
white
brick of hatred
was thrown
through my window
at that moment
and lodged
itself inside
me
I growled like
a wild dog
but with one gunshot
of a glance
I shut up
but continued
to rot
I put on ugly clothes
-my rebellion
we sat in church
the red cloth
pews
hiding the red
scratches
the marks that were
burned into
me
perverse thoughts
ran through
my head
my anger
flared like an ugly rash
we all bowed
our heads
and looked prayerful
while i refused (-my rebellion)
I wouldn’t pray
anyway
so why pretend
But I filed in line
anyway
and ate the
spirit of god
the hypocrisy boiled and
churned
in my stomach
White plate on roommate’s placemat
“Vintage” brown table and creaky radiator in the corner
The neighbors above us are fighting.
Feet pound pounding on the cap of our ceiling.
Canned tomatoes – out of basil
Fresh or otherwise-
Three shards of dried bay leaf set to simmer
Translucent onions stained glass by the olive oil
That block of parmesan
C’mon -put your elbow into it
Great shocks of white square salt
And stings of red and black pepper
The palate,
-does it sing?
Behold! A nation of men.
A torrential movement across the soil
An atmosphere spun out of precious stones
Migration of wings brushing the edges of shadows
Chocolate and coffee bubbling from cracks like spring water
Goldfish glittering,
swimming next to sinew
Black eyed Susan’s and peanut butter cookies
Fingerprints in blue, green, blue
1
I didn’t speak all these years
Because I felt like even
My voice took up too much space
My Body of sound
Withering away
on the softly moving wind
2
I prepare my tongue for speech
only
when that soft breeze carries away
those
Supermarket bags
And I become beautiful enough for you
To learn to love me.
3
My teeth seemed to have fused shut
We have our tea
So i can wash down that concrete glue
That chokes me
And I’m scaring myself
We sit across the table from each other
With you,
trying desperately to communicate
with me.
You go over your same routes
With Sometimes different words but
They all are possessed by that feeling
I’m lonely lonely lonely lonely
half-wits; that we both are
And when I open my mouth
To
tell you
Why i have been running all these years
They start to fill with tears
And suddenly I have Put my heart in a pail.
In order to live forever;
my warmth must be contained
Even as cold as i am
4
Your lips are drawn into frowns.
Mother, you always told me
That my father doesn’t love you
Because you don’t do what he wants you to
And you never saw what was wrong
With that
You never left or fought back
Stop telling me you love me
And reverse all those times
Where disappointment
Was no stranger in the room
5
It is only human to wish to hide
Cover up our beauty with our dark vice
Flora and Sin;
Fauna and Trust Issues
What a drag it is to think and divulge
Disassembling for easier travel
Consumption;
my fatal wasting disease
The sounds press into my ears like feet into sand
The wailing shudder of the trees
The moan of the protesting stairs
I creep up.
Step
By
Step
My feet licking the ground
Quietly. Carefully
Eyes straining-
Stomach complaining-
The clutter of the unkempt kitchen is my companion on this secret journey
The eternity of ledges go on for miles
My legs move swiftly racing the second hand
careful not to wake the slumbering inhabitants of the house.
Photo credit: Clare McCullough
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