I’m staring at this blank field trying to think about what to write about rhythm. Rhythm rhythm rhythm rhythm what the fuck. Fuck. Bodily rhythm. People’s rhythm. Social rhythm. Flows? Paying attention to rhythm is important. I mean. To people. Their being. How people move. That’s rhythm. You gotta pay attention to that. Pick up on it so you can move accordingly, as to not startle them or make them uncomfortable. Like cops. Once you learn to read rhythms well enough, things stand out about people. Things yell at you. Pop at you. Tendencies. Verbal ticks. Little lies. Little truths. Just…things. Insignificant things.
…that end up being significant.
Rhythm is all over. This post has a rhythm. A rough one. There’s no beat but there’s a rhythm to this frustrated expulsion of words and thoughts. Spurts. There’s a flow. It feels hesitant, this. If I’m honest. But it’s real. As rhythms always are. Fake rhythms are easily noticed. Because if it’s not you, it’s not you. And it never will be. Only people watchers can emulate rhythms well. Still a task though. That simple. Don’t lose your rhythm.
Stay woke, dawg. (This was fitting for some reason.)