M.O.W. #3: THE POOL'S CLOSED AGAIN

Why do we allow apartment complexes to sell us on pools they only have open for like 5 seconds out of the year?

"What are you so afraid of, Évora?" I'd like to bumrush the leasing office and ask while playing screamo out loud from my phone à la Say Anything, John Cusack style.

"Don't you love me no more!"

As a millenial boomer born in the 1980s, it's funny thinking back to how hearing an earpiercing song from a screamo band like Underoath or Hawthorne Heights was once a privilege of destroying your eardrums.

For the first time in history we got to hear a feral dimension of emotion getting ripped out from inside our very own being, while the others around us continued to sleepwalk their daily lives to wine-drunk rhythms of Dave Mathews or whatever.

(No shade. I'm a recent convert.)

What's wild is the peculiar cross-pollination of that subgrenre, from emotional hardcore to post-Kid Cudi (and 808's Ye) rap: hearing the ferocious howls of XXXTentacion, pruned down to the melodic croons of a faded, melancholic youth glimmering through Juice WRLD.

And those black boys (may they rest in peace) aimed at nothing but being a nexus of emotion and truth, preaching whipsongs that will destroy and disintegrate every wall of anxiety that's caved you in alone, with toothaches of love and life.

Which is the best moment to wake up, and bring the beat.

From tristesse to regaining one's joie de vivre, our summer heat has finally arrived for real... for real.

But an open pool; is it too much to ask for?

That is the perennial question.

With Indulgent Love,

Q.D. Neuf aka Nuff Said