pussy-strut:

jay-z feat. kanye west - hate

i hope that michelle blogs about this when she gets to the blueprint three because it presages some of the perfect affective moments on my beautiful dark twisted fantasy and watch the throne because it was 2009 and all the stuff jay-z and kanye had done together and separately had been weird for a while and i absolutely will not stop overidentifying with radio rap—none of you can make me—and this is relevant because of this, and is in fact for me the soundtrack thereto

but this song. i liked blueprint three because jay can’t do a wrong thing for me. “hate” is an anthem i want to meditate on. it contains some of my favorite kanye lines:

i’m bustin’ off just like a lazer, n//a pyoom pyoom pyoom! 
gimme back, gimme room room room
dv9 like vroom vroom vroom…

not because they’re good, but because of sound effects. (sound affects? #feminist puns #nailed it) kanye and jay-z are hater-baiting. it’s not not masturbatory. and it’s not really feminist, even, till the very end where jay background sings about loving all his haters. it’s a familiar riff on standard-issue rap swagger. but there are also the tongue-in-cheek-because-they-might-be-true moments although jay manages to hit on—i need you to love me i swear, look here, i’m so rare—because he does, capitalistically speaking, need us to love him, even though he’s doing the opposite of what we as feminist-self-haters (where yall at) do, which is to shit on ourselves first, faster and funnier than anyone else can—

and then: the way hate and boredom are ends of a pole. i hate drake because not he’s boring as a cultural figure (his rapping is kinda boring). hate is fascination. and i hate myself because i made myself so easy to love which is when i have to make myself boring. i invite haters cause i’d rather not be bored. i ID as a hater because it’s one thing that’s not horribly boring. i had been trying to suss out what we mean when we say feminist boredom and it has to do with the way that anna and i can go to parties, allegedly mingle, and no one has anything to say about anything. everyone wants to talk to you about the hell hole from which their undergraduate degree was extracted or their stupid boyfriend. i do drugs because i’m bored. i go out to smoke because inside is boring. i spend my work days curating an internet presence because i’m damnably, insufferably bored. i get hammered and start throwing punches because it’s boring not to. i’m obsessed with regrets because they’re the most interesting things about us. we wake up praying at the altar of humiliation, which looks like a toilet. and at least we are not bored. i’m never not hating because i’m staving off boredom. i’m rude and aggressive cause i’d rather have haters—stay there, i breathe you like air—because haters are endemic to feminist narcissism and i’ll be damned if i let either of them go.

also one of the most apt lines in hip-hop (fuck you i make claims for days):

we ballin, bitches.
eatin your food leavin dishes.

i fucking hate doing other people’s dishes. that’s a baller move. that’s feminist as fuck.

3:16 pm  •  27 January 2012  •  21 notes