By Daniel Paiz

Creatively speaking, sometimes writers run into blocks, and sometimes they just need to have an offseason. When it comes to writing rhymes, I’ll likely be like KRS-One or Lupe Fiasco with regards to always scribbling something down, recording it, or just expressing it in some kind of format. A majority of what you encounter in this vein is done through entries on Cypher Sessions.

A big part of the creative process for this writer and quiet rhymer is references. Not necessarily references of the times, but references of what one is ingesting and consuming. There are some songs and artists that, when I’m 80 years old I’ll be playing like they are what everybody knows. One such group I do that with is Linkin Park.

The song “My December” has been reverberating about my mental over the past few days here and there, and so the idea for this piece comes from the echoes of this Fall 2000 track. Welcome to “Frigid July”. Super sidenote, the Carina Nebula pictured on the cover as well as in the article doesn’t necessarily tie to the words below; but if it does for you, splendid.

Frigid July

Sweltering 100 plus degree heat,

internally gives me shivers for reasons unclear to me,

the oxymoron that is frigid July continues to fry,

greasin’ up my pores despite

no calories consumed tonight.

Perhaps it’s the longing of

cooling off from one element I can’t control,

to another one I reminisce,

in a sense replacing a demon I know for one of convenience,

hue isn’t sulfuric,

but dripping condensation above lacerations,

not actualized ones but

scratches on my corneas

from not observing what’s front row, presented.

No tickets needed,

standing room only crowded long ago,

I visualize rumbling venues,

but then consider it done

without a verse written,

recorded nor memorized.

Frigid actions here,

clearly self-inflicted, it’s

the duality of both processes needed,

see the goal but revel in,

the cramped hands and dry throat

from rehearsing and realizing

these words are awaiting

their big show.

And I, can’t say I’ll give it all way,

when I haven’t made myself a creative home to come home to,

no ruminating, but now I gotta be step taking.