poetry

Proof Like Comey (Moves Like Jagger Parody) – Annotated

I wrote a parody of “Moves Like Jagger”.

It’s about the Comey memos.

I put the lyrics below the video, and I put lots of links inside the lyrics.

I’ve emphasized the timeliest link, which points to a list of ways you can watch the Comey testimony live on June 8, 2017. (That’s tomorrow, as of this writing.)

Cheers!

-Duke

Proof Like Comey

-whistling intro-

Collude in the dark

Cause it seems right

When wannabe Tsars

Hold your strings tight

And take me aside

With something to hide

Cause Flynn’s a good guy…

You wanted control

Of my process

But I did not fold

To your nonsense

You say I’m a nut

I showboat and stuff

I don’t give a fuck…

Cause of notes like this

You wanted me to stop and just let go

But I wrote it down in my memo

Building proof like Comey

I got that proof like Comey

I got that proooooof like Comey

I did not deny or condone you

But when I testify I might own you

With my proof like Comey

I got that proof like Comey

I got that proooooof

But maybe you’re raw

Cause you realize

You can’t rule us all

Like a real tyrant

Cause we have press

And balance and checks

So may I suggest

Bro.

Just get in your lane

And then stay there

I know you’ve been trained

Not to play fair

But I’m on alert

So if you subvert

I will bring the hurt

With some notes like this

You thought that I would stop if you said so

Instead I’ll take you down like fresh memos

With my proof like Comey

I got that proof like Comey

I got that proooooof like Comey

The power of my pen is like old news

A reading man would know that I’d quote you

With this proof like Comey

I got this proof like Comey

I got this proooooof like Comey

 —

You wanna know

How to be my goon

Just wait a second

(Friends, can you leave the room?)

Now if I share this secret

You’re gonna have to keep it

Nobody else can see this

Now listen hard

To my hushed advice

Call off the guards targeting my Russian ties

But don’t record what we said

And never ever leak it

Cause this is almost treason

Hey, wait! James, wait!

But I wrote that shit!

Try to tell a lie and I’ll roll you

I know a couple crimes that you spoke to

And there’s proof like Comey

I got that proof like Comey

I got that proooooof like Comey

You’re strung up by the tongue that controls you

I really hope your party disowns you

Over proof from Comey

They’ll get that proof from Comey

They’ll hear the truuuuuuth from Comey

P.S. If you’ve enjoyed reading any of the articles linked above, consider supporting the journalists who wrote them. A monthly subscription to a quality journalistic outlet you trust is a pretty small price to pay if you want to cut through the disinformative noise chamber that is social media and/or read articles that are (generally) less riddled with clickbait headlines, editing missteps, and plain old typos.

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Dev Bootcamp Rap Recap: Week 6

I did it! I got through Phase 2 in one go, and I was so happy and proud of the effort I put in. Then Phase 3 hit, and the pace didn’t change. I feel like I’m hitting my stride, gaining more stamina when it comes to long coding sessions and grinding through the work in spite of feeling stuck on new problems. In the flurry of activity, I lost my hold on my blogging routine, but hopefully I’ll rediscover my balance this week. In the meantime, enjoy this rap recap. It’s a week late, and I’m trying to explain why in the lyrics. Read along below the video.

I know it’s a little late to ship this,
I know that I slipped out of existence,
cause I was turning my focus to JavaScript,
working and hoping that I could commit enough to live 6th week only one time,
and speed through the crunch time,
my social presence went from a feast to a lunch line.
I never guessed that I’d lose the heat from the sunshine; 
I was hidden and living at the peak of a CRUD grind. 

I kept reaching for a punchline only to grab lines of code from my troubled mind,
and catching up was the name of the game
my frantic pace was insane, I couldn’t even try to bust rhymes.
My priority shift was quite enormous: I quit from nightly blogging and missed shots to talk to my kid.
I had to sacrifice a lot for my wish to reach the Phase three spot but I did,
by dropping off of the grid.

I guess I did what I had to, banging on the door of potential until I passed through.
I’m hard-headed but finally understand dudes saying doing more than just coding can be a bad move.

And that’s true but I honestly think it’s worth it to try,
that’s why my rapping is returning to life,
I might not do it perfect – I’m uncertain and shy,
I might get down on myself and feel nervous at times, but that’s all of us!
Any programmer can lose confidence,
breaking links can make you think you’re an impostor but,
if you can weather the lows you can get back in the flow; 
I happen to know that it feels like an awesome rush.
So try not to play it safe –
test limits and get driven to win it working crazy late.
And let the struggle be your saving grace,
cause this emotional roller coaster is crazy but it makes you great.

Dev Bootcamp Rap Recap: Week 1

Let’s try something different on the weekends, yes?

Yes.

Listen up.

Annotated lyrics below:

I’ve only been here for a week
But I’m already feeling like it’s gonna be the year of the geek
My peers in this effort are clever and clearly unique
Climbing this mountain and a coding career’s what we seek
And while we’re nearing the peak, we have Sherpas
who pack for us and transform us from bad learners
into stack warriors fast forwarding our grasp on how the code works. 
It don’t hurt to ask for it if you need guidance,
cause the speed frightens the bravest of souls
searching for knowledge they can aim to control. 
Working with scholars trying to daily expose your vast ignorance
leaves a bitter taste in your mouth like black licorice;
I won’t candy coat it, it’s hard work for most folks,
but getting through it together is how you grow close.
This OO and TDD is no joke at DBC…
who needs degrees if your code’s dope?

Time to put an end to the foolishness
I got foo-bars and drop gems like a Rubyist.
The loop exists until I’m greater than or equal to great
at believing mistakes are the building blocks of usefulness.
Cause perfectionism’s a recipe for hurting
but still, some people do it to themselves like recursion…
this is programming examined by a wordsmith
my stack’s overflowing with verses. 
You ask if it’s worth it, 
like, “should I really have the time to blog?”
maybe you heard it’s long nights involved and that’s true. 
But if I’m never signing off I’ll burn out like a dying log
and that’s realer than a float or an integer
I’m trying to state the obvious: 
you gotta save time for yourself like a modulus, 
cause if it’s nothing left over you’ll stress over the smallest little problems
and not arrive at accomplishment.
That’s why I gotta spit sometimes
I’ve only got one mind
adjusting to the hustle of crunch time.
I bust rhymes and return to the screen craft
with a passion for tapping keys, stabbing at tab as I punch lines…
So what’s prime? How do you test for it?
Describe the type of data structure that’s best for it.
I’m going in like a nested array
debugging out till the end of the day.
– thIIIrd person

Back to the keyboard tomorrow. This was fun. Let’s do it next week.

Poem: Unready

The worrying is back and bold and vicious, all talons and heavy wet fur and dark scales that reflect back the way I looked when I first said yes to this.

It’s happening again and I am part of it because I built it, dreamed it up from need or something like it, and it is just like the last time and the time before that.

Before I got here I wrapped the cord around my neck and turned my back on birth. They say they had to drag me stubborn into the work of breathing, had to twist and pull and wrench my head towards the world in front of me. I was not ready to live.

At five my brain was full of letters, wet and heavy with information, and still they held me back. I was not ready to socialize with second graders. I began to repeat myself, throwing out answers and jokes and punches, all of them perfect in their placement and terrible in their timing. I stared down the principal and dared him to punish me harder. I was unbreakable.

Eleven and counting and I cannot advance, the choir director says it’s immaturity but I’m positive it’s because he’s a butt head, so I must sit and watch the best singers travel to the best places and work through the best vocal warmups, and wonder whether I would ever be ready for anything I really wanted when the time came to take it.

I was not ready for college. I was not ready for the workplace. I was not ready for children. So when this begins to happen again and I can feel it breathing hot and loud and impatient like subway wind, I brace for impact and plan my retreat.

But time is an arrow, and none of my steps are backwards, and when I walked past seeing my path I claimed my life and I found my friends and I sang my song, all in time, and all of time will fade and leave me standing

At the edge of the next thing to happen, I turn back to find the reasons not to turn back around. And Love pulls and twists and wrenches my head back again, toward the world in front of me, and I hold my breath and take one more step.

Poem: Self Like Music

I wish I had legs like Electric Six
kicking and screaming and
loud against
an apartment ceiling at three in the morning
obnoxious dancers
never appropriate for the situation

and

I wish I had fingers like Boards of Canada
measured and careful in
strong rhythms
textured in time that resets itself strangely
before retreating
into shapes playing at silence

and

I wish I had breath like Action Bronson
heavy and rugged from
life’s work
heaved into every room with unflinching presence
giant’s breath
big enough to carry dreams

but

I wish I had dreams like Ratatat
with parts played backwards
echoed hopes
voiceless from being torn to buzzing pieces
maybe then
I wouldn’t sleep so much

April 5-11: My week in ten haiku.

 

Begin confident.
Learn, falter, learn even more.
Repeat tomorrow.

 

When constructing loops,
put an end in view, then go.
So it is with life.

 

Do stoner coders
hack all day, and once asleep,
dream of hash rockets?

 

Cursing line twenty,
she hunts for the bad syntax.
Aha! No comma.

 

Twitter seduces
from the edge of his workspace…
minimize window.

 

The ladder’s too tall
to tackle all at once. Breathe.
Then grab the next rung.

 

“Mindfulness? A fad!”
Smug, the programmer forgets
what he was coding.

 

I swear I’ll begin
to learn Sublime once I can
pick a color scheme.

 

Fingers move on keys
and bring forth elegant lines.
Piano or code?

 

Every Boot I ask
says it’s worth the time you spend,
and to spend more time.