Artist
(Peazy) Patrick Patterson-Carroll
Reasons Peazy Can’t Please U
I don’t know what happened.
All I know is that I can’t access the internet.
This is crippling.
Maybe it finally happened.
& nobody reads.
I just hope my editor doesn’t think I’ve lost my edge.
Or that I leapt off one.
Ledge.
So girls, if you’re out there, I’m still alive.
2 B honest,
Ur constant pleads to please u—
Please me please me—
Are a drain.
& I was about to admit this in a list.
Ten… no…
8…
Twelve…
Just know there are many reasons I can’t please you.
1.
Peazy is tired.
2.
Peazy has anxiety. 3. Peazy gets bored easy.
4.
Peazy has priorities.
What the fuck is going on/on going is fuck the what
So.
Who is Peazy? The short of it is Peazy’s origin can be traced back to the
year-of-our-normalcy 2013 when he worked for a hotel that shall remain
nameless. A cook known as “the.Bawse” said PEAZY like Biggie would say Baby, and the rest is
history. In the year-of-our-come-up 2014 when Peazy was unemployed and
published I Dig Symmetry and Six Other Stories with Thought Catalog and began putting
together lists. He then completed the manifesto, PEAZUS, which served as the
pseudo-educated white boy’s companion piece to YEEZUS. (no suburban white
guys/rappers allowed) & then he got THRWD and did LIST LIFE.
But then. Something happened & Dallas wasn’t Dallas anymore. People had Ebola & then didn’t anymore. It disappeared from the news. But not before a couple of black people died. Conspiracy theory fodder. Suddenly people are strange wasn’t just a DOORS song anymore & now there’s no internet & shit’s crazy. This piece is about a man named Peazy who writes as-yet-unpublished novels & paints pictures of nude women & makes lists. Thirty-something & never going back to work, ‘cause that shit’s for those who give.
Additionally, it is a comment/examination of the millennial generation’s resistance to reading and yearning for quick, easily digestible information (the dreaded listicle) & an imagining of what might happen when the city they alternately love and hate becomes an internetless wasteland equally as devoid of depth as it was before going offline.