It was good hearing from the mysterious/enigmatic Rockhead. I don't know who he is, but he has been a follower of my "forays into the infantile" for 6 years or so. Anonymity and all that.
I had an epiphany Friday night after downing a few Killians and one Corona. I was speeding home-don't try this yourself-and listening to tunes that I had once burned to a cd. Modern technology and all that. "Like a Hurricane" from Neil Young; "1985" from Paul Mac; "Miss You" from da Stones were getting me fired-up. There's that freakin' word again, and I swear it was unintended.
Anyway, I made it home. Sat on the screened-in side porch, and my life's situation became crystal clear. I railed against the fuckers who had caused havoc in my life. I used choice phrases like "fuck you" many, many times. And decided that I couldn't please everyone, so why not please myself. Some people in my life will say that's what I always did anyway, but I don't think so.
I woke up the next day, and the feelings were gone. I fact, I felt like shit all day. Depressed, tired, and defeated; I couldn't even get excited about writing anything on G.P. After a shot of a second wind, I posted the picture from Abbott and Costello. And somehow from somewhere, Brian's Drive-In movies web page appeared. And I assembled the collage. Feeling better, I read a few pages from Chris Darden and the OJ Simpson trial called "In Contempt."
Black people have a lot of baggage to carry in today's world. Their story is ALWAYS about being black. They have to worry about being sellouts, Uncle Toms, and forgetting where they came from. And I thought I had problems.
Anyway, rock on and rock steady, Rockhead, who(m)ever the fuck you may be. It's always good hearing from you.
As the world turns, v.c.
P.S. My favorite line in tonight's song is:
When i'm watchin' my tv
And that man comes on to tell me
How white my shirts can be
P.S.S. Thank God for life's little pleasures. G.P. per example.
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