It's 1:10 am here. I have been recovering from one Satanic migrane. It felt like a winged monkey was purched on my shoulder, howling and shrieking in my ear all day. It's taking longer and longer for the anti migrane drugs to work. I guess I have built up a tolerance to them. Anyway, I feel better (ish) and decided to try and write for awhile.
I'm listening to one of my favorite CD's of all time. Talking Heads - "Stop Making Sense" For some reason this album is quite soothing to me. Between that and London Calling by The Clash (not to forget Husker Du's Candy Apple Grey,) I think my youth was defined. We had the best parties, listening to records, and sneaking out for beer (with fake ID) and making out in the basement with the lights out. It was a more simple time.
I used to love the all ages shows. I played in a couple of Punk bands (Okay... more like loosely affiliated friends than bands...) It always sounded more like we all syncronized our watches and went into different rooms. That didn't matter though. It was all still brilliant fun. Sometimes I wish I had a time machine, just to go back for a minute, just to peek.
My life is great. I'm happy as a clam, but I miss that innocence. It's kinda funny looking back at it. So many raw emotions running wild. It's a little cartoonish I guess, but It used to make me feel like Superman. Sooo much shit that came out of my mouth. Not that I was alone there. I remember how I and my group of friends would spout the most intense absolute rethoric, convinced (or maybe trying to convince ourselves) it was gospel.
Each of us went off on our own, scattered into wildly different directions. Mr. Angry (the brilliant), The Ska lovin' Cowboy (the fiesty), The night Owl (that would be me), Gravy Bird (the wisest of all) and The Pan (Some people call him the Space Cowboy). I love them all. So many things almost tore us asunder, yet we always managed to piece it all back together.
Funny, none of see each other with any frequency anymore, yet we manage to talk to each other every day. Except the pan... He's unplugged himself from our merry band of Idiots. Hopefully one day, he'll find his way back. I know we all miss him.
For the record, I still feel like Superman, but with grey hair, and a knee bone that clicks in the winter.
End of transmission
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