Hey Mike,
Not that this will come as a shock to you (or, maybe it will, since you always seemed to think I was as adept as you at remembering all the ephemera of the punk rock life we led) but I seem to keep forgetting who the hell I am.
Floundering in normalcy is not something I am amused by.
Oddly, it was Sonic Youth's "Kool Thing" that launched me into this spiral. Fucking SHOULD NOT HAVE DONE ALL THAT ACID WHILE WORKING AT TOWER RECORDS!
Hilariously this is only funny to me, because I don't think anyone I still talk to even knows I worked at Tower Records, and probably I never told them how that fucking earwig of a song has been burned into my brain by multiple blotter doses an hour or so after count out, back in Spring of '91.
Also, I have lost another nephew (Mason) to the Trump Turbine. It's killing young minds and making them all stupid, lazy, and racist. Super disappointing because this kid was always the one I pinned my hopes on to be his own man. I guess, maybe eventually, but for now, it's super-depressing. I knew none of my nephews were ever going to be as woke (heeee!) as me, but I hoped Maso would at least not be subject to trendy race and classism. Unfortunate.
Granted, I suspected his father was one, and knew on impact his wife had, but it seemed like Mason was thinking on his own. But nope - he marched right into the fraternal order of idiots, just like his obnoxious older brother did in surrogacy of his father.
Sigh. I am going to die poor, and alone with only my moral outrage to keep me warm, it seems.
Hopefully, dementia will settle in and I just won't remember who the fuck I am or that I cared about any of this, and someone from the state can fire me.
But in this interim period, it's a tough slog.
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