Sunday, January 11, 2004
Patti Smith is playing; I have a sharp image of me speaking with my sister. She moves the speaker closer to her ear to hear the lyrics, unable to hear them clearly (as punk does.) She comments that my experience outstrips her life in the ghetto; by finding Art I have made Life. I retort, by finding Life she has made Art. Then I come out of it and remember that I'll probably never speak to her again and I'll never be very Punk at all.
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Insert bad joke here.
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Not much to report. I've had a few interviews, watched a few films, and stayed up way too late drinking with a sweet woman.
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Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children y...
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