A Placid Island of Ignorance

Central to what, again?

20 September 2003 23:15 #
All this foofraw in bloggerland about center vs. the provinces (probably half of them over there to my left) … here I am in the (my) bloody center, two great (both makeable in sequence) shows1 1Wobbly and a group featuring the guy from Crawling with Tarts doing live soundtracks at ATA; Comets on Fire, Parchman Farm, and what was described as “solo Norwegian woman playing black metal on an autoharp” at El Rio, that’s what. to choose from and where am I? Sitting in front of the damn computer because I spent forty minutes too long figuring out fucking file permissions on this thing nobody’s reading today anyway, and the high point of my evening is discovering that the labels on this NNCK album actually do show the side numbers (this may mean I never made it to side three before … given the crap pressing flaws on side two that’s not unimaginable)? Mother of god.

It’s true, one feels a sense of guilt over wasting the opportunity of living here — especially given the fact that I quit my job to stay here, when I could have just bought a car and moved to the suburbs — shouldn’t I just give up, move to Novato and watch Fox News like the rest of America?

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I used to think, when I was 16, that, since the poem took so much from me, it should seek its revenge on the reader. Now, I know it should give something.
Frank Stanford