Monday, April 24, 2006


The sound sans the fury

I been going back, back, back ... Late nights under the covers with the radio on. Strange voices and music battling static through a small plastic speaker. Those sounds, so near and yet so far. Comfort ensues; it's as if I am in a womb, connected to the entire universe by penlight batteries.

These days I lay in the darkness late at night and I move the radio dial wheel like Jimmy Valentine turning the safe's combo nob. I hear stations from distant cities, I hear voices, I hear ... nothing. I cannot tune in because there is nothing to hear that can rile my soul, beat my brow, bust my gut, roll my rocks nor rock my rolls.

‘I don’t care if
I die’

Considering the current atmosphere
across this world, including, of course, the reverberations of a post-Sept.
11 global population and the swarm of hatred that fuels it all, I think
of the Wolfman.

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Couldn't agree is dead as a doornail and pay-as-you-go radio won't help. Bless that old Wolfman, and John Peel too.
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