September 24, 2004

the wrong kind of people

I'm going to confess another deep, dark secret about myself on this blog: I tend to hang around the wrong kind of people. My friends, in the blogosphere and outside of it, are ALL crazy to a certain extent. Most of them are Woodstock generation people--- we grew up in rebellious times and never excised the "FUCK YOU!" worm that infested us back then.

We smoked a lot of dope. We did drugs. We had body-wads and cluster-fucks when the motto was, "if it feels good, do it." We did. At least I did.

Most of us settled down (the ones who didn't die), got good jobs, bought houses, raised children and joined the mainstream. But that's all fake. Deep inside, we're ALL still crazy; we're just too old to act out the way we did before. We have too many responsibilities to live free the way we once did.

When I play guitar with my friends that I've known since my first days on River Street, it never fails. In between songs somebody will say, "Do you remember when we..." and a wonderful story will unfold from there. We all laugh and elaborate on it, because those are fond memories. But I can see in everybody's eye the same feeling I have in my heart.

We want to go back and do it again.

I do. That's what I get for hanging around the wrong kind of people.