Tuesday, April 16, 2013

I Confess

I often still dream of moving to the deep Amazon, marrying one of the Native women, and living on the combination ancient ways, modern machinery, hand-me down sports jerseys from the urban world.  Our only contact to that world would be a little transistor radio.  It would catch the signal from the nearest market town just well enough for me to request Donna Summer's 'On The Radio' every night at midnight while we danced drunk on palm wine.  Then in the daylight I would hunt for our supper in between bouts of making love and napping.  Sometimes I would wear a white shirt straw hat and no bottoms while I tended my crop of the highest-grade marijuana on Earth, which I would sell to any other northern renegade who had true and decent cause to take shelter in the rain forest.  I would learn to play "On the Radio' with an old violin; so my new people could know the primal beauty in Yankee music that hides behind computerized lacquer.

I know it's all precious and ridiculous bullshit.  I've never touched a violin.


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