Rock and roll, who’s game is it? I can tell you. And what about Halloween? What’s up with that? Plus a love letter to Sonny Vincent, hate mail to prog rock, the joys of mindlessness, paternity suits, being the captain of your own pirate ship, walking a cat on a leash, interesting hats, true believers, flannel shirts, tar kettles, hallucinations, and Twitter. And yes, that is indeed a picture of Sonny wearing his Beatle boots with pajamas. As if to illustrate a point or something.
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Hey Mike! What can I say? You’re born you look around, it all seems fake with the lies stacked up to the sky. Going along with the bullshit is not an option, you seek some kind of real in struggles against nearly everything you see. During the journey there is some joy. The fight itself becomes beauty. The soldiers immaculate. There is no sacrifice, no loss in seeking the real. Sure it ain’t easy, but it’s holy ground.
I think creating is the choice, obviously! Whatever the form is rocknroll, art, writing Weapons against complacent consumerism. I already knew at a very young age that I couldn’t play the game and then retire. Live free or die!
Miss you brother!
Yes man, I hear you. There’s no “retire” anymore for most of us anyway, whether the game was played or not, so the benefit of conformity has been removed. Yet it’s still the way of the world.
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