If you find those old tapes do you want to play them...?

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If you find those old tapes do you want to play them...?

Postby The Consul » Wed Apr 25, 2012 2:03 am

Ten thousand hits of acid don't ask me where they came from, man. Well okay I'll tell you but you know I'm not so sure that tape recorder is a good...what's that...funny,man...True Cigarrettes with hash oil dipped in the professor what...asked you for one...so much for middle motherfucking English, man...anyway, as I was saying, Shorty played the bass and was always trying to you know make a fucking band

it was crazy he said he didn't know if he wanted to be a rock star or a golf pro anything but a lawyer which right, his dad was heavy on. Holy Mother of Jesus, twelve kids and not one wanted to go before the bench. So like I was saying anyway we had all this fucking acid, man, jars of it. Wait a minute...do you hear a phone...oh that's next door...I'm hoping my girlfriend calls me I'm worried about her

she made a jacket out of easter eggs, she was born with way too much money, but she is beautiful at the core, you know what I mean, it's just that you can't carry people all the way to where you are, somebody has to, you know, take the last steps and all I can say it doesn't seem likely to be me, so up on the roof, watching the sun go down one time man she told me about how this doctor molested her when she was a kid and I just listened you know what can you say uh wow you know have you ever told anybody else like fuckin what's wrong with you what does that have to do....look down there man, past the trees...it's the rainbow people...

so sorry...we had all this acid and though Shorty didn't want to be no fucking lawyer he did take a part time in the courthouse and one day out of a blinding boredom he wanders into a courtroom where this guy from Laguna Beach, I think it was, was on trial for getting busted with all this orange sunshine

I don't know what was wrong with me I was really messed up with his Samson Agonistes...tears for the power of god...sacrifice...falling world from one dark age to another...what kind of was that? Jesus like last week Al said he had this coke you know and me and Cheech are going what the fuck you talking about never seen brown coke so what did we do we snorted it anyway and yeah I think Shorty was there...Fuckin' A I tell you what I never saw sunlight move so slow as it does on phenocyclophine whoever named it angel dust do they get the prize or conviction...live by your conviction, man, your sentence, like it is all a thread of time and language

but back to Shorty...you know it's weird I had a tape recorder just like that and I gave it to my old man when he was, not dying, but you know it was pretty clear he was, what did he used to say, you know, like inside the five yard line so I gave him this tape recorder when we were playing cards and said you know if you think of stuff, stories from the old days, just push this button...it's voice activated...he thought that was pretty funny, let me ask you, he said, are YOU voice activated? I was thinking, dad, you know, you might want to say some stuff...like what, he said, stuff I can't say to you? There is nothing I don't have to say to you. If you can't remember anything I ever told you that's your problem. I just want the stories for the grand kids. Nah, he says, that all has to come from you, you can do whatever you want. Just make sure you tell them, if you tell them anything at all that I never killed anybody and I never stole a fucking thing in my life except a few extra tools from the company.

So yeah, that recorder, it's like the exact same one.....
" Morals is the butter for those who have no bread."
— B. Traven
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Re: If you find those old tapes do you want to play them...?

Postby brainpanhandler » Wed Apr 25, 2012 1:44 pm

I'm old enough that my childhood was filmed on 8mm film. Over the years it was a family ritual to haul out the old films, garishly over exposed, scratched, splotchy, priceless and play them on an ancient, impossible to thread projector that never seemed to work right. Half the time we sat in the dark listening to my father curse and swear under his breath. But the show had to go on. That was part of the show. And we'd wait, in the darkness, giggling and whispering, not wanting to have too much fun while dad had so little. But the show had to go on. It had been many years since we'd done this and we were all much older, but didn't want to be. We wanted to remember what it was like when we were younger and gathered to watch films of when we were younger. We wanted to enter that darkened time machine. I sat in the back so I could watch everyone and they could not watch me. I made a film of my own. The films were so old now that the ancient projector that never worked right anyway simply couldn't feed the films through. Stuccato blips of christmas and thanksgiving and birthdays and holiday inn swimming pools played and jammed and the projector made an awful racket and my father too old to get angry about much of anything anymore fiddled and threaded and unjammed this record of our lives, so much like our memories, broken, spliced, faded ghosts, fleeting ephemera. The projector, which is probably still in my parents basement somewhere among the piles of stuff I'll have to go through someday, had an incandenscent bulb as a light source. That bulb got hot enough to bake cookies, like the bulb in the toy oven my sister had as a child. And that bulb began searing and melting our celluloid memories, sliding across that bulb, burning long streaks in the record of our lives. You could smell it. but the show had to go on, mindlessly, senselessly wanting to have things the way we wanted them, at any cost. Burning, burning. Try again. Try again. This time it will work. Try again. Everyone trying to ignore the damage done, not wanting to see the reality. Finally I said STOP. STOP IT. Thinking I might someday want to see them again.
"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity." - Martin Luther King Jr.
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