the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
goodbye, joey... ~ april 17, 2001 - 1:00 p.m. I still can't see my own diary. it's pretty frustrating... something to do with my version of netscape and html endtags and plus I think I've been hexed. just kidding. feeling a little dark lately. joey ramone died yesterday. a moment for joey. it's so hard to believe he's gone. when I was thirteen and angry and all alone I used to listen to the lp of Road to Ruin over and over again. that's the way to hear that album-- old-school lp, all the scratches and pops and hisses intact. my friend ina's brother had rock'n roll high school on vidoetape, and we watched it more times than I can count, watched it 'til we couldn't stand it anymore. or at least until ina couldn't stand it anymore. she and I were good friends growing up, but we lost track of each other, more or less, when I hit the punk scene hard. I remember showing up at her house when I was sixteen, after a four-day lost weekend... I'd been crashing at various punk houses, staying drunk for four days, hadn't eaten or showered. when she came home from school, I was sitting on her front steps in a short little psychedelic dress that had been my mother's in the 60's, barefoot because I'd lost my boots and my jacket somewhere along the way, and reeking of whiskey and stale beer. she had a friend with her, they were both cute and blonde. I said hey... can I take a shower? and ina took me in, set me up with a shower and clean clothes and a turkey sandwich which rocked my world after living on liquor for four days. I was eating it when my dad showed up at the door, having done some kind of amazing detective job to track me down. he'd been to all the places where I stayed, and for years afterwards the running joke at parties was hey kelly-- when's your dad gonna show up? the ramones were there for all of it. I had a kickass ramones t-shirt, black, with that presidential seal type thing, and above it, it said "too tough to die". my alcoholic punk rock too-old-for-me boyfriend borrowed it and lost it when I was sixteen or seventeen. he always claimed that he knew where he left it and that I'd get it back, but he claimed a lot of things. I knew better than to believe him by then. tony. tony's a whole nother story. we met through ina, strangely enough, and hooked up that same night. I was sixteen and he was twenty-one, and I stayed with him for two years. that's a story for another time, maybe. but it was with tony that I learned not to let anyone make me their whole world. I'm in a funny mood today. it's kind of an in-between day, I don't really know where I'm at. I've been spending a lot of time in some dark corners of my soul. I've got to figure out what blunt objects and sharp edges I've left down in those dark places and forgotten about. I keep hurting myself and I don't know why. I'm okay, really. I've just got a lot of internal work to do lately, and it's got me feeling pretty heavy. I prefer myself when I'm filled with light. but both are part me and my humanness and so I'm just trying to be with it. just trying to hang on and learn what's being taught me. I'm going up the mountain to see ever this evening. I'm a little nervous about seeing him again. it feels like the time and place we shared was a different world from the one I'm in now, and the one he's in now. but I also can't wait to see him. I miss him, I do. ...and I'm passed out on the bus with a busted wing...
(((rings))) |