Okay I know what your thinkin. Bet you thought you'd never hear from me again. Truth be told, this is about the last fuckin place I would've figured I'd end up too. One week I'm hikin around Paducah & McCracken County gatherin info for my own zine, 'Footmobile (Musings For The Dedicated Walker)', breakin in some new shoes (I'm a Rockport man!) & then a week later, I'm in Philadelphia & it's rainin. What, you might ask, were the circumstances that uprooted a man from his jittery confines in the mutant, Ozark swampland of Western Kentucky & transported him to the jaded, slackjawed urban blight of the Northeast corridor? No, it wasn't blackmail or death threats but close. It was a woman. My girl (let's call her MG) was complainin about how she was tired of livin at home & the severe restrictions that came with it. She confessed that her Pa had been layin the wood to her ever since she & I had been seein each other. Naturally I was shocked to hear this. With my mind a'racin, I asked if he'd used protection & had anyone alerted the proper authorities. I also said-& I thought this was a nice touch-that if she was pregnant on account of it & decided she wanted the kid, I'd pretend to be the daddy, whether it come out retarded or not. Next thing I knew I caught a backhand across the side of my head that pretty near knocked me across the trailer. My ears crackled & through the din of static I could hear MG sayin to get my mind outta the gutter & that her old man had takin to "just" smackin her w/a yardstick for breakin curfew. The tinny sound reminded me of one of those shitty Whitehouse records but that's a story for another day. Anyhow, she said she'd had enough & was hightailin it to Philadelphia to live with her sister in some place called the Fishtown. She said if I was comin I'd better get to packin. My mind stuttered for a second. I thought about the magazine & my new shoes. But I figured, what the hell? You got yourself a pair of Rockports, you got shoes that'll walk ya anywhere! I was movin to a Fishtown.
Long story short; we've been here goin on 2 months. I don't know why they call it Fishtown but that Eraserhead movie sure make's a helluva lot more sense to me now. I got to attendin this monkey rodeo where I met Mr. Siltbreeze who claimed to be a fan of my work in Bananafish. Something about my "seething subjectivity" he said he found refreshing & would I want to be the editor of a blog he was starting in conjunction w/a Siltbreeze website? His alliteration sounded kinda queer & gave me the creeps for a second but I recovered & said that was pretty big talk & all, but what did it pay? He gave me one of those east coast looks where they close their eyes & smile when they talk. "I was thinking nothing to start, but I'll be happy to provide you with material to write about" he cooed. Well, he just about cut me off at the knees. The man is a shark! No wonder he's done all them records. I said, hell you got a deal & now it's off to the races. By the way, if anyone out there's got something you want to send me, I can be reached c/o Siltbreeze, 727 South 7th St., Phila, Pa 19147. But enough bullshit. I ain't not gettin paid to do nothin. Let's get busy.
Roland Woodbe
EDITOR
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment