The River

Thursday, January 20, 2005

My God, do you realize what this is?

This blog, uh, thing, page, whatever.

Do you realize what it is? It’s freedom.

It’s fucking freedom, maaan.

Oh, hey, sorry, Bruce’s skeleton here, not Bruce. You can see my pic below these words. These FREE words.

I took over the blog yesterday, just to remind him, and you, that he’s not dead. I began to wonder; I began to worry. I needed a cig. And I do look cool when I smoke, you have to admit.

So, like, I’m here, ya know, because, helllooo, the hour is getting late. Wait, that’s Dylan, we don’t need to go there. I’ll ride that horse when the time comes, know what I’m sayin?

But. Why I’m here…all I’m sayin, folks, Brooooce, is look at me. Do we look dead? If a skeleton can smoke, then by definition, it’s not dead. That’s all I’m sayin.

So, you know, reminders. I was getting desperate. Bruce was beginning to forget about me. So I hacked the blog. It’s just my way of sayin, “dude, when we were together, blogging, you were free. Don’t you realize that?”

Apparently, freedom is for the little people. The poor people. Bruce was “beyond” it. So he quit the bloggin. Just quit. Do I need to tell you this is not good? No. But I do need to tell Bruce.

Eht-hum! Hey, dude, not dead. You’re not dead. Look at me. Look!

You begin to go deaf, if you quit blogging. Word to the wise.

(he begins to dance.)

Hey, hey. Lookit this. I know you downloaded the Kleptones’ “Night at the Hip Hopera.” You heard that dude, exhorting people: "If you want to have some fun, you have to move around, you have to leap about. You can’t have fun sittin on yer ass.”

Wooo. Maybe cigs aren’t the way to go. You ever see a skeleton doubled over? A veritable bag of bones.

But that FREE musical work, those Kleptones dudes, they rock. You know what they were on about – freedom. But you have to do it yourself, too. You can’t just sit back and watch. That’s what they were sayin right up front. One more copyright nightmare, Peter Jennings intoned over the music. Yeah, fuckin A baby. (he leaps, grabs for something above his head). But that’s their trip. Fuck nightmare. Dance. Dance with me, motherfucker.

I mean, Bruce. Buddy. Go ahead, work, make money, buy stuff. But don’t forget about me. Or the blog.

It’s freedom. I know you want it.

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I was searching for Elvis and somehow ended up in your blog, but you know I'm sure I saw Elvis in the supermarket yesterday.

No honest really, he was right there in front of me, next to the steaks singing "Love me Tender".

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