What to Wear To A Possible Hanging

I have a small but psychologically important to me collection of graphic tees. Most of them are rock and roll. I have one Shohei Ohtani tee. It is discrete, just his name and the number 17 on it. I like Ohtani, he shows a complete disregard for the impossible and does it anyway. The man is a legend.

I wondered what to wear to a possible hanging today.

I considered Keef, but that would lead to being led directly to the tombs and some intense interrogation about what else I have done wrong. I don’t think Keef is the right person to take to an official legal situation. No offence, Keef.

I thought about the Ramones, but all I could hear in my head was ‘Im living on Chinese rocks’ and headbanging might be frowned upon. Besides, I have to keep my mind on the games that people want me to play. I haven’t done too badly avoiding all officials and legalistic shit for years, but it is a case of come in from the cold or go back into a tent or give up or go see how old the pony is, go look in the mouth of the beast and report back from one of the lesser rings of modern kafkaesque hell.

I considered Nirvana. “Man I swear I don’t have a gun”. Next.

I put on the B52s, but those goofballs were just too happy. Too groovy. There is no time for love shacks, baby.

as I pulled the B52s over my head, I noticed the boy had put on one of those Japanese hinomaru headbands. It read fighting spirit in kanji. He found his kimono jacket and pulled it on. He kissed my cheek. I was about to put on my Patti Smith shirt when he stopped me.

“Dylan, Ma. The Blowing in the Wind shirt.” Bob started playing Not Dark Yet on my playlist.

I went to the bathroom, pulled on the Bob shirt. He looked back in the mirror. “it’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there” he sang back. My sense of humanity is intact.

If I am not, I will miss you. Gotta go. I should be back later. If I am not, remember “I followed the river, and I got to the sea. I’ve been down on the bottom of a world full of lies. I ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes.”

Not my first rodeo, just my first in a Bob shirt. My first without a black eye or two. No regrets, motherfuckers – and by that I mean Mr Charming, The Man, the system that won’t let women live in peace, I mean the pricks who put a biological male rapist in a women prison and calls her ma’am with no respect for the vulnerable women who are trapped in there. No regrets Mr immigration man. No regrets. None at all. Ive seen too much, I’ve been too happy, and I was free. If it was just me I would walk out today, tent on my back, guitar in my hand, and I would run back to the lakes and the forests and the ocean drives and the sandy walks. I would run back to the bears and the racoons, and the little ducks that waddled to my doorway looking for tortilla. I would raise a finger to the world and found a mountain. But it isn’t just me.

I made him take off the hachimaki. I mothered him into a shirt. Today is not the time to represent, to put up a finger to The Man. Today is the day to play the game and see if I can walk out the other side. But no one. No one here who has forced me into this should expect me to acknowledge their existence again. I will not talk. I will not co operate. I will not kow tow. It is good to know who has your back and who hasn’t. It is good to know who are people. And who are not. Fuck em all.

I intend on getting very very stoned if I get back. I mean the kinda stoned that Bob would approve of. So forgive me if I write gibberish for a few hours. Lets hope I am writing gibberish instead of …anyway…it will be fine. Dont worry. Tough as old boots me….old highway boot.

Detroit

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