Monday, June 05, 2006


I have this...gash on my thigh.

It's from Ike's guitar.

Years ago, Cate got knocked in the noggin by Ike's mic stand.

All those drunken rowdy shows are just bound to produce some rock injuries. I wear my blood with pride.

Oh, and the Mr. Reilly has some fucking killer new songs (as always). Like he says, "they just come really fast and easy for me." Guess so....damn. And Craigers....oh, Craig. The single most Clash-like-individual that's ever lived. We listened to "Black Market Clash" and it was just about the best thing ever to see him shout along with Strummer (and join in myself).

Let it begin: THE SUMMER OF STRUMMER. Not the first, and it won't be the last. Jim wants to have a Summer of the Stones and that's cool. It makes sense. I just need the Clash right now.

Chiefly, because it's happening again: what named the Clash. That powerful word in the headlines of the newspaper.

Ohhhh, and looky here. I found it in my routine search of pix of Sid. It's creepy and interesting. I thought it would have some validity by the use of Ophelia on the top of the page (my hamster's name when I was 10, cuz I was clearly Lisa Simpson--vaguely)

(you know, Sid was named after Johnny's hamster......)

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