Great podcast. I listened while shopping in Target and it had me laughing my ass off. People were staring for good reason this time. You gotta watch out for those ladder weilding fuckers named Dave who try to fix things. I have been known to weild a ladder but have never stolen a tape measure. I have on occasion pretended to be able to fix something but not in someone else's home.
Well that's the difference, isn't is - the someone else's home part...I have on occasion pretended to be able to fix something but not in someone else's home.
Food for thought for sure. That the numbers are not so great, that they are not taking over the world, that freedom of speech is for everyone or it does not exist. But I'm wont be making them sandwiches...It's hard not to insult (or be tempted to curb stomp) Nazis, I understand.
That'll teach ya to understand the fans that are wanting to visit all the places in L.A. where he's been. (yeah, sure, I know, the whole area there has changed, but still...)and I think not wanting to set foot in the house or not wanting to go up to the writing room [...] just stupid. Stubborn, too cool. I was denying basic human desire and curiosity, and that thing we all have of wanting to be close.
yeah, that's been a strong impression to me too. This endless, thick line of lights from the cars, like a big worm or a slow snake. I could imagine Hank standing there on that balcony and watching.and out on the little balcony that overlooks the harbor. It was dark and you could see the line of cars on the 110 freeway
Oh, I understand that. I went to Paisley Park in October, and I'm glad I did that. Even as a tourist.That'll teach ya to understand the fans that are wanting to visit all the places in L.A. where he's been.
Lucky you. The only time I've been in that room, there was a lot missing, since the Huntington-exhibition was just running.But like Bukowski's typewriter
I know EXACTLY what you talk about here (at least I think I do). And I don't mean Prince or Bukowski, but a very different thing. A feeling. A strange mixture of presence And absence of a beloved person or a situation or a memory. Or an immortal poet.Just no Prince. Unless you count the ashes,
reading storm and thought of Roni's linesyeah, that's been a strong impression to me too. This endless, thick line of lights from the cars, like a big worm or a slow snake. I could imagine Hank standing there on that balcony and watching.