Tag Archives: innocent

“names have been changed to protect the innocent…” aka drop the fuckin’ filter

08 Sept 2009

Aforementioned title would be appropriate, if I were, in fact, innocent. But this doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I am innocent. Though innocence or guilt presupposes charges and I haven’t been charged with anything, so it really doesn’t apply. In any event, this whole thing… this blaahhh-g… this clackclackclack of the keyboard would be much more interesting if your author here…

dropped
the
fuckin’
filter.

Filtered already (through my own subjectivity) I pass it through yet again… sieve allowing only so much sand with every pass… the xerox copy less detailed, less accurate; more and more a version of the original. or something. Just like this. Metaphors and metaphors and bullshit and theory and…

What I’m saying is that we’re basically left with partially interesting theoretically feasible half-thoughts.

The reasons?

I would lie if I say that I am not practicing discretion when I bring “my friend T’s” and “Car Guy”‘s to the table. Despite discretion being discretion, I want people to read this. In fact, I’d love a following of any sort… underground… above ground… whatever. And the odd acquaintance… friend… collegue that stumbles upon and stays for a second, reads and then does a double-take… I love it! And I would own it. If they find it, then see it…

…as being me. Fuckin’ awesome!

But, why not just, drop the filter all together? (“drop the leash! we are young!”)

Sorry, I digress.

See, it’s become apparent to me that as a reader of autobiographical accounts, reading this blog, might be extremely annoying.

I want specific detail. I want to go to the specific bridge downtown where Anthony Kiedis and Flea and the gang “gave their life away”… never to own the Angeleno moniker, I still appreciate, on second go around, to know exactly where the cop stopped Jerry Stahl on Sunset by Western when the needle rolled out from under the baby seat (with the baby in the seat)… and of course, I was Chelsea, the crack shack, 23rd street, during my period of obsessive inhalation of information on Edie alongside my obsessive inhalation of whatever powder or smoke or… you can dig what I’m saying, right?

So, what to do?

 

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