Freedom was yesterday in Canada.
Bad English belongs in that bad library.
The value of freedom has been discounted. The only freedom we truly crave today is freedom from Dumbness. Crave TV is like craving magic mushrooms from nothing magical. Nothing. But music is the best. The 1981 version of Danse Libertaire by The Moth Warriors is awesome. I put on a live 1992 record of AC/DC. Then I tuned the imaginary dial to LUCKY 108.9 FM before “Bad English” and the world just stopped.
It’s coming to an end. But you can’t get there fast enough, kids. It can never be fast enough. A tribute to Eminem is necessary, because his impact on news and music and culture deserves to be recognized, but at the same time, it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Great artists come and go, people celebrate their work, and eventually the world moves on. Still, for those who listened, remembered the lyrics, and connected with the music, a tribute can be a small way of acknowledging what mattered at the time.
The Bronx Experiment is a novella I wrote decades ago that was never published, but it reflected my long-standing fascination with New York and the stories that could emerge from its streets. At the time, I probably didn’t realize how much of that old idea would stay with me. All these years later, The Harlem Herald has finally brought some of that vision to fruition, giving a new life to the New York world I imagined so long ago.
Nothing but crickets. Christine Kofan could have been my agent, but it never worked out that way. Instead, she helped represent Lionheart and became part of a chapter from my creative journey. Her story was told.
Surprise, Club 108.9 eventually spiralled completely out of control, and that’s when the Weber Warehouse took control of the SoundCloud universe. It became the place where everything came together, and for a while, it absolutely rocked. The music was loud, the nights were unforgettable, and the whole thing took on a life of its own. The parties were crazy, soon the club lost control. It was insane. And every good thing eventually comes to an end, and even the Weber Warehouse had to close its doors and become part of the memories.
Everything an afterthought, somehow written into the story only after it had already happened. Every ending, a strange little remark about the future, as if one chapter closes while another closes louder. The end always near.
In the distance, a lion roars one last time, then turns and waves goodbye. Maybe it’s a lion that lost its way.
