Ten Years

I think I’ll call it my Dodo bass. That’s how it is in the USA, but it may be different abroad. I think I’ll start using it with other musicians, see how it goes over. Roman hated it ten years ago because it wasn’t a Fender. And ten years feels like ten years…

A long time— from my family fishing at Crane Prairie, and the division that was beginning. It’s weird, but you know, the item of education doesn’t account for all of it. Maybe Polly’s family just doesn’t have the raw iq to understand why racism is wrong. Those people are entrenched in old fashioned beliefs that just don’t go away. Are they really stupid, or are they afraid of something? People fear what they don’t understand, so I imagine they are just dumb. But it isn’t my fault that they lack intelligence. It seems possible that my brother is self destructing out of feelings of guilt for being intelligent. But it’s up to him to stop his suicide. I think it’s probably too late now. His brain is a pickle, again no fault of mine. They all feel very far from me now. I saved myself, refused to be a martyr for a family that wasn’t worth it.

Now whenever I play my Aria, it triggers memories of 2010, albeit distantly.

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