I was surprised to find out recently that I do not have a copy of the first CD I released in NYC in 2000. I’ve no digital copy either.
As for journals, I have regularly gotten rid of them. Not that I have always kept a journal, but when I have I’ve not held onto them for long.
I thought maybe this time would be different. I was about to start Volume 17 recently when I decided instead to get rid of them.
15 are now gone. Two remain. I flipped through one a few minutes ago, and just happened upon a very relevant entry, which I will place below.
Any/all grammar mistakes remain.
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Journal, March 27th, 2019:
Illegal to build a fire, even on Randall’s Island. There’s not even designated places where you can legally build a fire.
Illegal-meaning under the threat of violence. Being locked up, being perhaps drugged, possibly being beaten, maybe even killed.
The law. The man-made law that says you can damage the Earth by building plastic TVs and an infrastructure that allows for 100 TV channels, and you can sit in front of it for 8 hours, but you cannot build a fire and burn your old papers.
See this? See what is, by most, thought of as normal?
You can build a TV and sit in front of it, but you cannot build a fire and sit in front of it. Legally, anyway.
We’d be better off with no TVs at all.
I haven’t been swimming for more than 30 minutes total in 25 years. That for a person living on the coast and on land where there are rivers all about, is ludicrous.
It’s not ludicrous within the confines of the man-made laws and the system that’s been created, but it’s ludicrous in reality.
NYC is definitely a prison. Of course it’s not as bad as Rikers, but Rikers is a prison within a prison. Solitary confinement at Rikers? That’s a prison within a prison within a prison.
“Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.” Richie Havens