life fully hydrated

what is home

Massachusetts and New Hampshire are completely dissimilar. I remember Massachusetts like I remember milk and cookies slapped out of my fumbling hands. Starch fighting my every natural kind of expression right there and then in the middle eighties, a stone throw from Walden Pond, drowning in the glorified history of the birth of a nation, your damn right. Did i say drowning? I meant immersed.  Cindy Lauper and Tears For Fears were the passion plays to offset the upbeat shit like the Cars or the B-52s, who bombed us into submission every other weekend lookalike chaperoned dance, had us digging all the way down to rock lobster. Only the DJ who put us up to going down was not digging, paradoxically.

Massachusetts was the half-baked dancefloor one of those suburban shelter nights in my formerly sanctioned sheltered kinda burning hell of smothering love of sweet greasy pizza. We rode our ten speeds up and down the hills forever. The Celtics took us deep into the spring, forever like the eighties. Between the rough real of country and the hard beat of urban lives i woulda died for, yet was scared to death of…


Luckily, I had the getaway trip, our family escape to Live Free or Die land. All the way north past the noise and the pushing and pulling, to the duty free liquor warehouses making bank just over the border on every highway including 128 (aka I-95, she run from maine to florida) and tangent to the old McDonalds arches hitting the ground in Portsmouth, NH.  I mean the pitstop our family made halfway to Wolfeboro, at the best little Mac-D touch down in the middle of nowhere, well, just adjacent to Pease AirForce base.

The air changed and everything. The lakes began to appear. The pine forests were fucking endless and beautiful wild. The wild came back into my eyes and the suicidal tendencies fell back to just a band that everyone knew from the soundtrack to Repo Man, if everyone was anyone in their adolescence coming-of-age in the large and wonderful wake left by the loud and original (if hokey) style, shameless exposee poseurs comme Madonna, Boy George, Duran Duran, Billy Idol, Pet Shop Boyz, Van Halen, MJ, Devo, Bowie and, uhhh… only thousands more.

Cause once fashion got hit with jumpsuits and moonboots, Roo shoes and Shoe Goo, well, there was this tabula rasa experience which gave a canvas to all the heads with enough balls to splatter themselves colorfully into play. Frankie went to Hollywood, and unfortunately most of us had to follow him there. Why? I couldnt tell you. All i know was in between Rod Stewarts gravelly heterotic lullabies, Casey Casem belched out some new bio of some clean (but not so fresh) face of some plugged in, shot up, glammed out new bitch or boy who could make a nice cover for a one-hit wonder on the top 40, with atleast a semi-scandalous bio Casey could perk up between rancid anal barking at his studio crew, until the jokers smile finally hit air and dropped his act like a jello mould into pound cake square…

One response to “life fully hydrated

  1. Pingback: american dream concession stand | K IS SILENT

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s