i’m going to move in a couple of months. i’m TRYING desperately to get rid of some stuff. and i’m going through old letters, old notes, old stuff from classes i took. i can’t get rid of the stuff. i’m going to try and use someone’s scanner to maybe digitize it? then it won’t be taking up physical space, at least.
but wow. i have everything. i have printed out emails from my american national bank days. i have correspondence between me and dan wilson … it’s fucking embarrassing. i have correspondence between me and the frisbie lads at the very beginning. 1999, 2000. again, fucking embarrassing. literally asking them who was otherwise engaged (literally or metaphorically), because inquiring minds wanted to know. or some such thing, but basically wanting to know who was available. SERIOUSLY!? god. i want. to. kind. of. die.
but let’s face it. in this book or eight that i want to write, frisbie is a part of that. it’s a part of all of the drama and the fun and the alcohol and the manic-depression and the friendships and the loss of friendships and the tornado roaring through lives. whatever tornado at whatever particular time in whatever particular life you want to focus on at any given time. and it *was* fun at the beginning to fill our heads with tales of fancy with these cute boys who sang great songs and were right there, willing to have a drink with us and talk about the beatles or politics or … steve perry or some shit.
later on, things would get much more serious. marriages were breaking up (through no fault of ours, thank god) and people were losing their minds on both sides of the stage. friendships were being crumbled into a million little pieces on both sides of the microphone, too. and some people were falling deeper into disease while other people were getting better. but i have record of it all. i have proof positive of the rise and fall of all of it.
everything happens for a reason. i guess that might include my keeping all these records. i just don’t want to keep lugging them around. but i just can’t bear to let them go, either. it’s so strange that way. it’ll come to me, i’m sure. but for now, i’m the archivist of things people probably don’t even know they forgot.