One night in the mid-1970s, on a subway train underneath Manhattan a friend of mine met Patti Smith. I never actually met her, but I have been to many of the places she's performed. The energy of the mid-70s New York "punk" and related music percolated and permeated throughout the area until at least the late 1980s.
Indeed, as the review of her book points out, not all youthful vainglory is silly; sometimes it’s preparation.
Sometimes it's practice for a reason.
And there's nothing like that today.
There had never been anything like that before - that explicitly celebrated the dangerousness, transgressiveness and transcendance (from the mundane, but that's a start) of youth. And I was there at least, on that trek, and I have returned more or less intact, with expectation and trepidation and hope for the dreams of the next wave of travelers, and we all wish them all safe journey on that voyage which begins in the mind and ends up being tattooed in our marrow.
Day of Quandry, Castor, 64th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.
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