Patty Hurst, Deisel Mechanics, & A Long Strange Trip

All I've ever wanted to do was write. Even as a kid when my friends wanted to be princesses, I wanted to be Patty Hurst. Why? Because I knew I'd have something to write about. Plus I knew she was really just telling her family to go screw themselves. We were living in the Florida keys that summer, the summer of 1974 when my political self was formed. A main stream aproach to anything has been a challenge, but politics, well I learned that summer what could happen if one had blind faith in the illusion of puritanical, patriarchal, power. What does a nine-year-old have in common with a bunch of drunk deisel mechanics and fishermen sitting at a TiKi bar on a hot August night in 1974? Opinions my dear, a pocketful of opinions of which I finally had an audience for. I started this post bitching about the technical problems I am experiencing, but realized in that poetic moment of clarity, that I'd lost my focus somewhere along this path of healing. Going from a writer, to a bitcher, to a seeker of audiences, as I always have since that hot August night some thirty plus years ago. So I may never get this stupid thing to "Feed" or "Link" or do anything other than be a vehicle for my drive back to 'Sanityville', I suspect that's enough. It's been a long time.