You just don’t got it…

God damnit. Thinking on myself back in the 70s, shuffling towards campus in bare feet and spent blue jeans,  Joan Baez hair in moving air, with my prize-winning composition on human trash tucked under my arm, I realize now that what would have served my passions best would have been a stint with Rolling Stone magazine. This man wrote for them back then. This man does now.

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