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THIS WEEK’S MORNING PAGES: Patrick Stickles of Titus Andronicus
Woke up in a great mood, but then quickly remembered that I’m running dangerously low on Civil War speech excerpts. I mean, I guess I could always just start pulling snippets from Ken Burns, but that feels cheap (and dangerously Google-able!). May be forced to shift to the Spanish-American War. Yeah, I know: lame.
I suppose I could just write something that sounds vaguely Civil War-y, right? If I throw in enough “thees” and “thines,” who’s to say they AREN’T the words of some battle-weary private on the eve of Antietam? I figure I just throw in stuff like “tyranny” and “redemption”, get all Yoda-like with my wording and I’m pretty much good to go. Let’s see, what are some other good Civil War-type words? “Malfeasance?” “Providence,” maybe? Or would it be “provenance?” I always get those two mixed up. Fuck it, I’ll use ‘em both. Let’s give it a try:
“From the light cast off the smoky dawn of our creator’s divine providence, I claim thy mighty battle scars as mine own. And if, on the precipice of this most vainglorious of mornings, I am to be thrust upon the funeral pyre of sovereignty, may my mortal flesh give fire to the struggle against malfeasance and despotism! Let this be the provenance of…”
Blah blah blah, et cetera and so forth. Bam. Nailed it. Run that sucker through some radio static and Pitchfork will jizz all over it.
Full disclosure: I used thesaurus.com to come up with “despotism.” I know, I know—I’m supposed to write without stopping. But I think I’ve gone to the “tyranny” well a bit too often at this point.
Still no response from Springsteen. It’s possible he’s upset about the stuff I said about Big Man. How was I supposed to know he was about to die?? And his solos WERE starting to feel less elegiac in recent years—I stand by that. That half-assed take on “Jungleland” at the August 3, 2009 Worcester Centrum show? Lackluster, man. I mean, it wasn’t quite as tragic as “Racing in the Streets” in Greensboro 2008 or The Great “Rosalita” Debacle of 2005 (shudder!), but I still think I was right to call the Big Man out. I call it like I see it—The Boss knows that.
Still, this silent treatment is more than a bit disconcerting. I’m thinking I may not have Bruce’s current address. I mean, I know the guy is busy and all, but I put a lot of work into this stuff, and the least he could do is throw me a “Nice job” or a “Thanks for the erotic fan fiction, Pat.” You’re telling me the vignette about Bruce having an erotic love affair with a beautiful steel mill worker didn’t make get his heart rate up, not even a little? Unlikely. What about the one where The Boss travels back in time and has a steamy rendezvous with that that Depression-era hottie? You know, the one in that famous photo—the sexy Dust Bowl lady with her kids? Or what about the one where Bruce fucks the muffler of a 57 Chevy?? Come on Bruce, give me SOMETHING.
Okay, enough. I should probably get out of bed and clean up all this vomit.