Tonight I went to see. Patti Smith. Not many women really rock anymore. She kicks ass. As if she was born to be a 60-year-old rocker. I love seeing a woman. Who has booted conformity to the curb. And carries a polaroid camera. And wears a watch from the 1940s. That she forgot to take off in the shower. And who comes on stage with jeans and a t-shirt that looks like it came from the laundry basket. And has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It makes me happy.
She mentioned William Burroughs. Beat poet. Who used to live in Lawrence, Kansas. When I lived there. Followers of the beats. Would come to town. And ask where he lived. And mysteriously. No one could tell them. Although we all knew.
Another time. Another place. Another image of woman.