Sunday, June 23, 2013

the last book I ever read (Richard Hell's I Dreamed I Was A Very Clean Tramp, excerpt four)

from Richard Hell's I Dreamed I Was A Very Clean Tramp:

Those years—1969 to 1974, from when Tom got to New York until we began playing at CBGB with our band Television—seem to have lasted such a long time, to have contained more than could be possible, because everything was new and made such strong impressions on us and we were changing so quickly. But during the time itself, those four or five years felt like forever for the opposite reason: that there was nothing to do. But our ennui actually contributed to our sense of freedom—we were so bored and isolated we might try anything.

For a few months in the spring of 1969, we shared an apartment on Eleventh Street just west of Second Avenue. It was a typical little three-room shotgun flat five or six floors up in a tenement. The refrigerator had been leaking on the kitchen floor and the landlord had ignored our complaints. One boring afternoon we squeezed it through the window to the airshaft. There’s not a much better-feeling suspense than that endless second or two during which a heavy machine is falling from a great height.

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