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Jett Superior laid this on you on || August 5, 2000 || 12:33 am

I have a wicked ugly cut on my left thumb. It starts around the inside, in the base area, and winds up top, over the knuckle. OWOWOW. It seems to have gotten infected (we played frisbee with the dog today) and is showing signs of conscientious objector status. It is gaping open slightly and –goshdarnit!– has the telltale appearance of “One Who Would be A Scar”.

How’d I get said cut (I thought you’d never ask, dearie!)? I was messing around on the guitar, humming nonsense to meself, when my subconscious snagged on a thought.

“Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses”….yeah, I’ll have a go at that one. This guy I cared for deeply at one time told me the song reminded him of me:

(U2, ya damned dummies) You’re dangerous ’cause you’re honest /
You’re dangerous, you don’t know what you want / Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot / For any spirit to haunt / Hey hey sha la la / Hey hey / You’re an accident waiting to happen / You’re a piece of glass left there on the beach / Well you tell me things / I know you’re not supposed to / Then you leave me just out of reach / Hey hey sha la la / Hey hey sha la la / Who’s gonna ride your wild horses / Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea / Who’s gonna ride your wild horses / Who’s gonna fall at the foot of thee / Well you stole it ’cause I needed the cash / And you killed it ’cause I wanted revenge / Well you lied to me ’cause I asked you to / Baby, can we still be friends / Hey hey sha la la / Hey hey sha la la / Who’s gonna ride your wild horses / Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea / Who’s gonna ride your wild horses / Who’s gonna fall at the foot of thee / Oh, the deeper I spin / Oh, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin / Took a drive in the dirty rain / To a place where the wind calls your name / Under the trees the river laughing at you and me / Hallelujah, heavens white rose / The doors you open / I just can’t close / Don’t turn around, don’t turn around again / Don’t turn around, your gypsy heart / Don’t turn around, don’t turn around again / Don’t turn around, and don’t look back / Come on now love, don’t you look back / Who’s gonna ride your wild horses / Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea / Who’s gonna taste your salt water kisses / Who’s gonna take the place of me / Who’s gonna ride your wild horses / Who’s gonna tame the heart of thee

So I went to tune up and, tear-r-r-r-r-r, I clumsily got caught on the end of a guitar string. Not so much painful as startling.

That’s what I get.

That’s what I damned well get for reminiscing on a boy that’s ages gone, seemingly.

I wish you endless inspiration, a good roof and a full refrigerator, Cris. I hope you are well.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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