e c l e c t i c a m i s c e l l a n y
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I was a strobe light and guitar licks and drumbeats and syllables before they became words, meaning before it became mean. Down on me, oh, down on me... Janis, with her boas and her cackle and her fire. Her voice was there, crackling like static from the walls, the ceiling, the air vents.
Christy A. Hallberg