The Wrong Paths We Take
written 2003 I was in the bathroom and I started Fred Setterberg’s The Road Taken and I felt the twinge of nostalgic time traveling he was rendering on the page and for a moment I wished I could jump in the conversation with my similarly rustic road reminisces. However, once I was done in the bathroom, I wondered whether or not, upon further reading, I was being suckered into denying my past like many post- Sixties tomes seem to blather on about by wishing I had become a Christian, a Hindu or a scientologist, or a businessman, or an earnest entrepreneur, or by wishing I hadn’t wasted my time fucking around with my instincts and had gone on to get my doctorate or even my masters in something beside Anthropology, or wished on myself any other of the jobs my generation finally succumbed to in the name of “survival,” meaning accepting the prevalent middle class Darwinism, giving up entirely and guiltily on the one and only time I cared what happened to anything besides myself. Right...
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