This is the last poem Ron ever sent to me. I have been going through the FREDInk archives recently, putting up all kinds of music from days-gone-by that would not have even seen the light of the Internet Age were it not for Ron's love of musical and poetic expression. Naturally, he collected what was around him. But in the same regard, with the same level of appreciation, he collected musical, artistic, and poetic works of the world. From Bukowski to Mishima, from Yello, to Yellow Magic Orchestra. He had indigenous music from masters of third-world countries. He was as inspired by The Residents as he was by King Missile. On the local level, he collected music by frog, A. Kyle Strohman, Into Barbie, Vini and the Demons, Plastic Age, the Screaming Helens, Penguin (my very first band that mattered), NDolphin, The Bill Perry Orchestra, Band of Fools, Crash Pad, Pop Cannon, and really too many to name. If these bands are unfamiliar to you, you might find them by digging around on Google and add in, 'Gainesville'. Then again, you don't always find what you are digging for.
Going back through the archives, that's exactly what it seems Ron is doing in this poem. Going back, reliving the moments, reassuring himself that indeed these things did happen and there is a record through which we can dig; like anthropologists. Ron's collection, which is now making it's way back into our collective consciousness via the anthropological work being done here on the 'Secret Page', and the magic of the web, is like a bookshelf of multi-media fossils.
Ramblings of a Half-Hearted Ideologue