It’s 1979, maybe early 80, and we are all family, off the wall, our chests beating with hearts of brilliant glass, and there’s this kid in town, iconoclastic before we knew the word, our very own Maimonides, wore ties to high school, rode the coolest bike up and down these streets and everywhere this kid, this M went, there on the crucifix of his handlebars he’d somehow managed to affix a music machine, a Sony Walkman, so when he rode through the dross of our prepubescent & perplexed days, he had music playing in his ears and we said there goes M, wonder where he’s gonna go next?
He was a part of my life very briefly, and yet he remains intact and a part of me. He is my avatar of iconoclasm; when I think of change or try something – as they say – out of the box, I think of M.
I am because you are.

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