Jesteśmy społecznością, która kocha książki

At our Winterland concert, Jim kept sticking the flowers his fans were giving him under my drumsticks as I was trying to play. He laughed hysterically because he knew I couldn’t stop unless I wanted to ruin the performance; so my sticks smashed the daisy petals. Maybe it was his way of fucking with my image as a flower child.

Remember those arguments you used to have with Ray? You fighting for individual cultures and Ray for homogenization?