When I was in Saigon during the Vietnamese War from ’69 to ’70, I used to communicate to my relatives and friends back home by sending them a small three-inch tape with my spoken word on it. It was a luxury not afforded to those fighting out in the field, and I took advantage of it.
There is only one that still exists: my correspondence to my younger brother James, who recently sent a copy to me on CD. I don’t know if you’ve ever saved such a thing – listening to yourself when you were 22-years-old – but I suggest you don’t drive while you do, lest you get distracted and find yourself in the wrong lane of traffic.
It was fascinating yet kind of creepy, a diatribe of a philosophy that I apparently adhered to, one that’s not too much different than what I subscribe to today.
The first thing my brother asked me after he re-heard it the other day? “Were you stoned when you made it?”
You can decide yourself as soon as I link it to this blog.
Stay tuned.