I hadn't pulled this tape out in fucking years before I ripped it earlier this week and....well, this is the part of the blog where I feel compelled to tell stories. To reminisce and remember by click clacking away at a solitary keyboard with the tinny sounds of forgotten years reduced to digital files screaming at me from a pair of desktop speakers. These are the tapes that transport me - it's not that the sounds are good (they are), it's the place in time that these particular sounds represent. It's the space they hold. It's knowing that in today's punk there is another scene holding a similar space for a different punk. And if I'm just click clacking away just hear my own memories come out of my fingers....then so be it. Because they are really good memories.
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