You died in an airplane crash last night while I was in deep sleep. I was sad but not ruined. A flight attendant in her earthly blues gave me a small green soft plastic nightlight with your name on it. I picture it still glowing about a foot off the hardwood floor of my bedroom. And this is how I remember you.
Alt77: Hot Rod Stigmata
There’s something campy and demented about William Steffey’s Hot Rod Stigmata that reminds me of the Butthole Surfers if they could stand still for enough
December 25, 2020
