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This is what comes of hard working parents. This is what comes of a bloodline of conflict. The English, the Irish and The Indian settled along the wilderness of the Hudson River at the dawn of America. This is what comes from being birthed in country music, raised on Rock 'N' Roll, schooled in jazz, blues, joy and pain. This is what comes from the captain of the football team, the left-handed pitcher, the perpetual C student, the Lit major. This is what comes from shooting dope in ghetto alleys, shit jobs, cubicles and florescent lighting. This is what comes from a teacher, a garbageman and a gravedigger who spent too many long nights in jail. This is what comes of not belonging to a political party, a corporation, a label or a clique. This is what comes of being baptized in the spirit of Coltrane, the fury of Mingus, the meditation of Cohen, the righteous indignation of Strummer and Guthrie. This is what comes of Lou Reed and Chuck D hanging on a New York street corner, rapping about unrest, revolution and love. This is what comes of a hundred thousand miles of dark highway and 200 long nights a year in smoky bars, coffee shops, and the living rooms of strangers. This is what comes from listening to stories of the downtrodden, sleeping in back seats, stopping in the small towns, selling one record at a time out of the trunk of an old, beat-up car. This is what comes: Grace and Grit. Heart and Soul. Darkness and Light. Mike June.
- Kristin LaTour, poet, Chicago, IL