I finished reading Patti Smith's "Bread of Angels" (2025). It is a beautiful, "death-haunted," memoir. I suppose if you live long enough you too will become "death-haunted." Death is sort of the mystery that envelops every life. Those of us still living must contend with the reality and finality of death in our own particular ways. Patti reaches out to the mystery & the poetry. It's admirable, inspiring and deeply sad too. I was happy to read the book, and also happy to finish it. Patti lost some of her most significant lovers, inspirers, and co-conspirators early on. And she lost many more significant & influential folks over the years. She pays tribute to all those who gifted her along the way. An extraordinary life. The r&r shaman & poet. I recently purchased the 50th Anniversary Edition of her debut album "Horses." (1975). The remaster CD sounds fantastic. One of the greatest debut albums of all time with probably, for me, the greatest opening lines of all time. Certainly lines that made this lasped-Catholic boy sit up and take notice. Yes. Head-opening. A glorious liberation: "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine..." The lines that follow are epic too: "... my sins are my own... they belong to me... to me..." Very Jean Paul Satre "existentialist," don't you know?! And then throughout her rendition of the classic r&r song, "Gloria," Patti adopts the persona of a very insistent & aggressive rebellious-tomboy, on the hunt for a pretty young thing, "leaning on the parking meter, humping on the parking meter," or maybe she's imagining embodying a creative, rebellious, rambunctious boy, something along the lines of a young, surrealist-cowboy-mouth Dylan or an illminated Arthur Rimbaud? You know, totally, fucking extraordinary, mind-expanding r&r, right up there with Dylan's great album "Highway 61 Revisited" (1965).
