"Living [at Spillage House] was such an amazing experience for me. It was the most nurturing, caring, friendly environment, where everyone could do their own thing and just let their creativity run wild. I miss that place so much. … Hold on a minute. Oh. I had a call-waiting and it said ‘Mom,’ and I was like, ‘but I’m already talking to Mom,’ but that was my Real Mom. I gotta go."
late-night phone call from a friend & former punkhouse roommate.
Ah… the Persistence of Memory. (…It’s still there.)
When I moved out of Spillage after putting in three years’ time, I was burnt-out and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, suffocating under a pile of dirty dishes and unpaid bills and empty bottles of booze, and there were times when I’d fantasize about tearing that goddamn house apart, ripping the siding off with my bare hands and, like, I dunno, taking a sledgehammer to the bathroom.
