UNFINISHED DOCUMENTARY, KINGDOMS OF THE RADIO | 1995
Not having power out at Girassol wasn’t a problem for me. I was used to working the back forty with all the low-profile grows up-county. I preferred it, actually. The one concession I made to modernity, was my radio. As long as I didn’t run out of batteries, I was golden. Of course, the only station I could pull in up there was Floyd’s pirate station, KRTO. Good thing he and I saw eye-to-eye, or ear-to-ear, rather.
Once we got to know each other, I would often ride my bike to town and hang with him at the lighthouse and spin records all night. It was beautiful, man, we had no idea who, if anyone, was listening, but that’s not the point, it is? We weren’t kowtowing to corporate interests and were adding positive vibrations out into the ether. How could that be wrong?
I was talking up our jam sessions one night and was saying that he should come out and tape us one night so he could play it on the air. Now, for a pirate, Floyd is a lot more practical than me, he just looked and me and laughed, asking “How the hell did you imagine that was going to happen since y‘all are are sitting around in the dark out there like Little House on the Goddamn Prairie?” Fair point, Floyd, fair point.
Román Leão 
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