split myself

the man laid his hat on the table
hung his coat up on the wall
sat down to dinner
said as soon as I am able
I'll say something nice to you all
then he took a deck from his pocket
spread em so I saw em all
then he turned his back to me
shuffled em and drew me
the card that said I never would fall
oh mary lou won't you tell me what to do
I got a dollar on the corner
and a lazer in my shoe
if I don't get an answer
gonna split myself in two
he spun till a ton was glistening
turned to me and gave me a smile
he said I'm leaving now
but I want what you owe me
I'll be back in a little while
that was the last time I saw him
hope I never see him again
I know it sounds funny
but I owe him some money
and I really don't want him for a friend
oh mary lou won't you tell me what to do
I got a dollar on the corner
and a lazer in my shoe
if I don't get an answer
gonna split myself in two

thanks to kirk kirkwood, tempe AZ's finest

air hockey tournament

tomorrow! at the sons of norway norwegian center for norgies. three pool-table sized air hockey tables. no beer, but cabbage and ham shanks are available for a nominal donation to the norway norwegion sisters of the norwegians. the dreaded triple N society or NNsN in popular norwegion lingo.
anyway: starts at 7, round robin single elimination, personal paddles only after inspection (you dirty finnish bastards!). cabbage at 6:30, games at 7. do not even try to bring beer. it's a norwegion event, bring vodka dumbass. and your english pop mixtape.

resident dave

MSP3.
Resident Dave is moving out at the end of the month with his dog Scoobie. Scoobie is the cooler of the two. Scoobie doesn't corner you and talk utter nonsense like Dave does. And while Scoobie can be an offensive sniffer, he responds to commands. Dave not so much.
But I have found that Dave responds to direction. Like "Hey Dave, sweep the patio and pick up those twigs, we'll build a fire." He'll go right at it. He'll say, "Yeah, yeah, right, I need to do that." I just sit and watch, smiling. Wondering what makes a dude like that tick. If someone said that to me, I'd chuckle and say "for real, dude?" And if dude said "yeah, clean the patio", I'd say "[expletive deleted], and if it isn't too much to ask, bring me a beer, your wife clearly doesn't understand how to." But, that's just me. I can be abrasive but I've always figured folks appreciate a straight-shooter.
For example: I spotted the cross-eyed baby with the birthmark of Florida on it's forehead (they fixed the eye, but last I heard the map covered the entire SE US); I warned my roommate that his new mustache was a little too "Freddie Mercury" (he shaved it off same day); and my favorite, when I told Curt Warner, "yep, you can jump and ride a porcupine but you might regret it." He jumped it anyway. (He regretted it.)

chicken

Someone actually stole chicken off our grill on our front porch in ghetto city. We'd escaped the roaches, and found bigger, scarier, porch-chicken-thieving cockroaches.
Who steals partially-cooked chicken from a grill left unattended because you're in the house focusing on your bong? It was like 10 minutes! Must have been a porch-chicken syndicate. Like a gang. Maybe they worked for KFC. I'd heard about KFC consignment pre-cooked chicken, but it had never been my problem.
Nevertheless, I don't understand this level of insanity. I might enjoy it's sheer bad-craziness, but I don't understand it or condone it. I won't condone it. My time is short. The pig is in the tunnel and I'd like to win my football pool two years in a row. I cannot tolerate partially cooked chicken theft. It is not righteous.
This weekend, I'm thinking of grilling some chicken and sitting unseen in a location where I can unleash the fury of my compound bow, 45 lbs. pull, graphite shafts, expanding broad-head tips. That would sting.

roaches

MPLS.1
Gotta get these stories down before pre-senile dementia hits and I won't be able to tell whether they're  true or not. So this is number one (MPLS.1).

July 1990. There are cockroaches here. A lot of them. You have to keep the Rice Krispie's in the fridge. Some get in there even. They skitter across the floor with an intuitive sense of obvious impunity. They are too fast to kill. You stop trying. You decide to work with them. Sharing space with respect.

So you turn on the kitchen light by reaching around the corner. It gives them time to run for cover. In return, they stay off the furniture and don't crawl on your face in the early morning hours. It's cockroach detente. A cold-war cockroach standoff.

And then you get a good job and move out. I'm sure the cockroaches throw a party and toast their victory. "Yeah, we win again ... puny humans ... yeah, pour me a bit of that rancid milk. Aaaahhh! The cockroach life."

I really think they do that, but I don't know, I moved out of their neighborhood and into a house in the ghetto. The cockroaches there were all meth-heads. They mostly stole from the ants. Solving two problems at once. I think I must have carried some cockroach cred - word on the street sort of stuff. "Dude is cool." In cockroach street terms.

So, I guess the moral of the story is that if you have to move to the city and stay one step above cardboard-hobo-camping down by the river. Befriend the cockroaches first. They will pave your way into big city survival.

can't fight

I was downtown last night and I think I met a ghost. Seether. She wouldn't walk with me in a straight way, she wouldn't offer me her smoke. I got all dressed up for this only to get shot down. Seether.
I remember her from Glastonbury. 1995.  Flat chested hardcore. 
I try but I can't fight the seether.
Seether.

new shoes

get some. your feet are weird.

harold and margo

harold and margo. margo and harold.
met at the soda fountain in buffalo, south dakota. 1983.
she'd heard about harold's pawnshop and what went down there.
harold and margo don't feel no pain.
cocaine, methamphetamine and loaded in the
middle of nowhere and never coming back.

box of spiders

Gran Gran keeps a box of spiders.
She says they're on me when I sleep.
Waiting in the out-house for me.
underneath the seat.
My great-grandmothers bout ninety-seven
and she is sure when she gets to heaven,
old St. Peter's gonna throw his arms around her and say
'I've waited so long for us to meet'.
She put the General in a box
and buried him behind the Stoney Point Church of Christ,
when I was three.
(and she says) "When the lord comes to take me,
I'll die with a smile on, cause He's taking all my pains and fears."
She said The Generals last words were
"It's hotter than hell in here".
Gran Gran keeps a box of spiders,
or so she told me as a child,
and I would hold it in for hours.
Too mean to die. Too mean to die. Too mean.

thinkin'

i been thinkin'.
thinkin' about faulkner and alabama.
bottle trees. ghosts in the cotton fields.
i been thinkin"
thinkin' about boiled choctaw cornmeal
blood sausage and yellow rice
cobbler
a place I want to be
in alabama at uncle leon's just east across the bay from Mobile
i can help him move that tree, eat some bay shrimp, okra. johnnycake.
fight the bloody British and whatnot
yell at it

for tammy

Tammy,
I am so sorry for your loss. Perry was a good man and a good friend. I lost him too. I'll miss giving him shit over the phone. I'll miss his Blantons on ice with a lemon twist. I'll miss his deadpan, ornery-ass humor most of all. He was a character and he had a big impact on me.
When we spoke you asked if I had pictures taken of the hunting trip he, his dad and brother and I grouped up for in South Dakota. I do. He sent all of them to me. Someday soon we'll have to go through them and I can tell you what was happening. The guide was good, birds plentiful and the banter between father and sons was extremely entertaining. Pete couldn't believe they didn't have a Starbucks in Gregory, SD. The coffee sucked, etc. HA!
Tammy, I still remember the trip well and as Perry once said to me, it was one of the best times of our lives. Brother Steve notwithstanding!
Take care and I'll call again soon.
Me

word

 A definition of discretion. Take heed Pinhead Filson, I know what you've been up to.

• S: (n) discretion (freedom to act or judge on one's own)
• S: (n) discretion, discreetness, circumspection, prudence (knowing how to avoid embarrassment or distress) "the servants showed great tact and discretion"
• S: (n) delicacy, discretion (refined taste; tact)
• S: (n) free will, discretion (the power of making free choices unconstrained by external agencies)
• S: (n) discretion, discernment (the trait of judging wisely and objectively) "a man of discernment"

drums and dinner

Drum concert and spaghetti dinner from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. Sunday, March 28, at the National Guard Armory on Range Raod. There will also be an auction. Free will donation with proceeds going to Relay for Life Bring a canned food item. Food donations will go to the Hochoka Healing Center serving the Pine Ridge Reservation.

 

Sunday, 28 March, 2010

05:00 PM - 07:00 PM

Cost: Free will offering

Location: 

National Guard Armory

Rapid City, SD

 

fond farewell

Elliot Smith, RIP

The Litebrite's now black and white
'Cos you took apart a picture that wasn't right
Pitch burning on a shining sheet
The only maker that you want to meet
A dying man in a living room
Whose shadow paces the floor
Who'll take you out in the open door
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
A fond farewell to a friend
He said really I just want to dance
Good and evil match perfect, it's a great romance
And I can deal with some psychic pain
If it'll slow down my higher brain
Veins full of disappearing ink
Vomiting in your kitchen sink
Disconnecting from the missing link
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
I'ts just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
A fond farewell to a friend
I see you're leaving me
And taking up with the enemy
The cold comfort of the in-between
A little less than a human being
A little less than a happy high
A little less than a suicide
The only things that you really tried
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
A fond farewell to a friend
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend

proud willie

I am proud of my cat, Wilford Peter (Willie) Nelson. He has always been a successful cat with a serious competitive spirit, once beating me at HORSE out behind the garage with a spinning, back-flip dunk. Next time we'll youtube!
Still, I never thought he would achieve on this level. Willie is going into outer-space. He has been nominated to lead the first mission to the planet Mars. While Mars is still just a planet in our meager solar system, Willie plans on much bigger, extra-universal work later. He's that good! He has been training in California and, more recently, Florida. I can't say much more for national security reasons or something, but Willie lets on a bit. He talks in trapezoids and trajectories. Logistical aim. Looping algorithms. Terabyte processing in real time via over the horizon satellite technology. All conveyed intelligibly via a staccato system of meows. Like telegraph music on a blues foot-board in Duluth in December.
I am proud of Wilford Nelson, a mere, domestic indoor/outdoor cat. He can't produce offspring after the "surgery" but still, he is serving our nation honorably, as many cats likewise do. And when he's at home, he licks himself clean, enjoys policing the premises for bugs and errant twist ties and, most importantly, he only poops in his box. Bravo Wilford! Well done!

translation program

I can't speak Spanish much. And George can't speak English any more than that. But George works for me. We need to be able to communicate. So I asked him to write a post-it note saying what he needed to say to me in Spanish. I took his yellow post-it and typed the words into an online web translation gig/app. Result positive. George was impressed. Then I typed in English what I needed to say to him. It worked. We realized we weren't a million miles apart. I can't complete my daily paperwork without George's input. I sign his paycheck. Obvious. Classic co-dependence.
In the meantime, we talk a bit and learn a little of each others language. Mostly though, that's a matter of George working with me on correct pronunciation. I have a hard time doing well at it, but I'm trying.

alex chilton died

Singer and guitarist Alex Chilton, known for his influential work with bands the Box Tops and Big Star, died Wednesday. He was 59. He died at a hospital in New Orleans after experiencing what appeared to be heart problems. As the teenage singer for the pop-soul outfit the Box Tops, Chilton topped the charts with the band's song "The Letter" in 1967.

His work with Big Star had less mainstream success but made him a cult hero to other musicians, as evidenced by the title of the 1987 Replacements song, "Alex Chilton." Big Star's three 1970s LPs all earned spots on Rolling Stone magazine's list of 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.
Chilton said in a 1987 interview with The Associated Press that he didn't mind flying under the radar. "What would be ideal would be to make a ton of money and have nobody know about you," he said. "Fame has a lot of baggage to carry around. I wouldn't want to be like Bruce Springsteen. I don't need that much money and wouldn't want to have 20 bodyguards following me. If I did become really popular, the critics probably wouldn't like me all that much," he said. "They like to root for the underdog."
Chilton had been scheduled to perform with Big Star on Saturday at the South by Southwest music festival in Austin, Texas. "Alex Chilton always messed with your head, charming and amazing you while doing so. His gift for melody was second to none, yet he frequently seemed in disdain of that gift," the festival's creative director, Brent Gulke, said in an e-mail.

Elliot Smith performs a cover of Big Star's "Thirteen"

Stringbean Svenson and his Fiddlestring Band

There will be a Public Dance on Saturday March 13 with Stringbean Svenson and his Fiddlestring Band playing dance music from 7:30 until 10:30 p.m. The dance will be at the Viking Hall at 2900 Canyon Lake Drive Admission price will be $5.00 per person and everyone is welcome to attend.

ode to boudin

You are the chewing gum
of God. You are the reason
I know that skin
is only that, holds
more than it meets.
The heart of you is something
I don’t quite get
but don’t want to. Even
a fool like me can see
your broken
beauty, the way
out in this world where most
things disappear, driven
into ground, you are ground
already, & like rice
you rise. Drunken deacon,
sausage’s half-brother,
jambalaya’s baby mama,
you bring me back
to the beginning, to where things live
again. Homemade saviour,
you fed me the day
my father sat under flowers
white as the gloves of pallbearers
tossed on his bier.
Soon, hands will lower him
into ground richer
than even you.
For now, root of all
remembrance, your thick chain
sets me spinning, thinking
of how, like the small,
perfect, possible, silent soul
you spill out
like music, my daddy
dead, or grief,
or both—afterward his sisters
my aunts dancing
in the yard to a car radio
tuned to zydeco
beneath the pecan trees.

willard delka

Willard Delka stood on his chair in Third Grade and slugged Mrs. Horton in the stomach. I saw it happen. Willard was a missile base kid. Brought to western South Dakota by his Pa who was employed in the construction of nuclear missile silos. Itinerant. Unattached. Blamelessly evil. Scorned.
Willard died in the back of a fruit truck on a cold South Dakota hi-way. Knife wound. Stomach. Ironic.

moved in

As of today, I am ensconced in my new Minneapolis digs. It is very cool after a period of wandering aimlessly with only a few anchors; my girl, my sidekick and my truck. These are the three things very dear to me - oh, that and a job (and the truck not so much)! And Ethiopian coffee, Vietnamese food (Pho and Banh Mi Thit Bale). And music (Meat Puppets at the 400, Spoon at First Ave). A broadband connection. Friends. It's all good.
Last year, I fell off the mountain but I'm determined to get back up top. So I'm climbing again. I'm happiest facing challenges. I'm never bored. But I like the view. It's keen!

pinhead filson

Pinhead Filson reads his Meatpaper in the morning while seated on his tiny porcelain throne in his miniature recreation of his own mind's eye while restlessly squeezing every ounce out of the day before. It's come to this then he not so silently reasons, as the discarded carp toss in the turmoil below. "I'll be lost to my own degraded wit, a plumb bob to the wallpaper festering with decay in my tiny wool-bedecked pinhead."
It wasn't always this way for Pinhead Filson. At one time he sailed the roiling, cold waters of San Francisco Bay in a tiny skiff, hunting sharks with a sharpened lance and abalone deep below while holding his breath for minutes at a time. He'd scowl at the oyster pirates and later set-up his fellows for rounds at China Bill's on the wharf chewing seal blubber with pickled egg, all the while tickling the giggling Chinese with horsefeathers and broomsticks. But Pinhead took a turn for the worse and egged on by John Barleycorn,  took up residence in an opium den.
He lost his money, then he lost his mind. He's never been the same. He fled into the mountains pursued on all sides by his imaginary demons while his once swollen brain-case shrunk to the size of a pinhead. He took to wearing tight fitting skull-caps which only exacerbated the problem until his head resembled his name. He looked around for his fellows but none had met the same fate. He was all alone.
Today even, as Pinhead Filson mounts his throne in his tiny water-closet clutching his Meatpaper,  one can hear the wind gusting melodically, calling Pinhead home. He won't get there because it no longer exists.

deer tick

The deer tick lives in a cave in the mountains and can barely sustain himself. He's an ungrateful parasite that enjoys himself only when he's feeding off another. When the tables are turned he's nasty and mean. A stomper and a slammer of doors. An ineffectual thwarter of his perceived tormentor. Sure, he talks a good game. Burps up his food and suggests it is best to be a giver than a receiver. Conveniently forgetting what's been done for him. Debts forgiven. Gifts. Everything.
Thank God they make a pesticide for his type. It's also a good idea to avoid his habitat. It smells there anyway. Of the deceased and soon to be deceased. Just like any dream he ever had. Just like piss down a rope.

three toes

By the light of the full moon, old Cheyenne would saddle his horse and ride out into the Badlands. He'd been riding full moons for years hunting old Three Toes, the crippled wolf that haunted Sage Creek. As the moon rose into the night, old Three Toes would howl and cry. Old Cheyenne would follow the lament into the canyon-like creek bottom among the scattered Cedars and sagebrush. He'd ride over the sand bars and wade the alkali waters that pooled here and there, creating eddies of white clay. His buckskin mare picked its path with care and jerked her head sharply at Three Toes crying.
Last night, the full moon rose and old Cheyenne saddled the mare. He rode out on a dusty buffalo trail and down to the creek. Old Three Toes howled on cue and Cheyenne turned the mare in the direction of the call. The steep embankment was littered with snow and ice and the mare stumbled as she descended. Old Cheyenne, not as spry as he once was, slipped from his saddle and tumbled down the steep bank to the creek below. A broken collarbone jutted from his left shoulder.
Old Three Toes approached silently, surveying the scene. With care, he drug Old Cheyenne from the frigid water and onto the sandy, rocky flat. He chased the mare home and set to howling in Old Cheyenne's yard. There was nobody there to hear. Old Cheyenne died that night, but Three Toes is still out there, howling and crying for his best and oldest friend.

opening all the gates

I still can't get the parking gate to open when I drive up out of the underground parking. Tonight, Anissa, a very pretty Somali came out of the Central Parking ramp office and after I signed the form, lifted the gate with her special gate-lifting device. One way or the other, it's free parking in a heated underground ramp that would otherwise cost me $18.00 a day, minimum. Yikes! I ain't made of money.
Anissa asked me my name and I confirmed hers. Since I like to work fast in matters of the heart, I figure the next step is meeting her parents and/or extended family, sharing some canjeero and subag (ghee) and sugar followed by black tea in the morning and a proper session chewing khat with the elders in the heat of the afternoon. Forget anything you've heard to the contrary, these folks is just folks and I like them. Eventually, one will say, "Xalwadii waad qarsatey!", the phrase that follows a person who has eloped or has a small, private wedding. They are suggesting a kinship via romance. I hesitate before smiling and decline.

i can't see (everybody notices)

I can't see very well in the shower. I can't wear my glasses in there because they fog up. I can make out the outlines of my Target brand hair and body wash but if I lose the bar soap, I'm done for. I lost the charger for my toothbrush (ain't they all "powered" these days?) so it refuses to cooperate and is only capable of brushing one tooth at a time. It's dang tedious, brushing that way.
I  can't see my sidekick, Willie. He's in Pierre, SD. Hanging there until I can get a place that will accept his weirdness. It always takes time to get Willie in. He's half feral, part nocturnal and pretty much in charge (he thinks) when he's present.
But what bums me out the most is that I can't see my girlfriend in RC (I moved to MPLS). She is my darling one. Sweeter than my Aunt Iva's Chokecherry Jelly. Flashing green eyes, a smile that would beguile the least among us and a disposition that charms me to death. When she's near, I can't take my eyes off her.
Everybody notices.
I'm a creep.

jerry willuweit

One of the last of the true SD cowboys passed away last month. Jerry Willuweit, August 7, 1943 - January 14, 2010.
From his memorial:
"He loved trailing cows, breaking horses and playing cards ... [but] Jerry's passion in life was rodeo. From riding bulls and broncs as a young man to steer roping in his later years every aspect of the sport thrilled him. [...] With his oversized silver belly tipped to one side and one pant leg tucked into his boot Jerry could be seen sitting behind the chutes at almost any rodeo. He was a lifetime member of the PRCA."
I haven't met very many cowboys that rode as long and hard as Jerry or had as big a heart. I was lucky enough to ride along once or twice. Today I stopped by the State Brand Board to check on the status of my father's brand (renewal due May 1) and it made me think of Jerry. He most likely helped brand some of my dad's cattle. Rest in peace my friend, I'll see you at the big rodeo upstairs. I'm sure if I mention your name, St. Peter will hand me a beer and let me right in, no questions asked.
PS: I'll bring your rigging.

My foot's in the stirrup,

My pony won't stand.

Goodbye, old partner,

I'm leaving Cheyenne.

marsha

So an attack is underway in some place called Marsha in Afghanistan. It's in one of the "stan" based countries. I knew a guy named Stan from Aberdeen. He once attacked me with an empty ice cube tray after a foosball dispute and I retaliated with a shot to the thigh using a 2 iron. I can't remember who won the game or the fight, but foosball was big then and often lead to fights.
But more to the point, it depresses me that we would attack a city named after a major figure on The Brady Bunch. I know Marsha deserved a lot of heat. She was tall and pretty and served as the perfect counterpoint to the sourpuss Jan. Plus, there was always that Greg "thing".  Awesome plotlines, intensely fulfilling drama. Cars and bikes and science experiment volcanoes. Jeepers!
So - anyway - this attack in Marsha, what kind of scene is that? Sounds really lame. For one gun and a 100 rounds of ammunition I could have the most kick-ass foosball table ever. Sweet!

be careful

As you may have noticed, Hootenanny has taken a recent turn towards the culinary arts, adding content and links to food-related material. However, we must caution that care be taken. The tools of this art can become weaponry.
To wit, a line from a local police-blog:
"[Ms.] Lone Hill was arrested on Tuesday after allegedly attacking her victim while in a drunken fit". Lone Hill used a common kitchen knife. Enraged and under the influence, she stabbed her victim in the thigh missing the heart by a mere three feet or so. Had she gone inside, she could have nailed the carotid.
Ms. Lone Hill is in custody tonight. The knife cleared the lab and is in the secured evidence locker. The arraignment is Monday in 7th Circuit Court. Ms. Lone Hill will be charged with aggravated assault. She doesn't have the cash to bail out so she'll sit until she pleads guilty.
Kitchen cutlery is dangerous. If used properly, only children and family pets are endangered. Used malevolently,  they can kill.

horsemeat avocado burritos

3 lbs horsemeat
6 ripe avocados
2 tbsp olive oil
22 oz rock salt chunks
mentholated petroleum rub
drug


1. leave horsemeat in sun to ripen (minimum 2-3 days depending on weather). horsemeat should smell like spoiled meat. pound flat with large wooden mallet. cut into large meat-circles with metal trashcan lid. transfer to roadway to further flatten horsemeat. remove rocks and other road detritus. boil in area hot spring until softened. horsemeat should be stiff but malleable.

2. place six ripe skin-on avocados in blender. blend avocados until blended. blend again. mix with olive oil. blend again to achieve paste-like consistency.

3. coat horsemeat discs with petroleum rub and rock salt. spread with avocado mix. if desired, add crushed lithium or placidyl. roll prepared discs into burrito shaped tubes.

4. last,  and most importantly, hide the results in neighbor's bushes for eight days. hopefully, neighbor's dog who barks all night-every night and poops in your yard will eat them and die.

(JUST KIDDING! It's easier to just shoot an offending dog with an Amazonian poison arrow.)

pat's meatloaf

Two pounds venison, beef or pork or any combo of the three.

One onion

One pepper

A few garlic cloves minced

Two stalks celery

Mushrooms if you want.

Sautee all vegetables until soft

Cool down

To the meat and cooled vegetables add:

2 eggs

½ cup milk

1 cup bread crumbs or cracker crumbs.

Mix all together and add salt and pepper to taste Fresh parsley if you have it.

Bake for ½ hour at 350 then top with ketchup that you have mixed some brown sugar in.

Cook until done probably another ½ hour.

not bad oranges

Not Bad Oranges has disbanded again. It was done before I could get to Minneapolis for the tour strategy meetings and was presented as a fait accompli. I'm not surprised. Things were not coming along well with the tour logistics. No bus, no instruments and no bookings. I guess sometimes it's way too early to consider your band a headliner.
But guys, we could have borrowed Terry's Uncle's van. It's done in a purple inflected Prince-The-Artist theme with eight track (only Prince tapes, pre "formerly known as" era), neon replica Prince guitar and working mirror ball. Terry or Pat have my old guitar which I traded for back in the 2609 Columbus days for a Replacements cassette (When The Sh*t Hits The Fans) that I bought in Sioux City on my way back from NYC. The beast didn't have any strings and I think the neck was warped due its leftward angle but it looked extremely cool.
The trouble started with my request to bring my girlfriend on the tour. I met her at the 311 Bar in NE Minneapolis about 15 years ago. She was a Draghounds groupie at the time. Green eyes and a blue eyed soul. Worked at Mayslacks during the day, just up the street, making roast beef sandwiches. Got all her piercings at St. Sabrina's on Hennepin from my friend Leslie. Got her a job at Psycho Suzie's Motor Lounge. Fell in love. Bought a condo. Got a cat. Started working again.
Long story short, the band doesn't like her. She broke us up once before and they started calling her Yoko. That didn't set well with her. It didn't set well with me either and to move on I moved into my Americana-Roots-Music phase. It was a complete disaster. For both of us. Rick Rubin decided not to produce my album of reworked Lightning Hopkins. My car was repossessed. The cat ran away. We broke up.
But she and I repaired the damage. Fell back in love. And in the process broke up the band once again. Dang! Why can't we have our cake and eat it too? I'll buy some candles! Not Bad Oranges is the second most important thing in my life!

mpls

The moving is finally underway for real. I arrived in MPLS Wednesday night. Met with new Boss on Thursday. Was formally offered (offer had been made previously, just needed to complete some paperwork) and attended an orientation on Friday. My title is Project Manager as it was with my previous company. I like that title. No one knows what it means, but it sounds important.
I found an apartment in NE MPLS a couple of blocks from the Mississippi River and the old Grain Belt Brewery which now houses mostly advertising agencies, artist's studios, galleries and shops. The neighborhood is rife with coffee shops, neighborhood-type, blue-collar bars and ethnic restaurants. I can see I'll be eating a lot of Vietnamese Cuisine! It's not too far from downtown either whose skyline I can see through my bedroom window. Today I'll stop for lunch at Kramarczuk's Eastern European Deli, pick up some cheese at Surdyk's and later stop by Quang Deli on Nicolet to pick up some Bahn Mi Thit Bale, the best sub sandwhich known to man. No time for Pho though I may grab some for later.
It's great to be back in the City. I've lived in a major metropolitan area since first leaving South Dakota (for good) over 20 years ago. I no longer feel comfortable in a rural environment. I can't explain myself there. Of course, I will miss my very good friends who have remained but I will not miss the isolation and emptiness. I suppose I may return to hunt or fish, but not often. I can do that anywhere and most of my friends live elsewhere now like me.
I'm heading back for the last time on Tuesday. I need to pick up my things and my cat, Willie. He is my sidekick and goes where I go. He'll have lots to do here. My apartment in MPLS has a yard and trees and a shared garden. There should be plenty of bugs and birds to draw his interest. He never went outside in South Dakota unlike his wandering ways in Gilbert, Laveen and Phoenix, AZ where he is from (actually he was born on a horse ranch in Apache Junction, east of Mesa). I can't blame him for his insular behavior, South Dakota is crawling with Sweethearts and Hillbillies. Mostly the latter. Willie couldn't find a Sweetheart in SD, I suppose. They are few and are to be treasured when found because they usually are the best.
So that's the story. Willie and I are moving on - or moving back. To place more like home. Where we belong. Maybe we'll see you at a show. The Magnolias play the entry in April. Spoon will take the mainstage the same weekend. Willie scored tics for the sold-out Cymbals Eat Guitars show at the Cedar. Seems he already has a connection behind the bar at Pizza Luce.

spoon

A spoon is a utensil consisting of a small shallow bowl, oval or round, at the end of a handle. A type of cutlery (sometimes called flatware in the United States), especially as part of a place setting, it is used primarily for serving. Spoons are also used in food preparation to measure, mix, stir and toss ingredients. Present day spoons can be made from metal (notably flat silver or silverware, plated or solid), wood, porcelain or plastic.
It's also a band from Austin, Texas with a new album out - Transference. Buy it and I'll tell Mr. Daniels when I see him on the mainstage at First Avenue in Minneapolis on April 4th.

coffee press

I left my coffee press in Phoenix when I moved and I desperately needed another while staying in the home of a coffee abstainer. Instant coffee was not doing the trick. I could not even approximate the rich, instant coffee a friend could make as if by magic. Mine came out sour, dirty and mean. Half and half only turned it tan. It was still rank. Sour, dirty and mean.
I knew I needed a simple French coffee press. No wires. No filters. No dripping. Just hot water and an organic French roast and a little half and half. I had $27.00 in cash to spend. Thus armed and motivated, I ventured forth to a Super Target. Nope. A Walmart. Nope. Dunn Bros, Caribou. Nope, nope.
Bewildered and losing hope, I texted a friend. She answered immediately suggesting Starbucks, any location. I had intended to stop at the Starbucks on Rushmore Road on my way home but her suggestion confirmed I was likely to find one there and it was true. They had three. Varieties. I picked the mid-priced press made in Poland. My sense of relief was palpable. The cashier/barista picked up on it, stating, "You really needed this didn't you?" Of course, I'd mentioned my search efforts but nonetheless, she could tell I was relieved. It was as if I'd been reborn.
I texted my thanks to my helpful and knowledgeable friend and hurried home. I didn't make coffee right away but plan to soon. I'll have it tonight. With ice cream.

my expensive 12 day vacation

1 Private Med/Surg $4,380.00
2 Intensive Care Post ICU $2,080.00
3 Cor Care General $18,900.00
4 Pharmacy General $3,318.34
5 Pharmacy Self Administered $4,096.12
6 Pharmacy IV Solutions $2,569.93
7 Pharmacy Other $97.49
8 IV Therapy General $475.00
9 M/S Supply General $654.38
10 M/S Supply Sterile Supply $2,578.46
11 Laboratory General $1,137.00
12 Laboratory Chemistry $6,784.00
13 Laboratory Immunology $744.00
14 Lab Hematology $2,509.00
15 Lab Bacteriology/Microbio $1,476.00
16 Lab Urology $230.00
17 Radiology Diag General $485.00
18 Radiology Diag Chest Xray $1,500.00
19 Cat Scan Head $889.00
20 OR Svcs General $7,207.00
21 Blood Stor/Proc General $3,452.00
22 Oth Imag Ultrasound $246.00
23 Respiratory SVC General $12,296.00
24 Physical Therapy General $414.00
25 Physical Therapy Evaluate $39.00
26 Occupational TPY General $50.00
27 Occupational TPY Hour CHG $180.00
28 Occupational TPY Evaluate $39.00
29 Speech Pathology Evaluation $114.00
30 Emergency Room General $2,098.00
31 Pulmonary Function General $3,226.00
32 Clinic General $1,573.00
33 MRI Brain (inc brainstem) $2,180.00
34 Drug Spec ID Detail Coding $9,282.04
35 EEG General $753.00
36 Psych SVCS Rehabilitation $277.00
37 Other Ther General $176.00
38 Prof Fees Other $32.00
39 CRNA Services $1,836.00
40 Rapid City Emergency Physician $655.00

ADJ UNINSURED $10,102.88
Billed Charges to date: $101,028.76
Total Due: $90,925.88

PLEASE HELP!

take me down

I can't breathe, I can't swallow.
I'm here today, I'll be gone tomorrow.
Lyrics by Paul Westerberg and the Replacements
Album title: "Hootenanny"
Song Title: "Take Me Down to the Hospital"

I've sort of gathered the information necessary to explain what happened that resulted in my most recent extended stay in a medical facility, but it's more difficult when you just can't remember the majority of facts and experiences that form the core. Those who were there have differing recollections or missed key events. So this will probably always be a work in progress. I have consulted with many people but mostly two that I've tried to run through this with chronologically, fact-by-fact. Still, I can barely make sense of it.

I do know I was admitted to Rapid City Regional Hospital on November 22, 2009. I was disoriented and confused. I was admitted to the ICU. In the ICU, I was physically restrained and medicated into a stupor to prevent my unknowing attempts to remove a breathing tube and later, a catheter. This medication and the illness combined to result in a virtual coma. I remember none of this and it continued through Thanksgiving of which I was likewise unaware. A close friend and/or my brother visited me almost daily though I did not realize it.

I was deemed contagious and all who saw me during this time, the aforementioned friend, my brother and the doctors and nurses, wore full protective gear including gowns, masks and plastic facial gear. I was in the ICU, drifting in and out. Hallucinating. Sort of hovering between bad and worse. I could not breathe unassisted and brain-wave activity was minimal. According to the attending physicians, permanent brain damage was likely or had already occurred.

My blood and urine were closely scrutinized. I was never really told what was found or not found.

Still, I cannot independently recall this.

As my senses slowly returned I became aware of my friend's presence but continued to hallucinate. I could not remember her name. She asked me if I knew who she was but her name escaped me. At some point, the breathing tube had been removed and I could speak, albeit in a limited and painful fashion. So I spoke very little when I spoke at all.

I do not recall any of this.

As I slowly fell back to earth, I was moved out of ICU and eventually to the 10th floor. It's been mentioned that I was surly and mean but I don't recall being so. My brother told me I was polite but not particularly pleasant. Go figure!

I was in Room 1012 where I would remain until discharged. I was fitted with a PIC line and fed massive amounts of antibiotics. I slowly began to recall who and where I was. I don't know if it was the previous drug therapy and restraint or the sickness, but I was not always a pleasant fellow. My friend stood by me. My brother missed a week of work for me.

Over time my condition improved as did my memory. My brother brought me some real clothes. T-shirts and athletic shorts and my flip-flops. I started joking with the nurses. I listened intently to the Doctors and followed instructions or even anticipated them. I started doing physical therapy when I wasn't even scheduled to. I excelled in improvement. My hospitalist (primary doctor) marveled at my consistent recovery and improvement. Sue, my primary nurse, was a big factor, consistently encouraging, witty and kind. She was looking out for me.

Friends began calling and showing up to visit. That really made me feel better and I know hastened my recovery. On a particularly good day, 5 visited in person over the course of the day and several others called. I was humbled by their concern.

I was discharged Friday, December 4, 2009 by Dr. Smith. My brother picked me up and we drove back to Hill City. I could only walk with the assistance of a walker but discarded it as soon as I could (basically the next day) knowing I couldn't rely on it for long. Plus, I've got a thing about those kinds of tools. I have too much pride, I guess, too hobble about like an invalid. I'll take it back to the hospital.

Still, speaking was at times difficult so I spoke as little as possible.

After all of this, I'm feeling better each day. Regaining my strength. Wondering what I've done to have so many great, caring friends and family. Each of them helped break my fall and I am grateful. They are wonderful people. This is a wonderful world. I am truly blessed.

12/20/2009 UPDATE: Feeling great. Mentally sharp. Sleeping and eating well. Fully recovered except for some lingering weakness.

12/26/2009 UPDATE: Bills rolling in. Health back to normal. Have taken a job in Minneapolis, MN. Leave soon. Will miss my friends but it is time to move on. Time to regain my place.

The Diagnosis: Bacterial Meningitis.

Bacterial meningitis is one frightening illness. The infection moves so fast, it can kill within days.

In the United States, bacterial meningitis mainly affects adults. Immunizations continue to help prevent childhood bacterial meningitis. Most people who get bacterial meningitis get it from one of two types of bacteria: Streptococcus pneumoniae or Neisseria meningitidis.

These bacteria often live in the body, most often in the nose and throat, without causing illness. But the bacteria can cause meningitis if they get into the bloodstream and travel to the cerebrospinal fluid or the tissues (meninges) that surround the brain and spinal cord. These bacteria also can be passed from one person to another, usually through infected saliva or mucus.

Two other bacteria that sometimes cause meningitis are group B streptococci and Listeria monocytogenes. Meningitis caused by group B streptococci bacteria occurs most often in newborns, who can become infected during or after birth. Meningitis caused by Listeria monocytogenes bacteria occurs most often in newborns and in older adults.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends screening for group B streptococci in all pregnant women at 35 to 37 weeks. Women who have the bacteria are given antibiotics during labor in order to prevent infection in their newborns, and this practice has worked well.

In rare cases, other bacteria cause meningitis, usually in people with long-term medical conditions.

Meningitis also can be caused by other organisms and conditions. It can be a complication of an illness, an injury (particularly to the skull or face), or brain surgery.

Organisms that cause meningitis can be passed from one person to another or passed from rodents and insects to people. But exposure to an organism that causes meningitis does not mean you will get the infection.

Organisms can be passed from one person to another:

Stool could have enteroviruses or certain types of bacteria in it. Washing hands on a regular basis can help prevent you and your children from getting infected this way. More children than adults get meningitis this way.

Through coughing and sneezing. Infected people can pass certain bacteria that are normally found in saliva or mucus in their noses and throats.
Through kissing, sexual contact, or contact with infected blood but fairly rarely through kissing.

In rare cases, some organisms that cause meningitis can be passed to people from rodents and insects. The most common of these are arboviruses (including the St. Louis encephalitis and West Nile viruses), which are transmitted through dust and food contaminated by the urine of infected mice, hamsters, and rats.

today is the greatest

i drew a re-ride

and as soon as get my riggin' back, i'm outa here. next rodeo's in bremerton then all the way down south to henderson. truck's still limpin' along just like me. tore up my ACL in cheyenne, my shoulder was done in for by the time i got to billings and i been drinkin' so much I see blurry in the morning. sometimes my legs go numb.
can't take coffee no more. it eats at my guts. mostly it's just CC and cocaine for breakfast. when I got money. don't see much of that anymore. a gal in el paso asked me to stay. to settle down. but i can't. ridin' keeps me alive. my boots are dirty but not from work. their dirty with the lights, the horses and the dust; sweat and warm beer and copenhagen.
i drew a re-ride tonite. horse wouldn't buck. just took off runnin' on a straight shot to nowhere. just like me, i guess.

gravity wagon

wanted a small gravity wagon that might be sitting in your trees or not used any more. any where between 150-250 bushels. need fixing ok let me know what you have and price. will also consider just the box. have access to running gear. thanks

Craigslist South Dakota

PS: who doesn't need a gravity wagon
PPS: that would be a cool band name

grouse with a stick

my brother just told me a story. our older brother, too young at the time, asked Mom if he could take grandpa's shotgun out to hunt grouse.
she said, hell no
dejected, older brother walked out along the country road and happened upon a car-killed grouse. past it's prime. grub infested. he found a stick in the ditch, poked it into the dead bird and carried it home.
he took the impaled dead bird home, walked into the kitchen and said "look Mom, I got a grouse with a stick". Mom didn't miss a beat, she said "you clean it, I'll cook it."

who's gonna watch

this song is for my mom - hi mom

finally sold the legos

even though it took almost two hours, we sold them dang legos at the 11th street rummage sale. these were non-conforming legos, abnormally big legos in pastel colors. horrifically ugly. someone put them in ziploc freezer bags. there were four bags visible and we started at two bucks a bag, hence an asking price of eight dollars, cash.
my associate and i worked the rummagers individually and in groups. she, having the better business mind, determined our price exceeded value so we dropped the price to five bucks. it wreaked havoc on our margin but at least someone else would have to throw them away or give them away "used". sorta like hand-me-down underwear. uh, thanks grandma.
finally, we got a nibble, then a bite. my associate (Heather) set the hook and we reeled the rummager in at four bucks. it was then that a fifth bag was discovered. having a lawyerly bent, i asserted verbal rescission of contract based on mistake in fact regarding the essential terms.
it was no go. the rummager was prepared for the possibility of rescission and had prepared her argument in advance. she cited south dakota codified law regarding verbal "arrangements" with respect to yard/rummage sales, to wit: All Sales Are Final Regardless. No contractual obligations have been created by the offer or acceptance. South Dakota jungle-monkey-style law.
things were not going well with our venture so i faked left then darted right towards my truck to get my skinning knife and gun. unfortunately i didn't get very far before the rummager's accomplice got a foot in that sent me sprawling. you can still see the dent in the door of the neighbor's truck.
at this point i can only relate what i've been told. i lost consciousness for some time, maybe an hour or so. when i recovered, i guess i kept mumbling, "save the legos, save the legos'.
but heather had already sold all five bags for four bucks. killed our margin. our profit for the day was just about enough to buy a single peanut. if they were still sold individually.

laundry at the conoco

i don't particularly like doing laundry but at some point it becomes a necessity if you want to travel about without arousing suspicion. i didn't want to arouse a great deal of suspicion or draw undue attention so i bucked up. i got a roll of quarters at the bank with my debit card and headed for the laundromat because where i'm hiding right now does not include the on site convenience.
i loaded up my truck and headed for the conoco station where you can either do your own laundry or pay and leave it to have it done. i wasn't aware of the second option until i got there or i probably would have paid someone else to do it. i'm lazy when it comes to laundry.
i wasn't able to find my iPod so i was bereft of tunes. i didn't bring a book either (not thinking, i guess). so i sat and stared intently at the wall during the wash cycle simply wishing the time away. then i moved my chair and watched the clothes tumble about through the glass window in the dryer. i imagined a david and goliath scenario as the jeans seemed to be fighting the socks. it was touch and go with all the tumbling and what have you. socks seemed to have an edge. jeans just flopped about lazily.
then a portly, poorly-dressed, scarf-headed-middle-aged lady came in with her laundry in white garbage bags. she gave me a sideways glance. it wasn't a friendly glance. like the transylvanian evil eye. i remained absolutely motionless, sighing occasionally as the socks infiltrated and eventually dominated the jeans. this seemed to concern her even more. the sighing, that is. sensing this, i took it up a level and began constructing a fort from the empty laundry carts. i blocked her access to the soap vending machine.
she left hurriedly. seems she told on me. the attendant came to survey the scene. needless to say, i'll have to do my next load at the other laundromat.
i promise i'll be good.

kooky

I'm kooky in love with a girl so I'm posting this song for her. I have to leave town in two weeks and she can't come with me. I suppose I figure I'll cry like a baby. But even so, I love it all. Love it all. Love it all.
And always will.

The Kooks
Love It All

fishin' nickels from the urinal

Left phoenix on the 202, caught the 17 north, cut east at flagstaff, gassed up in Winslow. I-40 to Albuquerque. I-25 north to Santa Fe. Shootin' for Pueblo, Colorado. Truck was loaded tight. Willie in a cage beside me.
Stopped again in Las Vegas, NM. Just to fill the tank. But I was running out of gas and grabbed a motel room instead of driving on. I was thirsty though and after scoring a room key, decided to locate a cold beer amongst the local populace. It didn't take me very long.
Bar was full. It was karaoke night. Three tacos for a dollar. A lot of cowboy hats. Seemed cool though, so I headed for the bar. Had three beers there and realized I should inspect the Men's Room before I had another. It was just left of the pool table.
I ventured in but there was something of a line so I stood back and held my place. I said to the cowboy standing next to me, "How do I move ahead in the line?"
He said, "You don't. But when you get there,if you want to hold your place, 'just pretend your fishing nickels from the urinal."

mexican tackle box

i was broke and needed beer and cigarettes so i borrowed ten bucks from the mexican (Eddie) across the street and later that night he knocked on my door and asked to use my cell phone. because he did for me, i did for him and gave him the phone. i knew he'd bring it back. and he did.

when he did he realized he'd locked his keys in his truck. we got in after about an hour. good thing thing the cops didn't drive by. we couldn't have explained ourselves. neither of us is very smart. he asked if i liked to fish. yes, i said. then he gave me a tackle box with hooks, bobbers, lures and a chain stringer.

probably the best gift i have ever got.

mexican tackle box.

i think i know how it feels

i want to move to Montreal to be in love. as soon as possible. remembering bedrooms. and the colors. gotta get out of here. just go.

i see shadows. eyes shooting sparks. something filled me up, not gonna cry before i turn the summer into dust.

guess this sounds weird but i guess this is how to adjust. can't shoot straight with a point of view.

girl, i'm crashing towards you. i understand it now. my whole life prepared me.

to be yours.

ghosts

they live in iceland. ghosts do. they can't often be seen. but a friend caught one in a window. she got a pic. amazing. seems real. sure it's not. a real ghost. I mean because i've seen a few of those. not what you would expect. they look like people. they try to cry but can't. they just scream silently. helplessly hoping you'll take notice.

they have satellite skin and their breathe smells like kerosene. they take everything out of context. i'm scared of them.

they still visit me. they say we won't be sleeping in our own bed. everyone can find their way out. to live is to die.

thanks alexandra mekkin for the pic

gigantic one way gate

the folks they just can't take it no more.

throw you in the back seat and slam the door. drive you through a gigantic one way gate. a big old nurse all dressed in white, slaps you on a table in the middle of the night. straps you down real tight. shoots you full of thorazine. insulin shock on it's deadly way. you can't move, you can't get away. you thought it was a death sentence but they decided to give you life instead. packed up some stuff to keep in your head.

you wonder what do i have to do? could be TB, maybe a tumor. maybe a sickness i can't prove.

then upon a sunlit day they figure they can't cure you so they send you away. on your merry way. back through the gigantic gate. out onto the dusty street. dirt collecting on you feet. smell's like heaven. an empty place.

no one is waiting for you. nobody's on the outside to be found.
you wonder what's the use, you realize you're just tryin' to stay above the ground. you go ahead and move towards town. your head is empty, your eyes are too. you don't know what to do.

but you know living is dying. it's no place to fall into or out of. so you put on your flyin' shoes and try to be here now. so close and yet so far away.

Townes Van Zandt

John Townes Van Zandt (March 7, 1944 – January 1, 1997), best known as Townes Van Zandt, was a country-folk music singer-songwriter, performer, and poet. Many of his songs, including "If I Needed You," "To Live Is To Fly," and "No Place to Fall" are considered standards of their genre. AllMusic has called him "one of the greatest country and folk artists of his generation."

While alive, Van Zandt was labeled as a cult musician: though he had a small and devoted fanbase, he never had a successful album or single, and even had difficulty keeping his recordings in print. In 1983, Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard covered his song "Pancho and Lefty", scoring a number one hit on the Billboard country music charts. Despite achievements like these, the bulk of his life was spent touring various dive bars, often living in cheap motel rooms, backwoods cabins and on friends' couches. Van Zandt was notorious for his drug addictions, alcoholism, and his tendency to tell tall tales. He suffered from manic depression, and attempts to treat it with insulin shock therapy erased much of his long-term memory.

Van Zandt died on New Years Day 1997 from health problems stemming from years of substance abuse. The 2000s saw a resurgence of interest in Van Zandt. During the decade, two books, a documentary film and a number of magazine articles about the singer were created. Van Zandt's music has been covered by such notable and varied musicians as Bob Dylan, Lyle Lovett, Norah Jones, Steve Earle and The Meat Puppets.

flyin' shoes

It won't be long before I'll be tyin' on my flyin' shoes. It won't be long.
I'd like to stay. See time turn the green water to white and blue, but the mountain moon forever sets too soon.
I get so tired of these same old blues. It won't be long, before I'm tyin' on my flyin' shoes.

Townes Van Zandt

RIP Jim

One of my very first posts on Hootenanny was about Jim Carroll. His death last Friday reminded me of college summers drinking cheap, no-name whiskey purchased from the bargain bin, smoking what little dope we had and speeding along dirt roads in my Buick Opel in the middle of the night listening to the Jim Carroll Band's "Catholic Boy" on a battery powered cassette player. Jim was an American icon during a long era of great, batshit-crazy writers beginning in the 50's and 60's and including the likes of Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Bukowski. It was writing based in authenticity and as Thompson referred to it, "bad craziness", drugs and alcohol. I learned a new way to write by reading them and though I tried to write like them too, never quite hit the mark. And now Jim's dead too. Rest in peace Jim Carroll, you will be missed.

5.29.2006

if nothing is true ... then everything's permitted



Jim Carroll
A Catholic Boy and a great American poet.

cannot make this up

I'm sitting outside in the cool desert morning, copy of the Sunday NY Times, beautiful sunrise behind a palm tree silhouette, cigarette and dark roast in hand when I look up and see the neighbor across the street. Never seen him in daylight before. Only behind the porchlight when I'm outside grilling.
I notice he seems to have a basketball tucked under his shirt. Seems odd, but I pay little attention at the time. Back to the paper. Then I glance over again and realize he's not wearing a shirt! Apparently he swallowed a basketball and it's in his belly and it's yet to deflate. As I ponder this, a woman (I think), shows up in a long white bathrobe/cape or some other weirdo-miscellaneous sleeping apparatus (I presume) wearing a plastic shower cap (recent perm?). This presents a scene that will forever be burned in my conscious mind and remind me of the weirdness that is Phoenix, AZ. It's like getting a free ride on the Twister at the parking lot carnival. Or a convenience store pickle.
The best things in life are either cheap or free.

roddy's shoes

these shoes belong to a rock star. he bought them in istanbul. what more can i say?

siti

This is my friend Siti Nurhafizah. From Kulm, Malaysia. A Muslim. A sweetheart with no harm in her heart. Just a nice kid in a faraway land. She has a pretty smile and a nice disposition and an interest in people everywhere.
She taught me how to make stir-fried prawns in Tomyan sauce with cabbage and rice. Awesome!

rancid

just because i dress like this
doesn't mean i'm a communist

don't look away

Got a call tonight from a creditor. My mom "owes" them $165.00 USD. I was listed as a reference, could I help them find her. I said yes, I could. Do you have a number, I was asked. I said I'm not sure about a number, but I can give you a location. Where would that be sir? I said right next to my father in Wall, SD. We buried her there. In a brass box.
The person on the phone didn't get it and asked again, do you have a number? Your dad's number. I said 1964. What? 1964. That's when he died. She didn't miss a beat. OK, then your Mom's number would be? I paused to think. A while thereafter I said try 2005. She asked for the area code and I said 605.
Then she asked how best to contact her. I said with a shovel and a permit. She's dead too. You'll have to dig her up.
She must have been reading a script because she then asked if I was responsible for her debts. Money-wise? I said yeah, I owe. I owe her a lot, but I don't owe you anything.
Poor girl. She didn't mean it. She started crying on the phone. Sometimes people are real. She was.
I said just don't look away. Steal it while you still understand it.

forget the swan

I hope you forget everything that doesn't make sense anymore. I know that's asking a lot of you, but maybe you can do it just this one time. For me or for you or for both of us.
Forget the swan.
The elegance we could have had but can't reach right now.

There is a hard road ahead as winter approaches. Our winter after our summer of ease and fun.
Now what seemed so easy becomes so hard.

I know I have to go,
I can really only stay so long
We always have to go back to real lives,
and the reason why we want to live other lives.
To feel another world.
Another world.
One last time.
Forever.

how soon is now

Too soon to tell, too early to quit, but soon enough to always option out and run off down a country road. Sometimes you don't got nothing left but a pair of sneakers and a friend and a gravel road to nowhere. Sometimes that's all you need.
Other times you need more. But that's not as easy as running away from it. So you don't and I know you won't. Much as you might want to, I know you won't. I trust in that.
So if I see you some day soon friend, and I know I will, let's put on our sneakers and just run down that road for the hell of it. Down an old gravel turnpike, weeds to either side, a light breeze blowing and the best we could ever hope for.

Thanks Sunneva Snorradóttir, for the awesome photo!

51st and glendale

I found her at the corner of 51st and Glendale at the feed store. I was buyin' a bag of rosin for my bull rope so I could get it ready for the rodeo coming up in Gilbert. Needed a new glove too. Then I looked down the aisle and saw the damndest, prettiest gal I'd ever seen. Didn't give it too much thought at the time but then I ran into her again at checkout. She was buying salt blocks, chicken feed and ant poison for the damn ants that get into the chicken feed. Not that the chickens won't eat the ants right along with the feed "but they tend to crawl into your boots." she said.
Now I had already taken off my hat (Justin, white straw, 20 bucks on sale at the local western outfitters, made in Mexico), simply hoping she would know what that meant. She commented on my ropers. A little worn, worse for the wear and tear they are. She was wearing ropers to, same color. Not so worn.
She has green eyes and a smile that lights up the sky. She has a voice that I'm sure makes doves cry. And from the moment I heard that voice and paired it with the beauty before me, I knew I was lost. Done for. In love. So I'm sellin' my ropin' gear and my ponies, cheap. Gonna get a real job. Quit ridin'. Quit windin' up in jail every other Saturday in Pueblo CO, Henderson NE, or Yuma AZ. Can't mention Quartzite since the charges are pending. That was not my gun, by the way.
Sounds funny, I know, coming from a hardened old cuss like me. But I still know a pretty flower when I see one. I'll grow a whole garden full of 'em for her. She is the best thing this old cowboy's got close to in a long time.

little things in life

before I met you baby
the little things in life just passed me by
the sound of children's laughter
the tune to some forgotten lullaby
i was out of town on business
back when i had no place to call my home
i was arrrested by your beauty
we locked into a cell of all our own

you know i love you baby
ah honey what else could i do?
so let me know if there's anything
just anything i can do for you

when i was just a youngster
i collected crazy visions in my head
yeah the scene from 'the night porter'
a broken jelly jar crushed by the bed
yes at times our love was fragile
like a hand me down watch that slows down when its old
but our love could last forever
like a sacred ring of precious stones and gold

before I met you baby
the little things in life just passed me by
the color of the twilight
the reflection of my smile in your eyes

helicopters

every time i think that phoenix has taught me a new lesson in intolerance, they throw helicopters at me. i'm sitting outside in a predominantly Mexican occupied trailer-park and a copter hovers overhead, shining a spotlight. i was under a canopy (word to you copter idiots) and couldn't be seen but i'm annoyed. so i stand in the yard and wait and when they flash me, i represent america with a single finger. like nodding at a jehovah's witness, they take the bait. within minutes i'm surrounded by jackbooted thugs and cans of pepper spray.
who are you? what are you doing here (in America shouldn't I be asking that question?)
do you live here? um, maybe, who's asking.
may we approach?
no, you're close enough.
we are concerned that you may be harboring fugitives.
so get a warrant and come back. i'll be asleep and the fugitives that aren't here now probably won't be here then. in the meantime, stay off my property.
they converse, and Cpt. darth vader nods. they leave. mumbling like a gaggle of pure retards.
as they do, i mention the Wafflehouse on McKellips has a cook with M13 tatts. go fuck with him, but not until after you have your eggs, because he's a very good cook. and the waitress will make a fresh pot. if you're nice.

the killer

he came dancing across the water
with his galleons and guns
looking for the new world
a palace in the sun

offered life in sacrifice
so that others could go on

i know she's living there
and she loves me to this day
i still can't remember where or how i lost my way

if i could lose my mind

This is a short segment paraphrasing the words and work of Curt Kirkwood, who with his brother Chris and Derrick Bostrom, formed one of the greatest, most articulate and more eccentric bands of the early '80's right here in Tempe, AZ. (Tempe? Obviously rich kids.)
Curt lives in Austin now, my friend Ken ran into him there recently, I don't recall Ken's recounting of the conversation but Ken is known in many circles and I'm sure Curt was happy to meet him.
Chris struggled for awhile but has things in order now and is touring with his brother Curt again.
Derrick still lives in Tempe and has a radio gig with Mesa Community College. We speak every now and then (more then than now). He has insight on the early 80's LA scene and when asked about the SST days, he remarked, as I recall, 'it was not fun, Greg Ginn (Black Flag) was an ass'.
I last saw the original group at Cedarfest in Minneapolis in about 1992-3. Don't remember the year but Cedarfest is in August. I biked over from Columbus Ave. and ran into my friend Pat who produced a big fattie. Killer pot. Yikes was I high after that.
The Puppets blew the amps, but a local group whose name I do not recall (I was high, remember?) re-equipped the system in time for Yo La Tengo. Our friends, Tammy and Kim, showed up mid-way through the Yo La Tengo set and it was like magic. Summer in the city.

"There's nothing on top but a bucket and a mop and illustrated book about birds. You might go, but don't be scared, 'cause who needs action when you got words?"

I got a dollar in my pocket and a razor in my shoe.

Plateau.

gonna go meet up with Bigfoot

he has been monitoring my posts and finally contacted me. he wants to meet. seems he has a legal matter in re a splinter cat. i didn't think they had them up around Vancouver but seems they do and I have agreed to represent him. there will be a lawsuit, recriminations and what have you. i may need to borrow your goat (you goat owners know I mean you) and harness to get into the back country. he won't come out. took me over a month to get him on Twitter. don't know how or where he scored the iPhone. probably a tent raid. when Bigfoot comes into camp you either stand your ground and have a smoke with him or run like a girl. i've done both. mostly because he doesn't bathe often enough and stinks to high heaven. plus, he always gets the joint wet before handing it back. it's like Dude, dry your lips.
but he has been working on his English and I've been teaching him a little French. suspect I'll get him and family moved into the suburbs soon. it's cold enough in Minneapolis for all that hair. and the Mick Jagger lips will be sure to turn some heads. just got to get him some Bono sunglasses so we can down some pints like we did in Dublin in '82.

askew

so it all went askew. the train left the tracks. the car was repossessed. i was left with a handful of roofing nails, a sleeping bag and a dead cat; a bottomless pit with nothing in sight. just darkness in a starless night.
i jumped in my truck and drove three miles east on McKellips Road to the Waffle House. dude with M13 tatts made me three eggs over easy, hash-browns and toast. he threw out the coffee and made a fresh pot. there was no one there so we stepped outside for a cigarette - i quit smoking about two years ago but i smoked one there. in the parking lot. by the door. didn't really talk. had nothing to say.
it all comes down to this. no place to go. no place to be. no one to count on. one pair of shoes, two pairs of pants. a blue shirt and the desert before me.
helpless

i can't screw this up

I've been trying very hard to write what I think and what I want to say, but it's not that easy. It's actually very hard. I think I've run into a buzzsaw of emotion because I've found an inescapably beautiful friend. A lifelong deal. A person dear to me. Very dear.

She is the prettiest girl in the world. On every level. It's a solid hold. I don't want anything else.
I'm going to stay with her forever.

If I can.

when it gets hot

When it gets hot in Phoenix we go into full retreat. Air conditioned cars take us to air conditioned offices. We try to park in the shade and determine the best vector into the air conditioned space awaiting. Sidewalks have no purpose to this effort, the grass is dormant anyway, the trees are always the same, always in bloom.
But when you get used to it, you just slow down and take a considered approach. One step at a time. Car, pavement, door, ultimately nirvana. You keep your clothes light and water at hand. You enjoy the heat. It refreshes you. And you go on. Until you go outside again. And do it all over again.

the worst of us

small infractions emotionally. misunderstandings. tiny thinking. love in a vacuum that spans a continent. true weirdness. little hope.
realizing you don't want out, you want in
forever
and ever

the best of us

Can't quite compete. We just run in the race. Hoping we make it to the endline and have someone waiting there. I do. I know that much. If nothing else.

i'm in love with a girl

I'm in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
Who's still around the morning after
We broke up a month ago, and I grew up - I didn't know
I'd be around the morning after

It's always been wait and see
A happy day and then you'll pay
And feel like shit the morning after
But now I feel changed around
And instead of falling down
I'm standing up the morning after
Situations get fucked up and turned around sooner or later
I could be another fool or an exception to the rule
You tell me the morning after

Crooked spin can't come to rest
I'm damaged bad at best
She'll decide what she wants
I'll probably be the last to know
No one says it 'til it shows
See how it is, they want you or they don't
Say yes