Chicago. A city with this much monochromatic culture is like a pressure cooker for the strange. These prohibition protesters seemed purposeless, shouting “Hell hath no hell! Turn back while you still can!” When we arrived the cops were just leaving – they had stopped to grab a selfie with the vigil of weirdos. After a meal and catching up with friends, we opened the show to an ecstatic sold out crowd. The Crane Wives wrapped the night neatly in woven harmonies of folk-rock rhapsody. Vince added his voice to the mix for the finale. Fantastic.
Yesterday was one of those long, unreal days that only happen on the road. From 4 PM to 6:30 PM we hung out at a truck stop waiting for our sixth wheel, Bobaba Beebe to materialize via bus. From 3:30 AM to 6 AM Bobaba and I hung around a diner, waiting for a Chicago friend to get off work. Waiting is a huge part of tour. Waiting in green rooms. Waiting around the host’s house. Waiting to get paid. Waiting to play. Waiting, always waiting up till the moment you step on stage. At the same time there’s always something to do, some silly story threaded along our collective existence.
Today we spend our day loitering all across Chicago. There is so much to explore, share, create, and do. I almost want to wait, but I won’t.
Lay down rollaround the LUVS love loft gig, the great Gatsbian party in the sky, part past part future, all now. The holographic moment, layers of texture on layers of vibration on layers of feeling on layers of chemicals on layers of molecular skeletal reality.
Morning finds us on the Brown family farm, a type of paradise but like every paradise – paperthin. We are gone before breakfast has been cleared. In the time between, talk is swing and prayer is something you sing. Dearly beloved we are gathered here to do IT. Consummate the marriage of spirit and flesh with food. A naturally high hang.
Doug Brown makes us Man Tea. It tastes like glorious dirt, made of ground roots and bee pollen. Feels like every time the lightning struck the ground it gathered here for me to drink.
Now we roll on to Chicago, the twisty city blowhard. I feel the pull of spring as we drive in the direction of warm weather. The sun is generous and the breeze kind. The world is froze over but at least it’s bright. Andrew says it is a New Renaissance of Positivity.
This is day two of a tour stretching from Valentine’s to April Fool’s, a coincidental hologram of the album we’re touring, Young Love.
We dive in like Young Love too. So far it is the simple joy of a simple love affair with movement. Tonight we join The Crane Wives for a last taste of the Midwest before becoming more distantly flung.
From the backseat of a dot moving left on a line on a speck in space,
We’ve been sitting around the boys house for about two hours, slowly working our way towards the van and goofing off. This tour will be the book tour for Appleseed – we have an indomitable amount of reading material. My current book is Henry Miller’s “Colossus of Maroussi.” Ben says a friend told him to read “Tropical Cancer Corn.” Sounds like a Halloween themed medical thriller set in Hawaii.
I always write a lot on tour because it’s a good way to talk to myself without looking crazy or annoying everyone in the van. This often takes the form of letters, but this tour I’m only taking three or four envelopes, as I’ll be updating the blog more than writing letters. However… First person to comment gets a letter!
It’s amazing the things you can mail. I’ve heard that with correct postage you can mail a stick. Nobody believes me so I’ll be keeping my eyes open for a good, mailable stick. I also decided I’ll put all my stamps on the small of the back of the envelope from now on. “The Tramp Stamp.” Do you think that’d fly with USPS?
Vince needed some new kicks, so on the way out of town we stopped at the Birkenstock store. Since we are a five person cult, three of us walked out of there with new shoes and now we are stocked on ‘Stocks.
Paul Tinkerhess, local folk-shoe hero gave me a deal on the world’s most comfortable shoes, only cost an arm. I guess he doesn’t take legs, it’d be bad business. Now we’re on the road to Lansing, looking for LUVS in all the right places. Til next time!
So today in news in the world, a 40-foot sinkhole sucked up a few million dollars worth of Corvettes in Kentucky. The ground just opened up and sucked ’em in. Naturally some hilarious people who have nothing to do with those cars are devastated, going as far as suggesting that flags be lowered to half-mast to “honor the fallen vettes.”
There has been a lot of buzz around sinkholes lately, what with their vastly growing popularity amongst various segments of the Earth’s crust. In 2010, a really trendy sinkhole opened up in Guatemala, about 30 stories deep. That’s deep. Harrisburg PA has been really going all out for sinkholes, clocking in at over 40 sinkholes in just the one city. I looked into it and that means there almost SIX sinkholes for every ONE Starbucks. And in Assumption Parish, Louisiana lives a sinkhole 800 feet in diameter and growing.
So if sinkholes are becoming more common, and it seems they are, what’s the cause?
What surprised me is that no one has yet realized that this is clearly another side-effect of the disintegration of our country’s moral fiber. There is an insidious force, hell-bent on profits, digging away at the very foundation under our feet in an attempt to make money. I’m talking, of course, about Moleman.
Even now he is probably racing his priceless vintage booty through the Mammoth Caves towards his secret lair. Of course he’s probably wrecked a few of them on account of he’s mostly blind… how is it that regular moles drive?
Anyways, I’m not worried. I know that when evil strikes, we must bury our heads in the sand and have faith! Yes, it’s only a matter of time before Super Ostrich shows up and pokes his bald head of justice into that shabby hole of misconduct.
When he does show up, I’m sure there’ll be some epic battle with lots of special effects and explosions, and justice will take its course. And Corvette enthusiasts will rejoice at the end of all this mindless destruction caused by Moleman.
“There comes a time in every man’s life when he just straight up wastes time on the internet.” -Our generation to our future kids, if we can ever get off Facebook long enough to procreate.
I had an idea for a blog series today which I thought would be fun. I thought I would ask my friends to comment on my facebook status with a random picture, and that I’d pick a picture and use it as a prompt to write a short story. Could be fun, interactive, etc.
Just to see if my creative mind was up to the task, I poked my nose into google and searched for a random image generator. This is a thing, oh man is this a thing. It’s really pretty magic. I was using Mangle, which offers among others, the horrifying service of opening any random web page on the internet. What are the odds of getting porn? Probably 1. 1 in 1. If you don’t get porn on your first click, Christmas Miracle.
However the random web page generator wasn’t working for me, and what I was really after was some random images. This is a strange and alienating journey. Mangle takes the latest 25 images uploaded to Livejournal (really, Livejournal?) and throws them on a page one after another, no context. Apparently the only people who still use Livejournal are Russians, so you have to translate if you want to know whats going on. Which is a blessing, because most of the time it’s just hilarious when you don’t know what is going on. For example, one of the first images that popped up was this:
Whats going on there? Mystery, intrigue… a rat that is censored in the first image but the next 3 images show the seagull eating the rat whole!? (!!)
I have never given more stock to Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds then right now. Yikes.
After that image I stumbled across this mystifying mind fuck. (excuse my french)
Here were my guesses as to what that/those is/are:
new set of Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Snowpocalypse
radioactive Rock Candy off the coast of Fukushima
an extreme close-up of Lindsay Lohan’s cocaine crusted nose hairs
Turns out I was wrong though. It’s actually slightly more majestic. What you’re looking at is the frozen forests of Finnish Lapland. It is cold there. And there is a lot of snow. It freezes on the trees in really odd ways. I went and tracked down the photographer- Niccolo Banfadini. He was kind enough to let me use his photos in this post. There are more of these really strange and lovely images on his website. You can buy a print from him, hang it on your wall, and tell people its a snow geyser.
As for the seagull/rat guy, I couldn’t really pin down a definitive source. Try: Russia.
“In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God. He lived and died without being more or less important than other artisans; ‘eternal values,’ ‘immortality’ and ‘masterpiece’ were terms not applicable in his case. The ability to create was a gift. In such a world flourished invulnerable assurance and natural humility. Today the individual has become the highest form and the greatest bane of artistic creation.” – Ingmar Bergman, Four Screenplays of Ingmar Bergman (1960)
These days before tour are days of spongey preparing. I have some tasks to complete but am otherwise free to absorb and transmute, stay up late and wallow in dreams, write secret private nothings and complete works that I hope to some day share. Or I’ll toss them out, but either way they are more fodder, more word cud i have chewed the nutrients out of.
So when I stumbled onto this article on Ingmar Bergman and his views of solitude, I enjoyed it a great deal, probably reeking of confirmation bias the whole time. If you didn’t read the article, here is a summary:
Reading up on him has also made me wonder if starting a blog was a good choice. I really hate that word- blog. It lacks dignity, feels like a fat ball of greasy narcissism rolling across my tongue. But I suppose its all in how you use the item. The blog. According to Bergman (if I am receiving him correctly) I should probably lock myself in a spider hole with a legal pad for a week if I want to make anything real. I bet Saddam Hussein had some great poetry when they found him.
Tonight I’m going to attempt to watch The Seventh Seal. Have you watched any Bergman? Any recommendations? Heres another quote by the man himself to send you off.
“The demons are innumerable, arrive at the most inappropriate times and create panic and terror… but I have learned that if I can master the negative forces and harness them to my chariot, then they can work to my advantage…. Lilies often grow out of carcasses’ arseholes.” -As quoted in “Bergman talks of his dreams and demons in rare interview” by Xan Brooks The Guardian (12 December 2001)
It’s 5 days ’til the next Appleseed Collective tour. We’ll be on the road for 6 weeks, everywhere from Chicago to Boulder Colorado to New Orleans, around behind under and in between. I have no doubt it will be an experience. It will be another tribbling life dribble of experience for my old memory hole. Yep.
I’ll be posting some updates on this baby as we go, I write A LOT on tour because it’s a way for me to be “alone”. Whether or not I make it to computer is another matter. But expect to see a bunch of stranger than fiction life updates on this B. Tour is usually ridiculous.
A taste of the strangeness of last tour:
In Miami FL we all got our pictures taken with a homeless Santa Claus for some reason. It was not our idea, or homeless Santa Claus’s idea. Thanks, weird 3rd party photographer! (actually fantastic miami local musician Jesse Jackson) It was at least 90 degrees, we were in the parking lot of a Starbucks, squinting into the sun, the black pavement pouring heat; I remember the streams of sweat running down Santa’s face. They must be great photos.
Found this photo googling Homeless Santa Claus. Danke, ugo.com.