this is lefty the first morning after sleeping on the new mattress. usually, he’s raring to go in the am. stayed in this position for an extra hour an a half …

viva italia … to sharks swimming upstream.

this is what a gig at a thrift store looks like before things really get going.

this is atomic heart. they look like polly pry, kinda, but they ain’t.

this is the great ben bell. he sings a song about killing a woman and tying her white sheet wrapped body to the back of a black horse. he’s cool as fuck.

these are frank’s wild years (the bloody mary years, before carlos gets the skin condition, before frank snaps and torches the place).

i ended up in hell recently and got off this shot before my courageous escape.

the car was still packed full of drums and amps and i hadn’t showered and i was wearing a chunky sweater and no socks and before i could even pull to a complete stop in the parking space, some freak starts approaching the car. he looked worse than me. little short guy with a big belly, wearing sweatpants and a ripped grey t-shirt with a neck hole that was so stretched out you could fit a fucking watermelon through it. caked around his mouth and sprinkled down the front of his t-shirt were white crumbs. he was smoking a cigarette. he had a lazy eye. when the car stops, he’s standing immediately outside my door, and when i get out, he says this to me:

‘he man, can you break a $100?’

guy’s holding a c note right in my face. fucking brilliant. i shoulda had him buy my a coffee …

good night last night. good day, actually. i woke up late again after a night of dollar high lifes at the happy note (cheers to shippy) followed by late night back on the moon porch with two a’s and one b.b. i woke up to my dissertation director and her dog standing on my front porch. we had plans to watch ‘lenny bruce: the performance film’ together and let the dogs play. brooke is very cool in that she can show up at your house with you in a state of serious hungoverness and kick it until you’re able to think. so we sat on the railroad ties out back while chaplain and lefty ran around and shot the shit until i got it together, and then we watched dirty lenny and made notes about iterability and installing the subject as the origin of the speech act and the undoing of temporal progression and performative politics.

followed by a stellar practice with the as yet still unnamed band with tom and shippy …

followed by a bath …

followed by 37 minutes lying supine on the couch watching lebron go fucking mental against the knicks in the first quarter. it’s too easy for that guy at this point. he can do whatever the fuck he wants, whenever he wants …

followed by a gig with the new flatbed honeymoon at chelsea’s. gotta love chelsea’s … the sound is fucking great, they give the bands free draft beer all night (i.e. i had to tell the bartender after my umpteenth stella that i was approaching a point where i would be, from here on out, unaccountable for my actions), and we played with polly pry who are always fucking brilliant. lots of good friends came out and it was a top night all around …

followed by the after party at schmitty’s, where eric played boz scaggs songs on the piano and denise sang moonlight in vermont and shippy played the harp and jimmy was the only one playing like he wasn’t drunk, and all was right in the world …

followed by a very well intentioned kidnapping … sorry, and thank you, and you’re welcome.

cheers.