We Might Need to Start Thinking

About seeking employment in Raphine, Virginia, where we are without a doubt, no joke, no kidding about it: stranded. Virginia is a shadowy realm, a twilight zone, terra icognita.

I don't usual write titles that complete themselves in the text, but as I am in a place, both physically and metaphysically, that I have never been before, the most unexpected and preternatural of actions seemed logical.
In fact, I rarely write sentences like that one.
I am shocked and luck is a real thing.

I know a lot of you have been keeping up with the twitter's and such, but I'll fill you in officially on the time line of horribleness:

August 1 - Trailer tire blows out on a highway at 3:30 in the morning



August 2 - Trailer is totaled by drunk driver outside of Travis's house
August 4 - On the road to Nashville, back outside tire of RV blows out.
- Having reached Nashville, the other back, outside tire begins leaking air.
- By the end of the night, the tire is flat.




August 9 - Back, inside tire blows out, causing a hidden oil leak.
- Engine completely breaks down in Raphine, VA





Funny, the time line doesn't appear that substantial. At least there is no entry reading "Marshall breaks left arm" "Matt get's arrested for PI" "Brett is missing"

I used to think about this poem when times were bad. I'd walk out of my house and think, at least my car is still there. Or, I should be grateful I was not attacked in my home last night by a psychopath with a knife. Now, the poem carries a bit too much irony. Maybe, in that way, the piece will remain special for years to come.

Show Biz

I can't have it
and you can't have it
and we won't
get it

so don't bet on it
or even think about
it

just get out of bed
each morning

wash
shave
clothe
yourself
and go out into
it

because
outside of that
all that's left is
suicide and
madness

so you just
can't
expect too much

you can't even
expect

so what you do
is
work from a modest
minimal
base

like when you
walk outside
be glad your car
might possibly
be there

and if it is-
that the tires
aren't
flat

then you get
in
and if it
starts--you
start.

and
it's the damndest
movie
you've ever
seen
because
you're
in it--




Gone for now, we are still searching for ways to get back. Currently, we are marooned here. But I read in the town newspaper that a dance is going on tonight at the local dance hall. I still have one clean suit left and ten dollars. I know there have got to be some pretty girls.

Wednesday, August 5th, Morning

Very early wake up today. It's still raining from the night before. We played a great show in Nashville, but sadly we've sprung yet another flat tire. The nearest tire joint is about five miles. The trip should be relatively simple.

Last night a little piece of hell broke loose in the sky outside of Nashville. Boy, what a storm. I did notice a few things, though. When moving into a driving rain, the drops become clearly defined at the last second and they look like a hundred or a thousand stars passing by. Also, in the thickest of it, I saw a strange thing. I could make out, just for a second, an object on the road as we drove over it. There was a little toad there, amidst the cars and trucks and howling rain, a toad hopping across the road. The toad appeared to be an albino one. Or maybe its dark, bumpy skin bleached out in the presence of the RV's white lights.

First Day of Tour, August 4th

The RV is ready to go. We are packing the stuff straight into the inside, rather than using the trailer. This makes the RV top heavy, like a christmas tree swaying back and forth, stuffed! We were supposed to leave yesterday, but we had no place to stay. We opted to drive the ten hours today and play the show later tonight. This is no worry, everyone gets their second wind.

Matt and I watched The Hurt Locker last night. The film was intense. Matt experienced some sure fire symptoms of cathartic release, happiness in the shadow of maimed bodies, ultra-low frequency explosions and humming and hard-nosed soldiery. A row of upper-crust, hamster faced fraternities sat four abreast the row in front of us. I heard a few scattered shouts of towel-head and I just want to see some towel-head's get killed! Thanks, Tim and John and Tony and Mark. You're heroes, some real class acts. Matt said, They must have gained a little bit of perspective after seeing that film.

Sadly, no. Their driving, too, lacked the subtlety of an informed political opinion. We smoked their Mustang in a pure route. It was too easy. The STI tore into the gravel and sped away. That was sweet. So sweet. I just know one of the less fortunate of the bunch will grow up to be a police officer. Surely, we will meet again.

The road unfolds ahead, as surely as we expected the road to unfold. With every mile conquered, the road itself is catalogued into a memory type substance. Every mile of track is spooled into a fruit roll up of pavement travel, the forward movement essentially pushes more layers onto the outside of the fruit roll up. Don't know if you get quite what image I'm trying for. You get it. Nashville tonight. The basement. Nice girls, last time we visited. Hope for more of the same.