Tour Beginnings: Part 1, Night Before

You know you have been too long without a hot shower, without a run in clean air, without a good diet and good shows when things start jiggle as you brush your teeth. Now, I'm not talking about women. They move naturally. But personally, I feel that no part of myself should move in coordination with the strokes of my toothbrush. I notice these things. I notice them because not enough time has passed between tours. The tour is still all over me, like an extra layer I can't scrub off. 

I was jiggling when this idea came to me: To write here about jiggling. It wasn't my balls. My stomach moved. My chest moved. My face, too, seemed in motion. This tour, I think, will be a lean tour. Not a party or celebration where the face puffs up bright and pink and I get happy. 

A new sense of purpose has arisen from the ashes of the Tahoe. The winebago stands ready for the test. At the helm of the RV I'm a grizzled veteran, a trucker with a stash of porn and methamphetamines beating the road down into its grave like a dirty animal. I want to tip my hat to the truckers at gas stops; pick up a conversation like old friends. When some little toyota cuts you off and the wind is howling and almost tips your rig over, you understand why truckers are so goddamned angry all the time. Maybe it's the feeling of riding over everybody and controlling a machine of such bulk that instills such a deep disgust for lesser motor pedestrians. But Camrys and Tundras come across as persistent automatons. They are bent on disturbing the path of the real motor-vehicle, the RV. And that makes me angry and gets my temperature up.

The outing is short one; we've been prudent with scheduling. Nonetheless, the material voyage is a vast one, through miles of empty and full places. But we don't mind, because we're the best band in the world. If you like our music, thank you. If you don't, then fuck you. 

The Frontier Brothers on Fox Good Day Austin

The Frontier Brothers Perform Jump Blues For Fox Good Day Austin


- B

Got a new keyboard.

Old Letter

I found this the other day. I wrote this in 2006, clinically depressed and hating Austin. It's funny. I forgot about the apes.





Jon,


I'm going insane, writer style. Short summary: Outcast here. No friends. Hate everyone and everything. I need your help. I want to write a novel so badly that...(reference first sentence). Poetry is still coming, but I've developed a style that is getting a little stale and hard to work with ( can't stress enough, I'm still going with it) The problem with prose is its lack of concentration. I want to express things directly; it's hard to indulge every expressive whim in a novel.

It's funny that your diagnosis of UT played out to be the exact opposite of reality. Right now, there are no distractions. No parties. Nothing to disturb me. Besides, of course, my fat fuck roommate who plays videogames and watches football all day and generally plays the part of making me a dumber human-being. I had a dream the other night. I was walking behind a small country home and in the brown field behind it and over the hills behind the field, a giant rank and file of apes were plodding along in single file: a big block of them, row upon row of these apes parallel to each other. They all seemed to notice me at once. They turned to their right and began walking straight for me. Sinister-like.

The dream dips into absurdity when I jump into my mother's old minivan and run them down. Dead to the last dirty ape! I've conjectured that these apes are really my perception of the people around me. Therefore, you can understand what kind of dire social situation I'm in.

About the novel, I've grudgingly accepted the necessity of a story outline, and maybe even character situations. Please send me some tips about getting started. I figured you already spent so much time with me, it would be foolish to abandon your investment at this point. Anyway, hope things are going great at CD. Kelly says she really likes the imaginative writing class. I heard you used one of my poems in class. Always flattering.


-Marshall

Girl Buys AK-47, Other relevant stories

Last night we rented The Neverending Story. It was the first time I'd seen it. I avoided it in the past because for some reason I thought the main character was Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I refuse to watch him on screen. 

But the movie was beautiful and I almost cried during the part, 

Bastian: How many wishes do I get?

Empress Moonchild: As many as you want, and the more wishes you make, the more magnificent Fantasia will become. 

For some reason I choked up a bit there. You really have to see it on screen. I love books or movies that go straight to the imagination sentiment. Because it really is true. It's one of the few reasons to keep living. As for the crying, I experienced the same thing at the end of Last of the Mohicans, a pretty crappy movie. If I get into an idea I really work myself up about it. Plus, my med schedule is spotty, and I get hyper-emotional if I don't take them on time. 

A few days ago I visited a local gun show in Fort Worth. I taking a look at this gun behind the counter when I noticed two short, fat mexican girls inspecting an AK-47. They thought I was employee and they asked, "Sir, would this be considered a pistol grip." I felt cool for a second, but had to reveal that I was just a random guy. Anyway, the real owner told the two girls that the rifle (which definitely had a pistol grip) was meant to be shouldered, meaning they could purchase the firearm as long as they were eighteen. I watched as the sale was finalized. The girls didn't seem well acquainted with the weapon; they barely touched it, held it at a distance like some alien specimen. Five minutes later they were walking away with it, out the doors and into the parking lot.

Now I know a lot of people would find this disturbing. It's really not. A civilian Ak-47 is really just a semi-automatic rifle. However, a few years ago a republican legislature halted the ban on over-sized magazines and banana magazines. These hold a shit-load of ammunition and make even crappy gun show Ak's deadly weapons. I've thought about it. Maybe she just wanted a cool gun. Maybe she was buying it for her criminal boyfriend. Who knows. I don't care. If she attacked me, I'd shoot first.