Sandman's Journal

Howdy from the Minneapple! I have many stories to tell, but probably will get called away from this computer too soon to relay them. Three nights ago, I drove my awesome car, 319 JOE, 100 miles to Stanley, ND where I grabbed an armful of Amtrak headed east. The next morning Jack Norton picked me up and drove me straight to Normandale College where I played a lunch-time show. It was my second show there this year. The entertainment programmer apparently got a lot of calls after my first show asking when I'd be back. The Somali students, in particular, liked me. This show was not as good though because most of the Somalians weren't there. Afterwards I rented a $75 dollar car and drove three hours to Duluth where I played a 30-minute feature set at an open mic for $25. Again, people weren't feeling it or something because I couldn't sell a cd. This sent me into a depression spiral where I began to wonder if God was telling me that I was washed up and had better take my curator job and call my "senator of rock and roll" job quits. It seemed poetic that this was happening in Duluth--Bob Dylan's birth place. After all, Dylan has always represented to me the highest pinnacle of what-I-admire. He's been my "buddha in the road" and I've never been able to imagine surpassing his excellence. I'm still sort of reeling from feelings and questioning myself about EVERYTHING. To think about starting my curator job next week is frightening...and thrilling. Death spasms I guess, which means new life is pushing upwards. The future seems daunting and mysterious. A rebirth is transpiring. (To be continued)