Sandman's Journal

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I'm metamorphasizing before your very eyes. Everything is shifting in my mind, and settling. Sifting. I'm seeing strata in the sandstone. Strata? Stratus? Strati? Who cares goddammit, I'm changing. This very website is in jeopardy--I may let it rot! My car, 319 Joe, may finally rest I think... I want to serve humanity/this dying Earth. Yes, that and only that. I've worn myself sick trying to SUCCEED in this miserable economy. . .this miserable, ruthless, undignified, life-sucking, murderous, horrible, thankless economy. I have gotten nowhere for fourteen years. Yes I tour, I record, I produce, I manufacture, I sell, I showcase, I get fanmail, I get romance, I get signed. But all for what?! My brain is afire with new ideas all the time, too. I'm a walking, breaking-down American Folk Frankenstein. Frank Folkenstein. My wood, my hinges, my aluminum cooling system, my oil cannister heart, my plastic knee caps are all coming unscrewed and unglued, and they're cracking off! My hooks are stuck on trees and rocks. They're useless. They're hookless. I don't make sense anymore. My metaphors are poking me in the rectum. Linear things are splitting, curling, breaking, bulging, melting, fucking, sucking, stripping, tripping, shitting, dripping slippery mucousy stuff, licking their wounds, and dying. All around me. All the time. It's preposterous! It's marvelous! It's what life should be like. I'm lucky to be here. Thanks for listening. Goodbye now.

P.s. I'm in Underwood, MN with my friends Katie, Ron, and Hazen. No, I'm not on drugs. Yes, I brought my sled. It was a good idea, too, 'cause a lot of snow dumped all across Minnesota. My pockets are filled with snow. Actually, that's a lie--the snow has melted into water, and the water has almost evaporated. Tomorrow I play Minneapolis. Maybe I, too, will evaporate.

P.p.s. Thanks to Katie for the inspiration tonight.