Sandman's Journal

When I arrived back in Bisbee yesterday, I bumped into Gretchen and Charlene at the health food store. They recruited me to be "Sir Cheese Puff." To see what I mean, visit their respective blogs: HILLARY CLINTON ARMY & BISBEE.

Gretchen is Madame Secretary's unofficial Art Ambassador. Gretchen's car, her water tank, and even her pantsuit bear the face of the Hill. In some ways, she handles Clinton like Warhol handled Marilyn, but with a more folksy, feminist edge. Kate Pearson, in whose straw bale house I'm staying, has a similar folk-pop aesthetic.

Speaking of the house: it's a trip. A spacious, circular space with a dusty loft for my sleeping bag. Uneven bricks for the floor. Stars shine bright out here, and silhouettes of arid mountains loom tall. This morning I hiked up a road so steep and rutty it made the Billings County badlands seem paved.

I felt lonely this afternoon, though. A fly landed on my arm and I didn't want him to go. So now I'm at the Bisbee Grand, listenin' to the rustic sounds of Pat Gahn. I played a show with Pat once in San Francisco at a punk rock barber shop. Neither of us got paid, but he at least sold a CD to a girl with a downy beard.