"Three is the magic number." De La Soul



Three friends have sent me sand-inspired photographs this year.

Today I was listening to the radio and heard Joni Mitchell sing "Help Me," and the thought crossed my mind that it might be the greatest song ever recorded.

"A great nation is like a great man: When he makes a mistake, he realizes it. Having realized it, he admits it. Having admitted it, he corrects it. He considers those who point out his faults as his most benevolent teachers. He thinks of his enemy as the shadow that he himself casts." - Lao-Tzu

My songs and poetry are at their best when performed around campfires, so tonight I'm ordering a fake campfire as a stage prop for my long winter tour. I'm hoping to add the primal and hypnotic ambience that real fire evokes. The inebriated will become somber and reverent as they watch the colors and effects of the long-life Halogen lamps that shine through moving white fabric, simulating flames with natural shadows and highlights. The homeless will look through tavern windows and feel a solidarity with the thin troubadour on stage. They might enter to admire the high-speed, powerful fan that quietly blows the fabric upward. Police officers will feel uneasy about the poetic implications of this artificial fire, not to mention the gathering crowd of drunks and drifters who've become entranced by the strange poet's shadowy tales. It will be simulated anarchy; a faux post-apocalyptic gathering of hooligans and heretics. And it will be legal. Bwuh-ha-ha-ha. Happy Friday the 13th.

My friend Chris "Goose" Kirk has been living/working in Bogota, Colombia, for the last couple years. I'd like to visit.

Here's one of many photographs he's taken while there.

There is snow on Excalibur
Branches are losing their hair
Pumpkins in the reservoir
Money bathtub floss
ice scraper vote
mattress
pillow
case

I was set to go fishing for northern pike today at Lake Ilo, but right as I was leaving work, the tree mover came. Within minutes he busted one of the brass street elbows on his hydraulic system, so I had to make a run to Killdeer to get a new one. I found one at Prairie Implement, but by the time--Oh crap! I just remembered that I left the hose running at work. I was watering the transplanted cedars and forgot. Gotta run.

For today's entry, click the upper left corner where it says "SANDMAN the Rappin Cowboy" (which, coincidentally, happens to be my homepage).

Here's an article regarding the recent tragedies in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, and how the Amish community coped.

Elle left this morning. I will miss her. She's one of those lovelies who brightens the world wherever she goes.

I'm lucky to know so many bright spirits. For instance my Killdeer/Buckskin party people, my hip-hop homies in Olyville, the CrimethInc. renegades of Salem, Oregon, my parents, all the people I stay with when I tour, my aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and on 'n' on. In a society saturated with corruption, hypocrisy, and greed, it's a blessing to be surrounded by the antidote. I can see a light and it's you.

The answer to yesterday's riddle is my bathroom floor that Elle painted. Can you see? It looks like a cubist rendition of cardinals perched upon a Holstein milk cow. Very eighties.

I forgot to bring the normal camera and had to use my cell phone. Click on image for close-up.

What's black and white and red all over? The answer tomorrow.

The 2006 Museum season is officially over, and it ended last night with a bang. About 140 people crowded into the Dunn County Museum for our Second Annual Country Music & Cowboy Poetry Gathering. It was awesome! Performers included Fran Armstrong, Jessie and Gene Veeder, Leslie Keltner, Casey Fredericks, the Larsen Brothers, Joe Reems, Quintana Biffert, and myself. Western North Dakota is chock full o' talent.


Local humorist, Joe Reems.


The Larsen Brothers, and Gene Veeder (black hat), backing up fourteen-year-old Quintana Biffert. The Larsen Brothers, I should add, are perhaps the finest cowboy singers I've ever heard.


Dad & Elle.

Elle is helping me paint this week! She's painting designs on my bathroom floor and helping choose interior wall color schemes. Excellent. Soon I will post pictures.

Hymn to Dionysus
The God of All Things Wild

Dionysus! Wanderer of field and forest
Long grasses and wiry shrubs
As the sacred wine is within the jeweled cup
So are you within all things wild

You are the whirlwind of mighty change upon the abstracted
Tearer-down of great cities, burning temples and sculptures
That mankind may see what is living

Typhoon! Famine! Violent death!
Such is the revenge of Dionysus
Upon those who forget their true heritage
And take upon themselves the lives of others
Beware, liars, slanderers, gossips, cheats
The over-civilized and the under-sensitive
Philosophers, logicians, money-lenders, and those that feel in words
For your script will be burnt and your logic destroyed
And your gaping emptiness will be filled by the powers
Of savage and inborn truth.

Dionysus is the reality of Nature
Hidden deep within the body
Blood-lust, desire, and naked fear
Love and hatred based on instinct
Drunkenness barring true direction
Violence showing man's true home
Dizziness causing veering footsteps
To find the true path once again.

Within the grasp of his powerful hands
Is the secret of change and sudden awareness
He looses chains and breaks down walls
He opens the vast unknown potential
Of the human soul.

His are the worshipers of wild, free Nature
Whose roots have been blasted asunder
The powerfully loving ones
The ones of keen perception
They follow the dance of Dionysus
They follow the call of their own hearts
Flowing like a river through the winding pathways
Singing again the ancient songs
Of dying trees and withered stems
Of new beginnings and lightning crashing.

Such are the lovers of Dionysus!
Let me be one!

-Anonymous

Grandpa & Dad went a-riding last week.

Elle has arrived from Winona, MN. She helped me paint my clawfoot bathtub red today. It will be like bathing in a cauldron. Last night we partied at Shawn's until 3 a.m.

Here are three of my closest Killdeer friends: (l to r) Me, Margi, Lacy, Shawn. On Sunday night we, and others, will party at Shawn's tractor-trailer garage.

Margi is not my girlfriend (romantically speaking), though it might look like it. Elle is my girlfriend. You will meet her soon. It's a long story . . .

Andras Jones, my long-time Olympia comrade and collaborator, was featured on National Public Radio's "All Things Considered" today for his KAOS radio show, Radio8Ball. I've been a guest on Radio8Ball two or three times and have probably written about it in past journal entries. Andras is an actor and musician-songwriter, too.

To listen to the interview go here.

Another friend has passed on: Thelma Louise Fenton. Thelma died a week ago, five days short of her ninety-first birthday.

Here's a picture from earlier this summer in the Buckskin Bar. Talking with my grandpa, Bob.


Laughing with my grandma, Edna.


Thelma had one of the brightest spirits and sharpest minds in Dunn County. She was straight up cool. Goodbye, Mrs. Fenton.

Summer Vacation 2006 Shout-Outs:

1. Bryher. Thanks for the gourmet supper, chokecherry syrup, and Patti Smith's sweet Tramping CD.

2. Aunt Theresa and Uncle Dan. Thanks for the tacos, western shirt, and attachable handlebar moustache (which may become my new look). It was fun joking around with you both, and with Bekah and Josh.

3. Grandma, you're looking good! See you in December.

4. Annie G., many thanks for the mechanic hook-up, the haircut, the beer, bagel, beanie, breakfast, and blow-up bed. And the good company.

5. Mark. Thanks for loaning me your dad's pickup. Nice job with the starter. Keep rockin' the liquid ice cream . . .

6. ABC House. Thanks for the spare room. I ate a slice of moldy pie when y'all weren't looking.

7. Nerviz, Timezone, and Blandow--I highly enjoyed our camp fire conversations. It's possible that we're the funkiest old-man, white, hip hop crew that NEVER rocked a drunken bar crowd. At least on the same stage at the same time.

8. Teresa, Trisha, Jen, Kika & Parker, Nina, Kelly, Heidi, Kerry & Adrian, Candice. I regret that I ran out of time to pay you all visits. December.

9. Pete, thanks for the octopus joke. It's gaining me world-wide fame. Greg--tennis bin laden? Andras, good luck with your fast. David--nice choice with the ladies. Sydney, your new business is rad. Christian, nice house. Autumn, have you quit Jack in the Box yet? Jasper, Mike D., Jusby, folks at the Shop, K Records, Azure, Arrington, Rachael, Freya, Lucinda, Random, Hollis, Kindred, and to all whom I've forgotten to mention--word to your mothers.

10. Tom & Karin. The movie, meal, and mattress were marvelous. Merci.

11. Earl & Susan. I had fun cruisin'. Also--your outdoor clawfoot tub made my trip. Send me pictures when you can.

12. Jed & Letty. Your party ruled! Tell your parents, or whomever paid for it all, gracias. To all who listened around the camp fire--stay in touch . . .

13. Excalibur, my car. You're an easy rider. Thanks to Buck's and AAA for the help.

Excalibur got me home safe and sound. It snowed and sleeted on the drive through eastern Montana and western North Dakota.

I'm near Powell, Wyoming, tonight. Jed and Letty just had their post-wedding party. I played some songs around the campfire. Now everyone is having a slumber party. Pajamas can be seen. Which reminds me of a joke about an octopus and a bagpipe. It's cold outside tonight.

Greetings from Wallace, Idaho. Wallace is famous for its history of mining and legal prostitution. I just visited the Wallace Bordello Museum.

Earlier today I picked up Excalibur at Buck's Mechanic Shop in Spokane. My steed is running smoothly again--no more smoking serpentine belt.

Soon I'll relay the details of my jolly but costly odyssey west.

After two separate vehicle breakdowns, I made it to Olympia. Excalibur is in Spokane at Buck's Garage with problems. I won't go into it now, but it's been an adventure. I played an inpromptu campfire show last night in the ABC House back yard.

Crikey. That's a word I've been muttering the last couple of days. Steve Irwin's premature death reminds me of Kurt Cobain's. I didn't think too much about either prior to their deaths, but when their lives suddenly ended, I felt sad.

Crikey. The word gives me a glimpse into my own shell-shocked psyche. It's a useful, newly powerful word. Crikey, Mr. Cheney! What have we done?!! Crikey, America! What's with all the anti-depressants and 50-hour work weeks?! I look in the mirror and think--Crikey, I need a vacation.

My friend MoonCat, the traveling astrologer, wrote this in her latest AstroMissive:

"The Crocodile Hunter has become a Martyr for his cause, killed by the BARB Of TRITON itself ~ the stinger of a stingray….. with the Karmic result being Passing through the Death/Rebirth Tunnel with the world watching and cameras rolling! WoW! What a way to GOOOOO! Praises to you Mr. Crocodile Steve, Thanks for educating the world to the animal causes that you did and have done…"

Jeepers.

There are genuine drovers in our midst! A crew of ten cowboys on horseback is pushing a couple hundred longhorn steers through Dunn County on a 250-mile journey to Jamestown, ND. I couldn't resist walking into their camp tonight and striking up some conversations. Before long, they had me reciting cowboy poetry. They fed me beer and tales of their journey.

They only go about ten miles a day. I'm tempted to track them down again tomorrow night. If I do, I'll bring a camera.

Thursday morning I drive Excalibur west. Lili's memorial is Saturday afternoon in Olympia, Washington, and I want to be there. Mom will ride with me as far as Missoula.

Here's a picture of the auditorium I sometimes dream of buying. It needs a new roof and all, I know, but it's hard not to be charmed by an old building, such as this, with a stage, balcony, and nice hardwood floor. Time will tell.

Calling all fortune tellers, palm readers, sword swallowers, clapping monkeys, and the like. What will time tell?

My mind is being blown open by sumtumnal breezes. I'm seeing porches and dogs and leaves and deep meandering rivers. I feel comforterrified. O, what a marvelanxious season has just begun!

There's been a noticeable shift in the weather here in western North Dakota. Swimming season is over, and camping season is beginning. I love this time of year.

Last night I played a show for about 150 Labor Day campers along the Missouri River. Little kids were boogeying down to "Radio Works Fine." Old folks were applauding the humor annd wisdom of "Typical."

Sometimes, though, I feel like Chuck Berry, relying on old hits and failing to come up with new ones. I have a feeling that when I go to Europe next spring, I'll be reinspired.

ABC News correspondent Miguel Marquez, who gave me a ride when I was hitchhiking the 600-mile scenic route from Albuquerque, NM, to Tombstone, AZ, last January, just sent this picture. He's currently stationed in Baghdad, Iraq.

"Iraqis rest as they wait outside a Baghdad gas station earlier this month."

This picture looks almost like it could have been taken in the United States. It's refreshing to see a picture of Iraq minus bleeding civilians.