Headin' to Minneapolis on Greyhound now. Head's in a funk.

For some reason my charisma collapsed at the Beloit College show. I choked. Something scared me, I guess. I think my own sexuality scared me if that makes any sense. My mojo curled up in a fetus position for the evening and I let somebody else try to entertain the audience; a boring dude with mutton-chops sorta like mine. How frigging embarassing.

Jack on the other hand rocked harder than I've ever seen, and the crowd ate him up. It was tremendous! On the three-hour ride back to Winona we talked a lot about lots of things. Jack's a smart man with a big heart.

Many lessons were learned tonight. (I say tonight because I'm still awake at 6:06 in the morning.) I'm happy to have tomorrow off to collect my thoughts and rest my voice.

"i see the mornin' light. not because i'm an early riser-- i didn't get to sleep last night." bob dylan

I'm in Dylan country, good ol' Minnesota. I crossed over Highway 61 and the Mississippi last night to get to our show in La Crosse, WI. It's 6:45 am. Great show but only got paid $12 which I've spent already (gas, doughnuts, coffee). I made $115.00 on merchandise, though. The reason I'm still up is that Alex talked me into recording a 5-song EP at 2:30 am so that I could sell it at tomorrow's/(today's) shows in Winona. I call it the Winona Four-Play w/ bonus track. Songs on it include: "Big River" (Johnny Cash), "If I Had a Kayak", "The Gol' Darned Wheel" (Anonymous), "My Buddy Jack", "Ballad of A Salad", and a 6th hidden track that Jack wrote for me yesterday called, "Montana's Own Rappin' Cowboy" which sings to the tune of "Deep in the Heart of Texas". A fellow named Casey recorded them in a secret recording lair and I like how they turned out. Jack and Alex sang along now and then. I will assemble it all tomorrow/later today. I ought sleep now.

The train I rode was called The Empire Builder and it dumped me off in St. Paul yesterday morning. I really like trains. I saw an otter as we passed through Glacier National Park, and thousands of antelope once we passed Browning. Our train reportedly hit a bear at some point, but I must have been sleeping. Train food isn't so bad and I made some friends. Good times. Jack Norton picked me up at the station and we spent yesterday flyering Minneapolis and St. Paul. Last night we drove to Rochester, Minnesota-- home of the famed Mayo Clinic and played a show at the Comfort Inn. Only a handful of people showed up, but the booker told Jack that we were the best show she'd ever seen there. Afterwards Alex and I spent the night at his friend Emily's place and I slept like a bloody, gilled fetus.

G'night Winona. LaCrosse tomorrow!

Nevermind about that flyer-- it dissapeared somehow.

My cousin Kirby sent me this found work-wanted flyer. After my tour's done I might have to get creative with finding my own damn job to ward off debt collectors. It'll probably be good for me, probably not at all.

Another four hours at the poker tables last night. I struggled, strived, and connived my way to a $12.50 profit. I got mad and threw my cards around after losing a big hand and people told me to calm down and I started yelling and then I had to start over and dig my way out and this happened a few more times. I had no intention of losing; guess I'm sort of a tyrant in that way. I wanted to win big, that's all. They say Capricorns are the greediest of all. Envious, too. And rich. Not altogether dishonest, though.

My friend Traci sent me this quote:

"This is the artist's dream--
To receive the inspiration to create,
To share that creation with others,
And to be totally supported in the process."

I forward it on to you. We're all artists.

I think I might be ovulating today.


What else could explain it??

I ought to say something about the death of John. Big John. Old, dead John. But I don't want to. I'm too sad or mad or something.

I can't think to write more than that. He was a good guy.

Yes, I am officially launching my support campaign for Howard Dean. I call my organization "Cowards for Howard". After attending a meeting with the Bands against Bush folks I decided there was too much negativity floating around for my tastes and anyways I've always liked the taste of bush, mostly. So I decided to be proactive and positive about my affiliations, and in fact create the dream myself. You may deride my using the word coward in association with this man, but it's not he I'm describing; it's us or at least me. I'm afraid to vote for Nader again for fear GW will "win", and I'm afraid to vote for GW for fear our country will go bankrupt and continue this mad holy war against Mesopotamia. I'm afraid to run for office myself for fear that I'd get caught having sex with staff interns. And I'm afraid to vote for you because you'd spend all our taxes on veggie burritos and vintage Atari playstations. Basically, I'm just a scared little man who has decided to come clean. But I'd rather be honest about my shortcomings than hide them under a veil of righteousness. I'm a coward. And I'm for Howard.

Another day at the Evergreen Computer Center; this is how I spend one-third of my time when I'm in tour-mode. It's raining outside and has been for three days. I like it. The earth and trees smell fresh... cedar... salmon... Viet Namese food... rotting berries and pomes.

I had breakfast with my ex-girlfriend, Jen, today. We haven't hung out for eight months and we ended up having a fine time. It's good to stay friends with old girlfriends, bestfriends, ex-teammates, relatives, and such since they share your history. She's doing well. She has a new, baby sister named Catherine Rose very much to my surprise.

I've been walking around dressed in black lately. I must look partially like an anarchist since I'm wearing the stereotypic black carharts and hoody. My facial hair is rugged, too, like the lead singer from Metallica. But as I can never be one thing with out being the opposite thing at the same moment, I have also been sporting Nike running shoes which would be lambasted by most anarcho kids I know. The Nike swoosh is the sign of the beast to 85% of my pals in town. I could try to explain that these shoes are actually third-generation and an excellent model of recycling; that they were bought on a fake credit-card by a Ghanaian fellow who then gave them to my friend Alan, who I traded for a straw hat two months ago. I could try to explain that, but I don't.

I found a turtle on the bridge as I walked home from breakfast at Darby's this morning. In the nine years I've lived in Olympia I don't recall ever seeing a turtle, and yet there on the bridge's sidewalk and far from any pond lingered this directionless, hard-shelled creature. I picked her up and walked to Capitol Lake where I found a safe harbor and dropped her in. She hissed a thank-you and swam away. In Turtleopolis they call me, "Sand: saviour of lost reptiles and traveller's friend."

Last but not least, I won $2 at the tables last night! I'd broken a lot of my luck rules so I felt good about winning such a small amount. $2 divided by four hours means that I earned .50 cents/hour. That's better than most third-worlders earn all day. Oh, the horror.

In memory of 9/11...

Respect to New York City.

Peace to the world.

Love to the unloved.

Money to unmoneyed.

Lunch.

I went out drinking and literally lost my shorts last night. To explainify: My house-mate, Elsa, is moving to Providence, R.I. tomorrow and thus last night was her final Saturday. Though I rarely drink in Olympia, I wanted to be part of the festivities. My buddy Ace also invited me out, and at the bar where I met him there was a bachelorette party happening. We were approached by a pair of these flappers with a scavenger hunt checklist. They wanted a lot of things that we didn't have... except a pair of boxers, which I indeed did have. I told them for $10 they could have them. They bargained me down to $5 and I set the things free.

Then I went to the Brotherhood Tavern and met up with Elsa and Lenny. While walking home, Elsa fell off the curb and banged her knee pretty good. By 3:00 I was asleep in my shack lucidly dreaming about riding Armenian dinosaurs and forgetting my cowboy hat in the arena.

I'm sharing my bed with a flea. I call him Mildred because he might be a woman. How did a flea get into my bed?!

Cats!!


How did a cat get into my shack!?


Crack???

I won $30 at the tables last night, but only played an hour due to a late recording session with Shawn. It felt good to win again as I'd been losing during the last three weeks. As for the recording, we worked on finishing up "White Line Highway" and "No L! No S! No F!" featuring Scream Club.

Carl called me today and said that he listened to the album and thought it was the weakest thing I've done yet. Perhaps he's noticing something that I haven't, for as you all might know by now, I think this is my best album. His opinion is that my other works have a much warmer feel, whereas this one seems distant and disconnected. I flatter myself by remembering that Dylan lost fans for a similar reason when he shifted from acoustic to electric. At the same time, though, I don't want hubris to derail me. Either way, I like honesty.

By the way, the show with Baby Gramps came through which is really exciting. If you haven't heard of him, make yourself acquainted. He's a legend amongst legends in the Northwest folk music world and has been for quite a while. Come to Eugene October 9th!!

Here's a testimonial as to the pleasing qualities of the new cd, which I sent to Nashville for the boys to hear. This from Giles:

"Chris, Camo played the Slippery G tracks that you sent him to me and Asher last night. All i can say is, Holy shit!!! We were blown away. It hurt my face from laughing so much. Your falsetto singing was incredible. I know it's not finished yet but it is pretty damn amazing already. I can totally see this becoming an album like the Beastie Boys first one, the kind that everybody listens to so much they memorize all the words. Never heard anything like it, but it's perfectly you, my man! I can't wait to hear the finished version. I'm saying DAMN, man, it is fucking astonishing!!! Keep on!"

Thanks G.

What a whirlwind weekend! Friday I drove to Stevenson, WA which is forty miles east of Portland, on the Columbia River, where my friends Kika, Parker, Hibikina, Julie, Ben, and (sometimes) Ericka live, on a scenic piece of property above the river. They're building a house and I helped frame a wall on Friday afternoon. I suck as a carpenter, you should know, but it felt good to be working with my hands again. Kika fed me delicious, scavenged food from the wild, her garden, and dumpsters. I slept outside under a sleeping bag that night and woke up at 4:30 to a train-whistle. I couldn't go back to sleep so I walked around and stretched for a couple hours until everyone else was up. We had blackberry pie and coffee for breakfast and started bending nails by 8:30. Eight hours later we needed a break so we skinny-dipped in the Columbia and from there I drove to Portland for the 7:00 show. "JOE" made it all the way, like he always does, but as we pulled up to the curb I hit it a little hard and popped the right, front tire. I put the spare on and walked into the yard where the thing was happening. A gypsyesque band called Schicky Gnarowitz was playing, and food was abundant. The yard was huge for a city environment and the people were eclectic and there was a bicycle-powered smoothie-maker and I was excited to be part of this scene. I played for about an hour-and-a-half to a mostly warm response. The warmest came from a fifty-something Native American fellow named Demus who appeared to be either extremely freaked-out or else wildly drunk or both. He came half way through my set and started jamming along on his out of tune guitar. A lot of the crowd got annoyed and vacated the area. I, too, was a little thrown off but decided to play off his energy and see what happened. He acted ecstaticly towards my music and kept yelling stuff and thrashing on his guitar. After the show we palled around and drank smoothies until eventually he drifted north on MLK Jr. boulevard. My friend, Vanessa, took a polaroid of us which I put on the fridge. Demus is from the Warm Springs Reservation and had just gotten dropped off by some buddies who were drinking too heavily for his comfort. He was trying to get back on the Interstate going east so as to eventually end up at Cascade Locks where he could do some salmon fishing. At times he would slip into his Native tongue. He introduced himself as: Demus, son of Lomen, grandson of Kalama, and great grandson of Tek.

After the party was completely over I went to Vanessa and Montana's house and slept soundly. In the morning I visited with Vanessa and Bill, ate cereal, and drove home on the spare tire. Before leaving, though, I accidentally filled the tub with cold water and had to take a brisk, refreshing plunge 'n' scrub. This gave me the energy I needed for my business meeting with Victoria, from Pile Driving Records in Vancouver, WA. Victoria's advice to me was to become an intern for an independent hip hop label not on the West Coast-- maybe New York, maybe in the South. She told me of some labels to approach to try to work for gratis until I can make myself indispensable as a supporter of them and their roster. "The sooner the better", she says... She included that I need to spend a lot more time with black people if I'm serious about becoming a rap star.

Perhaps my heaviness is due to the proximity of Mars... that damned, lonely planet: so cold, so dry, so red, so hard. Hemorrhoid in the sky.

Mariners come back. Let's win a World Series!

p.s. I have written the "Squirrel" song. The chorus goes: "We've got the nuts to feed the whole world, children! (x2)"

Check this letter out:

"Chris, I have a huge favor to ask of you. My friends and I are entering a RedBull/Flugtag contest in New York City where we have to create a human-powered flying machine, and have the machine set sail above the Hudson. Our human-powered-flying machine will be a flying squirrel (we will decorate fused-bicycle-parts as a giant squirrel with wings). Each of the first four characters will try and ride the squirrel but alas, they will all be thrown off mercilessly. The urban cowgirl will step up, and when she mounts, not only will she not be bucked off the squirrel, but the squirrel will zip down a ramp, and fly over the Hudson River (until both the squirrel and urban cowgirl fall in).

We are piecing together a stellar music compilation -- including R.Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly"-- to accompany our skit. Since our presentation blends a mixture of nitty-gritty urban living with the classical styles of macho country life, we felt that our compilation would be complete only with a song from the Rappin' Cowboy himself.

I don't suppose you have any songs about this subject matter. Would you be able to compose one, or part of one, in the next week and send it to us on CD or a tape? "

I don't even know this person!! (What a strange, wonderful life this is...)

I'd better write something so you know I'm still alive. I like to believe that other people worry about me as much as you do, but you know; they probably don't, which is good. I'm depressed and a little overwhelmed today. I'm angry that making a couple bucks off my music is so difficult. I'm scared and want to flee this town again. But no, I shall step forward. I'll not let these demons dissuade me from my task. I'll metamorphasize into a madman if I must. I'm reading Don Quixote again for tips. I'm reading Rich Dad Poor Dad. I'm reading I Don't Want to Talk About It. I'm reading the sports page of the Olympian. Bobby Bonds died. Wesley Willis died. That is sad, sad, sad. I'm wearing black today, again. Black carharts-- anarchist-style. I'm hopeful.

I like the new pictures on the website. Goose helped me put them up. The "Bio" page photo is a little strange perhaps. I have a jar of Adam's peanut-butter in my hand. The picture of me on the "Journal" page is where my parents live in North Dakota and where they may grow old. The picture on the "Home" page is in Osh Kosh, Wisconsin and I'm about to sign an autograph.

I finished my four-week run of shows at Herb's bar in Friday Harbor. I learned a lot there and made many new fans and friends. I'm glad it's over, though.

Note to the readers of this journal: this is not a request for your money. I'm just working out kinks.

Dear _________,

Hello. I am writing in regards to your inquiry of becoming a venture capitalist in my new music project. The project I speak of is A Year in the Life of… Slippery Goodstuff, which is a full-length rap/r & b album I’ve worked steadfastly at over the last fourteen months and which is near completion. If the slogan “sex sells” is accurate then this new CD may very well be my biggest selling work yet, as every song on it works to tell the story of a sex-crazed (but lovable) character by the name of Slippery Goodstuff. Individual songs off of it have already proven to be hugely popular amongst my friends and fans and the hip hop production styles match the works of other currently successful pop and rap stars. This album is my most playful work to date and I believe will prove to be a big hit if promoted correctly, and there is the rub. Another slogan seems appropriate now: “it takes money to make money” which, of course, you know. In my zeal to complete this album, as well as to continue building my reputation as a touring showman, I’ve had to decline job offers that I felt would have sabotaged my career’s momentum. Thus, I have run out of income.

My proposal to you is this: lend me $20,000 and by the end of three years I will have created the career I need—a career that generates a guaranteed yearly profit. At this time I will return all the money you’ve lent me along with a generous interest rate greater than you could have received at any bank.

The way I plan to use your money will proceed approximately like this: 1) I will pay off my $9,000 credit card debt at 19.8% interest, thus saving my project close to $200.00 per month. 2) I will press 3,000 12” singles using the most exceptional song from A Year in the Life of… Slippery Goodstuff as the A-side and something complimentary for the B-side. 3) I will ship it en masse to radio stations and reviewers. 4) Two months later I will do the same with two more provocative, and complimentary selections off the album. 5) Two months after this I will do this procedure for a third time. 6) I will gather a small team of musicians to help me produce my songs live. 7) I will then press the completed full-length CD/album and follow up with adequate promotion, distribution, and tour support. 8) During this time I will fully exploit NACA in order to make at least $1,000.00 per show as I tour during Autumn, Winter, and Spring of 2004/5. 8) Throughout this process I will collaborate on a follow-up rap/pop album to be released the following Autumn. 9) I’ll make a video from this follow-up album’s “hit”. 10) I’ll tour this new album and video during Autumn, Winter, and Spring of 2005/2006.

I am currently researching managers, agents, and independent, trustworthy labels to help me reach my goals. If I find anything I deem suitable, I will consult you first.

Thank you ________ for your consideration in this project. I believe it will not only be financially fruitful to us both but also exciting as we watch this dream unfold.

Chris Sand

As I suspected, the luck failed me last night. I lost $30. Actually, I gave $5 to Andras for his birthday so really I only lost $25. It had to happen sooner or later I suppose. One exciting, albeit ironic, happening is that I got a royal flush during a Texas Hold 'em game!!! No one has ever got one of those during any of our hundreds of poker games. The irony is that almost everybody else folded before the pot got big so I only won a couple dollars off it.

I finally joined Friendster, too.

I received this from a friend in Spokane who wrote: "I have long seen a connection between rap and country (all the talkin' trucker songs from the 70's, just to name one example) and it's good to see someone approach it in a real way."

I won $11 last night at the poker tables... Tonight I play again but I have a bad feeling about it for some reason. Yesterday I roadtripped with Mike Santana and Trish Lovgren to Lake Quinalt where we hiked for half the day. Mike, who is a lawyer, offered me his skills in writing up a plan for myself in relation to my endeavors at launching this new cd. My goal is to sell at least 10,000 records next year and that means I need to start getting this ball rolling pronto. He said, and I quote: "the shortest pencil is better than the longest memory". Well, Slippery G. has quite a short pencil. (I guess that means it's okay that he has amnesia.) Kidding aside, it's time to get all my thoughts down on paper and focused. It might be time for an agent, too.

I'm back in Olytown again after my second weekend stint in Friday Harbor. I sold $200 in merch this time which is cool, plus the $200 for playing. This is definitely a job and I feel exhausted after each show and especially by Sunday night. I never realized that playing for four hours a day feels like doing construction-- my legs and shoulders get fatigued and I'm ready for the weekend (or in this case the weekdays!) My voice is thrashed, too. This is not to say I didn't have a good time. Saturday night I got invited to go whale watching by some of audience members. There were seven of us in all: Kevin and Tina, Megan and Andrew, and Melissa and John. Melissa might have been the only one that saw a whale, but we all had a blast drinking wine and cranking Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden, Jane's Addiction, and the White Stripes. A vibrant sunset smoldered in the west and a fat, slow-motion lunatic skateboarded off Mt. Hood from the east. We skirted the whole of San Juan Island which took two hours and then drove to Kevin's for a barbeque. Juniper and her sister, Charlotte, joined us.

Yesterday I rocked both sets, but not before almost drowning at the beginning of the second one out of sheer boredom. Fortunately a bunch of island kids filed in at 5:00 and rekindled my spark. My new casio rapman is a beauty and it felt great to pump out beats to rap over again. I keep running into people I know, too. This weekend I saw my old friend Selah and her boyfriend Darrel. Shawn, Erin, Connor, and Mike Grady also dropped by to listen to a song! I miss them.

I'm on vacation for a night somewhere south of Olympia. My friends, Bill and Rhonda, invited me for dinner in their new cabin which is a thirty-minute drive. I'm in their guest bedroom; it's beautiful here. Earlier I fed the rainbow trout in their pond and watched the frenzied thrash/splash that ensued. Some of 'em are a couple feet long. We had spaghetti and clam-sauce for dinner.

Earlier today I ate some rancid chicken curry and got extremely nauseous and almost puked. I had to lay down for an hour or so. After that I picked up Khaela and Rjyan (aka "Cex") and drove them to Shawn's to record stuff for the new cd. Khaela harmonized on "Thanks for the Sex" and co-rapped with me on "The Beauty Myth". Rjyan left a hilarious message on my cell's answering machine which I might title "Fone Cex". We all went to the park and played some games with a blue kickball, too.

Last night was the weekly poker game and once again I came out big; I won $52 which puts my Summer's total near $200!

In a rather enigmatic email from my friend Jason I received this.

In a follow-up letter he wrote: "That's right Chris. The government has a new kind of weapon. It's a compact disc bearing the name 'SANDMAN CHRIS SAND' and it is going to be tested and launched directly into a comet by NASA! The project and mission is call DEEP IMPACT...The compact disc will nail a small comet that is heading near earth sometime in the next year or so. From there, the disc will travel the Universe for all eternity, or until it burns up, dwarfs out, or crashes into a celestial body!"

Don't ask me what's going on here, 'cause I'm friggin' clueless.

As for other news, I arrived home yesterday from Friday Harbor at 4 a.m. My weekend was surreal. On Friday I fought traffic for four hours until I arrived at my pal, Karl Blau's house near Anacortes. We recorded a song about a man on the moon in Karl's recording shack. Karl's yard is filled with oyster shells and chicken poop but he walks barefoot everywhere. His daughter and wife were on vacation so we had the run of the place.

The next morning I drove onto the ferry boat for $39.50 and rode to San Juan Island and the village of Friday Harbor. I arrived late and without a p.a. system which caused a cancellation of the first show. I thought they'd supply one, but no luck. This caused much stress for me and them and I spent the next three or four hours scuttling around the isla with my awesome hostess, Juniper, looking for a complete p.a. system. Thanks to her and her friends we finally pieced together a make-shift apparatus and jetted back for the second show which ended up going well. That night Juniper and I hung out with her New Zealand friend, Wocka.

In the morning she and I drove to Wocka's for breakfast. Wocka's wife, Stephanie, was there, too, and we ate a delicious breakfast that Wocka cooked up.

To make up for the lost hours of the day before, I played for six hours on Sunday. The first half of the day was filled with more conservative, tourist types and the second half with funky island kids. I sold $50 in merch and was paid $200 to cover the eight hours played and hopped the last ferry of the night at 10:15. This ferry stopped at Lopez Island and Orcas Island and in the two hours or so it took to get to the mainland I wrote a new song for the Slippery G. album called, "Tiny Spy Cam", which is about voyeurism.

I'm back from my weekend gig in Friday Harbor. More soon I promise.

Important message to friends, fans, and family: My new Slippery Goodstuff album is near completion and will be by far my best work yet. I tend to be cautious about saying things like this for fear of being wrong, but this time I'm confident I'm right. I've spent hundreds of hours working on it with one of Washington's finest hip hop producers, Shawn "Nerviz" Parke, and he agrees. It's a hip hop album unlike anything I've done-- it has beats, it has turntablism, it has a myriad of guest vocalists, it has a consistent theme, it has sex-appeal, it has humour and a message, it has skits and telephone messages, it has soul. It's controversial and artful. Some people might even hate it! That's a good thing, though, because the rest are gonna love it. It will stand out and lead the way to even better releases in the near future. I have a children's album I want to do soon-- as well as an anti-imperialist one. I've already self-recorded an album of post-post-modern cowboy poems and ballads which deserves to see the light of day someday, not to mention that by next year all four of my cds, (Roll Out, Cowboy, Love's Hangover Sale, Until the End of Time, The Long Ride Home) will be sold out and need repressing and repackaging. The highly influential magazine, Punk Planet, recently called me: "Our troubador for the 21st century." I have books to write, too, dammit!

In other words, my body of work is solid; my momentum is strong; and to keep this horse from heading back to the oat bucket, my bright future hinges on this new album selling at least 10,000 units, and soon. The way I see this happening is by either an extremely generous individual or three giving me at least $20,000 so I can manufacture, promote, distribute, and tour it properly or hooking up with a record label as soon as possible. I've always preferred to do it myself, but time and circumstances have caught up with me and now I'm near broke and more flexible about how I pay next month's rent and put new tires on "Joe".

How you can help: 1) do you have a lot of excess money that I can have? 2) do you know of someone who does who might be open to sharing it with me? 3) do you or anyone you know have connections to a record label that could pay at the bare minimum $20,000 to help me release my new cd? Folk, Punk, Rock, Country, Rap, it doesn't matter a bit.

Thanks for thinking about this. Please, drop me a line at rappincowboy@hotmail.com if you have any ideas that you think might help, and feel free to cut-and-paste this letter and forward it.

Sincerely, Chris "Sandman" Sand

p.s. Mom and Dad, you're exempt as you're in worse shape than me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's so hot these days, but beautifully so. The little spiders are proliferating. Everytime I walk into my shack I break a fresh web with my face. The squirrels are collecting walnuts at a fevered pace. The blackberries are perfectly sweet and best of all-- free! I swam at Deschutes River yesterday with my friend Heidi. We baked and swam, baked and swam. I layed in a field with another friend and deer and ravens wandered near. Fairies and elves. Fairies and elves. My mind is a bowl of burnt squash. I like this heat... mostly. I just wish Joe's window could roll down a crack.

Last night was the weekly poker game. We were all so starved for it that most of us played for over three hours. I left after four, and David, Matt, and Pete were still avidly battling it out when I left. I earned $38 which is fair wages, especially since I was down $20 at midnight. I guess that means I somehow won $58 during the last two hours. It wasn't that fun a game, 'cause I was hungry the whole time and finally had to help my self to a bowl of cereal at 1:00AM.

Well, I best continue my organization process and grab a glass of water.

GOODTIME JESUS by James Tate

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.