Goin' South

Made it to Milledgeville in a zippy, silver Fiat. After going south for some time (story of my life), I stopped at a convenience store and expressed my uncertainty to the indian fellow who sold me two cans of Jamaican beer, a pack of gum and directed me north.

Off I went into the deep south, moonlit night with the Robert Quine tapes torturingly loud.

 Was ultimately relieved to be on the road after a string of delays/debacles. It seemed like only yesterday that I was tying one on at Alberta Street and then missing my flight the next morning when Frontier closed their counter 45 minutes before my flight. Me and two other people stood out there at 5am with angry looks on our faces and bad things coming out of our twisted mouths.

long Georgian porches for a mock unwind

Not traveling too often makes it hard to keep up with all the new ways airlines can fuck ya. What I learned is don't book through a third party or else you'll be reamed if you need to change your ticket. It cost me all kinds of money a number of different ways: $100 for carry-on alone.


What happened to the days when the airlines used to shuttle you to the terminal to get you on that flight. Australia was good like that. One thing I overlooked was how lousy and inefficient PDX security is. Is this because there are more nimrods here trying to blow crap up? I wonder.

Gave me only one day to get my head around Milledgeville, hoping I got a clue and I kind of did. Didn't make it to Flannery's lodgings, which breaks my heart.

The town is tiny, the restaurants gave me a stomachache, but I met some nice people and the writing program is most outstanding.

I got really energetic.

And then I got really really tired.

Whilst home to take my driving test and reading Mark Twain

I had been reading Mark Twain prior to taking my driving test, in which I passed, an occasion marked by the consumption of margaritas and like MT is impressive for all kinds of reasons, not least of which is the fact that it was a dreary day to be driving in the suburbs, but not so dreary to be reading Mr Twain. Nevertheless, I pull Barry Hannah off the shelf and uncover this pearl referencing the Twainster in his fabulous Boomerang:

"Top off the convertible and we're doing just twenty in an old forgotten place where the poplars are hanging over and we go into a tunnel of sudden shade, lost to the world, no horns no sirens no red light. Both of us hungry for a bite and only half a Pepsi left. Out of cigarettes, no stimulants at all. At the end of the tunnel is a decayed barn, faded red and very picturesque. Just for the hell of it and for old mark Twain and whitman and the boys who said themselves so well, I burn up a five dollar bill, while she sucks my person. This is the sort of squalor that Rev wildmon deplores. He is hot on the trail of such scenes as this. Never will it be allowed in our domain, he says, tossing another book into the fire like my last wife liked to do. She'd throw away anything that didn't go with the wallpaper. wildmon is another homegrown idiot from the state of Mississippi. Now he's gone totally nuts as most preachers with a political cause do. He has attacked Mighty Mouse for sniffing cocaine to get his strength. The cartoon Mighty Mouse was a loser anyway like a flying Jimmy Bakker. He just glanced around. My wife beckons me back with her arms to our bed after all these nights away from her. I blame myself for being an artist and how awful it must be to miss me."  

Destroyer @ Mississippi Studios

Carla T (Jesse's Girl):

So...did Dan take you for a whirl in his machine or what? I need details please, not forgetting that the closest I've been to a Destroyer gig was at "The Magic Sponge" bar in Cambodia where the bartender looked kinda like Dan and played a bunch of Pavement while Anna and I were talking to a Dutch guy who had taken too much acid and couldn't remember what his name was. Actually, that was a pretty great night. Did I fail to mention, there's a sword hanging above you!?

Joy Boy:

Oh, Carla! I remember your Cambodia vacation like I was there eating happy pizza with you! Dan simply destroyed matt and I and beguiled us with a showing of deep lyrical majesty and mouth watering eccentric melody. He came on-stage bearing a red guitar and suddenly I longed for a pair of doc martens with a similar hue. His shirt was unbuttoned far and his hair was very curly. He sang most of the hits, they were all so good, wringing profound emotion out of streethawk, virgin with a memory, downtown, savage night at the opera, european oils, foam hands, my fav year, helena and the one that goes your father is a fucking maniac. I only wish he sang the one that goes, “no man has ever hung from the rafters of a second home.” The times he faltered lyrically a crowd member kindly suggested the lyrics and the great man continued apace. He laughed once when the girl next to me, a scorpio also, I learned this using my detective acumen, purred like a cat. What a night! 

Spooky update

Celebrated Halloween for the last time ever at the age of 40 yesterday. I was never going to be simply 40 and have it be Halloween ever again.

Portland's good I used to dine here regularly in the nineties (photo), by which I mean I think I went here once. I definitely went once. I definitely did not eat there the morning I took this photo. But hey that's life in the gritty city.

 Slept through the trick or treaters, I think. Down in Tim's basement, I never heard the door, if there was a knock by some ghoulishly-attired children, well I was either asleep or I didn't hear them.

In somewhat scary-ass news there was a red beer can downstairs that still felt cold that neither Tim nor I knew who had drunk it. To complicate things, it was a Hawaiian lager that I remembered from his birthday back in August. To further complicate this complex mystery Tim lives in a house with a basement and all basements in america have an air of horrible sex crimes or at the very least, a butt-slapping patois alluding to S&M shenanigans. Needless to say, I slept peacefully and unencumbered by demons in the night.

I did watch part of Paranormal Activity a time before so the sudden beer can emergence was like a scene straight out of their surveillance footage that would give one pause. Not a great series, but effective in establishing a mood.

 A slightly nightmarish upbringing involving my sister peddling slasher movie storylines is documented in this essay here: http://jmwwjournal.com/Moritz.html

 Good Night!