Omaha is dead. There is a zombie walk
for charity. The wall of Halloween Christmas lights and green plastic
flowers at the back of the stage share a wall with the cocaine-dusted
bathroom. Later on tonight we stay in an AirBNB with a lonely host
who forces us to partake in the breakfast part of BNB. She is
desperately making cookies tomorrow with the same urgency as
putting flowers on her husband's grave.
Not many people are here for the show
and it's Friday night. The sound feels like it's happening in a
different room. We have our ears up against the wall trying to separate
the language and the noise. Spies of our own music. At what point
does reverb become eternity? The monitors are constantly on the verge
of feeding back creating a baseline of rage and hopelessness to
funnel into the ballads. At least in Columbia there was a full drunk
on the verge of heckling, waltzing with himself in
a recurring naked-in-public dream.
World Series game 4 is happening in LA
and I am watching from the bar in Nebraska. Dodgers are up 4-0 and
then lose while I am playing. I can see the crowd assembled on the
field from behind the drums so I know the game is over. The night
before was the longest World Series game in all of history. Almost a
complete workday of 8 hours.
I watched baseball when I was doing
insurance work in Florida. It's the perfect mixture of adrenaline and
boredom to get through the unyielding tedium of labeling thousands of
pictures “damaged by wind” Now the windshield is taking care of
the wind. As we zoom over and/or the highway zooms under us on our way to
Denver so much faster than the pioneers it hurts.
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