2008...

January 1st: I'm at Cici's Pizza Buffet in Huntsville, Alabama. Fontana, the Mahonies, Wax Museums, Cheap Time and a bunch of Alabama/Tennessee people are here. I slept on a cement floor between Geoff and Ian who was spooning some 12 year old kid, with only my work jacket as cover. I've eaten my fourth plate now. I belch and my mouth tastes acrid. Everyone's bitching about their lack of weed. I feel shitty, a good kind of shitty though. This scenario seems prophetic to me.

February 28th: I'm sitting on the porch of the house. It's -3 degrees outside, my skin tickles. I've been sitting here for almost an hour now, bundled up and staring mutely at the condemned house across the street. My eyes are glassy and gone. My thoughts are screaming as I light up the fifth in a sad succession of seven Winston full flavors. I feel dead. I shouldn't complain, I could be sleeping in the bus in the church lot next door like the homeless man I just gave my sleeping bag to.

March 17th: Fuck today. I didn't even get out of bed. I listened to Merle Haggard on repeat. Today is not worth ever thinking about.

April 17th: I'm in the trunk of Scott's Escort coming back from the Lager House. In the car are Nate, Colin, Melissa, Marianna and Scott. Neither Nate and I have slept for three days, we're giggly and euphoric. We laugh for several minutes when Nate makes a comment about being in a submarine on the Lodge River. I heard "Cinnamon Girl" three times today. In my altered sleep-deprived I convince my mind this means something. I don't even know any redheaded girls. For reasons unexplainable to anyone else, today was a good day. I'll sleep well tonight.

May 27th: I'm sitting on the deck smoking. The sound of the leaves is lost on my ears. After a few hours of sporadic news broadcasts and an eventual contact from the police department we learned why our coworker, the driver, Jeff had failed to show up for work. He's dead. He had called the cops threatening to blow up his mobile home with a bomb and upon their arrival they found the home incinerated. He had immolated himself. A company van was used as his personal vehicle. It was retrieved and we placed his personal belongings in a cardboard box. In the six years I've worked at D&E I've never seen such a breakdown of emotions, some of us just held onto each other, crying. The last thing he said to me was, "Enjoy the three day weekend." This has been the most fucked up day that I've been alive.

June 24th: I'm laying out in Dave's apartment. It's about 100 degrees in Lincoln, Nebraska. Dave's at his new tele-polling job at Gallup. Colin and Geoff are still sleeping in his king-sized bed. I'm just sprawled out on his carpet, my head's right by the speaker on the carpeted floor. I'm floating careless to the sounds of It's a Beautiful Day. I just bought their album for $4.99 at the only record store in Lincoln. My biggest concern is my debate on how I should ration my dwindling deodorant supply. I opt neigh for the moment and stay put, it will come in handy later, we're still out for another week. We'll go to Virginia Beach. That'll be good. I shut my eyes to the oppressive heat. I feel good.

July 26th: I'm in the emergency room of Oakwood Hospital in Trenton. Nate has been assaulted at the Bohemian and someone how managed to drive himself 20 miles south. I'm looking over him. He's covered in blood, his nose is smashed in completely. I tell him he looks great, he manages to laugh. He's being a dick to the nurses, it's funny. I should let someone else have a turn, I walk out and see some girl having a seizure, apparently she's O.D.ed on something. There's blood, everyone remains calm. It's 5:30 A.M. I'm real tired.

August 22nd: I got a big paycheck today and bought a couple good records, Yusef Lateef, Sam Rivers and one of those thousands on inceptions of Eric Dolphy playing in Europe, it has "God Bless the Child" on it so I'm happy. I ate eggs and black beans for dinner. Katie came over and I taught her a few songs on guitar while I composed the notes that I'm going to play during the solo to Fontana's new song. I wish I was a better teacher. We walked around Ferndale for hours. We went over a pedestrian bridge crossing I-75. We talked about conspiracy theories and other things I don't feel comfortable talking about with most others. We're going to some estate sales early tomorrow. She left a little while ago. I'm stretched on my bed, I'm playing the Lateef record, he's playing some sort of pan flute, it's methodically tearing away the cobwebs in my stupid brain. We walked many miles, my feet hurt. I feel safe. I'm getting up early tomorrow. I feel peaceful.

September 11th: Sean's giving me a ride home from the Magic Stick. I turned 21 today. I'm so drunk I can't feel my toes. I don't have a care in the world. Tonight was phenomenal. I have to go to the Secretary of State tomorrow morning. I laugh at the prospect of how hung over I'll surely appear in my license picture. Sean and I play ZZ Top when we get to the house. Marianna and Nate come back and laugh at me. It's been a fine birthday.

October 4th: Nate, Andrew and I hung out on the eastside all day. I bought tons of music. We ate at some diner at 12 Mile and Dequindre. My dad, Andrew and I would eat there often in the days proceeding my parent's divorce. We laugh about everything there. Andrew calls the bacon strips rashers and we crack up. He tells us about a pedo waiter at Jimi's who hits on him. As he's so good at, he creates the most off-the-wall tales about this character. I'm in tears laughing and practically choke on the Gyro plate I'm eating. I got rice on the side in lieu of fries, it's white rice so I don't feel any better. Later on we go to some party where I see a few people I know from high school. I ride my bike home. My shoe lace gets caught in the pedal and I end up ripping it out. I go to bed and write a long spiel about the state of things, the type of thing that sounds great or like total bullshit the morning after.

November 3rd: I'm in the library at Wayne State. There's some preacher out front damning everyone to hell. I caught right as he was getting started. He accosted the gentlemen in front of me and said he was going to hell for smoking cigarettes. I turned to him and shouted, "Do me!" He looked confused. I lied and said I was gay and Jewish, he seemed then to understand and promptly reserved me a spot in hell. I laughed and walked away. I'm kind of angry because people are getting all hostile against him, threatening him and such, people are so fucking stupid. It's got me all fucked up though. I'm real unsure, about religion, morality, freedom. I'm just drifting. I'm reading the Book of Samuel for class. It makes me nervous. Hunger sucks dry my naked stomach. I'm tempted by the Clif bar in my jacket pocket. I must conserve it for the bus stop though. I'll go hungry.

December 6th: I'm standing looking at what once was the front end of my 1996 Mercury Tracer. We're about 30 miles outside of Athens, Ohio. We were driving back from the show we played the night before and the roads turned to shit as we crossed county lines. Drivers are spinning out as they drive by us at nerve-racking velocity. We jump on the other side of the guard rail. Geoff is mopping his blood-covered face with a dark blue bandanna. There's blood all over the air-bag. I braced for it and I still am shaking. Finally a county Sheriff is pulling up. Colin's rolling a cigarette. I see the stationary flashing lights of two parties of emergency vehicles as I look westward down OH-33. I'm helpless, my throat tightens, my mouth tastes metallic. My hands are burning cold as I pull out my phone, reluctantly, to call my mom to let her know and wish her a happy birthday.