See you in the summer Louisiana. 
It's once again time 
to grind blackened flame 
from the sacred chalice of steel. 
Bro-Dege tour kicks off Saturday 
in Paris. 
Take care, 
but also go rage 
against the dying of the light, 
because life is short, brutal, 
and coded for mystery. 

Relatively painless flight 
from Lafayette to Paris. 
No hassles with the gear.
Packed my peddle board in the suitcase
With the clothes.
Combined, the Thing weighs 
as much as a E-car.
So glad to be out of the country.
Lafayette, my hometown
Is a big small town.
Great place, great people
But as with all small towns 
You must leave it occasionally
Or you become a myopic asshole.

4.11.15 Paris
First night in Paris.
Went out with Xavier 
My booking agent 
And saw bands: Moon Duo and Warm Graves.
Met up with my Paris friends 
Including the dudes 
From Aqua Nebula Oscillator.
The main guy, David
Lives in a cave somewhere in Paris.
His apartment is a cave 
dug into the earth.
They're a psych rock band.
After explaining to me 
how they tripped on LSD
During their live performances,
I ask how did they pull that off 
Without it devolving into a mess?
"It's easy. One chord, three trips,"

Slept on a quickly deflating air mattress
That wobbled and listed like a ghost ship
In a shit storm.
Round 4 am, I abandon ship 
And swim to the couch.
Slept till 2 pm.
Woke and looked out the window 
At this Paris neighborhood.
Good morning, Paris. 
I lived most of my life without you.
But now I see you are an old friend.
It just took me 
Decades to realize it. 

GIG. Paris.
A packed house in Paris.
This I like.
A packed house in Paris
Makes up for 50 dead gigs 
In the US. 

There once was a guy 
Who loved telling everyone 
What to do 
and how they should do it.
And was very critical of all the things
The townspeople tried to do.
But he himself didn't do shit
In his lifetime.
This annoyed the townspeople.
When the man eventually died,
They all pissed on his grave.
And he was forgotten.
The End.

An armless beggar 
in the subway tunnel with no shirt, 
Sitting crossed legged,
Staring at an empty plate
Placed at his feet.
Among the deafening roar
Of trains.

ROADLOG: The Drunks
Sleeping on Xavy's couch in Paris.
I'm awoken by drunken girls entering the apt.
It's Xavy's female roommate and friend,
Drunkenly stumbling about the place.
I say hello introduce myself, half asleep.
Someone begins banging on the front door.
Who is it?
It's two drunk French dudes, late-20s
Who followed them home 
And want to come in.
They knock and pound the door again.
Ring the buzzer.
The girls do not want them to come in.
More drunken chatter and pounding from the door.
Can you make them leave? 
I'm half asleep, jet lagged, 
And in my underwear...
Time to make the people leave now. 
I open door.
See two drunk French dudes
One is laying on the ground, relaxing. 
The other, standing.
They don't speak English.
I don't speak French.
Ok guys, you go to go!
Yeah, you got to kick rocks and leave.
One tries to walk past me
Into the apt 
And I have to shove him back out
Several times. 
They yak, Blah, blah.
..and more French stuff. 
Xavy wakes pissed off
Yells some French stuff at the dudes
And slams the door.
Then I go back sleep. 


ROADLOG: Caen, France
Rented a car
Packed my gear in it
And drove to Caen.
I'm Playing a former crack house
That's been converted into a 
Collective art space compound
Similar to what I played last year 
In Bordeaux. 
They're all 
Super sweet motivated
Organized non-bitchy people.
I like that.
I like people that do stuff.
These people are doers.
I play gig on outdoor stage
Under a giant French sun
And I feel good. 
Since I am the only person on the bill,
I get to stretch out the set
And interpolate the slide scapes
And ambient stuff I like to do
Into the songs. 
After show,
I watch an absurdist play 
They are putting on.
It's all in French. 
It's interesting.
All Characters in play 
Stand upon a giant wobbling platform 
That rocks back and forth throughout the play
Like a hobbled pirate ship.
They lead me to a tent
With a couch, table,
Fridge, and privacy.
I get that oddly surprised feeling 
When the venue actually treats 
you like a human being 
and hooks you up with nice meal, 
bottle of wine, 
and a private backstage tent...
after you've been playing shitholes 
for 20 years 
with disgusting bathroom facilities
And you actually feel 
like a smug twat
For sort of enjoying 
The temporary respite
From the eternal grind. 
Such is life. 


No comments: