My Daily Day

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

On Tuesday, May 31, 2005
the Plush manager in Tucson informed the Kissers that they'd be staying in a hotel that night, the band apartment being infested with killer bees.

On Monday, May 30, 2005
he drove to El Paso across the open west Texas desert, the horrible enormity of endless dirt and sagebrush, all that empty land to the jagged hazed mountains on the horizon, brown and rust and and dust green, the impenetrable blue and thick white clouds holding it all up, under the sky, space and distance and us in the middle of it all somewhere in this too huge country hopelessly small and inconsequential.

On Sunday, May 29, 2005
he quite unselfconsciously ordered a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at a restaurant in Alpine Texas. Shame is the enemy.

On Saturday, May 28, 2005
he fell asleep past midnight on a golf course in Austin, Texas. He woke when it started raining.

On Friday, May 27, 2005
swarms of people on Sixth Street, club shirts and fashionable skirts, hair gel, loud tank tops, open mouthed bars pouring music and light into the street, run run run such empty chaos such bankrupt noise.

On Thursday, May 26, 2005
a woman with a thick Texas accent cornered Pete about his whistle playing. "When you put that thang in your mouth I just about fell in love with you!"

On Wednesday, May 25, 2005

the Kissers camped just north of Houston Texas, in a pine forested grounds adjoining a lake.

On Tuesday, May 24, 2005
in the plush environs of the Aristocrat Hotel, where for the first time in his life Pete had his luggage carried to his room by a bell man, he thought, "The ability to endure hardship is more valuable than all the amenities in the world, which leave you no more fulfilled but only afraid of the inevitable return to depravation."

On Monday, May 23, 2005
the Kissers were nominated for a Grammy. Pete refused to attend the ceremony.

On Sunday, May 22, 2005
he tried, but could not bring the moon into focus.

On Saturday, May 21, 2005

Ken, Joe, and Kari sat talking at a party after the show in Lake Charles. Something about a dark horse. What they hell were they talking about?

On Friday, May 20, 2005
after the human race disappeared, Pete ran around the country unplugging their appliances in order to conserve electricity.

On Thursday, May 19, 2005
after a show at Lafayette, the Kissers drove two hours back to New Orleans, arriving around 4:30. By the time Pete fell asleep the sun was up.

On Wednesday, May 18, 2005
he thought, being honest is actually very difficult. It takes more than courage and moral fortitude. It takes talent, brains, a gift for discerning what is bullshit and what isn't bullshit and when we have no way of knowing.

On Tuesday, May 17, 2005
beneath a south Georgia sky pregnant with rain, he walks to Barnes and Noble. Where, browsing the meagre Irish history section, he suddenly feels the urge to deficate. So off he goes to the toliet, shuts himself in a stall, drops trou, and sits. At which point he discovers, wedged between the toliet paper dispenser and the wall, a rather graphic self-help manual, 10 Days to Better Sex. Which, out of strictly academic interest, he decides to peruse. He no sooner opens the book then the door flies open and a heavy-set man barrels in, clearly surprised to find the stall occupied, sees Pete, sees the books open across his lap, pictures of semi-nude people in carnal positions, makes a face, walks out. Useless to yell after him, No you've got the wrong idea I'm merely shitting. Oh speechless embarressment.

On Monday, May 16, 2005
he talked to his sister Leah on the phone. Leah said, put me on the internet.

On Sunday, May 15, 2005
he dreamt of his old high school library.

On Saturday, May 14, 2005
he spent the afternoon lounging poolside, talking to his friend Amanda Gartmann.

On Friday, May 13, 2005
he wondered, when the human race evolves into another species sometime in the distant future, where will we be left? Pitied or blamed? Honored or forgotten? Understood or villified? Hated, loved, or completely disregarded?

On Thursday, May 12, 2005

the sound of a woman screaming woke them up. Joe and Ken in stirred in their sleeping bags beside him in the tent. Looking up out through the nylon curtain in the predawn, they couldn't see anyone. Joe got up on one elbow, listening too. Someone in the immediate vicinity yelled, "You fucking son of a bitch, I'll murder your daughter!" Pete and Joe looked at each other, shrugged and went back to sleep.

On Wednesday, May 11, 2005
the Kissers killed an idle afternoon at Borders Books.

On Tuesday, May 10, 2005
he held the phone in his hand, but just couldn't make the call.

On Monday, May 09, 2005
he saw a sign near their Florida campground: "Danger: No Pets Beyond This Point." Below that: a large picture of an alligator.

On Saturday, May 07, 2005

his head swirled with motion sickness, navigating the endless switchbacks of the cliff side roads through the Smoky Mountains National Park.

On Friday, May 06, 2005
the Kissers enjoyed an afternoon on a pontoon boat, pasty and white in the Carolina sun, swimming Lake Keowee.

On Wednesday, May 04, 2005
a gas station manager came out and accosted the Kissers for parking at the pumps. Yelling at them through the open window: "You didn't even say thank you after using the bathrooms!"

On Tuesday, May 03, 2005
while wearing a blindfold he said, "I know it's you Sting, don't try to bait me into criticism."

On Monday, May 02, 2005
he read in Siddartha by Herman Hesse, "Slowly the thinker went on his way and asked himself: What is it that you wanted to learn from teachings and teachers, and although they taught you much, what was it they could not teach you? And he thought: It was the Self, the character and nature of which I wished to learn. I wanted to rid myself of the Self, to conquer it, but I could not conquer it, I could only deceive it, could only fly from it, could only hide from it. Truly, nothing in the world has occupied my thoughts as much as the Self, this riddle, that I live, that I am one and am separated and different from everybody else, that I am Siddhartha; and about nothing in the world do I know less than about myself, about Siddhartha."