The Road To Nowhere

It was 9:57AM.I woke up on Alex's couch in his garage/shop, an American flag draped across my body. I looked around and saw the conveyor dryer that I helped him fetch in Charleston, it seemed to be taking up a lot of space. The end of the belt was a few feet from my head. A Miller beer can made into a pipe was sitting on the floor underneath the belt. I remembered smoking pot with Alex. I think Alex has smoked pot less than twenty times in his life. I have no idea how many times I've smoked. The funny thing is, I hadn't smoked in a year and a half before my fiftieth birthday in January. Lately I've smoked quite a bit. I want to sing the praises of marijuana, like someone who has connected to some religion, I want to tell others, smoke some reefer, it eases traffic congestion, maybe you'll rethink some of those goals that you were never really interested in, but you think are good for you.

I'm fifty. Wow. I remember Alex saying to me in between hits, "you are clearly going to live until at least ninety, look at you". Of course we were stoned.

The night was incredible, adjectives wouldn't be sufficient to wrap up the details, the vibe or any other part of the evening. Neptune played on "The Bus". Neptune is a band that started as a sculpture project. They had one guitar that looked like a medieval torture device. A couple of people estimated it weighs 50 lbs.. I picked it up and I think that estimate is about right.

Mark drove the bus down Orange Blossom Trail (Hwy. 441). we tried our best to make a route that ended up in the Hoops parking lot as the band played its encore. Hoops is the dive bar where we began the trip. Our timing wasn't even close. That sort of precision may be easier in a world that is more regimented, a more corporate music world. We ended up going near Apopka and heading to George's Hideaway on N. Edgewater. We ran into our friends John and Courtney. It seemed like a crazy coincidence, running into people we knew in a another dive bar outside of town. Just before we pulled into George's we were pulled over by a cop. I didn't get out of the bus, but according to accounts by Mark, Alex and Greg the cop seemed stunned by the bus. The bus looks like a post-apocalyptic vehicle ala Road Warrior. Noise streamed out into the street as the band continued to play. Alex ran into the bus, in the middle of the cops questioning. He said. "The cop wants the band to stop, but they sound so fucking good, I can't ask them to stop." The music continued. The band later said they didn't know we'd been pulled over. The cop asked Mark, "What is going on here? What is this?" Mark said it's a private party. I've known Mark since 10th grade Spanish class. I can't picture anything but a deadpand delivery from him. Mark was wearing a bus driver uniform shirt with an American flag on the sleeve, he had a few days of stubble on his face and red suede hush puppies on. The shirt was from an actual bus driving job he'd had, but it all looked very thriftshop.

We were pulled over for not having tail lights. I think there was some sort of toggle switch inside that solved that problem. He also warned us about noise violations. The cop ended up letting us go. Mark later said getting pulled over was the highlight of the trip. In retrospect I agree. If he or any of us had been busted, maybe not.

We were going to have a second show. There was some agreement against that idea, mostly by the band. I think they were getting little shocks from electrical shorts or at least that's what I heard via someone else. I was at a post-decision making point. I had been drinking, later I compounded it with pot. I'm a lightweight with pot.

After parking the bus in Greg's yard and knocking parts of his and the neighbors fence down, Alex and I bicycled to the Hideaway. We split a pitcher of Blue Moon. It may not have been necessary, but we drank and soon after smoked.

In two weeks we're planning another bus trip. I think it's going to be called "The Show To Nowhere." Freddie and Johnny's psychedelic, soundtrackish band will play on the bus. We're telling everyone to bring sleeping bags and tents. We'll probably leave Friday night and come back Saturday night. We're not telling anyone where we're going.

Degrees Of Seperation

"We need to talk to someone, who's not a sailor or frat boy, to see what's going on around here." Alex said to me. I was thinking pretty much the same thing. We were both visiting Charleston, SC for the first time.

Alex was right. Five minutes later we were drinking beers with Jake and another Alex. They had guided us to the Upperdeck bar. Jake said he'd been on "The Bus", the mobile venue that the band Neptune is playing on Thursday. He said he spent a few months in Oakland, and met John Benson the proprietor of the venue. Jake also knew what's yr. damage?, Greg, Nelson and Adam Wood's longtime band. I have played with them at least one time that I can remember.

The next night we were planning on going to the warehouse show where local noise maker's Small Pox were playing. We arrived around 11:30PM, the show was already over. We headed back to the Upperdeck, trying out a couple of other bars. Earlier we were drinking at a ghetto bar named Frankie's, $2 for 24 ounce High Life's. It wasn't a special deal.

After last call, Alex decided to go deep into the ghetto to get some more beer. Genna a young woman from the hostel had joined us. She said this is supposed to be the 7th most dangerous neighborhood in the country. Genna and I sat in the truck watching Alex interact with the locals inside. We wished we could hear, but we didn't make any effort to get closer. Alex exited giving a beer a piece to two guys walking around the convenience store. Then it became apparent that a middle aged black man was hassling Alex for a beer. He said he would take one of our bags that were in the back of the truck if Alex didn't give him a beer. He warned Alex that he is not in his element. Alex told him to fuck off or something like that. The guy persisted. Alex then sternly said, "Mr. Greene could you step out of the truck." I got out and stood on the other side of the truck. The guy seemed pretty intimidated. He left saying something like I'm kidding. We ended up back at the hostel sitting on the porch until around 3:30AM drinking beers with some girl who said she couldn't get a room. She seemed a little sketchy. Alex said she looked pregnant.

The next morning we went to Rutledge's Coffee House for breakfast. Then we met up with the guy who sold Alex a conveyor dryer for his screen print shop. Alex found him on Craigslist. The guy told us plenty of stories. He had several creative revenge stories. He told us a guy tried to screw him over and wouldn't pay him, so he hired a private investigator to follow him. It turned out the investigated guy was sleeping with three other women other than his wife, one was a prostitute. Our guy sent photos to his wife, she filed for divorce. Then our guy placed an ad on craigslist under man seeking man. It said something like happily married guy who likes occasional cock. Our guy had the ad directed to his phone, so he could field the phone calls. A guy responded. Our guy told him, one of my fantasies is to have someone show up at my place of business and pull their cock out. The respondee said that he had always fantasized about doing that very same thing. Our guy told him to show up Friday at 2PM when all the employees are out cashing their checks. Friday the guy whipped his dick out as scheduled. When the whole thing went to court, the guy told the judge about the a guy whipping his dick out at his place of business, under the guidance of our guy. The judge said that sounds a little far fetched. Our guy won the case. They still live two blocks away from each other in a gated community.

The Field Trip

Yesterday evening I saw a truck pulling a pontoon boat past the 7-11 down Mills on the corner of Virginia. There isn't anything unusual about that, except for the timing.

Earlier that day I went on a field trip with Jane and her brother Neal or it might be Neil, he shares a birthday with me, although, he's in his mid-20's. Anyway I'm drifting.

We made plans Saturday night, to go to Geneva, Florida the next day (Sunday) to see the grave of Lewis Powell, one the people involved in the Lincoln assassination conspiracy. Powell also known by his alias, Lewis Payne was supposed to take out Secretary of State William Seward, as a part of a holistic slaughter designed to knock off the top of the chain of command. Seward was stabbed in the face by Powell's Bowie knife, ended up disfigured but lived seven more years continuing to serve as Secretary of State to Andrew Johnson, who also survived, after George Atzerodt got nervous, drunk then wandered the streets throwing his knife into the road and failed to follow through on his assignment to kill Johnson.

I think there were a total of 16 Confederate soldiers buried in the Geneva Cemetery. We saw several with small souvenir shop type Confederate flags next to their tombstones. The flags were fairly fresh. Powell and couple others had plaques next to them placed by the Daughter's Of The Confederacy. We also saw some creepy looking contemporary tombstones with high school yearbook photos, hyper real etchings, air boats, deers and water logged stuffed animals lying around like flood victims.

After leaving the cemetery, we decided to head east on Hwy. 46 towards the St. Johns River to get a beer. We drank a couple of beers and had some undercooked conch fritters at the Jolly Gator fish camp.

On the way over we pulled into Fort Lane park. We read the plaque on the beach of Lake Harney. It stated that Fort Lane is named for Colonel Lane 1810-1836. He was a mathematics and philosophy professor prior fighting in the Second Seminole War.

When I got home from our field trip. I looked up Colonel Lane or John Foote Lane. He entered West Point at 13, graduated at 18. He was a professor, engineer and a soldier. He also received a posthumous patent for inventing the pontoon boat. He died at 26, after getting encephalitis, then going insane he put a sword through his head. I felt a little tense when I saw that truck pulling a pontoon boat down Mills avenue.

Can You Break A Twenty?

May of 2006, I was in Knoxville. I had a voicemail that said something like this is Leon's sister in New York. My number is 1-800 something, call me Leon wants to tell you about something, but he doesn't have long distance on his phone.

Leon is a friend of mine. He owns a coffee shop in Cherokee, NC, which is very close to Knoxville. I had never met Leon's sister and wasn't aware of her. When I finally reached Leon, he said, I know this may seem off the wall, but that's why I'm relaying it to you. He then told me that the touristy Summer stock play Unto These Hills was looking for a few guys to play 1830's American soldiers. Leon gave me a number to call. The next day I was doing a dramatic reading with a guy named Cochise. I got the part. I don't think I had much competition. I was given a small weekly salary and a pretty nice apartment.

I didn't have any lines. I also ended up playing a Spanish monk, a preacher, a member of the spirit clan and I've probably forgotten something. I felt like I immediately achieved outsider status within the ranks of other actors, but not in a way that I was left out of their socializing. I was actually invited to parties all the time. I rarely went. I remember going to the casino that doesn't serve alcohol. Lights were flashing bells ringing and I was stoned. I hadn't been stoned in quite awhile. I won $15.25. I came in with $5 and left with $20.25. I don't think I have the gambling gene. I left high with my money watching the cocktail waitress deliver cokes and sprites.


Unto These Hills is about the U.S. government sanctioned Cherokee removal from the area to Oklahoma, also known as the Trail Of Tears. The production that I was involved in was a new one. One that broke stride from the previous, from what I was told. A lot of people didn't like the new one. I had no point of reference. I had never seen the old one. I would see people in Leon and his fiance Natalie's coffee shop that would talk fondly about the last year and not so fondly about this year. I hung out at the coffee shop, hiked, read and tried to find enjoyment in a place filled with fast food restaurants and souvenir shops. A friend of mine says it looks like International Drive in the mountains. He was referring to the touristy strip heading towards the theme parks in Orlando.


Dr. Matt was an ally I had there. He also played a soldier. He was researching his dissertation for UNC-Chapel Hill. He asked if I had ever seen Herzog's Stroszek. I told him I had VHS pirated copy for years. Matt told me the final scene was in Cherokee. I watched it again when I came back from Cherokee. It's a very tragic episode. Leon told me they used real Cherokee cops for the filming. He said some are still cops here. I got a $140 ticket a couple of days before I left. I still say I wasn't even speeding, but I was in a place that has been hit hard by the white man and now the imperial force of McDonald's, Taco Bell etc. have a comfortable grip on the community. I've heard plenty of people say oh the people that live on the reservation and get plenty of money from the casino's. I know that the amount they get is negligible when your employment opportunities are mostly minimum wage or near there.


It seemed like the critics of the play wanted something more entertaining, which I thought sort of whitewashed the history. Leon told me they're like most of America they want to be entertained, but they do take this history very seriously. Leon told me that some Cherokee's won't use $20 bills because Andrew Jackson's picture is on the bill. He was the man who sent them walking west in horrible conditions, all ages, the healthy the unhealthy. Many died of diseases, exposure, malnourishment and on and on. I've worked as a substitute teacher. I've never seen this addressed in the history books that I've seen in classes. Then again how do you really address history and get the feel of pain, context, nuance or whatever you're trying to convey?

Sorry to return to pop culture of the 60's, the 1960's, but I was just watching a series on PBS about sixties music. They kept showing clips of the bands playing in the sixties and then finishing the segment with a reunion shot of old men in dodgy haircuts that emphasized their age by refusing to let go of something that was romanticized and should now just go away. Revival bands, productions that play the pain down, they employ people. People need to make a living.

Have you seen Stroszek? It's about a foreigner in search of the American dream. It ends in Cherokee.

To The Best Of My Recollection

The way I remember it, I first heard heard I Won't Get Fooled Again by the Who when I was in the eight grade. I also fell in love with Led Zepplin after hearing a new song called Black Dog. I bought the 45, then the album Led Zepplin IV. It's funny how there is still power in those songs when I hear them. I think it's more than nostalgia. I've always felt that I wasn't such a sucker for the sentimentality of the past, but I am a romantic, there does seem to be some conflict. I'll admit to listening to Lou Reed's A Perfect Day thinking back on a day that seemed perfect with a woman that I felt like I like was in love with, but now her memory isn't as clear the song lyrics. I said for years that I Won't Get Fooled Again should be blasting at my funeral. I've also requested second rate comics and dubious parlor tricks. I won't know what's going on, so have at it.

I guess I am a sucker for the sentimental and the nostalgic. I still love what I think of as classic rock. I just love it when I hear something that digs deeper than the standard commercially represented standard fare. I love to hear a Hendrix song that makes me think back to my dig for more than what all the other kids were listening to, the lesser known pieces. I was the only kid I remember who tried to find value in Yoko Ono after the Beatles split. She was very unpopular at the time in populist circles. My search led me to John Cage, Stockhausen, Fluxus, Zen Buddhism, contemporary art and an eventual reexamination of Yoko as an artist.

Sunday I rode my bike over to the Orlando Museum Of Art with Jane. We went to see the Norman Rockwell exhibit. I'm a freelancer at the museum and have been resistant to Rockwell. Lately I've given him a more thorough look, Jane and I listened to the long lecture by a distinguished expert, I think that's how she was introduced, along with educational credentials. The lecture was mostly anecdotal, but gave some insight to a man who was apparently more thoughtful than I thought. He was an active participant in the civil rights movement. There are some very moving works on display, there are plenty of others that strike me as the Americana that I think seems more wishful than actual.

After the lecture that was more accommodating in content than length, Jane and I may have been a little hasty in passing through the exhibit, we were hungry. We rode to my house and ate a late lunch. It was a nice day. I took a break from my cynicism and thought who cares if I'm sentimental, nostalgic or whatever.

Dilated

It's been almost two months since my monumental birthday, but life doesn't seem all that monumental. I spent several hours with dilated pupils today. I had my eyes checked, while my friend David waited around for me and then drove me to Stardust, the local coffee shop, video store, restaurant and now bar. Stardust still has a huge selection of hard to find films and some rare beers too. As I waited for my pupils to recover I drank a Belgian ale. I think it was Belgian. It tasted like that part of the world. I don't remember the name. My vision was still a little foggy and I didn't recognize some people that recognized me. I'm also a little more reclusive than I used to be. I'm not sure what kind of alibi that is.

I'm supposed to get new reading glasses and the doctor asked me if I want some distance glasses. I asked. Do I need them? He said maybe for long night drives and at the theater. Did he say theater? Yes. Does he say that to everyone? It seemed odd. He said your insurance pays for two pairs. I said, yeh I'll take the theater glasses too. He said, you might not need them very often, your right eye is still 20/20, your left is 20/25.

My eyes are clear now. Its been about seven hours since the dilation. I'm craving another Belgian beer or something that tastes Belgian.

MIA

It's been over month since I've posted anything. The conflict of writing what I hope to get published with this forum is probably mostly manufactured by me, but I get distracted.

Lately I've been brewing up some other stuff too. Thursday March 20th, I'm planning a show with plenty of help from some of my usual suspects, Alex and Greg Lebowitz. The band Neptune is coming here. They are on the Table of the Elements label that originated to pay homage to violinst and avant-garde filmmaker Tony Conrad, but have extended way beyond that, recording legends in experimental music Rhys Chatham, Jim O'Rourke, Faust, and the list goes on.

Neptune is a more recent addition. At their inception they were a sculpture project. They have maintained that intention, by playing homemade instruments made of garbage. Regina Greene (no relation) is their booking agent. She also works for Table of the Elements. She is based in Chicago and used to run the great club the Pilot Light in Knoxville. When I was booking for a living I was told about her. Word was out that she was passionate and very knowledgeable about music, but most of all everyone was treated with southern hospitality that is not commonplace on the tour circuit.

We are planning a show that is the perfect marriage of act and venue. Neptune will perform on "The Bus". The Bus is a mobile venue owned by Oakland's John Benson. Greg has temporary custody of this extraordinary show place that is fueled with vegetable oil.

My longtime friend Mark who I met in tenth grade Spanish class will drive the bus. Mark is a middle school science teacher, but he used to moonlight as a bus driver.

We are planning out the logistics. We don't want plan more than we can execute, but we definitely plan on keeping it interesting.

I think we have custody of the bus until May or June. I heard they are headed to Maine after that.