Night Four - "A Little Teaching and A Little Learning is A Little Living"

The day wore on as I took my leave at The Red House on Poplar. I reserved myself to books and music. This time back in the Big Sky State was a little different. Not as much running around, it was more sedentary. After reading up on The Adventure of Lewis and Clark, and how they are eternally indebted to Sacajawea. There was a great feast lead by the spontaneous cookery of Drew, one of the aforementioned. It was some killer mac and cheese with bacon, onions, and peppers. It was truly gourmet. Then arrived their newest house-mate, who went by the name Easy. He was as his cognomen implied. He was a musician and songwriter as well. He had some very intricate finger picking and lyrical style. So I sat down with him to share or offer anything at all to his struggle with his next line. It turned into a great conversation of philosophizing and then one of jamming. It was a journey we both we're headed on, not sure where we were going but we knew exactly where we wanted to end up. Easy had just moved from Utah, on a prayer and a dream. He had just gotten a job as a door to door vacuum salesmen to make some cash to get his own place to get on his feet. He had every instinctual intention correct, to me at least. He wanted the suffering. He wanted Bukowski's Post Office. At least it seemed to me. Well maybe not that far removed but close. The longing, the desire, the things that make it real and the hope we turn into dreams. It's the lonesome trail that brings us there. "The difference between a poor man and a rich man is that a rich man has money", the ascetic states. "While the rich man keeps the poor man in his state," the revolutionary screams out loud. So there we sat with the candle burning at both ends into the night. We swapped war stories, swiggin' swill from hop and still. "Late to rest and early to rise", was the last thing he said that night.

The Empire Builder - Day Four "How To Turn An Acquaintance Into A Friend"

Another day, another morning. Matt and Libby went off to work. I gathered up some steam, took a shower, and then a short walk into downtown Missoula. There was a coffee-shop located in town center I remembered. Short and sweet, I got an Americano then sat down for a quick session. The timber floors creek in the mausoleum of joe ink while I sipped my drink. And just to think, to clear my head, I ended up seeking an acquaintance from the last trip I made to Montana. It was during a birthday party the boys and I were invited to play some music at. She was like me in that we both didn't know anybody that night, so I figured my instincts and intentions were right. It was by chance, again, that we would inhabit the same bean stalk graveyard. Her and I would talk and speak of the most recent past and then the most passed past. She was a rambler as well. Constantly moving and on tour. She was originally from this Valley in Montana but had moved to Kansas and back again and again. She followed her most current lover from state to state, gig to gig. Therefore it was easy to conclude that she had enough of the round about life, being a musician's wife. I would think she was trying to lay the foundations of pylons that I might tread near the thin ice of love. So carefully away we wandered from her real reason for moving to Missoula. Could it have been for the weather, the money, or the view? She told me stories of her story, wrapped in the iron blanket of a victim. Though over a short time she became warm. She told me of her family, her two best-friends who ended up meeting up independently of her, and finally of her job. She came from a small family but her parents had separated by her early teens and she set out and off to wandering shortly after. She had a few loves between then and her self-distinguished yet extinguishing dream in the guise of a life as muse to the starling. They were, in the end, really of no consequence as she tip toe danced through the Midwest. She returned to discover her two best friends, one male, one female, to be hooked in twine the mind of wayfaring lovers. They all became roommates, yet the other two were always short on rent and funds for having fun. She quickly was skeptical of them but kept it to her-self out of respect for their individualities. I think in the end this was her downfall. After nearly 2 and a half months, in the silence, they left while she was at work one day, which consisted of 12 hours of cold-calling. No money, no note, not even a trace had been left behind. It was a turn and burn. I've been witness, protagonist, and villain in situations similar to this. It's never comfortable again. Rule one of the road; always make a home no matter where you go. I mean these were her best friends. You figured since she gave them the respect she would expect then they would, by necessity, reciprocate . This time was different. She was headed off to work now but not until I informed her of my reasons in Missoula she inquired and I obliged but I gave no real indication of whether or not she should make an effort. If I showed too much interest it would probably scare her away. Well I had every intention of maintaining some sort of acknowledgement that her existence was worthy of attention yet maybe just a cup of coffee was enough. Rule one of "How To Turn An Acquaintance Into A Friend"; learn their name.

The Empire Builder - Night Three "On A Bed of My Choosing"

I walked into the typical faire that is the little Red House on Poplar Street. A roomful of gamers hacking away at the celestial cesspool from whence their immortal enemies have come. "They all must be slain." I heard a character from the game shout out, while light swords, lasers and energy bombs disseminating destruction. A water pipe with bags and bags, flavor upon flavor, full of someone's preferred choice of medicine. "Hey guys, is Matt around?" "He's went over to Libby's. He should be back soon." "Oh, ok. What are you guys playing?" I didn't register what the name was, I found out being polite to zombies keeps them from eating your brains. So I went back into the front room where my bags were and started to get situated. I already had plenty of ideas for songs while on this trip, so i decided to start writing some of them down. The writing process has always been a transforming thing, mostly akin to a block of sculpting putty. Each song seems to find it self out, explore its own possibility, push its own potential. It builds itself up and at the most opportune time it deflates, self-destructs and starts from scratch. Again and again I have experienced this but these songs seem different, I couldn't put my finger on it but the music was already shaped, as if manufactured. These songs were coursing through my veins, each melody line was conscience of its place and reason. The words would come later with these songs, if the story be told through music then the words would only be embellishment. At some point during this informal writing session, Matthieu and Libby came tumbling through the front door. After the necessary embracing and affections we made haste to a local pub to engage in the delights of our fancy; billiards, cheap swill, and greasy fat laden food. The three of us were accompanied by Taylor, a life-long fascist, who imposed his will on nearly everyone everywhere he went. He was great fun, living completely in the moment as he wished. A zen-lunatic poet of dreams in life's words walking in the shadows of Kerouac, Burrows, and Ginsberg. He howled at a full moon and woke to the early sun. Matt was very similar in this way though more absurd in his thoughts and actions. To even attempt to describe his thought process would do him grave injustice. Despite being the most genuine and polite person I have ever met, he will steal, lie, and cheat but only to those who are not immediately connected to him. He will never steal anything of consequence or personnel attachment, unless he had been wronged and justice demands its will to be done. There is a Robin Hood quality to his mischief. Libby on the complete other-side of the spectrum is stable in mind and emotion. She neither goes too far one way or the other. Though with this in mind if you get her on the right topic she will blossom into a radical rose watered by the flames of discontent. We all played several games of pool while listening to the music our hearts. Our conversation went this way and that seemingly with no intention to create a linear stream of thought. After several pitchers we retreated to the humble abode that is the Little Red House on Poplar Street and settled in for the evening. We watched a movie. After which time Matt and Libby went to turn in. Matt said to me, "Make yourself at home, on a bed of your choosing."

The Empire Builder - Day Three "Zoo-town: A Hop, Skip, and a Jump."

I woke in the morning to the smell of bacon. The Dunnigan's had fixed a spread fit for a king. Bacon, cheesy eggs, biscuits, etc. I felt completely at home. They even let me sleep in a little bit. I sat down and was immediately cared for. You want this or that? I just took it all in as quickly as possible. John asked "So what time does your bus leave?" I took a look quick look around to find a clock, it was 11:50. "5 minutes ago." "What?" he spouted back out. "Well I guess you'll have to get a ride with Andy and Pete. You guys alright with that.?" John turned to his son. Andy just shook his head then Pete said, "We'll have to make some room." "I have some gas money." I said. So after some talk about where I was from and where I was headed. We packed the car and made the 2 and half hour journey to Zoo-town; A mere hop, skip, and a jump. While on the ride the boys and I made several more connections through Portland and Missoula. Talked about our favorites, songs, musicians, food, etc. They seemed genuinely interested in meeting up this week before I left, to reconnect, jam, drink some beer and engage in the typical whatnots. And so I left it at that. It turned out that they lived right down the road from Matt's place. The road named the Rattlesnake by the locals, for reasons unbeknownst to me, was the path by which we were connected. I got Andy's number when they dropped me off at Matt's house and headed up the Rattlesnake to ease their travel weary heads.

et cetera

The moments of my time these days have been reduced to scrounging. This life is nothing but suffering. Excuse the nihilism, please. We only have but blinks and twinkles of the stars; this is all we are. The blatant quickness of breathes these days is seen so clearly even in the darkest glaze of a Belgian lattice scene. Torn asunder, thrown to and fro, by the fancy glances of a biermaid I did go. The darkness takes over in these hard times. Where is there left to grow? The wilderness has been taken. The mountains have been conquered, since the plains have been tilled and pillaged to their final throws, Where else is there to go? What else is there to know? Since the knowing has been known. Into the abysmal abyss we are thrown. But hence we will return with hope in our hearts. As indifference will guide us, til death do it's part.

The Empire Builder - Night Two "Loitering" Part III

I realized after about an hour, once the alcohol had worn off, that there was no way I was
gonna spend the night outside. I gathered up my things and hit the trail looking for a
motel. After some inquiring with the drunken townsfolk wandering the streets I came upon
a place "The Downtowner". I walked up to the office but no one was around, who would be
at 2 o'clock in the morning. So I had one last chance in John. I peeled open my wallet and
dug around inside for the business card he gave me. As I punched in the numbers I had an
empty feeling filling up inside. It rang once, twice, and a third time. I was about to hang
up when a soft breathy voice came through the other line. "Hello?" "John?" "Yes."
"It's Kory." "Kory? What's happened? Are you alright?" "Yeah I'm alright. Just a little
tired and cold at the moment. My friend I was gonna stay with seems to have forgotten about
me." "Where are you?" "The Downtowner" "They ain't open are they?" "It appears so." "Do
you remember how to get back to Cooper's?" "Yup" "I'll meet you there in 10 minutes."
So I packed back up, lit a smoke and headed the two or three blocks back to Cooper's. While
waiting outside Officer Friendly approached me. "You just get off the train?" "This morning
I did." "Well what are you doing?" "On my way home." "And where's that?" "Chicago"
"Well then you're quite a ways out from there. So what are doin' in the mean time?" "Waiting
for a friend." "So you have a place to stay tonight?" He seemed to imply with his tone that he could provide me with some shelter if I didn't have a place. Although I'd probably have to give him a better reason then loitering. At this time John with another fellow, who I later found out was Pete of "The Lil' Smokies", pulled up. "You're friend is John Dunnigan?" "Yup." "You should've said so. I would've let you alone. "Hey John!" And the pair swung into a diatribe of the current state of culture here in Whitefish. From what I gathered Whitefish just recently started a beat cop for late nights on the weekends because of a rise in hooliganism reports, either fictitous or
factual, from residents and proprietors. "Go right ahead and make yourself comfortable."
John offered. "Have a goodnight sir" I spoke to the Officer. "Goodnight son and good luck."
I was introduced to Pete, and we headed the quick drive back to John's house. "You're a
lifesaver John." "This reminds me of the time I got left behind after a gig at some bar
in Bozeman when I was 22 and ended up making one of the best friends of my life." He responded. During this time John got lost on his way back. Eventually we pulled into John's driveway and I barreled out. Once we got inside I was shown my pallet for the night. "Are you thirsty? Hungry?" I thought about it for a minute, which John took as the affirmative. He threw
together some chili mac made with buffalo meat and a tall glass of water. We talked about
travel, venues, and songwriters we both liked. "I have something I want to show you." As he
lead me into his sanctuary full of vintage LP's, amps, guitars, pictures, posters, tickets,
passes, etc. He reached up to a back far corner and pulled off the wall a 1920's Kalamazoo.
It had been in his family since it was bought. He then showed a picture of his Grandfather
playing the guitar in a pair of jeans, an undershirt, and a cowboy hat. He then handed me
the six-string and asked me to play him a song. I picked out some Townes van Zandt tunes.
"I have never heard that guitar sound like that." He said. "Play me one of yours." "Sure."
"I didn't want to take too much of his time. So I played a verse and a chorus of Annabelle
Lee. "That's not it, is it?" So I finished it out while he just sat there in awe. "Hank
Williams would be proud. I really want to stay up all night and pick but we are right
below the bedroom where my wife is sleeping." He took back the Kalamazoo, which has to be the best sounding guitar I have ever had the privilege to play. "Where are you headed after this?" "Missoula." "Interesting. My son lives there. He's staying here the night tonight and will be headed back there tomorrow. I'm pretty sure they'd be able to give you a ride if you wanted one."
"Really?" "Yup." I began to regret buying that bus ticket earlier that day. "Well we can
talk about it in the morning." He bid me goodnight. I thanked him again for his uncanny
hospitality and unending charity to which he responded "Good people and good actions make
the world go 'round."

The Empire Builder - Night Two "Loitering" Part III

I realized after about an hour, once the alcohol had worn off, that there was no way I was
gonna spend the night outside. I gathered up my things and hit the trail looking for a
motel. After some inquiring with the drunken townsfolk wandering the streets I came upon
a place "The Downtowner". I walked up to the office but no one was around, who would be
at 2 o'clock in the morning. So I had one last chance in John. I peeled open my wallet and
dug around inside for the business card he gave me. As I punched in the numbers I had an
empty feeling filling up inside. It rang once, twice, and third time. I was about to hang
up when a soft breathy voice came through the other line. "Hello?" "John?" "Yes."
"It's Kory." "Kory? What's happened? Are you alright?" "Yeah I'm alright. Just a little
tired and cold at the moment. My friend I was gonna stay with seems to have forgotten about
me." "Where are you?" "The Downtowner" "They ain't open are they?" "It appears so." "Do
you remember how to get back to Cooper's?" "Yup" "I'll meet you there in 10 minutes."
So I packed back up, lit a smoke and headed the two or three blocks back to Cooper's. While
waiting outside Officer Friendly approached me. "You just get off the train?" "This morning
I did." "Well what are you doing?" "On my way home." "And where's that?" "Chicago"
"Well then you're quite a ways out from there. So what are doin' in the mean time?" "Waiting
for a friend." "So you have a place to stay tonight?" He seem to imply with his tone that he could provide me with some shelter if I didn't have a place. Although I'd probably have to give him a better reason then loitering. At this time John with another fellow, who I later found out was Pete of "The Lil' Smokies", pulled up. "You're friend is John Dunnigan." "Yup." "You should've said so. I would've let you alone. Hey John." And the pair swung into a diatribe of the current state of culture here in Whitefish. From what I gathered Whitefish just recently started a beat cop for late nights on the weekends because of a rise in hooliganism reports, either fictitous or
factual, from residents and proprietors. "Go right ahead and make yourself comfortable."
John offered. "Have a goodnight sir" I spoke to the Officer. "Goodnight son and good luck."
I was introduced to Pete, and we headed the quick drive back to John's house. "You're a
lifesaver John." "This reminds me of the time I got left behind after a gig at some bar
in Bozeman when I was 22 and ended up making one of the best friends of my life."
At which time John got lost on his way back. Eventually we pulled into John's driveway and
I barreled out. Once we got inside I was shown my pallet for the night. "Are you thirsty?
Hungry?" I thought about it for a minute, which John took as the affirmative. He threw
together some chili mac made with buffalo meat and a tall glass of water. We talked about
travel, venues, and songwriters we both liked. "I have something I want to show you." As he
lead me into his sanctuary full of vintage, LP's, amps, guitars, pictures, posters, tickets,
passes, etc. He reached up to a back far corner and pulled off the wall a 1920's Kalamazoo.
It had been in his family the whole time. He then showed a picture of his Grandfather
playing the guitar in a pair of jeans, an undershirt, and a cowboy hat. He then handed me
the six-string and asked me to play him a song. I picked out some Townes van Zandt tunes.
"I have never heard that guitar sound like that." He said. "Play me one of yours." "Sure."
"I didn't want to take to much of his time. So I played a verse and a chorus of Annabelle
Lee. "That's not it, is it?" So I finished it out while he just sat there in awe. "Hank
Williams would be proud. I really want to stay up all night and pick but we are right
below my wife's room." He took back the Kalamazoo, which has to be the best sounding guitar
I have ever had the privelage to play. "Where are you headed after this?" "Missoula."
"Interesting. My son lives there. He's staying the night tonight and will be headed back
there tomorrow. I'm pretty sure they'd be able to give you a ride if you wanted one."
"Really?" "Yup." I began to regret buying that bus ticket earlier that day. "Well we can
talk about it in the morning. He bid me goodnight. I thanked him again for his uncanny
hospitality and unending charity to which he responded "Good people and good actions make
the world go 'round."