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."

The Empire Builder - Night Two "Loitering" Part II

When I walked in I was the only one in the place but I noticed they had my

favourite German beer on tap, Paulaner. I had drank many of a liter of these during my stay

in Germany at the time of the 2006 World Cup and therefore became very accustomed to the

yeasty Hefe-Veizen. Keith was the bartender at the time and we talked about John who

would soon be arriving to start his set. I had one Paulaner but it was just not enough

so a second and third arrived just in time as the place soon filled up. John walked in

and he seemed to know everyone either by name or face. As he made his way around the room

slowly taking his time toward the little platformed stage, he hugged and had small talk

with nearly everyone. As he tuned up more and more people flocked in. He started into his

set with an Irish sounding song . Before the second verse someone in

the crowd had bought John a shot of tequila. Then the second song started with another

shot from a different audience member. Then more and more as the night wore on. He begged for the audience to throw song after song at him and played nearly every request. Lilly

and her roomates eventually showed up but wanted to go to another show, I obliged but was

quickly left behind with everything in hand. I'm not too sure why they were in such a rush.

When we got to The Craggy Range, a place I have had the fortune to play before. I was

innodated with the loud obnoxious one lick riff raff of sad eyed hispter rock, I just had

to laugh and grab a beer. Lilly and I talked for a bit. It turns out she is an aspiring

snowboarder headed to Utah for a competition soon. She works the whole summer at a resort

and saves her money so she can take every winter off to snowboard. Not a bad gig at all.

The opener finished up as I took that last sip of guinness. It took them nearly half an hour

to tune and get set up. They kept mentioning how this was there first show in a long time

together, and well it showed. It sounded as if the opener had just taken a set break

during which time they drank a whole bottle of whiskey then turned up their amps to

compensate for their inequities. The bass player was phenomenally on point but drowned

out the drum which happened to be a good thing. Except for the bass player the rest of

them should've just stayed in their garage tonight. Song after song was littered with

the same themes same rhythms just re-affirming to me the conformities of the evening.

To their credit they sure knew how to pack a room with enegetic hipster drunks emptying their

wallets two and three fold. Most everyone was talking louder and louder they soon drowned

out the noise stuttering out from the corner boys. I had to get out of there. It was defeaning.

I grabbed my stuff and looked for Lilly. She was up front and center bobbin' her headed

right along with the rest. This was not the place to be, for me. I let one of her roomates know

I was headed back to Cooper's and to hit me up when they were headed out. Earlier in the evening she offered up her couch and since she was the only one I knew in town that was around tonight she was my only option. When I got back to Cooper's, Keith recognized me and bought me a Paulaner to ease my woes. John by now was being accopanied by a friend for the rest of the night. I did not catch his name but he was a good songwriter playing most of his own stuff with John backing up on banjo and electric guitar from time to time. They finished up their set and

John approached me thanking me for coming back. "You must be that guy with the guitar case."

"How'd you know?" "We smell our own." I asked him politely if I could play a song for him.

He obliged and we jammed out on some songs until Keith gave us the look. John and I traded

information. "Whenever you come back up to Whitefish, let me know." "For sure." I responded

and sat waiting for Lilly to get back in touch. After some time I recieved a message from her

saying they were headed home. I had been given no address and assumed I must inquire about

the couch put up for offer. I heard nothing back. I finished my beer and went wandering the

streets of Whitefish to find a place to settle for the evening. I passed by several bars with

mocking patrons. I must have been quite the sight. I kept warm from all the beer and figured

the best spot for me to post up would be the Train Depot since that was where the bus would

be picking me up in the morning. As the snow fell more and more I pondered my fate. Well

what else was there for me to do.

The Empire Builder - Day Two "Loitering" Part I

I spent most of the day at a coffeeshop reading and writing, smoking and drinking. I wanted

to reconnect with Lilly who I had met last time I was in Whitefish, MT. I had sent her a

message a few days earlier and received this response. "Of course I remember you, I was hoping

to get to see you again. So I will see you tomorow then to hear your lovely music ya!".

I received this text message at some point during my time at the coffeeshop. "Hey there kory it's lilly! Hope your train ride was good I'm heading up the mtn to snowboard but I will call you when

I'm down to chill before your show." So with some time to kill I put up a craigslist posting for a rideshare to Missoula. I have a lot of friends down there and a few shows lined up to play. I was unsure of bus schedules and all that jazz. I figured it would work itself out. Worse case scenario I could always just hitch it with

a sore thumb til it fell off. I'd done it before in Montana with varied results but I

always got where I needed to be. I called up my really good friend Matt Pierce to

re-connect since my last trip to Montana. He was, as is always the case, really excited

to see me. His hospitality is second to none. Then I called my mom and when she heard my last

resort idea, put $50 in my account and told me to buy a bus ticket, for her peace of mind.

I went to Library and did as I was told, and printed my boarding pass.

Since I was in town and the bars were beginning to open I went to the Great Northern for

some grub and to check out the venue. As I entered I heard the gutterol laughing of

barrel chested lumbering jacks knockin' back shots and beers slappin on backs takin' the

afternoon off away from their women and children. I was immediately asked for my ID and

what the deal is with my guitar was. "Are you playin' tonight?" "Yes, mam." "Who are you?"

"Kory Quinn." "Well we have Russ Nasset playin' tonight." "Really?" "Yup." "Can you double

check for me?" She smiled looked at the chalkboard and pointed. "Russ Nasset. Ain't that

what it says." beggin' me to speak my own fate. "So what would you like?"

"A whiskey and a beer." Damn. I thought as I took this shot of courage. I thought about

what I was gonna say. I called The Booker straight away. Straight to the answering machine.

I left a short message recounting the recent events. I don't think I'll ever be hearing from

them and vice versa. After some wandering around the bar, eating a meal, playing a few games

of pool, smoking stogs. A man approached me and asked what I was doin' with all that gear.

I told him my name and stated my business which now was relegated to loitering, the time

between gigs. David was well traveled himself he said. An architect by trade he spent time

living and/or working in New York, New Jersey, Boston, Austin, Houston, Nashville, Chicago,

Indianapolis, San Juan, Spokane, Seattle, Portland, Eugene, Berkeley, and LA. He suggested

I check out a place called Cooper's. Tonight there would be a guy by the name of John

Dunnigan playing at 8. David advised I introduce myself to him to see if I could sit in with him and play a few tunes. I thanked David very much for the information. He would be coming along a little later to see John and hoped to see me there. So I finished my beer and my game of pool, packed up my gear and took the short walk to Cooper's.

The Empire Builder - Day Two "The Worst Cup of Coffee....Ever"

I guess we're just really really really spoiled out there in Stumptown. Regardless of such bias there is no excuse, well maybe I'd be distracted from brewing horribly tepid battery acid because of the scenery too, especially if I had to work 14 hours on a train with little rest surrounded by Mother Earth and Father Sky. Here are some photos from this morning. Notice how I am looking down with disdain at the most horrendous of beverages.

And finally a picture of the last thing I saw pulling into Whitefish, which was rather fitting of a 17 hour Train ride.

.

The Empire Builder - Night One "Catchin' The Nor'easter Outta Spokane"

Pulled into Spokane about 12:30am. Through the grapevine we all heard that we had a four
hour layover. So after some research and self-debate I decided to hit the streets. The
main drag with the hoppin' bars was only a few blocks from the train station. I went inside
to check out the station and found a little cafe that an old asian couple was runnin'.
They had some very reasonable prices so I got a super grease trap cheeseburger.
After washing it down with some salty spokane fountain water I made the quick trek to the
drag; found a nice dry and covered spot with good projection. There was a delightful man
working his late night hot dog spot who seemed rather glad to have the entertainment, his
name was Vic. Next to me was what appeared to be a homeless couple whose eyes also opened
with a faint glint of joy when I started to unpack my guitar. After playing a few tunes
Vic spat out some names of songwriters he thought I would know. "Townes van Zandt?"
"He's one of my favourites." I squaked back. "Me too. If you could play one of his I'll buy
you a hot dog." "Sure, why not." Even with the cheeseburger fleshly metabolizing, my
stomach growled. At first I was to turn down the hot dog, but rather insisted he either
feed the hungry or the drunk. After a half an hour, I became worried the train was gonna
leave without me. So I packed up at which time I heard "Where are you from?" "Chicago."
"One Chicago Red Hot comin' up." Too wrapped up in the moment I obliged then took a bite.
In this moment I realized home truly is more than just a place. It's the tastes, the smells,
etc. It was then I noticed the homeless couple again. I offered the rest of it to them but
the old man said with a jeer. "Vic feeds us every night." Before I left I made sure to give
Vic a CD for his hospitality. I've had several bad experiences with food cart vendors in
Portland and their disdain for guerilla marketing. Which to me seems a bit oxymoronic or
at the very least ironic. Back to the train to recount the events and attempt to get some
shut-eye before I arrive tomorrow morning. Next stop Whitefish, Mt.

The Empire Builder - Day One "Got That Ticket to Ride"

I woke up, put in that last load of laundry, finished some last
minute errands, and met with some friends, as is the custom. I went and finished recording
a song I was commissioned by Scott to write for his wife Jen. It was to be a Christmas
present for Jen. Though I am sure she has had this notion for sometime. The final product,
I assume though, is still a mystery. I am excited to play this song live with Scott at the
release show, whenever that may be. I then returned to my current residence to find my
laundry was dry. So I packed my bags, had breakfast, two cups of coffee accompanied by the
subsequent cigarettes. I fitted my suit and guitar case on the bike and headed out on a few
pre-adventures. I got to see Amanda, one of my lovely roommates on the way. By the luck
of lady fortune we crossed paths. She on her way home and me on mine, though it be
circuitous. With several embraces and pecks on the cheeks she bid me a fine farwell, and I
to her, since she was headed back to Pennsylvania for the high holy days. Then it was off
to Bob's to drop off the bicycle he had lent to me for this last week. I have intentions to
purchase said bike but have neither the funds nor the time to finalize the deal. I just
might upon my return. There is a tender yearning in my heart to slowly caste out the
demons of oil and gas. Afterward I headed back to 55th and hoyt to say hello and goodbye
all at once to the boys. As usual Stephen was hammerin' away on some very dominant chords.
Kevin tossin in some very tasteful licks, and Jakob bangin' oh so sweetly on his
snare-tom-bass with the splish splash of his hi-hat-ride. Wang-dang and Kevin rolls into a
really hot riff raffin with Stephen clappin down on the ivories. The lyrics though drowned
out by the ordered chaos were extolled with such gusto to render ones ear to perk and
attempt the impossible. I said my peice grabbed a few last things, books, sleeves, and
blank CD's, which are now my only currency. I was offfered a spoonful of medicine and
washed it down quickly with a spot of wild turkey. It was but a short stroll to the train
line just north of 60th and glisan. There was no rush at all so I stopped at a convenience
store to procure a pack of stoggies and some snacks for the 15 hours of the first leg. I
arrived at Union Station in plenty of time to have another cupful of joe and handful of
smoke. The Photographer was impeccable with their time. We lounged and chatted for quite
sometime catching up since our last adventure which almost brought us into the custody of
the Portland Police. We lined up, got my boarding pass and then lined up again awaiting
depature. The Photographer holding my pillow, and I carrying all I dare to need. They
agreed to be my fluffer, though I doubt the inuendo gathered much steam. Though it did get
a laugh and a squeeze of the pillow. There were a few more photos taken on my way through
gate 6B. The crowd behind me wondering, no doubt, what sort of strange ax-murder they were
about to board with. A quick embrace along with the words, "In bocca al lupo". I settled
into car 13 and took note of the days events, so far.

liber V

liber V

leaving duluth we stopped for supplies and made some informal decisions

to camp the night. after an hour or so of joking, smoking, and driving

back south we picked a state park just off the interstate. in fact

i remember the highway cutting right through the path of several, guiding

us to our history, taking us to our fate. after pitching the tent and

struggling to start a fire with freshly dampened wood. we even bought

some at the gate, like good little tourists, but it was wet as well.

so to no avail and 6 beers later,

we went for a tromp through the woods. we had some map they gave us at

the gate, like good little tourists but failed to remember to bring it,

like good little tourists.

following the path in circles it seemed. losing the path altogether

and deciding to just get moving toward some river the rangers had mentioned.

bushwack those ferns. hop this log. ohh whats that. looks like somebody's

home. a nice nest i'm guessing. and then the rush of the st. croix river

running in the distance. a herd of horses passing in a breeze. finding a

simple place to sit and gaze into the river's flow, we took off our shoes and

socks to dangle our feet in the fresh clean water. still without a shower.

busting out the whiskey. he staked some claim that there were animals and

creepy crawlies in the water. i assured him "yeah, probably, leeches

main..." "Leeches!" it escaped him before i had finished. "yeah, no big deal,

you probably won't catch anthing." i was unaware of how my up bringing

had been nothing but well-rounded, but lacking discipline. i couldn't

understand the aversion to life but to each their own. needless to say

after several conversations exaulting our pride that we were on our own

a few spats to see who might fall in, and fumbling with our wit and

strange associations, his feet were covered in leeches. i counted

at least 5 just on his right foot. after laughing and gathering the

humor in the moment, i helped him pick them off, or maybe he did that himself.

drying our feet, rolling on our socks, stringing up our shoes, we headed

back the road we took, a pet-peev of mine, but it had turned dark, and i decided

not voice this. getting back to the site we though it might be a good idea

to move camp. we were the only one's around, it seemed, except for that old

couple who have probably lived there since march, the only one's that mattered.

throwing the tent on the car, sleeping bags and all, who wants to undo whats just

been done. we drove the 500 feet or so to a campsite with some more cover, rain

was brewing in the air. after settling in and getting a fire started, finally,

we got out dinner and went to town. cutting up this, chopping that, frying up

some salami and cheese on a make shift skillet. we played music and laughed into

the evening. two together at the hour of the wolf. howling at the moon.

i wonder why i had not done this earlier. i had the opportunities. i had

the self-reliance. and the luck. this was great and i believe he felt the same.

liber III and IV

LIBER III

we wound out of the last gas station in town and hit the sweeping backroads of a wisconsin after midnight. i remember two shadowy black clouds lingering about in the clear sky. ominous but

strikingly beautiful. i thought about the road further up ahead, the road further back behind, but i was drawn into their passing. i fast lost track of where i was, where i've been, and where i was going. i fell into the darkness to try to dream a dream with a happy ending. we arrived at the farmer's market in the early hours after another fuel up and a caffiene injection. we sat idle as the trucks were unloading in the frosty pre-dawn minnesota morning. it was still dark out. i could still see the stars. after some jostling to get comfortable, at least as much as anyone could

in a packed car, we lingered in the silence. as we huddled in the car that night far from the cold breathe of the north country air, the headlamps were burning bright. in mere hours, the faintest shimmer of sunrise could be seen reflecting off the sky scraping windows of downtown st. paul. the farmer's market was somewhat located between the two cities so that we were positioned across the river on the west bank. we finally woke to be greeted by the hustle bustle through a white-washed windsheild and a dead battery.

carefully assessing the situation and the issue at hand. we got some coffee and wandered through the stalls. we saw some razzle dazzle produce vendors. lots of in season berries, flowers, and tomatoes. they poured out from all directions and hasted the attention this way and that. memories of caprese salad. the first flowers i had given to a girl, which were subsequently thrown to the trash. slowly rising fresh baked blueberry muffins in the oven. as we wished, we

languished in the tight thouroughfares. there were many voices and noises. through it all though i thought i caught the faint sound of a cello, nevermind just the squeeky brakes of a slowly backing pick-up truck. as we moved on there was a local artisan fellow who made tin sculptures of every imaginable animal. they were painstakingly painted. he stood overseeing his cageless jungle zoo. the master craftsmen of his scrap metal utopia. there were frogs and elk, and moose, and cows, and big midwestern trees of the variety disiduous. then there was a pack of wild roosters that seemed to follow us around. as we ventured on into each ally of the bizaar there seemed to be a

rooster of some size and personality waiting for us. there was a wooden carving of one about the form of a midget with this big ole cheesire grin. he was located on the opposite side of

the market. there were little one's on necklaces being sold by some big strange women of scandanavian decent. she lorded over them with disparaging eyes for the passer byes and prospective buyers. only earlier that week we had seen the bust of a rooster attached to the

roof of a limosine but in hyde park. as we scoured the last row i gave up hope. a found David McGee was not to be.

we lingered back to the car weighing options of whether or not to take the advantage of the moment and play for coins. i believe i passed on the chance citing my reasons as it was cold and that we had missed the peak hours of attendence. i am not sure why i backed away with cowardice. too attached maybe to the most immediate venture of how to get the car started again. we approached the mighty can can, as we had dubbed her. we entered and sat for sometime debating. eventually i made the choice to brave the weather once again and search out a welfared action of humanity. one lady passed in her van. she didn't have jumper cables and neither did we; at least we thought. the next car was not even interested in stopping to give us bad news. somewhat defeated i turned around to a suburban backing in in front of us. a great big family of midwestern folks. we asked and they obliged but they were going to do some shopping around first. after a short period, during which we took the time to tear apart the freshly packed

trunk for cables, the two men of the family appeared. a son and a father. they had found us some jumper cables and so did we! so much fortune had befallen us in our happenstance. we jumped the battery. we were quickly on our way, but not after formal gratitudes and a handing off of some wares in trade. we were back in business and in enough time to make the show in duluth. an industrial capital forged from the iron belt. built with the hands of great lake sailors.

LIBER IV

lost. we made some wrong turns and ended up going west when we should have been headed north. what a confusing set of interstates. we stopped for a gas up, got directions and forged ahead. the road we traveled was lined with pine. clear blue skies caved in from above. for just a few hours we wound the curves, gazed down the straights toward the mighty port town of the north. trudging up an enormous hill we gazed down over duluth with eyes freshly glazed. we arrived earlier than needed and most shops were open. so we staked out the venue of the evening. a nice comfy spot with affordable prices. a quick sandwich and a walk around the area. we hit the town with adventure fresh in the bones. stopping at the local instrument shop minutes before they opened we meandered the block, biding our time. it was just a quick stop to pick up some strings and a new capo. in the midst of moving, i had misplaced the one i had and was in need of a replacement, since we would be on the road for a few months. we then went for a drive. we saw a mountain and decided to climb it. going through some neighborhoods we thought would provide a way to the top, we crossed some abandoned railroad tracks only to be met by a man. an old man. he told us to turn around and not only go back from where we came but to leave town by way of a bridge to wisconsin, not yet crossed or even seen.

headed back away we snaked around the shadow side. eventually topping the mount, nearly. still above us to the left was a 30 foot march. he took the path, i climbed a tricky slope. arriving nearly at the same time, we sat and gloried over the valley. a lake sat square in the distance. its shores slowly wrapping, hugging the land with gentle embrace. the passing ships seem stilled in the superiour. the north wind came swinging in later that day but at the time it seemed quited by our most recent accomplishment. we had ten mountains to climb. this was the first. after a straight back down hill slide running dodging in an out the saplinged trees. well why not lets check out the other side of the river. across that bridge we were so lucky to hear about. jumping back in can can then turn up the music and scream back down the mountain. ahhhhhhhh! one way streets everywhere. confused without the map we missed the turn and went this way and that. back and forth. round a few corners. we were fortuned by luck, the bridge entrance stood right before us. over into superior, wisconsin. a quick read through the streets nearest the

other side of the bridge we determined that the people we planned to play to were humble midwest folks, aware of their inequities. heart on sleeve kind of people. with honesty and sincerity as the only necessities. back across the bridge we pandered to duluth's subtle hint at tourism. the paid parking lot for a beach to rival any boardwalk this side of kenosha. it mocked the free parking spots just across the street. we found a few remnants of the old dock yards. large log type posts i sat on and pretended to be james dean. the anchor he sat on. an image concocted from some hieronymus bosch paranoia. ironic, fitting, and just. we gathered some notes from the light house at the end of the pier. a little history of duluth. by now i've nearly forgotten it. there are just a few things i now remember. it used to be Ojibwa and it had been home to millionaires overseeing their port operations. the north coast side over looking the lake was littered with mansions and white lawn furniture. we could see them from the light house. back to the car and headed to the venue. but we still had some time to kill. we parked near the coffee house i think its name was beaners. there was a bierhaus just across the corner. we stopped in for some hefty pints. right away we got asked if we had just pulled into port. damn i must've looked hagard. slamming down those 36 oz. beers took a little out of me. back to beaners for some coffee and possibly another beer before i got going. during the sound check the people filed in. most of them for the local opener catering to need of an audience for the traveling musician. i forget their names but their were most

helpful making it feel like home. afterwards were approached by two young ladies asking about the road trip we had begun. we fast made friends with Liz O'Brien and Ky, her best of friends. to paraphrase the moment, we were invited back to her house for some drinks. first though we had to get some more beer. as we got the car packed we were instructed to follow. we got on a freeway and fast approaching was wisconsin. we didn't know at the time. it turns out, we found out later at liz's house, that duluth has some laws in place to curb the drinking culture so prevalent, no doubt some age old ruins left over from the prohibition years. also they must have felt morally higher in class to their cheese head counter parts across the river. i don't blame

them, it seems logical to me. picking up some beer and those little bottles of whiskey we

headed back up that same mountain we had earlier, but this time we went up the lake side where we past the mansions. back round the back side of the mountain we went through some forest and stopped at ky's house to pick up some more supplies. then we kept driving and quickly the girls in the other car were stepping on the brakes in successive blinking and waved for us to usher towards them. "you're lights are off!" liz mentioned with a hint of sarcasm.

"oh." and they sped off with us chasing wildly after them, a gas station, a sharp left turn and several winding ones later we parked in a gravel drive with the strange figure of a person hanging off to the right. we pushed through a few bags, grabbed the essentials and moved in for the evening. "what was that thing out there?" liz made no mention of it. we stayed up late into

the night drinking, playing music, cards, telling stories and laughing. hit the floor in the old sleeping bag. out. dream. maybe. wake. i think i hear singing, and the smell of food. maybe. after a few cups of coffee we got liz to talk with us, about her life, her dog, her music. during the festivities the night before ky pushed liz to play and sing for us. turns out she has a great voice and is very intuitive at songwriting. she played some of her songs and it was suggested we try a duet. not sure if it was her or i but i say we. it was a beautiful morning. we walked together down the road a little bit. a love kind of like a new used bike. after some more coffee, she suggested this bakery downtown we might like to visit and procure some goods. she had once worked there and had some friends working there. we would get a good deal if we just hint a name. we hopped in the car. and took one last look at liz, and that strange figure hanging from the clothes line. turns out it was intended as some joke liz and ky pulled off, they just haven't taken it down yet.

liber II

i was staying in a basement room at home in this meantime between moving out of

the apartment and the beginning of the road trip. the room was small, nearly empty with exposed dry wall and a floor of broken shattered black and white tiles which i covered with some rugs. the next morning was sharp and quick to the touch. i awoke in a stuper with the day bidding its list of obligations. though i tried to feign from them, to fend them off. they pressed upon me further, minute by minute as i laid in bed. the overwhelming weight of guilt eventually set in so i siezed of my plight and saw that the only path to victory would be paved with bravery. so i rushed into the magnificent city which the night before had only rendered a sour taste. it was a crystal clear bright day. i had nearly forgotten what had happened less than half a day previously as i stepped in line with the traffic marching down the kennedy express. as i passed under the congress overpass i caught the scent of maxwell polish mustard and grilled onions. there's no time for a great chicago past time i had to pick up ralph, my soon to be other half for the next few months. i had somewhat "hired" him to do a job which at first only had a few facets, to sell CD's and drive a few hours here and there as needed. that much was agreed upon months before the present time. slowly but surely we convinced each other that ralph was to be required to do a little bit more. next was the drawing up of flyers. which in the end churned out some great and unforgettable work. next as the timing sought fit, ralph ushered himself into a managerial role. it's too bad he rarely took this role and applied it to himself. it could have done him some real good and saved me a lot of stressed time. next on the list are many duties that he eventually appointed himself as he saw fit.

as i rolled through washington park and passed stagg field i remembered the days and evenings we spent mowing down pints and double cheeseburgers at Jimmy's. the many lust filled nights we stalked the allies of hyde park searching for that in-dubious college co-ed. the mornings we spent tracking down and defaming the milk stealing culprit of our roomate, Blake Whitsman. a worn down, sped up, weary fellow who seemed to only spend his frivolous time here on earth figuring out ways to be gravely outlandish towards others, but especially towards me. there are too many stories to recall one right now instead i will wait until the time is right. as i parked and went inside, the first morning's interview was taking place and i was the next to be questioned. over time i grew so tired to be in front of that trasparent ghostly upside down mirror. Ralph saw that it pained me, to be humor for the seething public eye, to always act as if i was being watched, and so he pushed this to its edge and so i eventually grew tired of him as well. i tried to cast these disparaging emotions away, but anguish built on anguish until the inevitable day. anyways, so on with show. i made a complete ass of myself trying to re-count the errors of the previous evening. i tried to be enthusiastic about how "well that's how a road trip should start." but deep down i had given myself black eyes and blue cheeks. it really sucked, i don't know what

else to say about it. i fucked up pretty bad, right from the start. I gave him the equivalent of iran with an atom-bomb. who by the way does not want one. they just want the uranium to put in dirty bombs to destroy jerusalem piece by piece. we'll get back to history and politics later. i have plenty of breathes about all that rotten business. so we packed the car and hit the road but first a quick stop to say goodbye to my mom. it was on the way and it had been one of the few days in my life that i can say i woke up before she did, therefore i didn't get to say goodbye to her. though it was a chivalrous adventure, it proved useless. being as i remember we only caught her on the way out to errands. it was more akin to a drive-by.

so there we were leaving nothing but very few items behind to a world of worn out paths and closed opportunities. we were finally at the home of the endless road. we had talked about it and how it beckoned and taunted us for months. oh how it begged us "come hither", and so we did. into the land of badgers and cheese. the state capital of our midwestern compatriots to the north. we were set to convene at a local venue and late night spot called "The Frequency". I don't remember much of the road on up to there except for the fact that we saw some really fancy cars each with their own paint jobs and specialty chromatics. it was inspiring to see this parade of good ole american hard work on display.

we were met that evening by one very talented band with this female fiddle player, Laurel Premo. i clapped for her after some amazing leads but i fear it was only taken in jest, with a tinge of impoliteness. my timing seems to always be off for that kind of thing. we also met two very nice couples. i can't remember their names but i do remember they were there particularly to see Laurel. i think they had bought some CDs and buttons from us, out of pity mostly. they gave us an especially great and friendly time. afterwards another face to face with the camera. then we got some free drinks, and went out for a night on the town. i played drunker than i was. we were in madison, i had to blend in. at least that i think that might have been the case. after a romp of creative havoc in the pedestrian thorough-fares we got some pizza and headed back to the car for the first bout of night driving. we had to be in minneapolis first thing in the morning to catch this amazing cello player, David McGee whom i was introduced to by way of current TV. he rode his bike and took two busses just to go play free live music at the minneapolis farmer's market. i had to meet this guy and or play a song with him.

liber I

it was an early summer evening in June and spring had left it's residue on the flowers in the city gardens. buckingham fountain sprouted from the concrete like venus from the foam. the southside statues of the mag mile greeting capital's wandering mass over the river still tainted green lasting from the past year's intoxification celebration. oh what a guilt stricken day that must have been for all of us bearing that cross glossed in a whiskey haze. schools had just been let out for a few months and it seemed you could taste the embrace of leisure's sweetness in a breath. oh how i loved that bike ride, the non-native cabbies, the CTA buses, the honking from a strung out floor boss in a streak clean mercedes benz. careful of the pedestrians they always come first. in and out of fear, i dodged the potholes. i almost hit a side mirror. in and out of fear, sailing through the redlights and gazing at the patterned sundress of girls acting much older than they should.

i was set to play a stage in a quaint quiet little place north of here. lilly's was waiting, wrought with friends and family loving to send me off well and tell me full of joy how glad they were to send me off so well. my brother of a friend, ryan sweeney had an in here and was running the night for me. another mutual future friend in brian miller, was pushing the numbers and counting the cash at the doors. he had only months before mixed some recordings of mine set to the tune of high octane drugs; weed, mescaline, addiral and burning kentucky blue moonshine in the kitchen of my fancy back in that three storied sordid affair that were the years i had spent in

indiana. it was the sort of evening you are to ever remember for the cause of being. there was kati-kat a brief girlfriend, at least i'd call her that, some others including herself though might disagree. she wears nothing but love and will make a great mother. there was ralph carlile

browne, a relative unknown on his way up and out of the grips of his "overbearing" parents, in whom i confided many things. he drew strange but extremely inciteful excitingly emotive pieces that were inspired by the everday. he was a faithful friend, up to a point. there was dan kuhlman

and his brother i believe, whom for both i had just finished a few tunes for a short film that they had written for the death of their father. there was aric braun, a led head, and a campfire wanderlust like myself. there was michelle, an old crush of mine and her boyfriend of a few years. patrick fit right in the fold of the crew and has become many's favorite including mine. there was my brother, The Marine who showed up as well. he brought a few people he had known for a while but had met again just recently. he graduated from the Naval Academy weeks before and stood in command of the room as his heels neatly clicked and chipped the wood floor splinter by splinter. he ran off early though with a pair of northside floozies eager to please the boy freshly turned man with an open heart and open wallet in hand. a new good friend in justin howell who had a knack for Jimmie Rodgers would open the night with a song or two he wrote, really lonesome wanna die kind of stuff. he sipped Teas from Texas, Tennessee and pretty much any low lying southern state that would, could, and should be considered a promised land. it was a place where fore-fathers of "old timey" drank and thanked the red light laidies of the night for a well deserved time. he had brought some friends of whom i had met on subsequent thursday evening haunts at bernice's tavern,

"back of the yards" off 30th and halsted. they were a sovreign group of Chicago southside intelligentia. all from varying backrounds and intensities but most of all they were open to the proding of philisophical topics and daily political agendas. we were joined on stage with the pre-emminent Dobro Joe who also picked the banjo. Joe had a mathematical degree of some sort and was using it to teach at a local community school. he was a happy bachelor it seemed but more importantly he was absolutely steeped in the americana of my choice. Joe and I met one afternoon when he arrive at my apartment at 55th and hyde park blvd after responding to a craigslist posting i had thrown against the wall to see if it would stick. i had a big show booked and was in dire need to piece a band together. he was an easy fit. quiet, unassuming, non-confrontational. he was in it for the right reasons just like my reasons it seemed; to find a group of people to play music with, share a beer, have a moment to remember, to laugh, and smile.

i always enjoy having joe around. soon as well arrived Paul a seasoned veteren of many big bands. he also responded to my craigslist posting some while ago and seemed nothing but interested or maybe down right intrigued with the opportunity to work on something new.

Paul was a stain glass artisan and was being sought by construction contractors and churches, one even all the way in staten island as far as i can remember. Paul played bass. with the downturn of the housing market Paul seemed to be eager to fill his time in someway. he bestowed a great many wisdoms on my all too raw appearance, presence and musical attitudes.

then arrived the nashville wreckers who, lead by the formidable Don Melas showed up in spades and rocked the crowd with their trio of fiddle and two guitars into a state of dancing entranced angst. with cowboy boots stomping stamping the amps ramping up the volumes of open suggestive chords toying with the possible routes of a never ending highway. they especially seemed prophetic to me that night. i know there were others but their names escape me though their faces are not forgotten. please be kind to a novel memory. after what seemed to be a decent set of pickin grinnin and drinkin, there were too many cheers to recount them all. i think the same one's might have been said twice of even three times throughout since the mind sets of all at the time were so frivolous. i was handed all the booty from that evenings take and consequently lost it, all $150 or so of it. the worst part of it all is the fact that i was renting the room for the night at a very cheap rate and i was to pay the musicians as well. fortunately for me sweeney and brian came up with the gracious idea of setting me off on the right foot. they talked to the others and everyone scrapped the rent cost and donated their time, which amounted to giving me not only everyone's cuts from the evening but some of their tips as well. i remember going out to have a hit or two to celebrate, at which point sweeney handed me the cash with a few words of lovingly brotherly advice but more importantly with a hug. within moments it had disappered into some gutter unbeknowst to me. i hadn't even thought about it until after my next set. i went to check my coat and it was gone. (to be continued...)