SEATTLE/PORTLAND

okae, let me clear this up for you.

I did not actually see the guy die at the river-bottoms, but he jumped and became missing whilst myself and everyone sat and watched random people (including my companions) jump from the same bridge. If anyone was sitting there in the flow of that river, with the hills about us, the sun shining and someone else's skin so near, NOT contemplating their mortality to some extent, then they were sleeping. No one saw the kid die, officially. They knew he jumped. They knew he didn't come back up. Everyone expected the worse. Everyone was right.

Maybe you can explain my writing critique a little further. You've tried before to do this, and as much as I can stand writing and trying the stressful approach to chronological order and my most precious details, I would like someday for everyone to understand and be as taken and surprised by what I see, in a sort of live-it-as-I-did fashion, and I think its when I try to do this, I mix up "trying to to go for style and just tell stories." Wait. You know what 'm saying.

I don't know about that K B. kid. Someone said on this trip that a certain amount of pretension is required for art to work. First off, I'm not sure if that's true or not, but I DO know that he may be focusing a little to much on pretension and less on rocking. Maybe I just don't like him cause I still think everyone is better and better-looking than me. It sounds like you're having a good time though. I remember you saying you were using Dave's sweet car. I won't forget the day I walked from my mom's to Brewed Awakenings for a shin-dig, and he stopped and asked me if I needed a ride. I felt like I should be self-reliant in his eyes, and denied us both the blessing. As for you enjoying yourself and singing with as many people as you mentioned, I have been prescribing that as long as I've known you. It sounds like my prognosis may have been right on.

I left two people out of the description of my musical friends group because I wanted people to listen and find out for themselves what besides what I had mentioned might also be found in the already described super group of sorts. If you were to look up the Overby's (Rachelle, Allysa) and anything on the rest of the group, musically or otherwise, you'd begin to understand the sort of treat I came to on that leg of the road, and why their music is still ringing inside me. I sent you one of my favorite songs by them. I made the mistake of making a pass at one drunk on beer, weed and Missoula sky, and was taken aback when, like my own animal handling skills, she in the sweetest and nicest way possible, had me on my back and not even thinking about how embarrassing the whole thing could've been. I am missing them, and I hope you like what you hear. I know you can be critical. But they are a sweet, kind and heartfelt group with whom I felt immediate kinship and for that I hope you at least respect them. Not that my desperate clinging to kind people ever gave you anymore reason to open up to strangers, anyway.

As for the whole "christa" thing. It went badly. These past weeks have been fun, but stressful, and I knew arriving here I may or may not get to see her. I finally got a number for her, and upon contact, she was this really disconnected person that I forgot she could be. She used words like "last-minute" and "ohio" like they were one of the seven deadliest. I tried to understand, but I couldn't. My ego. My heart. My fucking heart. Why have I not still figured out how to protect it? I became curt myself in response, and the phone call was all at once as brief as I think she'd intended it to be. I got a text from her later apologizing and trying to explain her shortness with words (patience more like it), and asked if I would like to have coffee the next day, to which I quickly overreacted with "YES"'s and A LOT of other unnecessaries, to which she hasn't replied. So lose, win, lose, I suppose. I am my own worse-enemy. As for mutilating myself on her behalf, I really like the sentiment with that idea.

I did check out Pike Place Market though (no fish throwing did I see). I bought a loaf of really good bread to which we offered our hosts in Portland to eat with our awesome (and badly needed) comforting tuna casserole. This was immediately following my conversation with Christa. I ate it that shit like it was her heart and my own. I love that there are as many ways to make Tuna casserole as there are homes in this country. Who says Americans have no food-style. We played an open mic hosted by a bunch of 60-somethin' hippies ("dude, I WAS at the original Woodstock") who had a really good band (girl bass player, no less) and played all the hits, radio, blues and otherwise. I have been warned a few times about this city and its drugs, and it was evident even in a general, non-threatening way, how much meth and heroin has destroyed every head and heart in this area both directly and indirectly. I felt enlightened and scared for my life all at once.

I remembered a dream I had some time ago:

I was in Portland. I was sleeping in a big sort of boat house with a bunch of other people. Then, in the dark, the walls came crashing in with water. I crawled and swam for the stairs. The water overcame.

Tomorrow we turn around and head back towards the east. NYC. I've never been. We'll go back through Toledo for one day, too. One more month ahead of us. Who the fuck knows what could happen in another month of shit and stars like these days have brought me...?

I hope you have a good day. I hope you can get out of yourself for at least one minute today. I have no choice, myself.