Good morning, peeps.
It’s cloudy in Memphis and I’m getting ready to get back on the tour bus, to head into eight days of shows in a row.
I’m gonna try something here this week that I’ve never tried before: a short daily report for eight days, now until the end of this run, a little pop-up newsletter in a separate section not unlike my hero of internet writing, Craig Mod.
If that sounds like too much newsletter for you, please unsubscribe guilt-free. It won’t hurt my feelings, I don’t check the unsubscribe stats, and the most important thing to me is to not add to the bad noise, the bad bad noise of the internet, the kind that makes these times even harder to bear. So stick around if you like, and scroll down to the unsubscribe link if not. (I think Substack will even let you leave the pop-up and stay for regular transmission.)
I wanna try this because…
It might be fun.
It might make me a better rider. I just spelled “writer” that way on accident. I’m not kidding.
I’m all clogged up. My will to reach out is pent-up. How I got clogged (again) isn’t important. But unclogging myself is, to me.
To keep my senses open, to pay attention to stuff.
Maybe more people will end up reading here, and then maybe more people will hear the music that my friends and family (including Case Oats) put out this year. Ssssshshhshhhsshsh.
Metal Prism Chutes (MPC)—that’s what we’re sleeping in every night. Big box, goes on the highway, wake up somewhere else, chuted. We don’t feel it but we do.
That’s enough to get started. Here are two groups of flowers facing drastically different circumstances. See you tomorrow.
I wait with bated breath for your tour entries. It’s always a pleasure to get a peek inside your mind.
Oh my! The contrast in those two photos!