It is Friday.
I came into the Quarter, frankly, because I wanted beer and tobacco and weed...
And, here I am at Starbucks.
My food card doesn't hit until Monday morning; and so, I will be literally playing for food tonight...oh, I've got beer and weed; no problem there; but I will be playing for food...hard core busking, that.
Monday, the Rebuild Center re-opens and I hope to find a parcel from the Lidgleys waiting for me there after its trans oceanic journey...I hope they packed a shower curtain; how much wishful thinking is that?
The apartment is quiet enough so that, though I might not disturb anyone with the volume of my music; I can picture someone pressing their ear to my door and trying to figure out what the hell I am singing about...
I am going to make the "vocal chamber" out of stuffing one of my small closets with pillows and couch cushions and then I can hopefully scream out my next hit and not have anyone complain (except the eventual consumer).
Last night, I made about 30 bucks outside of the Super Dome.
I realized that college football fans are in the stadium well before kick off; and they stay until the very end.
After all, this is little Johnny, your son playing; and, even though his team might be getting beat by 24 points in the last quarter; you can't just walk out; the implication being: "you suck, son!"
And so, I sat outside the dome and there was nobody in sight, while the game was going on; nobody arriving late; nor leaving early.
I ran to the big Rouses Market and bought a couple bottles of Pauliner double bock, and returned in time for the letting out of the crowd.
I hadn't stayed in Rouses long enough to see which team actually won; and so; I mistakenly played "Sweet Home Alabama," with gusto; and made about 30 bucks.
I got back to my apartment and recorded the second session with the Snowball microphone; and, listening back this morning, I can already hear myself sounding better than I did when I was playing in hell with one of Satans best demons hovering over me and sucking my life force out of me...
I came into the Quarter, frankly, because I wanted beer and tobacco and weed...
And, here I am at Starbucks.
My food card doesn't hit until Monday morning; and so, I will be literally playing for food tonight...oh, I've got beer and weed; no problem there; but I will be playing for food...hard core busking, that.
Monday, the Rebuild Center re-opens and I hope to find a parcel from the Lidgleys waiting for me there after its trans oceanic journey...I hope they packed a shower curtain; how much wishful thinking is that?
The apartment is quiet enough so that, though I might not disturb anyone with the volume of my music; I can picture someone pressing their ear to my door and trying to figure out what the hell I am singing about...
I am going to make the "vocal chamber" out of stuffing one of my small closets with pillows and couch cushions and then I can hopefully scream out my next hit and not have anyone complain (except the eventual consumer).
Last night, I made about 30 bucks outside of the Super Dome.
I realized that college football fans are in the stadium well before kick off; and they stay until the very end.
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| The World I Live In |
And so, I sat outside the dome and there was nobody in sight, while the game was going on; nobody arriving late; nor leaving early.
I ran to the big Rouses Market and bought a couple bottles of Pauliner double bock, and returned in time for the letting out of the crowd.
I hadn't stayed in Rouses long enough to see which team actually won; and so; I mistakenly played "Sweet Home Alabama," with gusto; and made about 30 bucks.
I got back to my apartment and recorded the second session with the Snowball microphone; and, listening back this morning, I can already hear myself sounding better than I did when I was playing in hell with one of Satans best demons hovering over me and sucking my life force out of me...
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