(Editor's Note: This entry, an email to Dan, is dated Sunday, May 10, 2009 at 6:56a.m. and was the return of a missed phone call the night before. It's been edited because I am a vile and nasty boy sometimes. Dan is getting married now, which is nice....)
"THE RIP"
There's a picture of the new england coast on my dashboard. There's a blue car ripping down a pink line, which is basically how I feel.
We split a bottle of morgan between 6 and 11p...
My jeans are wet. My shoes are soaked so Im barefoot. I have no wallet and my change jar is running low and there are Many More tolls to come. And many miles to go, before I sleep.
Robert Frost never went to Maine. He wrote about Massachusetts. I've got the "Maine Blues Project" on the radio and half a rocket down already. I should remind you that this is being composed at 80 mph at 648am. That should give the prose the Edge that we really need.
I don't know the name of this bridge Im on but its magnificent. Im not sure the exact piece of water Im 200 feet above, but she leads right to the ocean.
Heavy swerves. Quickly I'll share the feeling of captain morgan in my belly. Stomach grumbles foreshadow horrible things to come. The alcohol is thin spreadly in my blood from my nose to my toes. I can feel it. The sugar is a typhoid typhoon in my gullet. Horrible natural bile and acids have eaten at it, for at least the last 3 hours I slept to no avail....
How was your gig? I can't believe I was down and out by midnight when you called. Devil rum. Its been my drink lately. Summahtime. Life is good.
My regards to the queen b. Enjoy your sunday
Love
Joey
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