Davíð, will you be at the fiasco? it's nice to virtually hear your voice again. you are invited to be in ampersand company as well, by the way. I just wasn't sure you still existed. threw some lyrics around last night to 3 songs: the spanish girls, deus ex machina (check the size of texas), and the oldest trick in the book, all of which will (hopefully) be played on the 9th. also elisabeth, the last time, younger than jesus, she has it, and possibly some others. all tentative. worst case scenario, I pull out the creedence songbook and do a duet of born on the bayou with michael snipe.

hello?

oh, and also this: you needn't worry about a ride to practice, because now I have wheels. I will come to you, lol.

I knew I could count on you, fista. and if jim and/or jeffy can assist, all the better. instrument-wise, I'm thinking: simple country guitar solos, organ flourishes, maybe some spare percussion, second acrostic guitar on some. do you still have that toy accordion? the backing band will be named "ampersand company." I will be named Johny Cassettes. you should try to get michael snipe to play. I would come. lol!
love, johny.

I've done all I can do re: future plans, and now I'm working on a tentative setlist for the upcoming fiasco at fista's, also known as my last performance ever. Old, but for the most part unheard-in-it's-entirity material. I'm looking to recruit a loosely organized, frisky backing band- any takers? likely won't rehearse, as tradition mandates, until the day of the show, but I'd love to have a head count of willing participants. who else is performing, or what else is being released, or what special games will be played? also looking to perhaps record said live performance on magnetic tape for posterity, possibly to be made available on cassette shortly afterwards and entitled, tentatively, demonade. as in, "when life gives you demons..." or something along those lines. fista (as if anyone else will read this), thanks for the encouragement. hugs and kisses.


johny

ugh. I'm bout to die. as the only one of us currently in college, I don't expect to get a whole lot of sympathy, but dammit, boys! congratulations, jeffree. what about you, fista, have you submitted? (not in an Islam sort of way, but in a putting forth sort of way, to stations)
here is my life, for those who care: I'm trying to be a teacher. been accepted by teachforamerica to do spanish in the mississippi delta. the challenge is now to graduate. these are the things I have to do in order to accomplish that, in no particular order:

pass the classes in which I am currently enrolled. this requires that I

a. write a 10 page paper on the historiographical role of the archangel gabriel in the life of muhammad, a 6 page paper, in spanish, on the role of the catholic church in latinamerica, and a world wide internet web site about liberation theology

b. take some fucking exams (thankfully, not actual exams about fucking, as in such a case I would fail with flying colors)

enroll in at least one, and probably two, more courses to be completed in an intensive 3 week "minimester"

one of which is: polisci 1101

the other of which is: I don't know yet- something which will hopefully replace my requirement for english 1102, which will almost certainly involve:

1. blowing some smoke up the tuckus of one or more georgia state university administrators

2. begging

3. sobbing

4. bleeding

take (and pass) some more tests, including:

a. u.s. history

b. ga history

c. the essay portion of the freshman comp test

which I took

and passed

3 and 1 half years ago

but the geniuses at GSU lost

I love my life. I wrote the hook yesterday, in the final moments of a 40-hour (no exaggeration) period of wakefulness, to a country and western song about winning the lottery and driving off into the sunset with a ridiculously large cardboard check in the passenger side seat.

The highlight (or lowlight) of this sleepless experience was when, in about the 32nd hour, my hands on the computer keyboard froze up into kung-fu grips, and all of my appendages became as heavy as cinderblocks.

the bumper sticker on the car of my dreams says "mississippi delta or bust," and friends, I just may bust before this dream is over. pray to whatever gods you know.

incidentally, fista, let me know when the next showcase is- I have a nangst I need to broadcast to the world.