Austin-RR-Pt.1
Hot cause I’m fly. You ain’t cause you not? Weird. Hooks.
Leaving Texas with that wiped-out post SXSW glaze. All the Oklahoma
passing by in the night outside looking like Mexico.
Set breakdown for the past five days goes-
1. Eh.
2. Maybe. Outside is weird. Bright. Hot.
3. Yes! Night!
4. NO! CAN NOT HEAR! I am sorry to the folks who watched this one.
5. Yes. Again yes. A nice send-off. Awesome evening vibe.
Baltimore wins this fest hands down. Ectstatic Sunshine. Ponytail. Dan
Deacon hitting the single best dance move of the year in the middle of
the Wham City Round Robin. Lexie Mountain Boys. Seriously, B’more=RAD
ALIENS.
Good night.

Events blaze across time with the speed of blackstrap. Texas under the influence of anise and the blood of some vague ungulate. Though we drag our feet, though empires rise and fall in the time it takes dice to roll off the fingers and come to rest, though events take Texas Time in Texas, they still fit in a single day. Whirling form of dust and mesquite, hickory and redbud, the bleach of bones and the tanning of hides, all embedded in this land as sand embeds in lash and skin. And when the company is fine in Austin, it is Mighty fine (one, not I, but one, might say Texas Fine). But there is another maelstrom, one of flesh, that writhes and shivers along E 6th St, which, by John Hunter’s account, is the true earthly embodiment of the discarded (or, as They say: fallen) angel. By this other storm, this other beast of human bodies, shall we be devoured; consumed, of our own volition, in body and will. Is this the Lone Star? The revolving impenetrable singularity beckoning with bent finger to all that which lies outside itself. If, as the scientists say, the universe tends towards entropy, then, perhaps, Texas, true to the desires of it’s prodigal son, is truly fulfilling the "plan" of "god."

RRaposa
Chopped and Screwed set in Houston after an epic, afffirming and brief stop to Screwed Up Records and Tapes. Promised land. RIP SKREW. Set went skewed dance and sloow funk. Jana on the low end. Chavez serving up the Dark Crystals. Kind Texans kindly bought us way too many shots and beers. Too kind. Stayed at the Hunter house and woke up all weird. Need to catch up the blog in detail over the next couple days. New Orleans stuff. Drive stuff. Swamp stuff. SXSW day stage was not epic this morning. Looking good though, blazers. Overheard in the van this morning- "If anybody has any mood killers, I would love to jam all over your body".

Subject: Lafayette

drivers report #two (JChavez)
the drive to lafayette, LA: 11 hrs

the recently deceased:
wild dog x 2
cat like creatures x 2 (i think one was a small cougar)
birds x 3
unidentifiable mess x 9

today’s notable jams:
young people "self titled"
velvet underground "self titled"
lungfish "unanimous hour"
ludacris "chicken and beer"
gastr del sol

movies watched:
the end of star wars 1
batman 1

movie of the tour to listen to so far: batman 1
worst movie: star wars was pretty bad, but i still say that jimi hendrix movie

most delicious meal:
crawfish boil! i’m still full!
least delicious meal:
that nasty pork sandwich from jerry’s. TUFF GNARL.

least favorite movie seen in a theater: BREACH was barely a movie at all… just a really expensive nap.

favorite weather so far: the lafayette morning is pretty unbelievable
random shit:
i didn’t realize that gas stations sold herbal sex supplements in such bulk! today was my first time ever at a waffle house BLACK SNAKE MOAN today

G Lucas Day off blog
Athens was sweet. got called a faggot by hungry fratboys who wanted my pizza. The show was spaced out and spare. Stayed in a hotel and watched people kick the shit out of eachother on the tv. Gambled my record money away, must borrow a sandwich.
Castanets have discovered a new and extremely relevant way to forecast the future in the tradition of bone throwing and tea leaf scrying: the spam email must make it through the statistically sensitive word filters to pimp their stock tips and dick strengtheners; in doing so they warp words into applicable missives for our day. so far on this trip they have not let us down, to wit:

Cristopher Coopier
"Which the batwing"

Kris Manning
"I at verde"

Rex Drummond
"For reticulum of estuarine"

Amos Clement
"Is profound no martinique"

Shirley Richter
"in segregate on warlike"

Ramon Lancaster
"so mildew of book"

Rodger Rowe
"As concerto do hanukkah"

Aron Holt
"Or crowd or irremediable"

Laci Dean
"Lucky Day"

Deana Gutierrez
"it at porpoise"

Hillary Knowles
"And a debacle"

lucho burletoff
"USA NEW"

Brande Nguyen
"Correct Or No"

Remember: Examining the relationship between the strange name and what advice they seem to be giving you yields even more insight into "how the day could go". 21st century style.

Jesse Ainslie
Six black cats on this bad luck tour. Though, it seems that mode of binary qualification was abandoned, or lost like some segment of time recently removed. And much like the dissolution of good and evil, neither pressing forward nor holding back. They bode well for this collection of travelers, perhaps our collective polarity reverses the contrary blackness of cat, perhaps the feline shades en masse gravitate toward the traveler; companion in social solitude, friend to all and perpetual stranger, such is the black cat. Moving south into mist and marsh, the algal air inducts electricity into hairs of our forearms, shoes come off, blankets abandoned in the night. ‘Great grey green’ waters set about with cypress trees and murky as the last moments of the mind before sleep. Saw a skunk in a field. Crustacean meal and so many beers, dice games, he pointed out to left field with a sly grin, nodded for the pitch, took it with five fingers, muscles pulling in motions, familiar and confident; his success is assured. His invocation of nothingness, a minute manifestation of true magic as conjured with naught but will. We all took one step back, then another. Accompanied by agents of construed darkness and the revelation of will to the void, this must be the moors of gytrash, the swamps of ignis fatuus, and I think we are all very glad to be here.

RRaposa
Seriously. So much crawfish. Peel that bit. Get some out of that claw. Waking up from the greatest of naps in the humid, heavenly Louisiana just in time for the boil and our one night off. Dice game continues to ebb. Basketball this morning, low hanging hoops, reverse dunks and half court threes. Where were the threes last night? Crane is out in the field this very minute trumpet call-and-responsing with whatever fauna that is. Is beautiful . Whatever is that beautiful and what isn’t?

Chapel Hill

RRaposa
Randy plays me the new Strugglers record and it is a KILLER. Jessie is in fine homecoming form and set LIFTS OFF. Insanely fulfilling meals are go. Shoes out the window, sandals in.
What happened? Where’d the mean old Northeast go? What’s all this space? Kudzu? Fuck yes. In the greatest of spirits, contented and ambling. Later city. Golden Ghost plays a song called Crank on Ned’s radio show that actually drops references o the movie of same name and it blows my mind. Lots of money lost on dice. Good send off on the porch when the Saw pulls into town. I am true blue in love with the south again. True true.

G.L.C.
Watch out in Mobile Alabama, theres a crack head leprechaun up a tree. Residents have come out in droves with their magic flutes that ward off smells; bulletproof vests also. We get into town early, the sun sets on above 50 degrees. Chapel Hill is very mello, extremely mello. We eat the entire contents of a freezer, including the fish. Molly the dog needs a bath. "Im really gonna break some hearts tonight" is not what was said. The bookstore/venue is remarkably well organized, and we all find books that are perfect. John gets inappropriately touched at the liquor store. Ray provides a beer to a crazy person and he crumples it in his hand and asks for another. He refuses the tamale. We gamble like gangbusters at the bar next door after meeting Ned. He and Laura clean up, although all eyes are watching us. The show is a towering inferno of rhythmic scum and chords spilling out. my eyes hurt. We can here them whispering about our gear, basically a pile of dirty pedals. Jessie snaps the Memory Man in two. We hit the Time Out and all get fried okra and poison bone sandwiches. I ask for an ice-cream sandwich and the man places it in a bag. Later i find out its as big as a baby’s head. Next morning we hang out at Ned’s recording palace and chat with Tigersaw about making kids wear little boxing gloves and fight over ice cream while Laura drops some noise. We take Science Dr on the 485 north inner future. Is your game tight? Do you trust her??

DRIVERS REPORT #1 (JChavez)

DC-vive (G. Lucas Crane):
Do not watch spy movies. Do not leave all the beer in the last house you stayed at. Do not search through secret compartments in the rental car. Do not lock yourself in the rental car. Do not get the pork sandwich from a place called "Jerry’s" in DC. Do not decide to sleep in the reclining chair. Do not forget to play the "Ima Flirt" remix in the morning. Do not miss the VHS Tapes in the trash. Do not turn down the weird recording kiosk in the venue after taping yourself singing "purple rain". Do not think it wont ever get warmer, ever. Do not forget the time signature of the that one Ghost jam. Do not split up the blues and the death metal. Do not forget to fight the Shadow Government. Do not forget that Pete Wentz is 28. Do not buy that hopping robotic dinosaur from the flying J (its 125 dollars). Happiness is a choice.

DC Set (RRaposa):
Golden Ghost harmonies. First live go at "The Night Is When You Can Not See". Sub bass. Elyse/Bert Jansch cover. Leonard Cohen cover. Good crowd vibes. Good venue vibes. Bright lights and hats catching fire. This is our last song really this time.

Quote in my pocket about wind-like wolves and mouths split back to ears.

3.
Baltimore (Nonhorse Blog the 2nd)
Baltimore. All super familiar stuff and yet blasted strange at the same time. Oh wait thats just because we took a wrong turn. We have way too much time on our hands, and that make us take risks. Apparently the cats where we were last staying were in the middle of some existential crisis; we asked the cards while they shoved and socked each other. Found a VCR in the rental car, along with axe body spray and some sour apple snoopdog blunt wraps. We breeze down N. Calvert and go way too far. circle the big whole down town twice and then stop for bathroom, whisky and tacos. the tacos are in a giant pile and I develop an unrealistic crush on the taco lady. So stern, so giving. "Thats So Macaroni" the radio blares on two nonconsecutive occasions. Yes This dance music "remix" station is quote "so macaroni". We stop off at John’s friend’s house and discuss Rod Lee and how he’s too fat and tall to DJ lately "DJ’s tend to be only so high". We watch the old Kevin Costner movie "Fandango" concerning youthful abandon and wussy-ism. in a key scene in a dirty pisser after exploding roman candles in a veterans graveyard, the whole Van realizes that Ray has somehow traveled back in time and into fiction and tagged up the bathroom stall next to Kevin Costner. Way to go Ray. The Show is at Lemon Hill, not Wham City, and apparently the Wham is getting some shit from the landlord for the whole "illegal awesome raves make the world a better place" thing. The set doesnt lock together like the last one in tour beginning beauty/fury, but we get as unhinged as possible with that much time. Liz closes out with the most perfect cover for the moment ,"After hours" on the banjo. Baltimore, Im strung out on your love. On your love.

4.
Baltimore (RRaposa)
Waking up in Wham City is a treat. Lizz King sang pretty last night. CSTNTS set a bit compromised by late hour and low stoke (Stokes for B’more mayor) but the trumpet did show and the snow did melt yet.

In the cafe next door to the Warehouse Next Door fixing to stream some TV.