God, sometimes you just don't come throughYou need a woman to look after youGod, sometimes you just don't come through

What can you do?

Listen for the sirens on the shore?

Singin' songs for pimps with tailors,

Who charge ten dollars at the door.

You can really learn a lot that way.

It will change you in the middle of the day.

Though your confidence may be shattered,

It doesn't matter.



Not really sure what to say at this point.

A lot of people are reading this now.

It doesn't really freak me out, though.



I do feel some sort of responsibility to myself to chronicle things here, simply because I know I have led an interesting life that bears telling, even if I cannot find the words.

I also know that most people reading this are procrastinating away the work day, hoping to read a little something.

Maybe read someone's firsthand account of a descent into madness.

(That would sure break up the work day, now wouldn't it?)

Perhaps madness is too strong a word.

I don't feel like I am going mad, per se, but there is certainly something going on.

When you spend many years with someone, you miss things like two of us, Sunday driving, not arriving, on our way.



There is this weird sort of freedom that accompanies that painful nostalgia.

I'm not exactly sure what to do with myself from one day to the next.

Nostalgia can be a bitch sometimes.

Other times, I feel like the world is at my feet, and I plug in, turn it up and play.

For me.

Not for anybody else.

Sometimes, though, you can find a tiny, little slice of this world...



...and you can harbor the illusion that you are the only one who has ever been there.

Not that it matters.

Since you know you are the only one to experience that little slice of the world at that place, at that time.





Especially if you are aware.

And you know that the memories are longer than the road that stretches out of here.



Seasons can roll on by.



And you can feel left behind.



You need to know what reminds you of the words that you'll never find.





You're not lost, behind.





You can just climb and find another place to hide it all.

Hide the words you'll never find.





A place you've never been, and maybe never will be again.



The moon is full tonight, and it is a freaky, blood orange because of the smoke.

It almost makes up for the disappearance of the mountains behind the smoke.



What to do.

What to write.

Hmmmm....

I mean, look at these goddamn pictures.

This is where I live.

And it is kind of hard to wallow in your little puddle whem all this is outside your door....

There's a dragon with matchesThat's loose on the townTake a whole pail of waterTo cool him down

A raging 200,000 acre wildfire is burning South of Big Timber, Montana.

That is roughly an hour drive east of Bozeman.

Many homes have burned (26, at last count), and many, many people have been ordered to evacuate.

The fire is being fueled by dry conditions and a strong East wind.

That east wind has blown much of the smoke from the fire into the Bozeman area.

Our normally gorgeous valley is entirely filled with smoke.

One cannot even see the mountains... which normally dominate the views here.

I can't even see the Bridgers, which are 4-5 miles from my house.

On any normal day, the Tobacco Roots, which are 50 miles away, look like they are a 15 minute drive.

The interior of my house smells like a campfire.

We need some rain.

Badly.

This is worse than the worst smog day I remember from my 4 years in LA.

They issued a warning against vigorous outdoor exercise, due to air quality.

On a positive note, my little gift to myself brought me untold hours of entertainment this weekend. I learned 4 new songs, plus mastered the wah-wah pedal.

I think my neighbors love it, too.