Th' Soulfinger Diaries: 2.20-2.26 '06

Miles and miles. Some stages. Some tequila. Driving snow, freezing cold. Cramped band rooms. Ace McClintock mumbling and pacing at 5 A.M. Ace McClintock pushing Levy Pontchartrain over a coffee table. Levy shoving Ace onto me. Fuck off. My voice goes on Saturday. Not good.

We are joined by a horn section on Thursday in Essex CT. Soulfinger New 'n' Improved. The shape of things to come.

Somewhere amidst all the glamour we do this. I'm using the straight stand to good effect now. I like the straight stand. Wish I was in better voice for this but I do a yoemanlike job with what I've got. All I need is some sleep at night, man. Is that too much to ask? A lot of water and some sleep. God damn Soulfinger.

God damn Soulfinger. Why is it always so cold and dark? Oh, man it's been fucking cold. Why is it always night? God damn Soulfinger. Well, it's Soulfinger or a cubicle, my friend. Make your fuckin' choice. Lifes rich pageant, man. Soulfinger or a cubicle. That's what th' Enlightenment got us, baby. I can choose from eighty fucking deodorants but as far as life choices I've got Soulfinger or a cubicle. And you know what?

That's one more choice than a lot of folks have. Smart folks. You know what that means? It means that even if I were smarter it would still just be Soulfinger or a cubicle. Sweet fucking Christmas have we blown it. Truly we have woven it in a skeen of crapulescence. In the universe we shine like a beacon of despair, and all the other beings shun us like a chick with a hairy mole. A hairy, twitching execrescence. A repugnant, weeping boil. Every now and then some aliens ignore their fuckin' GPS and they wind up in our galaxy and they're like, "fuck, this is that Earth galaxy with those despressing fuckers." And they split for Craputon IX where you can have an orgasm for a year because time is all mental and then you grow backwards like goddamn Merlinnnn. And your dingler shrinks and becomes smooth which I, for one, would find disquieting.

Man, I've had a lot of time to think about this. I know it's bordering on lunacy to be someone who puts "singer" under Occupation but hey, I'm fucking old as dirt and I'm still walkin' the goddamn planet with a full belly and a sparkle in my tanned, athletic eye. I don't think it's more insaner than any other calling, I really don't. People who are stupider than me are doing it every day. What the fuck, anyway? You've got the one life to check some shit out, last I checked. Movin', Doin' it, you know? All respects to Baby Jeekers. And James Brown.

You see how I dichotomize the world into people who are smarter than me and people who are stupider than me? I wonder where I am on the universal graph. Probably down there next to parameceum. Reckon I could do worse. I could be like those Christing Black-Eyed Peas. Fuckers.

I do want this cruddy winter to end. Fucking dark, cold shite. A lightless tunnel. I just want to have some fun. I just want some god damn grain alcherhol and a swimmin' hole. With a Phillipino band doing Springsteen songs. Like that time in Frankfurt.

I choose Soulfinger all th' polesmoking same. God damn Soulfinger.

Good song, huh?