Pissing in the Wind Chapter One

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This isn’t a story of epic heroics. It’s not a story where the character takes a long dangerous journey, overcoming mental and physical obstacles, coming out unscathed and a hero. This is not a story to well up your emotions. This is a story of disappointments and interruptions, written by a person with qualities able to make him sit upon his mother’s couch, writing a story of great, sarcastic proportions, listening to the Grateful Dead and smoking rolled “American Spirits”. This story is written during the commercials of sitcoms and during the boring hours of the afternoon that only the unemployed apathetic know. This story is for the people with visions of grandeur, for people who live in delusional voids where everything in the middle of the night, alone in their beds, revolve around themselves.2

This Story has no real beginning. It just begins with a guy afraid of risks and how he wishes that the ones he does tske turn out good.  Every story has characters that change, and if your looking for a big life lesson, than this book isn’t for you. 3

Begin is too sophisticated. Our story kicks off in a chair with a room inside a house somewhere in Vermont, northern Vermont.4

Now in this chair sat a young man surrounded by dreams, visions on grandeur, shall we say, while writing poetry, he one day hoped shall be appreciated by immense population The Grateful Dead’s  “Mexicalli Blues” surround his deep shade of purple auras. Which further infurriates his writing in some parts of his blue lined, red margined spiraled universe, where scribbles and p’s that where b’s are illegible sand pits. In one hand, a pen advertising a company he doesn’tt know of and in the left hand a cigarette pressed tightly between two fingers and trembling, holding the notebook steady.  He wasn’t using the table; his notebook lay on his right knee, which bounced hard with anticipation. It sometimes screwed his pen up causing him to skip and writing over the lines. Not between them. He wrote with passion that was filled with so much bitterness, he sometimes forgot what letters were where and what words were whole, sometimes forgetting to put letters in certain places all together.5

Our writer enjoyed, what he did, even if it was never enough. He’s always enjoyed reading, he still remembers the first book making him cry so hard, that he was in a depressed funk for over three days.. This isn’t the type of person, you see in movies or read about in books, He doesn’t carry his notebook, marked “P r I v A t E” in big letters, wherever he goes. This writer just writes when he needs to, this writer has no job, but wants one. Except for this little piece inside his soul avoiding the responsibility. And he dreams wistfully of moving out of his mother’s house and in with his girlfriend.6

There’s always is a girl, isn’t there? This hero’s girlfriend, faithfully loving him in all of his loser personal.  She either ignores the black parts of his soul or chooses not to deal with  incompetence face to face, whatever the case, she loves him and he, her. 7

A beam of sunshine lies itself over our not so hero-like character. Waking him. He wishes for once he could sleep until eleven without a seroquil but he gets up and drags his ass to the toilette at the end of the hall. What day is it? He thinks. The house is silent. Usually if the T.V. is off no one is at home. He yawns and scratches his head through his dreadlocks with his free hand. Eyes bleary our Odysseus stumbles down the thirteen stairs and lights a cigarette. Then picks up his notebook to start writing, Golden Road Unlimited is playing on the stereo, then, Sugar magnolia, it helps him wake up. He looks at the T.V. hatred in his heart. If he turns it on he’s wasting just that much more of his soul. Writing at least keeps him busy thinking that at least he’s putting something back into the world and not just sucking his soul into it’s cruel vacuum. He stares into the fridge and bitterly opens the cupboards not wanting anything to eat, his diet has been way too unhealthy but he grabs a Chips ahoy and returns to the living room. St. Stephen blares giving a trace of a smile to his lips which gives birth to a wide, toothy grin, his eyes still sad. 8

Explosion.9

Startled he whips his head to the phone.10

“Goddamnit it’s eight in the morning!” He shouts into the phone.11

The other end is quiet for a moment, sensing shock his anger quickly recedes.12

“Jesus it’s worse than I thought.” A voice whispers into his ear. “They told me you were angry and miserable, but this I didn’t expect.13

“Amy. Fuck I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap but this might be my last day alive. I don’t think I can stand this living room alone for another morning and afternoon.14

He sounds tired and drained standing with the phone loose against his ear and swaying on his feet. He has to hold onto the back of a chair for support.15

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, don’t go crazy yet I want to join you.”16

He laughs, a harsh bark of a laugh. Bitter.17

“Fuck you, I resent you.” He shouts into the receiver, but it’s already been killed, a clean cut to the cord.18

The Chinese had a way of torture where you’d get tied up and have water dripped onto your head. Slowly. Drop by drop, sometimes it took hours for that next drop. The point is you’d eventually go crazy waiting for that next drop. The only thing to look forward to, the only God you can hold onto the only thing real. “Mama Tried” started just as Amy pulled into the driveway. He was dancing in the kitchen singing along while he was doing dishes. She burst in and, as if she were being chased by a hurricane of hounds ran to grab him. As they embraced the CD stopped leaving the house silent except for Amy’s soft sobbing. Eyes closed, she buried her face into his shoulder inhaling deeply, relishing his scent Holding him tight against her chest his shaking uncontrollable, but he managed to take a step back. She grinned and kissed a tear hanging delicately off of his nose.19

“I’m sorry that was uncalled for,” He spoke, voice shaky.20

“Fuck.” She started, pausing to look into his eyes. The corners of his mouth moving towards his eyes in embarrassed smile. “I bet that was very called for.”21

He grinned and shook his head as if  clearing the daemons in his head for good. Daemons and spiderwebs.22

“ I love it when you shake your head like that. Dreadlocks go everywhere.” What are you doing here?” He asked. Walking  to the living room to sit down and change the CD to some Keller Williams.23

“ I read the message boards and I’ve been on tour with you for the past six months…..” She paused to collect her thoughts making sure to say the precise words,. “Look.” She said sitting next to him and leaning into his chest until they were both lying down on the couch squeezed next to each other her hand on his stomach. “Everyone’s worried about you…..all the poetry you put up is late at night and sounds gloomy. It sounds so lonely and undignified.”24

The room grew quiet with pondering. 25

“It’s getting harder to smile at nothing and it’s hard as all fuck to laugh at empty rooms.”26

Amy smiled and took his hand to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. 27

“ So it’s true your not depressed, your just not happy?”28

“I’d love to go back on tour.”29

“No you don’t. You have to deal with this. Ever since Phish dispersed you and everyone have lost your vibes. I used to be able to sense you and James’ aura even when he was ….and I was in Atlanta while you were in Denver. Now I don’t even know where James is.”30

He leaned on his elbow, obviously painful.31

Amy smiled a small mischievous smile ‘That bastard” she said with wonder in her eyes, but her head snapped up to look deep into the eyes of the man holding her. “But you know he’s alive right?”32

“Well yeah, but he’s off my radar.”33

“Mine too, hey why don’t you write about him.”34

“Okay. Fine, I guess.”35

CHICAGO36

Poplar street with it’s stoops and it’s haunting faces staring at you. Dark faces brown and chocolate. Quietly watching the five white kids looking for trouble drunk and in high spirits. We sang All Along the Watchtower  as we turned the corner to Maple Ave. We had all met at a Widespread Panic show and were looking for Chicago dope. The next Panic show wasn’t for three days so we had time to kill, all of us had been in the city before and knew were to sleep. John, a young kid with wide eyes had never been on any kind of tour before and was nervous as hell. This was his first show in fact. But this wasn’t a normal tour. We had no anchor, we were those kids who only followed Phish and had only looked at other Jambands as backups when we didn’t want to get off tour.. Since we’d been abandoned, we had to find other bands to tour with and couldn’t make up our minds. The String Cheese Incident and Keller were at the top of my list maybe Galactic.37

No, we were those kids, soulless and damned for all eternity to wander aimlessly without a true point of destination and no real point of origin. Instead of just crossing a stream we were those kids who hopped from rock to rock holding our arms out for balance and praying to the God who shunned us that we wouldn’t fall in. Grinning hysterically out of sheer exhilaration the whole time.38

“I hear Galactic is coming tomorrow and String Cheese will be in town next week.” John said “Is anyone going?” 39

“Hell, I ain’t waiting for them Ski Bums. I want to get out of here. Who’s got a car? Cause Keller’s playing in New Mexico in ten days we can take our time.” 40

I looked at Mike,  “Mark left me his van.” I murmured41

“Mark? That kid from this morning?” Asked Janet quietly putting an arm around me. I nodded, Mark had turned himself in for sentencing today. He got arrested for first degree murder but got out on bail two years ago, his mother put up her house provided that he didn’t jump it. So today he got his sentencing. Eleven years in jail. I gave him my good-byes and a little something he could smuggle in anyway he saw fit. I wasn’t the only one. I saw at least seven or eight other tour kids at the court house shuffling nervously from foot to foot, eyes flickering from cop to cop. I  was surprised there weren’t many more heads. Mark touched a lot of  people.42

“Yeah” I said “He went to jail this morning.”43

“Well great” Said Mike clapping me on the back with a great big hand. “I’ll sell my car for gas money and we’ll take the van. Seeing as you don’t have a license I’ll do the driving.”44

I cringed. But, it was set, the planning was done and we were as good as gone. The five of us: Mike John, Valerie, Janet and I would leave the following morning. 45

“Okay,” Valerie started in her best organizer tone, beautiful Val, all legs and neck, beautiful blond Barbie you never notice her height until you get up close. She was like a flamingo. Your blinded by the bright pink until you get to know her then the spell is broken and you finally see all six-foot-two of her. A great wanderer, she never made it look like bumbling.  Always graceful and never lost. I fell asleep in a potato field with her once and when we awoke she packed up and started walking without a second glance at her surroundings..46

“Mike” She started “ You go sell your car, Janet and I will get us tickets for whatever lies on the way of 80.”  She turned to me and paused. “You and John,” pause, smile, “Go and do whatever it is you do to make money. 47

Okay” I said “But I need the van, John do you have a license? He didn’t but we were off anyway. Ready to meet in twelve hours at the greyhound station. 48

John and I ran off. Him eager to learn all that I was so eager to teach In those days I always wanted to show off. 49