The View From the Back Door

AE_1, a photo by heptide on Flickr.

This is, what I said it was up top.

Insomnia...

Insomnia hasn't been a problem in a long time. When I was a child I had a hard time sleeping but that was often because I was afraid of the dark or angry at the world. I began writing a journal when I was in fifth grade to handle the insomnia. When I got to college I began titling them and keeping them. It started as an opportunity to deal with not being able to sleep because my mind won't stop reliving old conversations or conversations that have yet to take place. I find myself again the insomniac.

I have no job and I sleep on a borrowed bed.

It is the first time since I was in college that I haven't had a job. I find that I defined who I was too much by the work that I was paid to preform. I know this because I struggle to find meaning in my day to day activities. I get up, work out, come back to someone else' home and fill out job applications. It's not all that bad, I have lost a few inches in my waste (The good way, I am running and lifting weights). I am worried though when I find that I have filled out all the applications that I can, scraped for every bit of cash, and start waring thin on those that currently offer room and board. The phrase that comes to me is, “The long dark teatime of the soul,” coined by Douglass Adams.

Yet I sit and stare at the clock. I stare at the wall, conversations through and through, trying to figure out if who I am has always been what I do. I don't know anymore. Life used to make sense, even when I didn't see the path before me I could see that my feet were on the path. It seems like for so long I have wondered aimlessly grabbing at shadows in the dark.

I suppose it's what I get for having too long played the serpent (Thank you for the phrase Mr Pullman). Sometimes I think being a liberal Christian in Mississippi is akin to being an Atheist anywhere else. Regardless, I am not in Hell, I do not agonize with emo/goth pain, I don't write songs about it (though I often regress to bad poetry) and I still believe philosophically and morally the same things I believed before this mess. Of course I won't know if I can define my situation as a mess, won't know till I am well past it and can title a journal after it.

It would be nice to sleep again though.

Thank you for listening.

Good night!

Down to the Crossroads

(All these pics were taken by my buddy Amanda (Bob)

These pictures are from a recent trip a few friends and I had taken to Clarksdale Mississippi for a blues festival (actually the annual "Juke Joint" Festival). Clarksdale was an interesting town, I like to think of it as the current home of the blues, I know I stay in Memphis and in theory I should claim it, but c'mon Beale is a sell out. There is a lot of music history in this small town. If you ever get the chance you should stop through on the weekend and check out some of the Juke Joints.

I know it just looks dark but that is the crossroads of 61 and 49 there is a myth that says Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil here. That isn't Robert or the Devil lurking in the darkness though it was me, and I was an hour late, it was 1:00 AM I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees

I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees

Asked the Lord above, have mercy now, save poor Bob if you please

-Robert Johnson, Crossroad Blues

This is us dancing at a juke joint in Clarksdale MS at the Juke Joint festival two weeks ago. I think it is a neet pic, the slim guy in grey is me.

This is the group of us with Mr. Tator. Mr Tator recorded with Jimbo Mathus and has been described as the last "true" streat corner performer. I felt lucky to get this pic.

This is Ground Zero, Morgan Freeman's club in Clarksdale. It was allright but reminded me more of a honkytonk. It is sort of commercial, I liked the small juke joints better.

I just liked this picture of me.