The Dream Is Over

I have thus far eschewed the blog-as-confessional-diary and I plan to keep it that way in the future. But.
It was a strange day yesterday. We played the biggest show we'd ever played, and then it was over, and now it is done. I went to work. In an odd twist, the trailer hitch broke off three blocks from Big Orange on the way home. Spooky and perfect.

I don't feel sad. It's just so incredibly strange to now look back on all this in hindsight.
We really had a great run, though I'm not sure if outsiders realize this. I got to do so many amazing things.
I saw this beautiful fucked up country of ours more completely than I had ever thought to. I swam in every river between San Francisco and Minneapolis. I saw the Rosetta Stone, and the Elgin Marbles, and climbed up the cliffs of Edinburgh Castle. I had a moment with David Bowie (he smelled like freshly baked cookies) whilst watching Arcade Fire destroy Central Park from the side of the stage. I listened to the masters of the original Smile (which nobody will ever hear) and toured the Reverb Chambers underneath the Capitol building. I was introduced by David Bailey to Julian Schnabel, who was wearing a bathrobe on the corner of 8th Avenue and 23rd st, and I stood on top of a hidden missile silo in North Dakota at sunset.

I made many beautiful talented friends, and we had a lot of laughs.

I grew up and learned who I really was and to believe in that.
I became a real musician, for which I will always be grateful.

I joined a most amazing group of friends and we chased our dreams and wrestled them down out of the ether and were in turn chased and wrestled by them. Some of those wrestling matches are still going on.
I was incredibly lucky, and I am very grateful for all the lovely and even some of the not-so-lovely people that helped to make it happen. Thanks to all.