September 7, 2008

Without Bob Dylan, I may never had made it back from the brink of Iowa. Without Ceramic Dog, I may not make it out of Wisconsin at all. The land here is cool and wet. It reeks of the ancients. Tomahawk took me through its spirits. I danced in the sun and found my totem. It is the coffee bean. Father Crow will lead me back to the path home. Ribot pounds a rhythm into my hands and my car follows it. I've never been better - never better.

- Later -

Rock and roll will save the day, of this I'm certain. I have managed to royally screw myself. Instead of paying attention to the signs, I chose to assumer the exit I wanted was 35. This was, in hindsight, incorrect. Forty-five minutes later, I find myself up Shit Creek. There are no paddles in Shit Creek. I could have very well found myself meeting Slipknot. "Tangled Up in Blue" was what I was, and thoroughly at that. Thankfully some yahoo gal showed me how to get back to the interstate via a "back road". It was a detour. Thirty-five minutes and Another Side of Bob Dylan later I found the interstate. The music really fit my preciment (or predicament). When in a bind, one has to make their own fun.